wlw oneshots 💕

the 30th. (b.e.)

a/n: been contemplating writing this chapter for a while, glad i finally got around to. enjoy my loves.

karissa's next few months started like any other tour. soundchecks, rehearsals, goofy moments. one thing was missing. her wife. morgan was very adamant that she had to work, she needed the hours. karissa understood, but missed the company of her wife.

karissa had been tired, her voice slightly raw from the show in spokane the night before. portland was supposed to be an easy stop. her team let her sleep in a little longer, and they'd skipped press altogether. still, she had been restless since waking. she kept checking her phone. nothing from morgan.

not unusual.
but not right, either.

karissa knew the rhythms of morgan's schedule the same way she knew her own breath. early morning shifts meant a "still breathing" text around 7 a.m., usually with a cup of hospital coffee and her scrubs wrinkled from sleeping upright. on off days, morgan would send her voice notes—rambling thoughts about patients or random books she was reading. lately, they'd been talking about adopting a dog.

but today, nothing.

karissa was riding passenger in the bus when they slowed near an exit ramp on I-5.

traffic was backed up, eerie in its silence except for the distant wail of sirens. her tour manager was muttering about a detour when the wreckage came into view—an SUV flipped on its side, the metal so warped it looked like it had been folded by hand. first responders were crawling over the scene. someone was being lifted onto a stretcher.

something lodged in karissa's chest.

her mouth opened. "wait—can we stop?"

"why?"

"that car... it looks like—never mind. it's not."

the bus kept going.

karissa stared out the window long after the wreck disappeared in the rearview mirror, the image seared into her brain: silver paint scraped away, airbag ruptured, driver's side crushed in. limp body on a stretcher.

karissa forgot about it. the anticipation of her show consumed her. by 7pm, she was backstage, fingers twitching around her mic. she'd already run through her entire pre-show ritual - throat coat tea, a kiss on her wedding band, a quick prayer under her breath. keep her safe, keep me sane."

the sold out crowd roared when she stepped out. spotlights washed her in white and rose gold. she smiled automatically, eyes skimming the faces, pretending her heart wasn't two thousand miles away.

halfway through her set, she forgot the tightness in her chest. she let her voice do what it did best — wrap every heartbreak she'd ever known around the room until strangers felt like family.

it was during her seventh song — ironically, a love ballad morgan adored — that she saw her manager rushing toward the side of the stage, flanked by a security guard. he never did that during a song. karissa stumbled on a lyric, her voice catching.

She saw him mouth:
call off. now. emergency.

she turned back to the mic, the chord progression suddenly meaningless under her fingertips. her guitarist froze behind her. her drummer lowered his sticks.

karissa choked out, "i'm sorry — i need to..." she didn't finish. she dropped the guitar pick, stumbling into the wings before the stage manager even killed her mic.

backstage, the world was a blur of frantic whispers and wide eyes.

"tell me," she rasped, throat dry, mascara bleeding under her eyes from sweat and sudden tears.