Page 35 of Hymns of the Broken

His hand drifts across my lower stomach, skating just above the waistband of my shorts. A single finger hooks over the fabric, teasing, testing—

“Jasper!”

The voice cuts through the haze—loud, male, too close.

I jolt, breath catching like I’ve been pulled out of a dream.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and annoyed, like he’s been robbed.

“What.” The word is a growl.

“Silas needs you back at the bus.”

He doesn’t move right away.

His gaze stays locked on me, dark and heavy, while his thumb brushes once across the base of my throat. A promise.

Then he steps back. No apology or regret in his eyes.

My knees wobble. My chest is a mess of panic and craving, like I can’t decide if I want to scrub him off me or pull him back. It wasn’t just a moment—it was a warning. He doesn’t play fair, doesn’t play safe, and if I’m not careful, I’ll mistake the danger for devotion.

But, hefeelsdifferent. Something about him feels honest.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That, Sawyer?” I mutter under my breath as I force myself to follow him down the backstage ramp.

The crowd outside is louder now. Hotter. Thirstier.

Jasper walks ahead of me like he owns the damn world. And the second we hit the open lot— They swarm.

Girls. All makeup, crop tops, and desperation. They scream his name like its scripture, like every syllable saves them. One of them holds out a vinyl for him to sign, another leans in too close, giggling, fingers pressing against his chest like she’s testing if he’s flesh and blood or something carved out of sin.

And he lets them. And I feel it—low and ugly. That dark twist in my gut, I don’t want to name.

Jealousy.

One girl blows him a kiss. Another scans me up and down, her brows knitting like I’m some glitch in the matrix.

A fangirl with no wristband? A roadie? A mistake?

I roll my shoulders and keep my face locked in a neutral expression. But inside, I’m burning. Boiling.

And the worst part?

He turns just enough to catch my eye, and he winks like he knows. Like he wants me to see.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip to keep from saying something stupid. I stay professional. Detached. But the longer he stands there, letting that girl’s hand trail over the exact spot on his chest where his skin still radiates the heat of me, the more I want to lose it.

Breathe, Sawyer. You’re not his anything.

One of them leans in, whispers something in his ear, and he laughs.

That’s it. I stalk forward, brushing my shoulder hard against his as I pass. I don’t stop or look back. Not even when I feel his gaze burning a hole in my spine.

JASPER

I find her inside, tucked near the edge of the bus kitchen with her laptop open and her camera beside her, lens cap on. She’s pretending to work, but her jaw’s locked tight, and her fingers hover too still over the keyboard.

I step in slowly, letting the silence stretch.