Page 238 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Understanding flickers across his face.

Redemption Falls. The new label. Hope.

“All right,” Dylan says. “What are you thinking?”

I hold his gaze. “You bring The Last Rebels to Redemption Falls,” I say. “You record the new album there.”

Dylan goes completely still.

“No label suits. No city distractions. No paparazzi. Just music,” I say.

He stares at me like he genuinely can’t decide whether this is a trick. “You’d do that?”

“For the band,” I say.

His mouth twitches because he hears the lie underneath it. Not just for the band. For us.

Dylan stands and walks toward me.

Every instinct in my body braces. Old habits. Old damage. But instead of fighting, he holds out his hand.

I stare at it.

At him.

At all the years between us.

Then, before I can overthink it, I stand and take his hand.

His grip tightens hard. Mine does too. And somewhere underneath all the grief and history and wreckage, it feels a little like coming home.

FORTY-FIVE

Willow

By five o’clock, Julian has somehow convinced Gabe to help him make grilled cheese sandwiches “the right way,” which involves three different cheeses, garlic butter, and an argument intense enough that I’m genuinely concerned they might dissolve Redemption Records over dairy products.

“You’re burning it,” Gabe says flatly from the kitchen island.

“I’m caramelizing it.”

“You’re setting off the smoke detector.”

Julian points the spatula at him. “You have no vision.”

I sit on one of the bar stools with Daisy sprawled across my feet, trying not to laugh into my coffee.

Julian finally slides a plate in front of me with dramatic flair. “There. Perfection.”

I look down at the sandwich. “This has truffle oil on it.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re in upstate New York, not a cooking competition.”

“We can be both, Willow.”

Gabe snorts from across the kitchen.