Page 19
Chapter 19
Home
Damian
My whole body feels different, better, like I wasn’t whole before, but now I am. Hell I feel so good, I kiss her hand and reach up to turn on the radio.
She smiles, “The world shifted.”
I take her hand and kiss it again, “It righted.”
She laughs, “That it did.”
Just then, sirens come. I look behind us, and in the packed bumper-to-bumper traffic leaving the concert, I do my best to get over.
Delilahs phone rings, and she anseers. “Hey Rae, how.”
She stops and then yells. “Get out of there!”
Pause.
“None of that fucking matters, get out!”
She’s panicking, I’m feeling lost, and then realize it’s fire trucks trying to get through.
“You tell her aint no way there getting there on time to save her ass if she’s in a burnng building,” I growl.
She hands me the phone, and starts sobbing.
“Rae, get the fuck out or you‘re fired.”
“I cant find Gary.”
“You better be on your way out and joking, and newsflash, that ain’t funny.”
“I’m getting there.” She coughs.
“You and that pup Rae, those are two things that can’t be replaced.”
“I know, I know” and then, “Fuck. And the line goes dead.”
Is she out?” Delilah sobs.
“Getting there,” I say as I pull onto the sidewalk, throw it in park and tell her, “You got a mile in you?”
She nods throwing off her seat belt.
“Let’s go.”
***
We’re running full tilt through the streets, dodging people, trash bins, and whatever the hell else is in our way. Delilah’s breath is ragged beside me, but she’s not slowing. Neither am I.
When we round the corner and the building comes into view, it hits me like a punch to the chest.
The whole bottom floor is lit up — fire snaking through windows, smoke boiling out of every crack like it’s alive. The laundromat is gone . Her place is above that.
The crowd’s thick—people yelling, coughing, holding phones, holding each other —but my eyes are on the damn door. No Rae. No Dolly. No fucking Gary. No sign of them.
Delilah breaks from my side, shouting her name. “RAE?!”
My eyes dart around looking for a play. The windows. The roof. The alley. Anywhere someone could be.
A firefighter stops her. I move toward them fast, about to lose my goddamn mind.
“She’s inside!” Delilah screams. “She was trying to get out—she has lupus?—”
I’m ready to rip through the tape myself, but another firefighter’s voice cuts through: “We pulled a girl out with a dog! EMTs have her—over there!”
I don’t wait.
I grab Delilah’s hand and pull her with me, full sprint around the side of the building until we see it—the ambulance, doors open, lights flashing.
And there she is.
Rae’s propped up on a gurney, wrapped in a blanket, oxygen mask in place. She looks like hell—soot on her cheeks, tear tracks through the grime—but she’s awake .
And she’s got that little dog pressed tight to her chest like he’s more important than the air she’s breathing.
Delilah’s whole body shudders against mine as she chokes out a laugh, a cry, maybe both. “She’s okay.”
I pull her closer, locking her in against me, and her knees buckle. I move us to Rae.
“Ride wth her to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Wait,” Rae stops me. “The ground. Our pictures. Important stuff.”
I wanna yell at her, tell her how fucking stupid she was to try to save that shit, but I don’t.
I grit out, “I’ll see what I can find.”
***
Tonight’s loss stings. Not just because it’s the second in the series, or because we were this close again — but because I’ve got a thousand other things on my mind.
Rae’s still in the hospital. Delilah hasn’t left her side. Eddy and his kid are watching TT and Dolly at the house, and me? I’m standing in front of a mic, camera flashes in my face, answering questions that does fuck not to help anyone..
I cross my arms, jaw tight.
“Damien,” a reporter calls out, too slick, too casual. “Do you have anything to say about the rumors your relationship with Delilah Monroe is a PR stunt?”
I blink.
What the fuck?
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a tabloid report circling,” the guy continues, flipping his phone around like it’s gospel, “an Uber driver from Jersey claims he overheard you and Monroe saying you were trying to be the next Taylor and Travis. Thoughts?”
Thoughts?
Yeah, I’ve got fucking thoughts. First one is that is not the way that went, but whatever.
Instead of blowing up, I pull out my phone, unlock it, and swipe open the app that connects to my home cameras.
“I don’t know who that driver thinks he heard,” I say coolly, tapping until the right feed comes up, “but here’s what’s real.”
I hold up the phone.
On the screen is the grainy night vision footage from the foyer of my house. TT — my raccoon — is running circles around Dolly, who’s dragging one of my socks across the hardwood. At one point, she flops onto her back and TT climbs up on her belly like he owns her. They roll around together like siblings.
One of the reporters snorts.
Another one laughs.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s Delilah’s dog. And my raccoon. In the house we’re living in together , not for press, not for attention, but because her best friend nearly died and I told them both they had a home.”
Click.
Click.
More cameras. More phones.
“And for the record?” I add, voice low and even now, “I’m not trying to be anyone’s Travis. I’m trying to be her person. Quietly. Honestly. And without having to explain it to people who buy lies faster than they listen to truth.”
I lower the phone and give the reporter one last glance — a warning more than a look.
“Next question.”
***
As soon as I pull out of the parking lot my phone lights up.
I hit the answer button on the stearing wheel.
“Hey, how’s she doing?”
“How are you doing?” She asks.
“Caught the press conference?” I ask.
“Sure did. Question?”
“Shoot.”
“Just to keep our stories straight, when did you tell me Rae and I had a home?”
I clear my throat. “After the fire.”
“And what did I say?”
I smile, “You said yes of course.”
“Okay then.”
“We good?” I ask.
“We are.”
I can’t hold back the smile now. “When can I bring my family home?”
I hear rae giggle in the background, “He said family.”
“He did.”
***
“Never a dull moment,” I sigh as I lean back in my chair, wrapping my arms tighter around her.
