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When I fall this time, I know there won't be any coming back. Wherever I land is where I'll stay permanently.

"You're my world, songbird," he breathes.

I shatter like glass, splintering into pieces around him. My whole body convulses, my head thumping the door, my nails digging furrows into his back. His name erupts from my lips in a loud cry that's part song, part surrender.

He growls when he hears it, planting himself deep. His body trembles as he lets go, spilling into me with his face buried in my throat. He chants my name the whole time.

For long moments afterward, we just cling to one another, gasping for breath and shaking together. Neither of us says anything. I don't think either of us can. I'm an emotional wreck, everything I feel for him pulled to the surface.

Eventually, he pulls back, meeting my gaze. His expression is soft, impossibly sweet. But there's something lingering deep in his gaze that wasn't there this morning. I can't get a read on it, but a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach.

"I want you to stay with me tonight," he rumbles. "Will you do that for me?"

"I…" My gaze flickers over his face again, trying to read him. "Is something wrong, Bishop?"

"No, songbird." He touches my cheek. "I just want you in my bed tonight. I've only been dreaming about it for days."

The knot of anxiety in my stomach loosens a little. I can give him that. God, yeah, I can. I'd give him anything.

"Okay," I whisper.

Five minutes before I'm due on stage, he catches me around the waist, pulling me into his arms backstage. Everyone rushes around us, doing all those little last-minute things a show requires. It's an organized kind of chaos, but he's an island in the middle of a churning sea, unmoving and steady.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey."

"I need to tell you something before you go out there."

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I meet his gaze, a little afraid of what he has to say. I know there's something. It's like he can't settle because of whatever is on his mind. He's anxious in a way I've never seen, caught in his own thoughts in a way that's new. It's seriously starting to make me nervous.

"What's wrong?"

"I love you."

I blink, certain I heard him wrong. "What?"

"I love you," he repeats, cupping my cheek. "Maybe now is a shit time to tell you, but I needed to say it before you went out there. I needed you to know…" he trails off like he's trying to find the right words. "I had to say it now because I don't ever want you to think that I think you're some prize to win or that I'm here because of your talent or what you're about to become, songbird. I'm here for you. That billboard on Broadway may have been driving me nuts long before I met you, but you're what I fell in love with, not your voice, not your talent. You."

"Bishop," I whisper, my heart pounding so loud I'm sure he hears it. "I…I…"

He places his forefinger over my lips, the rough pad scratching in a way I love. "I didn't say it so you'd say it back, Callie. I just needed you to know that this is real, and that it's about you, nothing else. I don't ever want you questioning that shit, okay?"

I nod against his finger, not sure where this is coming from or why he'd think I'd doubt it. I know him. Maybe not everything about him, but as I've learned intimately, you can know everything about someone and still not know them. Been there, done that. But knowing someone isn't about how long you've been in their lives. It's about what you've shared. It's about how they make you feel. It's about the way you connect.

I know Bishop, the same way I know melodies to songs I've never heard, the same way I know lyrics I've never written. I know him because he's part of me.

He stares at me for a long moment before dipping his head to brush his lips against mine. "Good. Now, go out there and kill it, songbird. I'll be right here waiting for you."

"Bishop, I—"

"Time to go!" Rita shouts.

I spin to find the entire band standing behind Bishop, trying to look like they aren't paying attention to us while very obviously paying attention to us.

Shit.

I turn back to him, hesitating.