“I’m not talking about the truss.”
I swallow hard. The lights overhead buzz. The hallway smells like fresh paint and old concrete. “Just…” I run a hand over my head. “That sound.”
Luc nods like he always does when something hurts too much to say out loud. “Yeah. I know.” Silence for a beat. Then he asks softly, “You want to sit?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t do the therapist thing. He just stands there, big and solid, a human anchor. “Sadie’s okay.” he assures me.
I flinch at the name. “She’s fine,” I snap automatically, then hate myself. I drag a hand down my face. “She’s fine. I know.”
Luc’s eyes narrow. Not at me. At the truth underneath me. “You scared the shit out of everybody.”
“Good,” I grit out. “Maybe they’ll stop hanging half a venue over people’s heads like it’s normal.”
“Dean.”
“What?”
His voice drops lower. “You scared the shit out of her.”
I stare at the wall. I don’t want to picture her face when I grabbed her. Don’t want to imagine what she saw in me. “She shouldn’t have been up there,” I mutter.
Luc lets out a breath. “Yeah. And you shouldn’t have been watching her that close.”
I whip my head toward him, ready to bite.
He lifts his brow. “You are.”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Because he’s right. Because I was tracking her like she mattered. Because my body moved for her before my brain had a vote. Because I didn’t even hesitate.
Luc watches me chew on that for a second and then add more gently, “You don’t have to punish yourself for having a reflex, man.”
I look down at my hands. They’re still shaking. “I fucking hate that she saw me like that,” I admit on a whisper.
Luc’s expression softens. “She didn’t look scared of you.”
“That’s the problem.”
He doesn’t say the next part, but I hear it anyway: She’s not scared. She cares. My throat seals shut. “Give it a minute,” Luc advises. “Then we go back out. We’ll finish safety checks, do line test, and pretend this was normal tour shit.”
It’s a kindness. I don’t deserve it. I nod once. Luc claps my shoulder lightly. “I’ll talk to Cherry. You breathe. Drink some water.”
“Yeah.”
He starts to walk away, then stops. “Dean?”
I look up.
“Don’t shove her away for being decent.”
My jaw clenches. “Not planning to.”
He holds my gaze like he knows I’m lying. Then he goes. I stay in the corridor another beat, leaning my head back against the wall until the cold settles me. The taste of panic is still in my mouth. So is something else. Something like fear. Not of the lights. Not of the accident. Not even of my own head. Fear of that moment onstage when she said she wouldn’t hurt me. Fear of the fact that I believed her.
I push off the wall and head back toward the wing. Sadie is still there. Not on the riser now. Not in danger. She’s at stage right, talking quietly with Cherry and a tech, nodding as they explain how they’re re-securing the bar. She turns when she senses me, because she always senses me.
Our eyes meet. Her expression is careful. Not pity. Not panic. Just watching. Like she’s giving me space to choose what happens next. I hate that I’m grateful. I hate that she knows I’m grateful.
