“Thanks, Banks.”
“Anytime. Now go write something brilliant. And Lucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Proud of you, girl.”
The call ends. I stare at my reflection in the dark phone screen. No stage makeup. No neon hair. Just me.
Just Lucky.
The real one. The messy one. The one who almost died and still woke up wanting more—music, freedom, a life that doesn’t hurt.
And Ethan.
God. Ethan.
I step closer to the window. The lake glows gold. Everything feels like a reset button I never knew existed.
I chose sanity and myself today. And if Ethan wants me the way I want him…
I smile to myself, small and scared and hopeful.
Then maybe I finally get to choosehim, too.
The soft click of the front door unlocking barely grazes my nerves—because I already saw it on the kitchen screen. Motion alert, front sensor: Ethan.
Good. Anyone else and I’d have grabbed the nearest object and hurled it out of instinct.
I don’t go to him. I’m not ready for walls and ceilings yet. Instead, I slide the porch door open and step out onto the deck.
Warm air rushes over me, brushing my skin like something close to forgiveness. The sun is brighter than it has any right to be, and the lake… God, the lake looks unreal. Glassy, endless, shimmering like it’s trying to hypnotize me into slowing down.
I roll up the sleeves of Ethan’s shirt—the one I stole this morning because it smells like him—and the fabric slips higher on my forearms. One is still bandaged. Ethan said it wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but every time I look at it, my stomach sways like I’m back in that trunk or running for my life in the woods.
I’d kill to play my guitar, but my shoulder’s one big bruise, and the rest of me feels like I’ve been through a blender labeled‘Panic.’
A floorboard creaks behind me—heavy, certain footsteps. Ethan's footsteps.
I don’t turn.
His arms slide around me from behind, slow and sure, wrapping me up like he’s been waiting to do it all day. He nuzzles my hair aside and presses his lips to the side of my neck. My eyes flutter shutat the warmth of him, at the scent that is just… Ethan. Smoky, clean, a little wild. Like forest and rain. Like safety, I don’t have to earn.
He doesn’t say anything. Of course, he doesn’t. Silence is his first language.
But right here, with him anchoring me, silence doesn’t hurt.
“It’s so peaceful here,” I murmur, my voice slipping out smaller than intended. “I get why you brought Lily here and why you wanted her to grow up somewhere like this.”
His arms tighten, just a fraction. Enough to say he heard me. Enough to say it matters.
I turn in his hold, sliding my hands up his chest, careful with my bruises. He keeps me locked against him, like he’s scared I’ll dissolve if he lets go.
“I talked to Banks earlier,” I say, searching his face.
A flicker. Barely there. But I see it—the micro-smile he thinks I’m too distracted to catch.
“I told him to find a recording studio in New York,” I continue.
