I snort softly. “You’re telling me this giant drummer is the baby of the family?”
“Unfortunately.” Luc sighs. “We spoil him. It’s a problem.”
“Not a problem for her,” I note, nodding toward Larkin, who is now wiping frosting across Mikey’s cheek with the seriousness of a painter at work.
Luc chuckles. “Yeah, she’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”
“I get it,” I admit. “I’ve got a younger sister. Quinn. Total menace but a total sweetheart. I would’ve let her paint frosting on my face too.”
Luc turns to me, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I admit, a little shy but warmed by the admission. “She’s actually a massive fan. Like, embarrassingly massive. If it’s not weird, could I maybe bring her backstage at the New York show? It would make her entire life.”
Luc doesn’t hesitate. “Done,” he replies immediately. “Text me her info and I’ll put her on the list myself.”
My heart lifts. “Seriously?”
Luc grins. “Sadie, you’re family. And if your sister’s half as cool as you, we’ll be lucky to have her around.”
I try not to blush. I fail, miserably. Before I can respond, Larkin chooses that moment to shriek with joy and smash a fist of cake into Dean’s chest, frosting exploding like a confectionary crime scene.
Dean gasps dramatically, clutching his heart. “She has betrayed me!”
Lily doubles over laughing. Hayden snaps a photo. Luc mutters, “Pathetic,” but he’s smiling. Dean looks down at the streak of frosting and shakes his head. “Great. Perfect. Just what I wanted to wear today.”
Larkin squeals and reaches for him with sticky fingers. And Dean, Dean Ross, king of emotional distance, breaker of hearts, professional runner, leans in so she can pat frosting onto his cheek. And he smiles. Not the smirk. Not the rockstar grin. A real one.
I snap the photo before I can even think. He catches the sound of the shutter. Looks up. Sees me. For a moment something passes between us; something soft, unguarded, impossible to name. My breath catches. Then he looks away. Of course he does.
And me I’m capturing all of it. The joy, the mess, the family they’ve built, all while starting to feel something soft settle under my ribs. Something I didn’t expect. Something I’m not sure I’m ready to name.
Later that night, the band moves up to the roof of the hotel to watch the fireworks over the Mississippi River. It’s humid and breezy, the skyline hazy with heat, the air already carrying faint pops from smaller shows around the city.
Lily went to put Larkin to bed, and Luc followed. Hayden and Mikey ran downstairs to grab more drinks. So somehow, inexplicably, undeniably, I end up alone with him on the rooftop patio.
Dean stands at the railing, hands gripping the metal, forearms tense. His shirt clings to him in the sticky heat. I tell myself I’m looking at the city, not at him. I lie to myself a lot lately.
He glances over, just a flicker. “You don’t have to stand way over there.”
I blink. “Am I?”
He huffs a sound that might be a laugh. “You’re practically in Arkansas.”
I take a few steps closer. Not close enough for him to think I’m trying. But close enough to be polite. The first firework explodes over the river, a red burst that reflects on the water like spilled paint.
Dean tilts his chin up. His profile is sharp against the glow. He says nothing for a minute. Then, quietly, “Thanks for not… making a big deal about what happened.”
My heart stutters. “Dean…”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “Just. Yeah. Thanks.”
I swallow. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I have a feeling you already know more than you should,” he mutters.
Another firework goes off. It’s blue this time, and loud, echoing across the river. Dean flinches, barely. A tiny twitch of his fingers on the railing. He thinks I don’t see it. I do.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
