He nodded, eyes already drifting shut.
“You smell like soap,” he murmured sleepily.
“Guess that’s better than blood and adrenaline,” I joked softly, earning a quiet laugh.
“Much better.”
We stayed like that for a long time, listening to the wind outside, the steady tick of the old clock in the hallway, the rhythm of our breathing syncing into something calm and certain.
When I finally felt him relax completely, I realized that every scrap of fear and doubt I’d carried all night was gone.
“Goodnight, mate,” Zack whispered drowsily.
The word still hit me like a pulse of warmth straight to the chest.Mate. He’d said it again.
“Goodnight, my mate,” I whispered back, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Sleep well.”
Zack shifted closer, murmuring something incoherent before falling asleep for real.
I stayed awake a little longer, watching the moonlight spill across the floorboards, listening to the steady sound of his breathing.
15
ZACK
Theo was already onstage when I caught sight of him.
He lingered longer than necessary, mic in hand, scanning the edge of the crowd like he was looking for something, or someone.
His gaze flicked toward the wings, and for half a second I knew he was trying to catch my eye.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Instead, I focused on the movement just behind him. One of Cooper’s enforcers stood close, attention fixed squarely on Theo.
Not subtle, but that was the point. Perform, then leave. No lingering.
I turned away before irritation could sink its claws in. I wasn’t wasting another thought on him tonight.
Muffled laughter from the crowd and the echo of music drifted through the canvas walls of the temporary stage as I headed farther backstage.
“Zack!”
I barely had time to register the voice before Mark came jogging toward me, cheeks flushed from the cold. He had two paper cups in his hands, steam curling from the lids.
“Where were you?” I asked, relief slipping into my tone before I could stop it. “We were supposed to meet here ten minutes ago.”
“I know, I know,” he said quickly, slowing to a stop in front of me. “The queue was insane.”
I stared at the cups. Then back at him. “You were late because you were buying food?”
“They’re drinks,” he corrected, not even a little apologetic. “And it’s freezing out there. I thought you might want something warm before going on.”
I opened my mouth to argue, that we could’ve gotten something after instead, but the words stalled when he pressed one of the cups into my hand.
I barely noticed at first; one moment my fingers were empty, the next they were curled around the warm paper, the heat seeping into my palms. I took a sip without thinking.
Mulled wine. Warm, spiced with cinnamon and cloves, with just a hint of orange.
