Me: Sure.
When I open the door, he’s standing there like he’s aware that this matters. Hands loose at his sides. No bravado. No armor.
“Hey,” he greets me with a shy smile.
“Hey.”
He steps inside. The door clicks shut. Silence stretches but it’s not heavy. Just expectant. “I didn’t want today to feel weird,” he spits out finally.
“It didn’t,” I answer honestly. “It felt careful.”
His mouth curves faintly. “That’s a new one for me.”
“Same.”
Another pause. Then he exhales. “I don’t want to lose whatever this is. But I also don’t want to rush it just because I’m bad at sitting with tension.”
That lands. “You’re not losing anything,” I reassure him softly. “You’re just learning how to stay present without panicking.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “When you put it like that…”
I step closer. Not touching yet. “What do you want, Dean?”
He doesn’t dodge this time. “I want to try doing this without wrecking it.”
Something warm settles in my chest.
“Okay,” I say. “Then we try.”
He nods once. Steps forward. Close, but waiting. I don’t stop him. The kiss is gentle. Exploratory. Nothing like the hallway fire. This one feels like intention. When he rests his forehead against mine, his breathing is steady.
“I want this with you,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes. Lean into him. “Good.”
Because we’re not healed. But we’re not running either.
And for tonight?—
That’s enough.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dean
Drive
Incubus
We’re leaving Orlando before the sun’s fully up, the buses already humming in the lot like they’re impatient to swallow us. The crew is ahead on their own rigs, which means today is just the band, family, and whoever was smart enough to be quiet.
Atlanta is a few hours away, which on tour time means “blink and you’re there” and also “enough time to ruin your own life if you’re not careful.” I should be thinking about the venue specs, the size of the stage, the way the humidity in Georgia screws with strings. I should be thinking about the new riff I want to try in the bridge of track six.
Instead, I’m thinking about what happened in Sadie’s room last night. Her mouth on mine. Her voice when she said she wants to try. It’s fucking scary as hell, but I’m not running.
Sadie comes out of the hotel with her gear bag and a travel mug and that “I’m awake but don’t test me” expression. She looks good in a casual way that should not be legal before breakfast. Hair in a loose braid, hoodie slung over one shoulder, little sleep-crease on her cheek like a secret.
She spots me waiting in front of our bus. Our eyes lock. No flinch. No retreat. Just that quiet, charged line between us that keeps getting stronger no matter how hard I fight it. I take two steps toward her without thinking. “Morning.”
