Page 51 of The Song We Lost

That prickle at the base of my neck. That instinct that says:he’s here.

I turn without meaning to, and I lock eyes with Luke across the room.

He looks wrecked. Not just hungover. Not just tired. Wrecked in the way a person looks when they’ve been hollowed out and are still trying to stand upright.

His eyes are wild, angry... desperate. And for one split second, I see the boy I used to know underneath it all. Then it’s gone, buried under whatever he’s become.

My heart gives one brutal, useless thud. I turn away and I start walking, fast, purposeful, toward the exit. But the room keeps swallowing me. People stop us.

Hands extend, with congratulations, questions and requests to stop for the cameras.

Jackson stays at my shoulder, moving with me like a shield without making it a scene.

Rachel is ahead of us. I almost make it to the edge of the crowd when a hand wraps around my arm, and I get yanked back,hard. Pain flashes up my forearm as I stumble and try to right myself. I look down and then up.

Luke.

His grip is punishing. His face is close, too close. His breath smells like stale liquor, and he reeks of panic.

“Bailey,” he says, voice rough like he’s been screaming into the void. “We need to talk.”

I keep my voice low and calm because I will not give him a scene. Not here.

“Luke,” I say evenly, “you’re hurting me.”

His fingers tighten like he didn’t hear me.

“I need...” he starts, eyes frantic. “I need... Bailey, you can’t... this...”

My stomach turns. I hate that my first instinct is still to protect him. To de-escalate. To soothe.

No more.

“Let go,” I say, quiet but clear.

His eyes flicker... rage, fear, something broken. But he doesn’t let go.

Then Jackson is beside me. His voice is low and dangerous in its calm. “Get your hands off her.”

Luke’s eyes snap to him, fury igniting.

“This is between me and mywife,” Luke spits.

Jackson’s expression doesn’t change.

“The second you put your hands on her,” Jackson says softly, “it stopped being private.”

Luke’s grip tightens again, like he’s daring the world. I feel my skin ache under his fingers.

“Luke,” I say again, voice tight now, “you’re hurting me.”

That finally registers somewhere, his fingers loosen a fraction, but not enough for me to pull away. Jackson steps closer, blocking Luke’s body with his own without shoving, without escalating, just occupying space between us. Security appears instantly, with one of Jackson’s team positioning on Luke’s side.

Rachel’s voice cuts in behind me, “Luke,” she says, “sign the papers. Do one thing for her. Don’t make this worse than you already have.”

Luke’s face twists, he looks past Jackson, searching for my eyes as if he can just catch them, he can pull me back into the story he still thinks we’re still in. I don’t give him that.

Jackson’s voice drops even lower, a warning meant for Luke alone. “You must be the dumbest fuck I’ve ever met, Carter. Stay away from Bailey. If you don’t, I will personally make sure the fame you’ve been chasing never happens.”