Three dots appear. Disappear. Come back.
Rafe: You look stupid hot. Thought you should know. Your parents look… intense.
A huff of air escapes me, almost a laugh. My mother glances at me. I school my expression.
Me: That’s their default setting.
Another buzz.
Rafe: Hey, Captain. No matter what team calls your name, I’m proud of you. So fucking proud.
My throat tightens.
No one’s told me outright where I’ll go. The mock drafts talk. The commentators talk. Even Eric says, “We’re looking at top three, comfortably.” But no one can guarantee anything. Trades happen. Surprises happen. Owners change their minds.
It’s not in my hands anymore.
But there’s one thing I’ve been holding on to, quiet and stubborn and maybe a little selfish: I want to stay in LA.
Not just because it’s familiar. Not just because of sunshine or traffic or the fact that I’ve built a life there these past three years. Or even because it’s far away from my parents.
Because of him.
Because from the night he tugged me into a music store and put a guitar in my hands to the morning we stumbled out of a Vegas chapel with two rings made of guitar string and too much champagne in our blood, he’s been the part of my life that feels most like mine.
I text as fast as I dare.
Me: If it’s not here, I don’t know how we’ll see each other.
It’s been the heavy boulder on my chest since I officially threw my name into the draft. Rafe’s career is taking off—studio time, showcases, meetings, all of it happening fast—and every step of it keeps him in LA. Permanently.
He signed the contract in March.
He’shere.
Rooted.
Growing.
Taking off.
I’m proud of him. God, I’m proud of him. But a part of me is terrified that I’m about to get drafted to the other side of the country and leave the one thing in my life that feels truly mine.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering.
Rafe: Don’t think about that.
Three dots appear before his message.
Rafe: Stop worrying.
And then, like he can feel my pulse beating too fast from across the city:
Rafe: We’ll make it work. I’m not going anywhere. I’m locked in here for years, remember? Studio’s in LA. Label’s here. Apartment’s here. My life’s here.
Another bubble.
Rafe: And you’re part of that life. So whatever team calls your name tonight, whatever city flashes on that screen—you and me? We work around it. We find each other. Every damn time.
