“Like a kid finding a gun worse?”
“Yup. She says,the boy asleep down the hall, the one who carries the features of the man I wish had chosen me.Okay, so we have four players here—the kid, the husband, the wife, and this mystery person who is the real father.”
“Sounds like it.”
“What if he threatened the kid?” Ellie flipped back to the previous page. “What if that's why she stayed quiet—not just fear for herself, but knowing he'd take it out on the boy if she said anything?
I tilted my head and smirked. “You do love true crime, huh?”
Ellie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I’m serious. There’s more to this, Sawyer. What if someone else came to that house that night of the incident? The real father? Or what if he knows what really happened? Maybe she was too afraid to say anything. Whoever the real dad is, I bet he knows something.”
I probably should’ve told her to let it go, that it wasn’t our business, but she looked so damn alive sitting there, digging into this like it mattered. Maybe that should’ve been my cue to be the responsible one. Instead, I stayed quiet. If chasing this thing kept her here a little longer, I wasn’t about to get in the way.
I leaned back on the couch and stretched an arm behind her. “This is heavy shit, El.”
She glanced up at me, her expression soft but steady. “Oh, I know, but I love this stuff. It relaxes me, remember?” She glanced at the journal again, fingertips resting on the edge of the page. “She wrote this as some silent plea for help.”
“You're not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
My fingers brushed against hers as I lifted the journal from her lap. The leather binding was warm from where it had rested against her legs, and my thumb traced along her knuckle once again.
“Well, too bad.” I closed it slowly, still not moving my hand. “You shook on it. Deal's a deal. We wait till next time.”
She leaned forward. “You're seriously going to leave me hanging?”
“Absolutely. Builds character.”
“You're annoying.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Ellie laughed, soft and breathy, but it caught in her throat when our eyes met. Her gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there while my breathing slowed to almost nothing. She leaned closer, her lips parting slightly, and I could feel the warmth of her breath. She bit her lower lip, and I nearly?—
She pulled back.
“Next time then,” she whispered.
Yeah, next time.
I didn't believe in ghosts or cursed houses, didn't believe in chasing down old tragedies as if they owed us something.
But I believed in Ellie. So, if a dusty old journal kept her coming back here—kept her coming back to me?
Yeah. I'd read every word.
TWELVE
Ellie
I steppedinto my dressing room and finally let myself breathe, a real breath for the first time in hours.
After a month-long hiatus, my first show back went off without a hitch—no forgotten lyrics and no wardrobe malfunctions. The lights, the music, the roar of the crowd, it all hit me at once, overwhelming and exhilarating. Ben, my new head of security, dove into the chaos at full speed, keeping everything under control. By the end, I was completely drained.
My body ached from head to toe, but it wasn’t the physical kind. It was the pain of holding it all together and pretending to be the version of myself everyone expected—the bright, sparkly, endlessly resilient Ellie Miles.
Putting on that face was like slipping into a familiar costume, one that no longer quite fit. This life was a privilege, and I knew that. Being Ellie Miles meant something to people, which still blew my mind. But it didn’t make it any less exhausting.
