I shake it off, swallow, rejoin the chorus. Rithy’s eyebrow flicks up from across the stage:you good?I nod, forcing a smile beneath the veil. The crowd won’t notice. They never do. But my pulse is still uneven, my head racing.Why is she here? Who knew? Why didn't anyone tell me she'd be here?
By the second song, I find my rhythm again. The band’s locked in, everything flows perfectly. It’s the kind of night that reminds you why you started. Paris gives everything back; the crowd sings every word. For a moment, I even forget she’s there. Almost. When the last note fades, when the roar swells and the lights dim, I can finally breathe again. I bow, thank the crowd, let the noise wash over me.
Backstage, I don’t even take my earpiece out before heading straight to management.
“What the hell’s going on?” I demand. “Emily. Why is she here?”
Elise blinks, caught off guard. “She contacted us this morning. Said she had a ticket and asked if it was okay to come by. You told us to put her on the list if she ever reached out, so—”
“Got it. So you let her in, fine. But no one thought to tell me?”
“I told Olivia to text you,” she says, defensive.
“She didn’t,” I snap. “No one did.”
Before I can say anything else, I see her being ushered through by one of the security staff, VIP lanyard around her neck, that same careful smile she used to wear when she was still mine. My stomach twists.
Why now?Of all the times. Of all the nights.
Why the hell is she here?
“Rafe,” she says softly. “It’s good to see you.”
She steps in and reaches for a hug. Reflex takes over before thought does. I give her one, a small one, awkward, polite. She smells exactly the same, white musk and cotton, and it hits me with the kind of clarity I wish I didn’t still have.
When she pulls back, she studies me with that tilted-head curiosity that used to make me feel like a specimen under glass. “You look good,” she says. “Healthier. Are you free? Maybe a coffee, a catch-up? That café we used to go to near Montmartre. You remember?”
Of course I do. The chipped blue tables. The cheap espresso that somehow tasted perfect because she was there. Nights when I was broke and she believed in me anyway. Her words open a floodgate I’d rather keep shut, that same window, her face reflected against the dark glass, eyes hollow when I broke her heart for the hundredth time and called itbeinghonest to the art.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Let me wash up first. Hoodie, jeans, something normal.”
“Still hiding?” she teases.
“Paris loves us too much,” I say, trying to sound light. “Can’t even step out for coffee without it turning into a photoshoot.”
It’s true, and it still unnerves me. Always has. The fans waiting at airports, outside hotels, somehow knowing flight numbers and hotel names. Some of them camp out all night. It’s not their fault, really, it’s devotion, the pure kind but it still crawls under my skin. The idea of being watched when I’m not performing. It used to be exciting. Now it feels like walking around without armor with someone always taking aim at something vital.
“I can come with you,” she says, breaking through my thoughts. “In the bus, I mean. I’d love to see the others. Say hi.”
I hesitate, but my brain’s too tired to find a reason to refuse. “Yeah, sure. Come on.”
The bus ride back is chaos, in the usual end-of-tour way. Everyone’s high on adrenaline. Emily fits right back in, Rithy greets her with a loud “Holy shit, look who it is!” and pulls her in for a hug; Kiri offers her one of his terrible canned cocktails; Ronan makes a joke about deja vu. It’s almost too easy, like a scene from another life.
They’re all talking, laughing, catching her up. And me, I’m just watching, caught somewhere between nostalgia and unease. I keep noticing flashes outside the bus windows, camera lights, people waiting, fans waving as we pass. Some of them will follow us to the hotel. They always do.
When I catch Ronan’s eye across the bus, he’s not smiling. He’s reading me.Is this smart?his look says. I shrug, leaning back, pretending at a calm I don’t feel.
What am I supposed to do? Turn away someone I thought I loved for almost five years?
He gives me that slow, silent exhale that says everything. We both know it’s not a good idea. But we also know I’ll go anyway. It's the only option that feels decent, human.
Some mistakes don’t look like mistakes until you’re already inside them.
Chapter 62
The Raven Rope
Rafe
