“I could try,” I say, with a cocky smile, letting a bit of that usual confidence I have when she's not in front of me, slip back into place.
She tilts her head. “Getting arrogant already, aren’t you?”
“Only when it works,” I say.
That makes her laugh, and it’s the sound I’ll play on repeat later when the silence of the plane feels unbearable. Then a subtle pull I can’t ignore. I lean in and our mouths meet again, brief but certain. It’s a kiss that feels like punctuation, an end and a beginning. When I pull back, she’s smiling, a blush painted across her nose and cheeks.
“I’ll see you in Seattle,” she says, voice steady but her eyes give her away. “You have a picture to show me, something about an obscene poet, remember?”
The words land like a hit straight to the chest. Whatever confidence I’d clawed back disappears. Something real to hold onto. I grin, dazed, unable to hide it. I step back, tapping the hood twice, my makeshift goodbye. The door closes, the glass between us turning her into reflection and light.
The taxi pulls away, merging into the slow churn of morning traffic. I watch until the yellow fades around the corner, until I can’t see her anymore. Only then do I breathe. My fingers find my lips, tracing the echo of her kiss, the taste of salt and coffee still there. Every nerve feels rewired, every thought louder. I glance up at the empty stretch of road, at the city waking around me, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel lost between shows or cities or versions of myself.
Now there’s a plan, a promise. Soon.
Chapter 35
Try Me
Rafe
Iwalk in through the revolving doors, still half-buzzing from what just happened outside. Seven weeks of shows, interviews, sleepless nights and now it’s over. The American leg done. Seven weeks of exhaustion and bliss and now the promise of home. Six weeks of Seattle before we head to Europe. Six weekswith her.
The thought alone feels like a secret I can’t quite hide. I can still feel the warmth of her lips, the imprint of her hands on my shirt. I didn’t fix my hair; I didn’t bother to straighten anything she touched. Then I see them.
Ronan is leaning against a column, coffee in one hand, always early, always calm. Kiri sits in an armchair, scrolling through his phone, the silent observer as usual. Rithy leans against the wall beside reception, probably waiting for his uber to the airport, still looking like regret and a hangover rolled into one. His head tilts when he sees me, the grin slides across his face slow as oil.
“Morning, sunshine,” he drawls, pulling his glasses down just enough to look me up and down, then dead in the eye. As I walk past, he drops his voice to a low murmur that cuts straight through the noise of the lobby.
“Rafe looks like he got his finalfuckin.Thank godthat little fling is over, her voice is grating. Don't be too sad, you'll replace her in Europe fast enough.”
Every sound in the room, rolling luggage, espresso machines, chatter, drops out. My body reacts before my brain does. One second I’m walking. Next, I turn on my heel, grab him by the collar, and slam him hard into the reception desk. Glass rattles. Someone gasps.
“Whatthe fuckis actually wrong with you, Rithy?” I snarl, my face inches from his.
He just laughs, breath sour with last night’s whiskey, lips curling like he’s proud of himself. He loves this, lives for the crack in my composure.
“Rafe,” Ronan says abruptly, moving in, one hand raised. “Breathe. Don’t—”
Kiri is already between us, hands up, trying to wedge some air between our bodies.
“Both of you knock it off. What the hell is this?”
Rithy doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “Don’t you see?” he says, voice rising, turning toward the others. “She’s got him wrapped around hergod damnfinger. You’re her little pet,Obelus.” He spits the stage name like a curse. “This is what matters.The band.Not you grinding outyour fucking daddy issuesinside a hole you won’t evenremembernext week.”
Ronan’s voice cuts through, steady and controlled, the drumbeat to my chaos. “Don’t listen. He’s drunk on his own bullshit. Let it go.”
But I can’t let it go. The words hit harder because she’s not here to defend herself. Ipromised—I promised I’d protect her from him. My grip tightens. I can feel Rithy’s pulse jumping under my fingers. For a moment, I actually think I might choke him. Then Ronan steps closer, hand firm on my shoulder, grounding me.
“Rafe,” he says again. “Let him go.”
I loosen my hold, just enough to breathe. Just enough to back away.
Then I swing.
My fist connects with his face, solid and satisfying. The crack echoes. Rithy’s head snaps back against the reception desk, and blood immediately blooms under his nose, bright and fast. He laughs through it,actually laughs.
“Go ahead,” he spits, blood staining his teeth. “Use me. Get her out of yourfucking system. Then get back to the music,to us.”
