Page 100 of The Song We Lost

“Luke Carter,” she squeals. “Oh my god.”

She wraps an arm around me like she’s entitled to it. I don’t even know her name.

She lifts her phone. “Smile!”

I don’t.

The picture still gets taken, and that’s all the world needs. Another image of me with another woman. Another piece of proof for a narrative I never agreed to.

I push away from the bar, heart racing, stomach twisting.

I want my phone.

I want to call Bailey.

I want to hear her voice even if she tells me to go to hell.

I search the crowd for Dave. He’s talking to someone in the corner, already watching the room like he’s tracking assets. When he finally notices me, he looks annoyed.

“What?” he mouths over the music.

“My phone,” I snapped when I reached him.

Dave’s jaw tightens. “Not here.”

“I need it.”

“No,” he says, calm and firm. “Not right now.”

“I want to call Bailey.”

“Why?” he scoffs. “Pickanyother women here tonight if you need to take the edge off.”

“She’s still my wife,” I hissed, close enough that he could hear me. “I’m not moving on.”

Dave’s expression changes, just slightly. Like he’s tired. Like he’s done pretending.

“For how long?” he asks.

I stare at him, pulse hammering.

“As long as it takes,” I growl.

Dave leans in, voice low. “She’s not waiting, Luke.”

My stomach drops.

“What did you say?”

Dave shrugs like it’s obvious. “She’s out there living. She’s smiling. She’s touring. She’s building something without you. You can either let that destroy you, or you can lean into what they already think you are.”

“I don’t care what they think,” I snap.

“You say that,” Dave replies, cold now, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

I shove past him.

I need air.