“Morning.” Hayden smiles kindly.
“Morning,” I manage.
Mikey wiggles his eyebrows. “Sleep well, camera girl?”
My cheeks heat. “Like a corpse.”
Dean’s gaze drags over me. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something taut in his shoulders, something defensive in the way he shifts his weight. I ignore him. Or try to.
“Big day,” Hayden says. “Second show tonight. Cherry needs photo coverage backstage for some promotional materials.”
“Got it.” I nod. Work. Yes. Hold onto that. But Dean chooses this moment, of course he does, to speak. His voice slides in low, soft, edged. “Make sure you get some rest before call time.”
I still. Slowly look at him. The words are neutral. The tone… isn’t. There’s something restrained there. Care buried under control. I lift a brow. “You worried about me?”
For half a second—just one—his mask slips. Then it’s back in place. “Sorry I left in the middle of the night. I’m trying not to make things messy,” he admits quietly.
That lands harder than an insult. My pulse kicks. “Messy for who?”
His jaw flexes. He doesn’t answer right away, and in that silence I see it, the regret, the recalculation, the fear that last night cracked something he doesn’t know how to contain.
“For all of us,” he says finally.
It’s not comfort. It’s not distance either. It’s a man standing in the wreckage, trying to build a wall out of air.
“Got it,” I reply evenly. “Not really what it felt like.”
“Sadie…” He leans in a little closer, hands shoving into his pockets, shoulders rounding forward. “You’re not-” he shakes his head as if trying to clear his thoughts, the next words coming out in a rush. “It meant something.”
His gaze holds mine a beat longer than necessary. Something flickers there—want, maybe. Or fear.
Cherry appears in a sleek black ponytail and a clipboard that looks like it’s carrying all our destinies. “Alright, idiots,” she barks. “Move. We’re blocking off the service hallway to access the arena, and I swear if any of you slow me down, I’ll shove this clipboard somewhere creative.”
Mikey blows her a kiss. “Love you too, Cherry.” Dean pushes off the pillar and follows without looking at me, but I feel his presence like gravity shifting. Like a storm edging closer.
I fall into step beside the crew, camera in hand, heart pounding a rhythm I don’t want to recognize. I tell myself I’m fine. But as we move through the hotel, down the corridor, into the service elevator that will take us toward the day’s chaos, I catch Dean glancing at me in the reflective chrome wall.
Just once. Just long enough to make my chest tighten. He looks away before I can decipher what it means. And just like that, the truth hits me square in the ribs: Last night didn’t break me, but this morning just might.
Later that night, the stadium is still vibrating with leftover adrenaline when the guys come offstage. They’re sweaty; glowing with the kind of high only twenty-thousand screaming fans can give you. My camera is nearly overheating from the number of shots I got.
Mikey tosses a stick into the air and catches it with a wink; Hayden is smiling to himself; Luc is looking at his phone with that soft Lily face he gets. Dean disappears. And of course he does. Avoidance Level: Expert.
I find him ten minutes later in the backstage lounge of the Sapphire Resort ballroom. He’s leaning against a velvet sofa, beer in hand. There are a few girls nearby that are too close, too loud, but something is off. He’s not touching them. Not really. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
He sees me the moment I step in. And then his expression tightens. He looks… caught. Like this isn’t what he wanted me to see, but it’s what he doesn’t know how to stop.
One of the girls laughs and presses a hand to his chest. He stills. Doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t pull her closer. Just stands there. I tell myself not to care, that this is just part of his performance.
Mikey appears at my side. “Ignore him.”
“I am.”
“You’re not. And he’s spiraling.”
That feels closer to the truth. Dean’s gaze flicks to me again. It’s not challenging. Not smug. It’s regretful. Like he’s bracing for the fallout he knows he earned. He looks away first. That’s what breaks me. Because it tells me everything I need to know.
This isn’t a game. This isn’t dismissal. This is a man who’s afraid of what he wants. I turn on my heel and walk out before he can follow, before he can say something he’ll regret or something that will wreck me further.
