Page 11

Story: Love Loathe Devotion

“No, you gave me, hope, Eddie. Hope that my son might have a future that doesn’t involve hospitals and tests. That he can be a normal little boy.”

Fuck. My chest aches at the raw pain tinged with so much love and hope. I can’t do anything but pull her back into my arms and kiss her head. “Sam, it’s nothing, really. I should have thought of it sooner and this isn’t a guarantee.” The last thing I want is for her to get her hopes up only to have them shot to pieces.

“I know but I have a good feeling about this.”

“Hey, asshole, when you’ve finished mauling my wife, I need a word.”

I release Sam slowly so as to piss Lucas off a little more, but I know there’s no heat in his statement. He pulls her to his side, locking her against him and I watch as her body softens into his and the tension in his shoulders ease. As if just being together makes everything better. I want that, I realize, and my mind instantly goes to Laney. It’s instinctual, my brain has no plan, just the instant vision of the little spitfire and how she’d felt in my arms for that brief moment when we collided.

“Eddie?”

I shake my head and focus on Lucas. “Yeah, sorry, I was thinking about a song lyric.” A lie but he nods so it’s fine.

“I just wanted to thank you again.”

I hold up my hand. “Brother, stop. You guys are family to me and you’d do the same, so stop with the thanks. I appreciate it but it’s not necessary. Now, go see your boy and give him a hug from his uncle Eddie.”

We say our goodbyes and I leave, feeling good about the plan we had. It wasn’t a guarantee as I’d said to Sam but there is a much higher chance now that Joey will get a kidney.

The air is cool but the sun bleeds through and gives the day a bright feel. Deciding to walk through the park, I text my driver and let him know to meet me on the other side. The music label insist I have security and my compromise is a driver.

My mind is still buzzing with everything—Joey’s situation, the logistics, my shit with the record label and their demands that I straighten out my image before the tour, and, despite myself, Laney.

Then I hear it.

A voice—soft but strong, familiar in a way I can’t place at first. And then I catch the lyrics.

One of my songs.

I follow the sound, weaving through the small crowd gathered around a busker. And there she is.

Laney.

Her voice wraps around my words like she owns them, and I feel it straight in my chest. Raw, powerful, beautiful. She sings like she means every word, and damn if I’m not completely captivated. It’s not just that she’s technically good—though she is, effortlessly so—it’s the way she pours emotion into every line, her voice full of longing and heartbreak. It feels like she knows the song better than I do, like she’s lived every damn lyric.

My feet stop moving. I just stand there, listening, watching. The world around me fades, and all I can hear is her. It’s the first time in a long while that I’ve heard one of my songs and felt something new, something electric.

Then she looks up.

Our eyes lock, and it’s like the whole world stills.

The attraction between us sparks hot and undeniable. I see the exact moment she realizes who I am—her breath hitches, her fingers falter slightly on the guitar, and then, just as quickly, she turns away, rushing to pack up.

But I’m not about to let her run off that easily.

I step forward, closing the distance between us. “You always steal a man’s song and then run away before he can thank you properly?”

Her hands are still over her guitar case, her shoulders tensing before she turns to face me, her eyes guarded. “Didn’t realize you owned music now.”

I grin. “Not all music. Just that one.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the twitch of her lips. “Guess I should’ve asked for permission first.”

“Hell no,” I say, stepping closer. “I think I like it better when you just take what you want.”

Her breath catches for just a second before she shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “Well, thanks for the… approval, I guess. But I need to go.”

“Where?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Got another show to play?”