NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: Echoes of a legacy
The release of "Crossroads" was unlike anything Jay had experienced before. The track wasn't just a song—it was a revelation. Critics hailed it as a masterpiece, calling it the most introspective piece Marshall Mathers had ever produced. Fans were divided, some praising the vulnerability while others questioned the shift in tone. But for Jay, the reception didn't matter. What mattered was that the song was his.
A week after the release, Jay found himself standing backstage at a small, intimate venue in Detroit. It was Dre's idea—a surprise performance to reconnect with the roots of Marshall's career. The stage was smaller than anything Jay had stood on since taking over this life, and the audience was a mix of diehard fans and curious newcomers.
"You ready?" Dre asked, clapping a hand on Jay's shoulder.
Jay took a deep breath, the familiar weight of nerves settling in his chest. "I think so."
Dre grinned. "Just be real with them. That's all they want."
As the crowd's cheers grew louder, Jay stepped onto the stage, the spotlight blinding for a moment. The energy was electric, the room buzzing with anticipation.
He gripped the mic, his voice steady despite the storm inside. "Detroit, let's talk about crossroads," he began, earning a roar of approval from the crowd.
The opening notes of "Crossroads" filled the room, and as Jay began to rap, he felt a shift. The words weren't just lyrics—they were a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between who he was and who he wanted to be.
The next day, Jay received an unexpected call. It was Hailie.
"Can we meet?" her voice was hesitant, almost unsure.
Jay's throat tightened. He hadn't spoken to her since stepping into Marshall's life, terrified she'd see through the cracks in his facade. "Of course," he said, trying to mask his unease.
They met at a quiet park near the outskirts of the city. Hailie arrived bundled in a coat, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"You've been different," she said bluntly as they sat on a bench. "I mean, the music's great, but it's like… you're not you."
Jay looked away, his mind racing for a response. "People change," he said finally, his voice soft. "Sometimes life makes you see things differently."
Hailie studied him, her eyes piercing. "You're right. People do change. But, Dad… if there's something you're not telling me, I need to know."
Jay's heart pounded. This was the moment he'd feared—being confronted by someone who knew Marshall better than anyone. He wanted to tell her the truth, to lay it all bare, but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and handed her a USB drive. "This is something I've been working on. It might explain better than I can."
Hailie took the drive, her expression softening. "I just want you to be okay," she said quietly. "That's all I've ever wanted."
As she walked away, Jay felt the weight of her words settle over him. She deserved the truth—but was he brave enough to give it?
That night, Jay stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face looking back at him was Marshall Mathers, but the eyes were his own. For the first time, he let himself truly acknowledge the man he had become.
"You're not him," he whispered to the reflection. "But that doesn't mean you're nothing."
The thought lingered as he returned to the studio. This time, he wasn't writing to chase Marshall's legacy. He was writing for himself—for the fractured, conflicted soul trapped in someone else's life.
The track he penned was raw and unpolished, a blend of anger, regret, and hope. He titled it "Mirror's Edge," a declaration of his struggle to find his own identity.
Days later, Dre called. "We've got offers pouring in—world tours, brand deals, even a movie deal. But I need to know where your head's at."
Jay hesitated. The offers were tempting, but they felt like chains pulling him further from the truth.
"I'm not sure about a tour," he admitted. "I need time to figure out what I really want."
Dre was silent for a moment. "You're in a unique position, man. You've got the world at your feet. Don't waste it."
Jay nodded, even though Dre couldn't see him. "I won't. But I need to do this my way."
After the call, Jay sat in the studio, the weight of his