“Actually, I think I got some flak from the audience for playing Creed.”
“Nonsense. Everyone likes Creed.”
“I know, right? Even if they won’t admit it.”
“Exactly.” He shoots me a wry smile. “It’s classic Nickelback syndrome.”
The phrase hits me like a strike to the ribs. I halt, gaping at him. “I was thinking the exact same thing earlier—it’s what Dad used to say!”
“I know. We both used to wind each other up. I can’t recall which of us started it, though.”
We’re standing near a lookout, Brandon facing the wind as he removes his beanie to comb his hair out of his eyes. I watch, transfixed, as the breeze catches the strands, ruffling them.
I bite my lip. “I never asked—how did you two meet, exactly? Was it through work?”
“Yes. We were backstage at a Pearl Jam concert together.”
“His favourite band,” I murmur.
“Yes. We used to joke that we were surrounded by all this musical talent yet we were secretly die-hard Nickelback fans. Your father was a sucker forHow You Remind Me.”
The corner of my mouth twitches at the fond memory, even as the significance hits me with a pang—Dad and Brandon, laughing together. For a heartbeat, it feels like I’m part of that circle, folded into a joke that belonged to them. As if Brandon and I are inextricably connected. It’s comforting, yet confusing, because he isn’t just a link to Dad. He’s…Brandon.
My throat tightens, and I drop my gaze, staring at Brandon’s neatly knotted scarf, the sharp line of his upturned collar against his jaw, the shadow of stubble there.
Then I feel it—an invisible force wrapped around my ribs, tugging me closer.
Suddenly, all the reasons I told myself he was off-limits spray apart like surf bursting into mist.
I step closer, heart hammering. My hand twitches as I reach for him, though I’m not even sure what I mean to do—touch his sleeve? His hand? His shoulder? Just something to lessen the distance.
In the dark, his gaze looks inky-black, pupils blown wide with surprise,or want, or…
Confusion.
The moment unravels, and I chicken out, grabbing his beanie instead, not quite tugging it from his fingers. He doesn’t move.
My cheeks flame. Now I’m standing here clutching his hat like an idiot. “I, uh, sorry—I was just...”
I forgot he was sick—forgot everything but how close he is. Our eyes meet, and I can’t look away. I must look like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Lily-Anne,” he murmurs, giving a rough swallow. His thumb brushes my knuckles, fleeting and electric. Then his gaze drops. “We shouldn’t.”
My heart lurches. “What?”
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to…” His chest rises with a tense breath, his eyes penetrating mine.
I release the beanie like it’s scalded me and stumble back, humiliation washing through me.
“Right. Of course. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—” The words tangle, useless, so I clamp my mouth shut.
Twice now. Twice I’ve tried to kiss the man who’s essentially my mentor. I want the pavement to crack open and swallow me whole.
“I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I mumble.
“Nothing.” His voice is low, rough. “You’ve been through too much, too fast.”
I stare at the sea, cheeks burning, unable to meet his eyes. “You think I’m a mess, don’t you?”
