My heart is hammering. My throat burns. But I keep my spine straight.
He doesn’t get my collapse.
Not tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
Sadie
Last Kiss
Pearl Jam
The next morning feels different. Not the good different. Not the hopeful different.
The… God, why does my chest feel like this different.
I drag my suitcase down the hallway, my camera strap cutting a diagonal across my torso like a seatbelt I don’t remember buckling. There’s a knot in my stomach I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist since I opened my eyes. The lobby is a mess of cases and carts, rolling trunks, crew shirts with headsets, and the kind of early-morning chaos you only see on tour. Everyone’s moving with purpose. Everyone except me.
I see the band before they see me. Hayden is talking to Cherry about load-in times, Mikey is trying to shove three muffins into his pockets while drinking a Red Bull, and Dean, Dean is leaning against the same marble column as yesterday, arms crossed, head tipped back, looking like sin and trouble and every bad decision I shouldn’t have let in my room the other night. All I notice is that damn chain around his neck, and the urge to go over and use it to strangle him is strong.
He sees me. His expression doesn’t change. Not even a flicker. I inhale slowly through my nose, give myself a silent pep talk, and step forward like I didn’t spend half the night trying not to cry.
Lily waves the moment she notices me. She’s bouncing Larkin gently against her chest, the baby’s fist clutching a handful of her shirt. “Morning!” she sings, smiling like she always means it.
I manage a smile back. “Hey. Need help with anything?”
“Nope,” she chirps. “Just waiting for the boys to decide who’s sitting where.”
“Like kindergarten,” I mutter.
She laughs, nodding. “Basically.”
Dean pushes off the column with a theatrical stretch, muscles flexing in a way that is absolutely, one-hundred-percent intentional. He doesn’t look at me. But he knows I see him. Of course he does.
Luc appears beside me like he materialized out of thin air, calm and observant as ever. “You alright?” he asks.
I nod a little too quickly. “Yep. Just tired.”
He studies me - really studies me, with those deceptively gentle eyes. And because Luc misses nothing, he offers softly, “If you want a quieter ride today, we’ve got a free seat. Bus is calmer with Lily and Larkin onboard.”
My breath catches. Because yeah. I do want space from Dean. I do want quiet. I do want a break from pretending I’m made of steel. But admitting that feels like losing something.
Before I can answer, Dean laughs loudly at something Mikey says; one of those big, exaggerated laughs guys use when they’re performing for a particular audience. My jaw tics. Luc doesn’t push. He just gives me a small, knowing nod, like he already has my answer.
“I’d appreciate it.” I nod gratefully.
“Perfect.” He flashes a smile so wide, dimples appear. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving in ten.”
Dean’s head snaps up. His eyes lock onto mine like I’ve done something unspeakable. Something personal. Then his gaze flicks to Luc. Then back to me. A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he doesn’t say a word. He just turns away, laughing again, too loud, too forced, throwing an arm around a crew member like he suddenly cares deeply about this conversation. He’s pissed. Good. He can stew in it. He doesn’t get to pretend we’re nothing and then get mad when I do the same.
I climb onto Luc and Lily’s bus a few minutes later, stepping into warm lighting, soft music, and a space that feels lived-in but peaceful. The exact opposite of the testosterone fog that hangs over the other bus.
Lily settles onto the couch, still bouncing Larkin. “Hey, sweetie. Sit, get comfy.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, sliding into the opposite bench.
Luc disappears briefly and returns with two steaming mugs. “One decaf,” he reports with a small smile as he hands Lily that cup. “I live to serve.”
