We don’t need to be fixed; we just need to begin.
The page filled quickly. Some lines perfect, others scratched out and rewritten, better the second time around.
If loving you is dangerous, then let it be slow.
Let me learn your gravity before I let go.
My hand stilled.
I stared at the words, at how easily they’d come. How naturally they’d spilled from somewhere deep and honest and frightening. Love. A word I’d only ever associated with my mom. With my bandmates. With music. With things I was willing to put before myself. Hell, once upon a time, I’d probably even loved drugs. Loved the way they made me feel. Made me forget.
But this was different.
This wasn’t the love of a child clinging to the woman whoraised him. Or the loyalty between brothers who’d bleed for one another. It wasn’t the rush of a perfect set, or the roar of a crowd screaming my name.
This was quieter. Steadier. Scarier.
Did I love Iggy?
We’d started as reluctant friends, when he’d barged into my life with sassy remarks and clouds of sweet-scented vapour. Became each other’s anchors when the cravings hit hard, when group sessions dug too deep, when recovery felt like a mountain with no summit in sight. We’d found our way back to each other after rehab, growing closer without really noticing, spending more and more time together until this became us.
We’d promised to look out for one another. To stay honest. To hold each other accountable. To prove again and again that we weren’t broken, just dented. And that dented things could still be whole.
So when did it change?
When had it become more than the obvious? More than a kiss and a grind in the KitKatClub. More than sixty-nine in a maintenance closet. More than a fuck in the middle of the night.
When had I fallen in love with him?
The most beautiful part was that I couldn’t pinpoint it. There was no lightning strike. No single moment I could circle and saythere. Only the quiet certainty that it had happened. That somewhere along the way, I’d opened my heart to a pink-haired, chaotic twink with a foul mouth and a head full of dreams. I’d fallen for his clashing colours. His endless talking. His over-the-top dramatics.
I knew Iggy then, and I knew him now.
And somewhere in the space between who we were and who we were learning to become, love took root. Slow. Careful. Still growing.
We weren’t fixed. We were healing.
Together.
And I fucking loved him.
The next morning, I messaged Riff, asking him to gather the guys and bring them to my room. Given what I wanted to discuss, I’d decided to keep Clara in the dark for now. While she genuinely cared about our well-being and would fight for us where she could, at the end of the day, she worked for the label. If she heard anything that could potentially damage the band’s reputation or our relationship with them, she’d be obligated to report it up the chain. I didn’t want to put her in that position. Not until I knew the others were on the same page as me.
Riff waltzed into my room first, followed by Mick, Ghost, and a pale-faced Thump. Based on the smell of beer and regret clinging to him like a second skin, it was obvious he was hungover. He must’ve camped out in the hotel bar until the early hours.
Riff dropped onto my bed and reclined against the pillows. Thump immediately crawled between his legs, curling up and resting his head on Riff’s thigh like it was instinct. Riff’s fingers went straight into Thump’s hair, massaging his scalp, and Thump started purring like a damn kitten. Mick took the cuck chair, while Ghost perched on the edge of the dresser opposite the bed.
I stayed by the window, the notebook in my back pocket feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“So,” Riff said easily. “What’s up?”
On the surface, he looked relaxed. Totally at ease, one hand carding through Thump’s hair while our drummer hoveredsomewhere between consciousness and sleep. But I knew Riff better than I knew myself. I caught the tightness around his eyes. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way his free hand curled into the rumpled sheets. He thought I was about to tell him I’d relapsed. He’d never say it out loud, but the fact that it even crossed his mind made shame settle heavy in my gut.
“I wanted to ask you guys something,” I said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “About the band.”
Ghost frowned, arms crossing over his chest. “Okay?”
“Are you happy?”
