Jc Lodge, Make It Up To You. (reggae) File

“Let me make it up to you,” she cooed, her vibrato catching the smoke in the air.

The bassline hummed through the floorboards of the Blue Lagoon Club, a deep, rhythmic pulse that felt like a heartbeat. JC Lodge stood backstage, adjusting her gold hoop earrings and smoothing the silk of her emerald dress. She could hear the crowd murmuring, the clinking of glasses, and the distant, sweet scent of jerk chicken wafting in from the street. JC Lodge, Make it up to You. (Reggae)

JC stepped off the stage before the applause even faded. She didn't go to the dressing room. She walked straight to the edge of the stage, reaching out a hand. Marcus took it, the rhythm of the music still humming between their palms. The song was over, but the conversation had finally begun. “Let me make it up to you,” she

Tonight wasn't just another set. In the front row sat Marcus, the man she’d let walk away over a misunderstanding that seemed so small now. She could hear the crowd murmuring, the clinking

"This one is for a special heart in the room," she whispered into the mic.