It’s a whisper of a memory.
A whole universe packed into two syllables.
He says it like he still has the right.
My vision blurs instantly. I blink hard. It’s useless. Emotion pushes up through my chest, sharp and hot and impossible to swallow. I look away before the tears spill, but it’s too late.
He sees it. His body lurches forward a fraction, instinctive, like he wants to catch the tear before it falls. Liam’s hand tightens, holding him in place.
Around us, the crowd hums. People brushing past, lights shifting, ushers calling out last-minute warnings. The world keeps moving.
But we don’t.
For a suspended moment, it’s just us across a tiny stretch of carpet, hearts pulled tight into a knot that neither of us can cut free from.
A tangled constellation of people surrounds me—Sophie, Liam, Mary, Dmitri, Larisa—all warmth and protection and care.
But my body doesn’t react to them. It reacts to him. Always him. The ache that won’t settle. The frequency I can’t tune out. The gravity that pulls at me like muscle memory.
I have to look away again, because if I don’t, I’ll fall apart right here in the middle of Radio City Music Hall.
The second halfof the concert blurs. The music is flawless—Albinoni, Vivaldi, Brahms. The lighting is unreal. The colors mesmerizing.
But I can feel him behind me. The weight of his gaze, a pressure against my spine. That soft catch in his breath when he’s trying not to say something.
Every note Erin plays reminds me of the cabin. Of the version of myself who thought she could have this—music and family and belonging. The version who didn’t know she was a bet.
I don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll see the man who held my hand in the snow and lied with every breath.
Mary invited us backstage after. To see Erin and meet Luka. To be part of this family’s orbit.
But I can’t. I can’t stand in a room making small talk while Kieran watches me fall apart. I can’t pretend we’re fine for his mother’s sake. I can’t breathe in the same space as him.
We leave before the applause fully dies.
“Come on,” I whisper to Larisa. “Let’s beat the crowds.”
“But Mary said we should come backstage?—”
“I know. I just…” My voice fails. “Not tonight.”
She studies my face for a long second. Then she nods. “Okay. Another time.”
We slip out through a side aisle, the crowd spilling toward the lobby in waves of warm gold and pale green light. Everyone is buzzing, electric with post-concert glow.
Not me.
My nerves feel scraped raw.
Outside, the night has turned miserable. Rain needles sideways under the glowing RADIO CITY MUSIC HALL sign, wind shredding umbrellas that don’t stand a chance.
As we head toward the subway entrance, I turn my head back toward the street.
Kieran stands at the top of the stairs, the marquee casting red and blue ribbons of light across his face. Rain beads in his hair, soaks the shoulders of his coat. He isn’t moving.
He’s searching the crowd.
My pulse stutters.
