Her expression softens, but she doesn’t rush in to make it easier.
“I’m not Megan,” she says gently.
The name lands like a weight on my chest.
“I know,” I answer. “But what happened with Megan changed me. I don’t walk into things lightly anymore.”
“And I’m not asking you to walk in lightly,” she replies. “I’m asking you to walk in honestly.”
That hits deeper than anything else she’s said tonight.
The waitress returns with our food, and whatever else I might have confessed gets swallowed up by the interruption.We finish dinner in quieter conversation—not pretending nothing happened, but not fully resolving it either. There’s a fragility to the space between us now, as if we’re both aware how easily it could crack.
When we leave, I don’t walk ahead of her as I usually do. I stay beside her. We start to cross the street toward my truck. On instinct, I survey our surroundings for any potential threats—vehicles parked too close to us, a man standing too close to be a coincidence, anything out of the ordinary.
A gray sedan like the one parked across from the gym catches my eye, a few cars down the street from us. It’s vacant this time, but it has the same tinted windows. If only it were idling, I’d know for sure by the noise the faulty gas pump makes. I don’t say anything to Andi as I open the passenger door and get her safely inside.
“Sit still for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
She frowns in confusion but nods in agreement. “Okay.”
I take a short stroll down the street, turn behind the gray sedan to get the license plate, then walk straight back to my truck.
The club is louderthan usual when we arrive, the energy humming in a way that feels almost charged. We make our way to our usual table just as Brandon appears through the crowd, that easy confidence of his irritating me since we were kids.
Of course, he’s here. He isn’t even looking at me. He’s looking at her instead.
“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” I mutter.
Andi stands to hug him, like everything is fine, like my chest isn’t tightening as I watch.
“What are you doing here, Brandon?” I ask.
“Alicia mentioned that Andi was singing tonight,” he says smoothly. “We wanted to hear her.”
We.
I follow his gaze and see Alicia and Greg making their way toward us. After introductions, chairs are rearranged, and the conversation swells.
At some point, I remove my hand from the back of Andi’s chair without thinking, and Brandon’s arm slides into the empty space as if he’s been waiting for it. The sight sparks something territorial in me before I can stop it.
“Dance with me,” I say, taking her hand.
On the dance floor, the music slows, and I pull her close. She fits against me as if she belongs there, as the space between us has always been temporary. I brush a kiss against her cheek and feel a slight shiver run through her.
“Andi,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to see her face.
She looks up at me, eyes soft yet guarded, as if she’s waiting to see which version of me she’ll get tonight.
Before I can say what’s sitting at the back of my throat, someone taps her shoulder. “You’re up in ten minutes.”
She nods and looks back at me. “You ready?”
I follow her backstage, the noise of the club dulling as we slip behind the curtain.
She pulls it aside, and I step into the set.
It isn’t flashy. It’s intimate. A bed is angled in the corner under soft lighting. Roses and a glass of wine are placed carefully on a small table. It feels vulnerable in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
