My throat tightens, sharp with something I almost don’t recognize. Hope.
I have been hers since the first day she smiled at me, back when I thought I was too much of a mess to deserve anything steady, before I even knew what broken was. Now she is sitting there singing me back to life.
Linkin’s elbow digs into my ribs. “Big guy,” he mutters with a grin, “you’re looking at her like you just got hit by a truck.”
I don’t even blink. “Fuck off.”
Linkin snorts and lets it go, because he can see what everyone else can: I am gone. Completely, stupidly gone.
Every lyric lands like a strike to the ribs, every chord a truth we have never said out loud but somehow always knew.
She loves me.
When the final note settles, the room erupts. She stands, with her shoulders back, chin lifted, owning every bit of the attentionshe deserves. The confidence rolling off her is its own kind of music, and my heart slams hard against my ribs.
She chose me. That truth hits with the same force as the applause.
Celeste makes her way back to the table, still carrying the gravity of the stage with her. Linkin is practically vibrating. Shiloh gives her a slow, impressed nod.
“That was unreal,” Shiloh says. “We need to get in the studio and record that. I’m not kidding.”
Celeste laughs, and the whole table cracks up with her. Even I manage a low breath of a laugh, though my chest is still too full to hold much else.
She slides into the booth beside me, and the need to be near her takes over. My arm goes around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. She fits there like she was always meant to.
I lean in, voice low enough that only she can hear. “Hell of a way to tell me.”
She tilts her head back, those electric eyes finding mine with absolute certainty. “You deserved a song.”
The music hums in the background, a new guy with a guitar, decent, but the air still hums with the electricity she left behind, and nothing else even comes close.
The waitress slips in beside the booth and sets a sweating glass in front of Celeste. “Someone at the bar wanted to send this over,” she says with a friendly smile. “She said your song wrecked her in the best possible way.”
“Oh wow, that’s really sweet,” Celeste says, a little surprised.
The waitress nods toward the bar. “Red hair, green jacket, she’s at the end of the bar.”
All of us turn, but there’s no redhead—just a bald guy standing awkwardly next to a couple making out. The waitress frowns. “Well, she was there a second ago. She must’ve stepped out.”
Linkin elbows Celeste. “Look at you with your mysterious admirers. Maybe one day you’ll finally make it big and be able to buy your own drinks.”
Celeste smiles as she shoots him a wink. “That’s the dream.”
The waitress walks away, and the table roars back to life.
Before Celeste can lift the glass to her mouth, every instinct I have spikes in me. My hand twitches toward hers before I can stop it, but Linkin catches the movement and groans.
“Lucian, man, relax. Nobody knows we’re here. Let the woman have a drink.”
Shiloh adds, “You’re hovering. It’s cute, but unnecessary.”
Maybe they are right. Everything’s been quiet since we moved to Shadow Grove. Orion hasn’t seen any signs that the person who destroyed Celeste’s rig and orchestrated her attack ever left Virginia. There’s no reason anyone would know where we are tonight. With Celeste leaning into my side, proud of what she just did on stage, I let it go.
Against every protective instinct I have, I let her enjoy the moment.
Celeste laughs at a joke I missed, cheeks flushed from adrenaline. “I kinda missed this. This is how Rowan found me,” she says. “Before Umbra. Just me and a piano.”
I look between her and her friends. “I don’t think I know how Umbra started. Could you tell me the story?”
