Some waving rainbow flags. A couple holding handmade signs. One with a Steel Saints shirt under a bright scarf.
It’s chaos.
I feel Seth tense in the front seat.
Vinny’s voice is steady. “You sure you want to do it this way?”
“As agreed,” I say.
Rachael’s order. No underground entry today. No sneaking. No giving them the narrative of “they’re hiding.”
We go in through the front like we belong here. Because we do.
Vinny pulls up to the curb, and the cameras go off immediately—rapid-fire clicks like hail.
The shouting starts.
“RAFE! RAFE! ARE YOU HERE FOR OLLIE?”
“IS IT TRUE YOU’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR TWELVE YEARS?”
“RAFE, DID OLLIE CHEAT?”
“ARE YOU MOVING TO MINNESOTA?”
“OLIVER MARSHALL—IS HE YOUR HUSBAND?”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. The urge to snap back rises hot and fast. I want to tell them to go to hell and call them vultures. It’s on my tongue to remind them that a knife was pulled at a charity event, and somehow the headline they care about is a marriage. But I hear Rachael in my head like she’s sitting on my shoulder:
Do not antagonize. Do not feed it. Calm. Controlled. Let them look like the ones out of line.
Fine. I can do calm. I can do controlled. Hell, I’ve been performing my whole adult life.
I open the door and step out. Instantly, the noise swells. Miles comes out beside me, calm as ever. Seth and Vinny move in practiced formation—subtle barriers, eyes scanning, bodies positioned like shields without making a show of it.
I lift my hand in a small wave and smile. My rock-star persona slides into place like armor.
I’m not smug or cocky. I’m aiming for polite and unbothered. The questions keep coming, and I don’t answer a single one. Instead, I keep smiling and glance toward the fans and give them a second, more genuine wave.
One of them squeals. Another shouts, “We love you!”
I nod once, appreciative, and then my gaze shifts up to the building, to the windows above.
Somewhere up there is Ollie. Freaking out for the last twenty-four hours with this circus outside his door.
My stomach dips.
Miles murmurs, barely audible, “Keep going.”
We move toward the entrance. The press surge, held back by an invisible line of security and the fact that Vinny looks like he could break someone in half if they try it.
At the doors, I pause for half a heartbeat, not because I need to, but because I know every camera will catch it. I tip my chinslightly toward the crowd and offer a final calm smile before stepping inside.
The noise muffles instantly, like someone turned down the volume on the world.
My body exhales. Miles lets out a breath too. Seth speaks to the doorman, low and clipped, while Vinny’s hand lands briefly between my shoulder blades, guiding.
“Almost there,” he murmurs.
