Lily stands at the edge of the porch, hair in two messy buns, holding her tablet like it’s treasure. “I, um… I made something. For you.”
She shuffles closer and hands me the screen.
It’s a song.
A simple, sweet melody with shaky chords and a title written in huge block letters:
FOR LUCKY — BECAUSE YOU’RE BRAVE EVEN WHEN YOU DON’T FEEL IT
My throat closes instantly.
Lily’s smile is small but proud. “I know you’ve been sad. So I made you music. You make music for other people… so someone should make some for you too.”
I sit down on the porch step and pull her into a hug so tight she squeaks.
And for the first time today — the first time in a long time — something inside me lifts.
Not healed.
But lighter.
Like maybe I’m not drowning after all.
Chapter 16
Lucky
It’sbeenthreedayssince Banks stalked off my porch with that wounded, furious silence of his, and somehow my chest still hasn’t unclenched. Three full days of replaying every word we threw at each other, every look that cut deeper than either of us meant, every small hurt I pretended didn’t land even though it did. Three days of wanting to call him—wanting to hear his voice steadying me again—and being too stubborn, too ashamed, too wrapped up in my own pride to actually do it.
And the worst part?
I miss him with the strange, persistent ache of a phantom limb, like something that should still be attached but isn’t, something my body keeps reaching for even though it’s gone.
So now I’m pacing the length of the living room, wearing a path into the rug, chewing the inside of my cheek until it stings, glaring at my phone as if it owes me rent, emotional reparations, or at least an answer.
“Just check,” I mutter to myself, because talking to inanimate objects is apparently where I am in life. “There’s no harm in checking.”
I grab the phone. My thumb hovers, trembles a little, then finally commits and taps the app. Banks’s profile opens. My breath catches against my will.
No new posts.
No stories.
Nothing.
Because he is probably giving me space the way I demanded. Because he is the kind of annoyingly decent person who listens when someone tells him to back off, even if it hurts. Because he is a better, steadier, cleaner-hearted human being than I deserve right now.
I huff out a breath, irritated with myself for even caring, and flip back to my own feed—a terrible idea, a reckless emotional impulse, but I do it anyway.
And instantly regret it.
A headline is sitting at the top of the explore page like a neon sign screaming directly into my face:
WHERE DID LUCKY PINK DISAPPEAR TO?
#FindLuckyPink
Rumors she’s in rehab??
