“You’re all idiots,” I said, taking a pull from my beer. “Wyatt’s miracle doesn’t mean the rest of us are dropping like dominoes.”
But my hand slid into my pocket anyway, like it had a mind of its own.
My phone screen was blank. No messages. No missed calls. Just the background photo I’d never managed to change—Stephy laughing at something off-camera, her hair wild in the wind, those green eyes bright enough to knock a man flat.
Stevie Wilson to the rest of the world. But she was Stephy to me. Only to me.
“Earth to Liam.” Maggie waved a hand in front of my face, eyebrows up like she’d already diagnosed the problem and prescribed a solution I didn’t want. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.” I shoved the phone deeper in my pocket. “Just thinking you’re all gonna owe me money when Clay ends up married to one of his buckle bunnies.”
“Never happening,” Clay declared, grinning wide and unbothered. “I’m too pretty to tie down.”
The music kicked up louder—some country song about forever and always—and couples drifted toward the makeshift dance floor. Owen had Louisa tucked under his arm, spinning her slow like she was made of light. Wyatt pulled Ivy close, whispering something that made her smile into his shoulder.
The ache in my chest spread wider. Heavier.
God, I missed Stephy.
The thought hit like it always did—sudden and brutal. Seven months since I’d seen her in person. Seven months of texts, calls, and voice messages that never quite filled the space she used to take up without trying.
Stephy and I had been inseparable since we were kids—next-door neighbors in Austin, growing up on adjoining patches of worn grass and matching childhood scars. A soul-deep kind of bond. The kind you don’t question because it’s woven into who you are.
And yeah, once—five years ago—we crossed a line. After one of her concerts, when the music was still buzzing in her veins, and I was looking at her like I always had, like she hung the damn moon. One night of giving in, of letting years of almosts burn hot for a few stolen hours. Then morning came, and we both chose what we’d always been first—best friends.
Our lives spun in different directions after that. Her chasing stages and spotlight. Me chasing justice at law school and then the Texas Rangers and the quiet kind of purpose.
Our stars never aligned, not really.
But the love? That never went anywhere.
Not for me.
And seven months without her—without that laugh, that steadiness, that piece of home she carried everywhere—hit like a punch to the ribs every damn time.
My phone buzzed, yanking me out of my thoughts. The party crashed back into focus—music, laughter, family everywhere.
I pulled out my phone. LA area code.
Something cold slithered down my spine. Stephy never called from unknown numbers. She had a personal cell, a business cell, and she guarded both like state secrets.
I stepped away from the lights, from the noise, walking toward the shadows at the edge of the party before answering.
"Walker."
There was just breathing. Ragged, broken breathing. Then a sound—half sob, half whimper—that made every protective instinct in my body fire at once.
"Lee..."
Her voice was wrong. Completely wrong. Shattered glass and raw terror and something so broken it made my chest cave in. In all the years I'd known her—through her parents' divorce, through failed relationships, through the exhaustion of touring—I'd never heard her sound like this.
"Stephy?" I gripped the phone harder. "What's wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart."
"He... Lee, he was in my house. He was—" Her voice cracked, splintered apart. "I need you. Please, I need you."
The terror in her voice was visceral, alive, crawling through the phone to wrap around my throat. This wasn't my confident superstar. This wasn't even my vulnerable best friend. This was Stephy stripped down to pure fear.
I staggered back and grabbed the fence behind me. ”Are you safe right now? Are you hurt?” I could barely get the words out, but Ineededto know.
