“Of course,” he says, gesturing between us. “This only works if we communicate.”
And he’s right. I nod in agreement before continuing.
“Lucas messaged me,” I say, watching as James’s brows crease. His expression shifts and I rush to ease whatever worry might be stirring.
“Yesterday morning, before you got home. I woke up to a text from him.”
His nostrils flare. “What did he say?”
“He said he wanted to talk.”
James glances away, his lips pressing into a thin line before he turns back to me. “Did you talk to him? Is that why you left?” he asks, his tone worried.
“I did talk to him, yes.” I squeeze his hand. “But I didn’t talk to him before I left.” I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to find the right words. “However, I did met with him this morning.”
His jaw tenses, and I rush to clarify. “It’s not what you think. I promise. Nothing happened. We met for a coffee.” I pause, taking a deep breath before revealing the next part. “He wanted to get back together. He said he made a mistake and that he wanted to try again.”
“I see,” he says, dropping his gaze.
“I don’t want him back, James … I wantyou,” I tell him.
His eyes dart to mine.
“We had the most amazing night together.” I thread my fingers through his. “Truly, I’ve never enjoyed orwantedsomething more.” He gives me a reluctant smile, and his eyes fill with a mix of hope and hurt. “I freaked out because I opened the message, and I panicked. I didn’t know what he wanted, and it caught me off guard. Then you came back with breakfast from my favourite café, which was so thoughtful. It made me realise how much I care about you. But I felt guilty. I kept thinking, ‘does this make me no better than Lucas? Sleeping with you, his brother … am I a terrible person?’” His expression softens as he processes my words, and I continue. “I was thinking about Lucas’s feelings when I should’ve been thinking about yours—aboutus. I don’t want to hurt anyone, least of all you.”
He gently cups my face, kissing each cheek. His fingers weave through my hair, cradling the back of my head and drawing me closer. His touch sends my heart into a wild dance.
“I understand,” he says. “It’s natural to worry. We’re not in an easy situation. But April,” he says, his eyes searching mine, “you’re not alone in this. I’m right here with you. I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you needed when you asked me what spending the night together meant for us. It meant everything. When I said there’s something between us, I meant it. We’re notimagining this. It’s real, and I want to explore that with you. I think we deserve to explore it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Okay, that’s good,” he says. “While we’re laying everything on the line … There is something else that we need to talk about …”
“What is it?”
“I need to know that you’re okay with this … with us,” he says, rubbing my hand with his own. “Even if Atlas Veil ends up touring next year. It’s not a quick thing, April—it’d be seven months that I’m gone. I just—I need you to be sure.”
My brow furrows. “Are you asking if I can handle it? Or are you asking whether I’ll wait for you?”
“Both,” he replies. “I don’t want to drag you into something that might ruin what we have. I want to land that tour. But I also want you. Seven months is a long time, and I can’t ask you to put your life on hold for me. But at the same time, I’m selfish enough to want you to.”
So am I. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to frame his potential tour as a reason to question whether we should let ourselves enjoy this, to see where it goes. I want him to win this audition—I want the world to see the man in front of me. And if this does continue, then seven months isn’t that long in the scheme of things. If he’s brave enough to face his brother for us, then the least I can do is stand by him through this.
I tilt my head. “James, if you think touring is going to scare me off, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“It’ll be hard. The distance, the schedules. It’s not just about missing each other—it’s about wondering if this thing we’re building can survive that kind of pressure.”
I kiss his hand. “I’m not saying it won’t be hard. But what’s the alternative? Walking away now, before we’ve even tried? I’m not willing to do that. Not now. Are you?”
He shakes his head. “No. God, no. But I also don’t want you to feel like you have to?—”
“Stop,” I interrupt. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle. I’m in this, James. And I’m willing to try, if you are.”
He pulls me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I am. I’m all in, April. I just … I needed to hear it from you.”
“I’m all in.”
“Good,” he says, dissolving the space between us.
