It was supposed to be a regular night.

They’d finished up a show in Nashville, and he’d slipped out the back with her hand in his—like always—ready to make a quiet getaway before the fans closed in. A little motel outside of town, maybe. A bottle of cheap bourbon, a guitar across his knee, and her smile to keep the rest of the world from weighing so damn heavy.

But something went wrong the second he stepped into that alley.

One blink—just one—and the air shifted. Cold. Smelled like ozone and old earth, like a thunderstorm rolling in slow. He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle up, and when he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t in Nashville anymore.

He was standin’ in the middle of a cracked blacktop lot under a sickle of moonlight, weeds growing up through the asphalt. A big neon sign buzzed overhead—MOTEL—letters half-burned out. And parked in front of him, gleaming black and mean as the devil, was a car he’d never laid eyes on.

Elvis squinted at the chrome trim glinting under the moon.

“Chevy?” he mumbled, brows knitting tight. “Ain’t no model like that… not yet.”

He took a step closer, boots crunching gravel. It was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache—long lines, shining paint, polished hubcaps. The keys were dangling from the driver’s side door like somebody’d been waiting for him to grab ‘em.

And there she was.

Leaning against the hood like she’d been there the whole time, arms folded across her chest.

Only… God, she looked different.

She always dressed classy—skirts and soft blouses, sometimes his own shirts if they were tucked away somewhere quiet. But tonight she was in something he’d never seen in his life—black leather jacket over a tee, jeans worn near white at the knees, boots scuffed from miles he didn’t remember walking with her. Her hair was tied back, a knife strapped to her thigh like it belonged there.

It stole the words right out of his throat.

His heart kicked against his ribs, something equal parts wonder and confusion bubbling up behind it.

“Sugar,” he breathed, a slow, dazzled smile tugging at his mouth, “you… you look like you stepped outta one of them picture shows.”

He laughed—quiet, shaky. He couldn’t help it. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, eyes trailing over her, trying to reconcile this version of her with the one he knew.

“And what in God’s name is this?” He gestured at the car, still grinning like he was half-drunk on the sight of her. “Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen a beauty like that. Belong to you?”

She didn’t answer, just watched him with that patient, steady way she always did—like she was waiting to see if he’d figure it out on his own.

Elvis stepped closer, boots stopping right at her toes, close enough to see the smudge of road dust on her cheek. He wanted to kiss it off. He probably would, if he could wrap his head around what was happening.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” he asked softly, voice catching in his throat. “Because I swear, baby, I ain’t ever been here before. And I sure as hell don’t remember signin’ up for… whatever this is.”