“I signed an NDA,” she whispers.
“Rae didn’t.”
“No but,” she pauses.
“But what Songbird?”
“She was going to use that if we ever really needed to, and now some rando find the SD card at a fire and sells it to the press? Kind of feels like she got cheated out of that.”
“Looks to me like she’s gonna be okay, and he’s going to get flushed out of Nashville.”
She looks up at me. “I need to ask you something.”
“I need to ask you not too.”
“It was you,” she shakes her head, looking down.
I exhale but don’t confirm or deny.
“She’s going to be pissed.”
I shake my head, “Bet if you ask her she’ll tell you otherwise.”
“If this connects to you then people are going to be even more suspicious of us.”
“I can promise it never will, and also, fuck people who talk shit and don’t care about us.”
She tries not to smile and opts to roll her eyes instead.
“Maybe ask Rae what she wants to do with all this now.”
“Have you already talked to her about this?”
Rae walks in my office, pup at her heal, raccoon peeking out of one of the many hoodies she’s stolen of mine.
“Can you two discuss this while I?” I stand with her in my arms and set her on her feet.
“I what?” Delilah arches a brow.
“While I escape a conversation I don’t want to be part of?” I admit skating out the fucking door.
While digging through soote and ash for the things rae wanted to save, I came across evidence that Rae had been assaulted on many occasions by the shit bag. When I confronted her, she was a mess because she never told Delilah. She held guilt about that, big guilt, but found strength and family in leaving that house with her, and a family in Delilah’s.
Rae made the call to hand it over to a source who would get it in proper hands. An attorney, who is also leading a lawsuit against every swinging dick in Nashville that knew who he was and forced kids to hold the guilt he was never forced to. It’s going to be big. But these things take time. I hope they hang the motherfuckers who prey on kids like Rae who was in the system, and Delilah who had a less than normal upbringing.
I’m in the kitchen when they finish and both of them come out, and yeah, we do a family hug.
While that’s happening, I inform them, “Mom and Dad are on their way to celebrate a certain someone's birthday and are going to stay for awhile.”
“We don’t need security,” Delilah says.
“You tell Dad that,” I laugh.
***
April 23rd.
She doesn’t like a fuss, doesn’t want the cake or the camera or the fake Instagram captions.
So I gave her something real.
The team’s owner is throwing a big barbecue today — players, staff, sponsors. I was supposed to be there. But this? This matters more.
We just finished eating — Mom’s ribs, cornbread, and cupcakes, and drinking Rae’s sweet tea in Solo cups — and Delilah’s curled up barefoot on my porch swing, talking with Mom while TT naps in her lap and Dolly snores on the welcome mat.
I stand up, brushing off my jeans.
“Present time.”
She lifts her brows. “You already gave me that record player and the new boots.”
I shake my head. “That was just the warm-up.”
Rae perks up from her spot in the hammock. “Is this the thing you made me swear not to spoil?”
“Yup.”
Delilah narrows her eyes at both of us. “What the hell did you do?”
I grin. “C’mon.”
I take her hand and lead her across the property, past the main barn, down the gravel path that curves just behind the row of oaks. She knows where we’re going. Sort of.
But not why .
We stop in front of the second barn — the one that was supposed to be my office that is now cleaned, reinforced, and rebuilt with insulated walls, floating floors, and glass that won’t let sound bounce unless you want it to.
She looks at me, unsure.
“Go on,” I say, pushing the door open.
She steps inside and stops cold.
There’s a mic stand set up already.
A vintage stool in the corner.
Her Mom’s old guitar that Harlon sent me. The rug beneath her boots was Loretta’s pick — something soft and grounding.
“I—what is this?”
I step in behind her, watching the way her eyes sweep across the room. She’s trying to process, to name it, but she doesn’t have to.
“It’s yours,” I say.
She turns.
“This is your studio now, D. Built for you. Ready when you are. Full setup, pro-grade everything. Xavier helped me source the gear, donated some of it. Patrick handled getting the right crew to do it. It’s wired into the house for late-night playback if you want it.”
Her eyes go glassy. “Damien?—”
“You don’t have to rent someone else’s space anymore,” I say quietly. “You’ve earned your own.”
Her breath stutters, and for a second, she just stares at the mic like it might vanish.
“You made me a studio.”
“I made you a home for your music,” I say. “Because I’ve heard it. And because I believe in every single fucking note.”
She doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t have to.
She walks up to the mic stand, brushes her fingertips across the edge of the pop filter, and then looks back at me like I just moved the stars for her.
Then she walks right back and kisses me like I actually did.
“Hey!” Harlon makes her entrance from the bathroom where she’s been hiding for this exact moment. “Happy birthday!”
“Happy Birthday!,” Sutton Steel calls to her and she whirls around.
Xavier and Patrick say the same, but Xavier then says, “Turn ion the radio. It’s a party.”
“Which station?” I ask.
“95.3,” Sutton answers. “The Nashville station. The Nashville station.”
“And here’s the latest from Nashville’s own breakout artist, Delilah Monroe. You’re hearing it here first, folks More Than Gone — , written by Deliah and Harlon Monroem and Rae Houston, performed by Delilah Monroe herself, produced by Forever Four Records. Add this to your playlist, its going to be a chart topper.”
And then…her voice fills the space that is her home.
We all listen, not a dry eye, hell not even dad is untouched.
“What do you thnk?” I ask.
“That’s my voice on the radio. Not a demo. Not the rough cut. The version. The real one. Out there in the world, not just for us — for everyone.”
Sutton’s kids start clapping, journey yells, “That was our Delala!”
Delilah beams at her
Harlon yells, “She’s on the RADIO!”
“Baby… you made it.” I kiss her cheek.