“Do you want something to eat?” I ask as she lowers herself onto the couch.
“Not really. Grant brought food when he picked us up.”
I assess her, my stomach flooding with warmth. She’s in an oversized white tee and black leggings, her hair spilling over her shoulders. The dark circles under her eyes are gone, and the color has returned to her face. She looks healthier than she did a week ago.
“Piper called before I left. She asked if I’d check on you.”
Of course. They’ve sent her to check on me at least a dozen times. Why wouldn’t they now?
“What did you say?” I ask.
“That I’m busy today, but I’d let her know once I had time to come over.”
“Little does she know, you have all the answers to the questions eating at her.”
She pushes me away, giggling. “Stop. I already feel like a traitor.”
Her laughter is melodic. Why didn’t I notice it earlier? Its timbre is perfect, deep and soft.
“Then we’re both traitors, Ry baby. We’re in this together.” I angle in to hug her, but she frowns, her body stiffening. So, I shift back and settle into the cushions. “Feeling settled in yet?”
“More or less. Though it will take some time for me to get used to living with you.”
“But we’ve lived together before.”
“Not really,” she says. “I stayed with you. It was more of a visit.” She points toward the hallway, where Nastya’s husband and I stacked six boxes. “Now I need to figure out how to fit my whole life into your guest room.”
I huff. “Nonsense. You can put your things anywhere.”
“You might regret saying that once you see how much I brought.”
“Ry baby, I helped you pack. Trust me, I know.”
She giggles. “But you left before we were finished. You have no idea how much crap I brought.”
I laugh, holding my hands out in front of me in surrender. “Got it. How do you feel about inviting Nastya and her husband over for dinner later?”
Her eyes go wide and unblinking. Part confusion, part hope, I think.
Only now do I realize how the suggestion sounds. That’s the kind of thing couples do with their friends, and we’re not a couple. We are just friends. Friends who are expecting a baby together.
Fuck, even that sounds ridiculous.
“No pressure, obviously.”
“Thanks.” Her lips quirk into a smile. “Grant would say yes before Nastya even had the chance to think. He’s a big Sabotage fan.”
“Good to know.”
We fall quiet. The moment turns a little awkward, mostly becauseI’m in my head. I want to show her I’m here for her, that I won’t keep secrets from her.
So, I catch a lock of her blue hair with my fingers and muster the courage to open up. “I know we could’ve figured out another way to keep the paparazzi away from you, but I really think moving you in is the best solution. If we won’t be seen together, you’d be just another person who lives in the building.” I hold her gaze, my temperature rising. “After Owen’s death, I’m scared shitless I’ll miss important signs. I don’t want to not be there when someone needs me again. If you’re sick, I want to take care of you. If you’re scared, I want to hold your hand. If you’re not in the mood to talk to me or just feel like being quiet—I need to know. I can’t risk not knowing. I can’t risk brushing something off and then losing you too.”
“Thank you, Hade. It means a lot.” She covers my hand with hers on the back of the couch. “Will you tell me what happened with Owen? You blame yourself, but I don’t understand why.”
“I don’t even know where to start.” I hang my head and rub the back of my neck, the words tasting like lead. “It wasn’t like one day he just…decided. It was building—quiet, slow. Owen loved Ines so much. She was his queen, the love of his life. Their relationship was perfect. She was the band’s photographer, so she traveled with us. Witnessing their love was one of the greatest joys. But when Santi was born, Owen changed. He grew quieter and always seemed tired. At first, I thought it was exhaustion—touring, recording, sleepless nights with the baby. But then he’d say things like, ‘Sometimes, it feels like this whole family thing isn’t for me.’ He’d laugh, try to shrug it off, but the words stuck with me. A week later, he’d tell me how disgusted he was with himself for even thinking that because he loved Ines and Santi.
“He was there for them both most days. He was a good dad, playing with his little boy and reading stories before bed. But some days were dark. I’d find him alone, in the corner of the studio, eyes empty. He said he thought he was broken. That sometimes when Santi hugged him, he didn’t feel anything.”
