I’ve only ever felt this helplessness once before.
On the day I left her to hitch a ride on that cursed goddamn rocket ship to fame and fortune.
Because that’s what I did.
I walked away.
Chasing music.
Chasing fame.
Chasing everything except the girl I swore I’d die for.
And now, when she looks at me, she’s looking like any second I’m going to vanish again.
The hurt is sharp, quick, and embarrassingly real—lodged under my ribs like a blade.
But underneath that?
There’s something else.
Determination.
Cold, solid determination.
Because she’s wrong.
This isn’t a spell.
This isn’t nostalgia.
This isn’t fake.
I knew the truth the second I saw her again in that damn hardware store—tight jeans, long hair, a woman grown and beautiful and so fucking strong.
This is love.The real fucking kind.
It’s always been love with Ad.
And I’ll tear it all fucking down before I let her think otherwise.
But first?I need to remove the threat trying to rip her life—and Bella’s—apart.
I pull out my phone.
Scroll through contacts.
Hit a number I’ve been carrying for months but never used because I know exactly what happens when I call it.
Remy Falco answers on the first ring.
“Well, well.Nathan Thorn,” he says, voice sharp and amused.“Thought you were done touring and didn’t need our services anymore.”
“Wasn’t kidding about quitting the tour life,” I mutter.“But, uh, I need help with something else.Something personal.”
Silence.
Then his tone drops, all business.
