“That’s fair,” he says.
I swallow, fingers tightening around the mug. “And I’m happy for Drew and Eli,” I add, because it’s the other thing lodged in my chest today. “I am. I swear.”
Miles’s gaze sharpens. “You’re about to say something dumb.”
“I’m not saying dumb,” I protest. “I’m saying real.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m happy for them,” I repeat, more firmly. “I love that they found their people. That they get to go home to someone who knows them. That they get to be… chosen. Publicly. Without hiding.”
Miles doesn’t blink. He just waits.
I huff a breath. “But sometimes it’s hard to sit at dinner and watch them do the normal married shit,” I admit. “Like passing a plate and touching each other’s wrists and making vacation plans like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”
A beat.
“It makes you miss—” Miles starts.
“Don’t,” I cut in, sharp. Too fast. Too defensive. The word snaps out of my mouth before I can soften it.
Miles’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes do. Understanding, sympathy, maybe even frustration that he can’t fix it.
I roll the mug between my palms, eyes on the steam. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s fine,” he says, but it isn’t. Not really. Because the thought still makes me wince.
The only other single guy in the band is Miles. The one who isn’t bringing a spouse to events. The one who can still flirt without it feeling like betrayal.
The idea of calling myself single makes something in my chest twist.
I’m not. I’m just… alone.
The doorbell rings, saving me.
Miles stands and heads for the door. “Speak of the devils.”
I hear voices a second later—Drew’s booming laugh first, then Eli’s softer tone under it, then Seth and Vinny, who by some miracle have stuck with us after all these years, arguing about something that sounds aggressively unimportant. The familiar sound of my family, my chaos, my band.
They file in like they own the place, which they kind of do.
Drew is still Drew—big personality, bigger smile, wedding band gleaming like he wants the world to know he’s locked down. He kisses Miles’s cheek on the way in like it’s nothing and then points at me.
“There he is,” he says. “Our international superstar. How’s your soul?”
“Dead,” I answer.
Eli snorts, leaning in to bump my shoulder with his. His wedding ring is simple, not flashy. But it sits like it belongs there. Like it was always meant to.
“Dramatic,” Eli says.
“Accurate,” I reply.
Vinny flops into the chair beside the couch like gravity has personally betrayed him. “I swear to God,” he says, “if one more person asks me what it’s like working withthe legendary Steel Saints, I’m going to fake my own death.”
Seth grins. “You should. Then maybe you won’t have to carry the gear.”
Vinny flips him off.
