I glance at her now. She’s leaning against my shoulder, her eyelids fluttering, fighting sleep.
“Why don’t you rest? You must be exhausted,” I whisper, brushing a kiss into her hair.
Her lips curve into a tiny, sleepy smile. Her eyes drift shut.
“Admit you like my boobs.”
I jerk back, caught between laughter and disbelief and she smirks, eyes still closed.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Marshall.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Vincent Cooper
PAST (2018)
“I recognize that I have some responsibility to keep the music alive, and it’s pretty honorable position to be in.”
Eric Clapton
The guys had organized a party at Tanner’s house after the last school concert.
Aurora was somewhere outside in the backyard, probably arguing with Tom again, while Max was busy flirting with Abigail Evans.
It had been three months of this strange cycle between them—flirting, kissing, messing around. And yet, Max still kept Aurora’s hair clip.
I’d found it last week, in his nightstand drawer, when I was searching for a pen to scribble down some lyrics. Tucked away like some sacred relic. He’s hopelessly in love with her. Everyone knows it. Everyone except her.
And still... something about her softened around him lately. Ever since that night at the Drive-In last year, Aurora had been a little less hostile, her sharp edges dulling whenever he was near.
I can’t judge Max for finding distraction in Abigail. And anyway, their relationship is just casual, so it makes sense. They both know what they want.
If Aurora insists on keeping Tom around, what is he supposed to do? Sit in misery, waiting? No. At least Abigail is a beautiful girl, kind, sweet, funny. He could do worse.
And honestly, Tom? That guy’s an asshole. If we didn’t share the same stage in the band, I would’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.
Not that Nova hadn’t already done it for us. For me. For Max.
I can still hear my own laughter from the day she poured green dye into his shampoo. She’d actually considered swapping it for hair removal cream, but spared him out of mercy—because Aurora liked his blond hair. Nova claimed she was “preserving a little beauty for Aurora’s sake.”
His hair stayed green for two entire weeks. The whole school laughed every time he walked by.
Max deserved the distraction. Without it, he’d drown. I’ve seen his notebooks, page after page filled with lyrics about raven hair, cherry lips, and Emily Dickinson. At least Abigail makes him smile again. At least when we all eat lunch together, Nova braids Abigail’s hair into little crowns while giggling at how the blond strands shimmer in the sunlight.
Aurora though... Aurora spends less and less time with us. Whenever Tom’s around, she’s someone else—sharper, colder, quieter. But when he’s gone, she becomes our Rora again: the hopeless romantic who drifts through hallways with a book tucked under her arm, her Mary Janes tapping rhythm to her daydreams.
I just hope Tom leaving for college finally breaks her free.
Because if Steven has to endure one more night listening to her sob about Tom over steaming mugs of apple-cinnamon tea—he hates cinnamon, but drinks it anyway—then I swear he’ll lose it. The guy has limits. And when Steven snaps, I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually ripped Tom’s head off and nailed it to the school flagpole.
Steven’s not here tonight. He said he didn’t want to see anyone. Claimed he had things to fix at the bakery, that he wanted to read instead. I understood. I know what it feels like to be surrounded by people you don’t care about, convinced they’re watching, waiting to judge. Still, I miss him.
I miss our sleepovers, our hours of gaming, the way everything feels lighter when it’s just the two of us having fun like teenagers.
Meanwhile, Nova has taken full command of the playlist. She and Tanner have been glued to the speakers for an hour, swapping tracks, laughing too loudly. She’s perched on a table like she owns the place, her legs swinging, hair tied up half-high, tumbling down in soft waves over her bare back. The violet top she’s wearing dips low, paired with a denim mini skirt that cuts mid-thigh, her stomach exposed where fabric doesn’t reach. Glitter catches the light across her skin, sparkling every time she throws her head back and laughs.
And God help me—she’s radiant. The center of everything.
