Mercs shakes his head. “That whole band was trouble. I’ve had my own run-ins with them. I’m glad they’re gone. If it means you’re safer, Effa, then it’s worth every cent.” His hand tightens around mine again, protective without being overbearing.
“I’m glad I’ll never see Jett Jones again,” I say quietly. “Hopefully, I won’t be stuck in here too long. Once I’m stronger, we can reschedule the tour and find a new opener without too much chaos. Luke put out a press release?”
“Yeah,” Mercs replies. “Something about personal issues within the band. With Jett’s arrest, there’ll be plenty of fallout for them to eat up and not be too worried aboutLuminous. But let’s face it,Swift Divisionmight already be yesterday’s news.”
Alana steps closer, her expression softening. “Eff, I love how committed you are to the tour and the fans, but you just came out of a coma. Your heart stopped. You stopped breathing. Take a minute… please.”
I exhale slowly and glance at Mercs. He gives me a firm nod, the kind that says he agrees completely. His face looks drawn, like he hasn’t slept properly in days, and I hate that I put that look there.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll rest… properly… but not forever. I don’t want the fans thinking we’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
Alana snorts. “They’re not turning on us. They’re flooding our socials with support. E Channel ran a six-hour special last night with concerts, interviews, the works. We’re trending worldwide. If anything, this has amplified everything. Just… maybe don’t nearly die again for publicity.”
I laugh, the sound still fragile. “Noted.”
Her fingers slide into mine and squeeze. “I love you. I’m just glad you’re here.”
My chest tightens at the thought of not being here. Of leaving all of them behind. I tighten my hold on both their hands and look between them.
I’m so lucky.
“So,” I say, turning to Mercs. “How did you go meeting Dad?”
His grin spreads slowly. “Oh, that was a hoot. Let me tell you.”
One Week Later
Over the last week, since waking from my coma, I’ve been deep in rehabilitation mode. Physio, breathing exercises, cognitive checks—every day has felt like a test I’m determined to ace.
Thankfully, everything is tracking well. My motor function is normal, my speech is clear, and apart from the black hole that is that night, my memory is intact.
The doctors are mildly stunned that I’m already walking the distances I am. Apparently, I’m meant to be slower, more fragile, more cautious. Instead, I’ve been pushing, within reason, because that’s just who I am. I do tire more easily than I’d like, though, and that part frustrates me. After an hour upright, my body reminds me it recently went through something catastrophic. These broken ribs are a bitch! But I’m only a week out.
Two months, they say, before I’m back to full strength.
Two months.
Which means the tour delay is longer than I’d hoped. I was naïvely thinking weeks, but that’s clearly not happening. Still, the doctors keep calling my progress ‘remarkable,’ and I’m choosing to lean into that. Positive healing vibes, stubborn determination, and having Dad and Lettie here have helped more than any chart could measure. Something is grounding about your parents being in the room… it’s like their energy alone insists you keep going.
Plus the doctors wrote me a script for narcotics for the pain if I need it, so that helps.
Today, I’m being discharged.
We don’t have every detail mapped out yet, but I trust that we’ll figure it out.
Somewhere to recover properly.
Somewhere steady.
The door swings open, and Mercs steps in, carrying a ridiculous bouquet of flowers and a giant rainbow balloon bobbing above him. I burst out laughing as I zip up my bag.
He sets the flowers down and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Happy coming-home day, baby.”
I turn my head and brush my lips against his. His stubble grazes my skin, familiar and comforting. “And where exactly is home?” I ask, grinning. “It’s not like we’ve got a house waiting.”
He clicks his tongue and tilts his head with exaggerated mystery. “Ah, this is where you’re mistaken.”
I plant a hand on my hip. “Are we talking just you and me, or the whole circus?”
