Page 107

She doesn’t understand that some things need to stay pure, untouched by the artificial glare of the spotlight and fame. These kids have been through enough without becoming somebody’s feel-good story of the week.
I think about Danny’s face when he finally nailed that chord progression. About Charlie, who showed up three months ago barely speaking, and now won’t shut up about wanting to start a band.
These moments—these real, raw, beautiful moments—they’re not meant for public consumption.
My phone buzzes. Then again. And again.
I know it’s Lacey. Probably trying to explain, to apologize, to make things right.
But right now, every message feels like another camera flash, another intrusion into something that should have stayed sacred.
The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I take the corner a little too fast, hoping the speed might calm the storm in my head. It doesn’t. Instead, all I can think about is how differentwe are—Lacey and I. How she thrives in the spotlight while I’ve always preferred the shadows of my drums. How she sees opportunities where I see invasions. How she lives for the next big moment while I just want to keep the real ones safe.
I don’t look back. I can’t. But as I continue driving away, I feel it—her presence behind me, lingering, watching. My chest burning like I just finished a goddamn marathon. For a second, just one fleeting second, I wonder what would happen if I turned around. If I jumped out of the car and took her in my arms and let her explain—if I tried to find a way to forgive her for something she didn’t even mean as a betrayal. But I can’t do that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Because for the first time since we started this whole fake engagement turned real mess—
I don’t know if we can bridge the distance between her world and mine. The gap feels too wide—too deep.
Thirty-Three
Lacey
The cold silence Nate left behind is worse than any screaming match could have been.
I sit in my rental car outside Family First, gripping the steering wheel, my vision blurring with the hot sting of unshed tears. My chest feels tight, like my ribs are closing in around my heart, and no matter how many deep breaths I take, I can’t seem to loosen their hold.
Nate walked away—and he didn’t look back.
The words repeat over and over in my head, like a cruel melody I can’t turn off. I’ve seen Nate angry before—but never like this. Never furious. Never this cold.
I press my forehead against the steering wheel, forcing myself to swallow the lump in my throat. You should’ve known better, Lacey.
I did, didn’t I? I knew how much Family First meant to him, how fiercely protective he was of keeping it private. I thought I was helping, but in the end, I betrayed him with the one thing I should never have touched.
And it wasn’t just about the cameras. It was about trust.
And now I wonder if I’ve lost him.
A sharp knock on my window makes me jump. My head snaps up, my heart pounding in my throat as I find Emily peering inside with concern. I swipe at my eyes quickly before rolling down the window.
“Lacey,” she says gently, arms crossed over her chest. “Are you okay?”
I nod, even though the answer is a resounding no. “Yeah,” I croak out. “I just—I just need a second.”
Emily doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. “Rachel’s looking for you,” she says after a beat. “She wants to go over press coverage from today.”
A bitter laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. Press coverage. Right. Because that’s what matters most, isn’t it? Not thedamage we might have done. Not the fact that Nate just walked out of my life, looking like he might never come back.
I nod stiffly. “I’ll be there in a little while.”
Emily hesitates but eventually backs off, disappearing toward her car. The second she’s gone, I let my head fall back against the seat, exhaling shakily. My phone buzzes on the passenger seat, and for a wild, stupid second, my heart leaps, hoping it’s Nate.
It’s not. It’s Rachel—of course it is.
I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the message, ignoring the ache blooming deep in my chest. The damage is done.
Now, I just have to figure out how to pick up the pieces—