Page 167 of Off Limits Mogul

I scrap the paltry mashup in my head and zero in on an emotional rollercoaster of a song I’ve not dared to sing in a very long time.

“I’m ready.” I respond with a firm nod.

“Take it away,” Flint says.

With the headphone back in place, I hum the opening.

When I belt out the first verse, I choke up.

God, that song gets me every time.

“That’s the song,” Flint says.

I try again.

I go at it almost tentative at first. The tremolo in my voice is audible, and I’m swept away by the emotions. The lyrics to the poignant songI selected grip my guts. It’s more like a desperate plea than a song, really. Maybe that’s why the song has been imprinted in my soul since the first time I saw the video clip. It’s the type of heart-wrenching song my former record company would’ve frowned upon and prevented us from performing because in their eyes, silly and vapid pop songs are an easy sell. I have a good voice, but I’m no blue-eyed soul songstress, as they loved to remind me.

I open my eyes.

Flint snaps away as he moves in front of me in a half circle.

I catch a glimpse of my captive audience and smile. I place my hands over the headphones, bringing them closer to my ears, closing my eyes and returning to the safety of my imaginary bubble by shutting the world out.

I sing louder.

I go deeper.

I go raw.

I don’t hold back.

Tears heat my closed eyelids, but I won’t allow them to escape.

Not yet.

When I hit the bridge, I’m lost in‘When We Were Young’.

I sing for Chelle.

I sing for Henley.

I sing for the girl in me who’s never been loved by her own mother.

I sing for the girl who’ll never know her father.

I sing for the girl who thinks she’s a failure.

I sing for the girl who thinks she has nothing to offer.

I sing for the girl who tries so hard to pretend everything washes over her.

Tears stream down my face and my voice breaks, but I don’t stop singing.

I can’t.

This is me—the real Keira—imperfections, fuckups, mistakes, fears, baggage, and all.

I have no desire to hide who I am.