“I know.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I know. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe me patience. Or kindness. But last night, on that roof, the other day on the stage, on the side of the road-”
“Don’t,” she whispers, interrupting me.
“Let me finish.” My chest is tight. “You didn’t run when you could’ve. You didn’t use what you saw. You don’t make me feel like I’m broken.”
Her throat moves as she swallows.
“I’m not sure I deserve that,” I add.
Sadie exhales shakily. “You don’t have to deserve it for it to be true.”
I stare at her. She’s not angry. Not desperate. Not trying to fix me. She’s just… there. And that does something lethal to the last wall I’ve been holding. I lift a hand, slow, giving her every chance to stop me. My fingers skim her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She leans into my touch like its instinct. Like she’s been waiting. I don’t think. I just pull her closer and kiss her. It’s not gentle. Not at first. But it is like a collision, weeks of heat and denial and fear cracking open at once. Her mouth parts on a breath and I go in like I’ve been starving, one hand in her hair, the other at her waist, holding her steady as the ground shifts.
Sadie makes a sound; it’s soft, stunned, surrendered and it wrecks me. I deepen it, slow and hot, tasting her like a promise I’m terrified to make. She kisses me back with that same quiet fire she has behind a lens, the kind that says I see you, and I’m not afraid.
Her hands slide up my chest, gripping my shirt, pulling me closer. I don’t let go. I can’t.
The world narrows to her mouth, her breath, the way she fits against me like she was always meant to be here. My heart is slamming against my ribs, not from panic this time, but from something brighter and far more dangerous. When I finally break the kiss, my forehead rests against hers. We’re both breathing hard.
Sadie’s eyes are glossy and shocked and glowing. “What was that?” she whispers.
I swallow. The truth is a blade. “Me not being stupid,” I murmur. Then I shake my head once, because that’s not right. Not anymore. “Me trying to being honest.”
Her lips curve. Small. Trembling. “I’ll take honest.”
I brush my thumb over her lower lip. “Good.” I nod, and the word comes out like a vow.
We stand there another second, surrounded by tourists and legend and heat, and somehow it still feels private. Like the whole world stepped back to give us room.
Sadie lets out a breath and leans her head against my chest like she belongs there. I don’t stop her. I don’t pull away. I wrap an arm around her and stare out at the airplane, at the open Tennessee sky, at the ghost of a man who loved hard and lost hard, and I think to myself that maybe love doesn’t go away. Maybe it just waits until you’re brave enough to hold it again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sadie
Black Velvet
Alannah Myles
Memphis on a day off feels like someone turned the volume down on the whole world. No schedule taped to my door. No crew storms, no stage calls, no fluorescent backstage buzz. Just quiet sunlight through hotel curtains and the way my body still doesn’t know what to do with rest.
Or with Dean Ross and the kiss he gave me yesterday like he’d been starving. I wake up with it on my mouth. The memory hits me in phases. The wind on the bike, the white columns of Graceland, his voice turning soft when he talked about Elvis like a hymn. And then that moment by the plane where he looked at me like he didn’t know how to keep breathing unless I was close enough to steal it.
And then he did. With one kiss. I press the back of my hand to my lips and stare at the ceiling like it’s going to offer guidance. Of course, it doesn’t. But my phone buzzes and I wonder what kind of message the universe might be sending me.
* * *
Lily: Girls’ day? I’m stealing you. Lobby in 20. Wear something cute.
* * *
I smile despite myself. Lily doesn’t steal people unless they need stealing. I roll out of bed, shower, and throw on a simple white tee and denim shorts, and sneakers for once because Memphis heat is not here for my boot nonsense today. I clip my hair up, grab my camera out of habit, then stop and set it back down. Today I’m not documenting. Today I’m just going to try existing.
The lobby is calmer than yesterday. Most of the hotel looks like a normal place again. Lily is near the coffee bar with Larkin on her hip and a sun hat perched on her head like she’s auditioning for a summer rom-com.
“You look adorable.” I smile at her.
