Page 14 of The Song We Lost

My hands go to his hair. It is as much to keep me upright as it is to feel my hands on him. My fingers tangle in his mess of dark hair, as I chant his name, "Luke... fuck... Luke... I am so close... don't stop."

He slips in a second finger and twists and pumps in and out of me until my entire body locks up and I am cuming. He continues to suck while he slows his fingers. When my body starts to relax, he places my leg back down and stands. Withoutwords, he pulls his t-shirt up over his head, revealing his expanse of chest, abs and tattoos, then his belt buckle is next. I watch transfixed as he undoes his jeans and they fall to the ground, his boxer briefs follow, and then I am being lifted, spun until my back is against the wall, and Luke is pushing inside me. He kisses me with a fierce intensity, and I can taste myself on his tongue. I hold on to him as he pistons in and out of me, his hard body moving fast.

"I love you!" He moans out.

I get lost in us, in the feel of him on me and in me, the feel of himeverywhere. His scent, his sweat. Then we are moving again, and he drops us both on the bed, slowing his pace. Angling my hips and grinding his pelvis on me, setting off another orgasm. It rips through me so suddenly that I scream out. Luke follows shortly after, but he doesn't move, like he can't bear to separate from me, move away from this.

The pace of the tour, the emotional rollercoaster of us, the love we just made, it all pulls me under. I wake in foggy moments of Luke cleaning me up with a warm cloth, whispering sweet words, him tucking me in and then falling, secure in his arms, a tear of joy slipping free as I am pulled back into sleep.

By the beginning of the second week, the buzz is real. Social media lights up, with fan-recorded clips circulating. Reviews hit, and my team is giddy, barely able to hide it.

Rachel pulls me aside after soundcheck. “There’s already interest in extending the run,” she says carefully. “A few more cities. Maybe a few extra dates at locations where we are already booked and are now selling out. Nothing official yet.”

I glance at Luke across the room. He’s laughing with my drummer and seems so relaxed.

“Let’s see how this week goes,” I say.

I want this time.

I wanthim.

That night, he watches from the wings again, but his phone buzzes once. Then twice. He checks it quickly, like he thinks I won’t notice.

But, I noticed.

He still kisses me after the show, still tells me he’s proud, but something has shifted.

By the end of the second week, it’s impossible to ignore. He’s physically here, standing beside me at catering tables, walking with me through venue corridors, but his attention drifts. He steps away to take calls. Keeps his voice low. Apologizes with a look instead of words.

I don’t ask who it is. I’ve learned not to. Asking never stopped it.

At lunch, someone from the label drops into the conversation casually. “We should talk about collaborations again, Bailey. The fans are begging for it. We could work it into the show, maybe co-write something during the tour. It would line up with what you are already doing out there with your solo sets.”

I smile politely. “I’m good for now.”

They press anyway. “Jackson Reed’s team reached outagain.”

I shake my head. “No.”

Luke is quiet beside me.

That night, lying in bed after the show, I stare at the ceiling while he scrolls on his phone. A memory slips in, uninvited.

A dive bar in Nashville, barely fifty people inside. Sticky floors. Christmas lights strung too low. The place everyone whispered about, where scouts showed up if you were lucky.

We played originals that night.

All songs we’d written together.

Luke on guitar, eyes locked on me like the rest of the room didn’t exist. My voice shook at first, then steadiedas the crowd leaned in. When we finished, the applause felt too big for the space. We’d walked home buzzing, talking over each other, dreaming out loud.

There was no fear back then. No resentment.

Just us and the music.

I think that was the last time we were like that together.

That can't be right, can it?