“We miss you, boo!” Eli’s voice is unmistakable, loud even through a phone speaker.
“Eli,” Rachael snaps. “Stop shouting.”
“I’m not shouting,” Eli yells immediately, proving her point.
Drew says, suddenly closer to the mic, like he’s leaned in, “How’s Minnesota? Is it cold enough to kill a man?”
“Cold enough to make you a eunuch,” Rafe answers, his eyes flicking to me with a big grin.
Rachael clears her throat loudly. “Okay, children, I have news.”
Eli makes a dramatic choking sound. “She said ‘children.’ We’re being scolded.”
“Eli,” Rachael warns.
“Sorry,” he says immediately, then adds, “not sorry.”
Rafe looks at me across the island, eyes brightening in anticipation. The carefulness from earlier is still there, but this—this is familiar. This is his world. This is something he can hold without fear.
“What’s up?” he asks.
Rachael exhales like she’s been waiting for this moment and also dreading it because of the chaos. “You’ve been invited to perform at the LUMINA Awards.”
There’s a half second of stunned silence.
Then Eli screams, “NO!”
Drew shouts something incoherent.
Miles laughs, disbelieving. “Rachael.”
Rachael’s voice is tight with satisfaction. “Yes. The LUMINA. Live performance slot. Prime time.”
Rafe’s mouth parts slightly, like his brain has short-circuited. I feel it in my chest anyway. The surge of pride. The sharp warmth. Because I know what that means.
That isn’t just a gig. That’s a line crossed. That’s legitimacy stamped on their foreheads in permanent ink.
Rachael continues, cutting through the noise, “And you’ve been nominated.”
Eli makes a strangled sound. “For what?”
Her voice turns crisp and official. “Two categories. Song of the Year for ‘Hollow Ground.’”
Rafe’s eyes widen so fast it’s almost comical. He grips the edge of the counter like he needs something solid.
“Hollow Ground” is the song he wrote half asleep in our apartment, voice hoarse, guitar low. The one he played for me first with that vulnerable look that always undoes me. The one that felt like a confession even when the world thought it was just good lyrics.
Rachael’s voice stays steady. “And Best Rock Performance.”
Eli yells, “WE’RE GOING TO THROW UP.”
“We’re not,” Miles says, voice shaking anyway. “We’re not throwing up.”
“I’m throwing up,” Drew announces.
“Stop it,” Rachael snaps, but I can hear the smile in her tone now. “The show is April fifth. In LA. You’ll have rehearsals the week prior. I’ll send the details, and—yes, before you ask—the label is thrilled. Everyone’s thrilled. You are going to behave.”
Eli laughs hysterically. “We can’t behave. We’re nominated.”
