Page 24 of June

That night, Liam and I made love one more time—slow, unhurried, the way you savor a sunset you know you won't see again for a while. He was, as always, that impossible balance between power and kindness, holding me firmly but touching me like I was made of something precious. Every kiss felt like a promise, every whispered word an anchor.

When morning came, we kissed goodbye at the door. His hand lingered at my wrist as he fastened something around it, a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm shaped like the Northern Star.

"So you can always find your way back to me,"

he murmured.

My throat tightened. We kissed again, longer this time, until I finally had to pull away before I changed my mind entirely about leaving.

Packing was quick. I'd done it a hundred times for shows, residencies, deadlines. Dad was in the kitchen when I brought down my bags, sleeves rolled up, rinsing out a coffee cup. The moment he saw me, he dried his hands and pulled me into a hug, one of those real, rib-cradling ones that said more than words ever could. He rocked me gently from side to side, the way he used to when I was small and the world felt safer just because he was holding me.

"Take care of yourself, Junebug,"

he murmured into my hair, his voice soft but steady.

"I will,"

I said, but my throat was already tightening.

As I kissed his cheek, I whispered.

"Love you, Dad. You'll always be my first best friend... and my king."

He smiled at me, a little misty himself.

"And you'll always be my princess, Junebug. No matter where you go, no matter how far, you're my girl."

I carried his words with me as I walked out, heavy in my heart in the best possible way. Before heading out of town, I stopped at the cemetery. The grass crunched lightly under my shoes, sun-warmed and dry, as I made my way to my mother's grave. I knelt, brushing a few crisp leaves from the polished stone. My fingertips traced her name slowly, like I was holding onto her in the only way I could.

"Last time I stood here,"

I murmured, my fingertips brushing her name in the stone.

"I was shattered. I didn't know how to breathe without breaking."

My voice caught, and I had to swallow hard before I could go on.

"But now... I'm stronger."

I let out a long breath, filling my lungs slowly, as if the air itself was trying to steady me.

"I have decisions to make, Mom. Big ones. Ones that could change everything and I need to be sure of myself—of who I am, and what I want."

I pressed my palm flat against the cool stone.

"So keep guarding me, okay? Keep me steady like you always did. You were my compass, my safe place, my princess crown when I was small, my biggest cheerleader when I grew. I still need you—just... in a different way now. I'm going to try to live in a way you'd be proud of, but I'd give anything to hear you tell me I'm doing okay."

A warm breeze swept past, rustling the leaves above, and for a heartbeat, I could almost feel her hand in mine—soft, sure, and still guiding me forward. I smiled, got up, and left.

The city felt sharper when I arrived, louder, brighter, almost impatient. January's building was as flawless as ever—sleek black marble in the lobby, soft golden lighting, and the faint smell of expensive candles that probably had names like "Noir"

o.

"Champagne Mist."

The elevator doors opened to her floor, and I stepped into her apartment, instantly greeted by a wave of perfectly curated chic: cream sofas, glass coffee tables, and art that looked like it belonged in a gallery.

January herself emerged from the kitchen, hair pinned up in a way that looked effortless but definitely took effort. Her blazer was razor-sharp, her lipstick lethal.

"Well, well. If it isn't my runaway little friend,"

she said, crossing her arms.

"Do I need to frisk you for contraband emotions before you settle in?"

I smirked.

"I've missed you too."

She wasn't one for lingering hugs—hers were more like quick promotional handshakes at a networking event. We brushed shoulders for about two seconds before she was already reclaiming her personal space. Her eyes did a quick once-over, sharp and assessing, like she was evaluating a pitch deck.

"So... your Moonboy."

"My what?"

"That guy who's basically running a 24/7 campaign to win your attention,"

she said, straight-faced.

"Subtle branding, strategic appearances, consistent messaging. I work in advertising, Junebug—trust me, I know a well-planned campaign when I see one. If you were a product, he'd be your number-one advertiser."

I laughed, shaking my head.

"You're impossible."

"Speaking of impossible, guess who's been calling me,"

she said, narrowing her eyes in mock disgust.

"your old flame, The Aaron Loser. Mr. Can't-Make-Up-His-Mind, Captain Grass-Is-Greener, human boomerang, Prince of Poor Decisions, Romeo of Regret, emotional depth of a kiddie pool, your personal cautionary tale in human form... the Aaron Tragedy Special, now with extra bad judgment.."

"Jan—"

"He's desperate. Practically panting through the phone and apparently determined to win you back."

She rolled her eyes.

"Men like that should come with warning labels."

I laughed harder than I wanted to, leaning against her kitchen counter.

"You're terrible."

"Terribly accurate,"

she corrected, sipping her coffee.

After dropping my bags in the guest room, I told her.

"I've got to stop by the studio. Check in with Leo, Alice, everyone. See how things are running."

She waved me off.

"Go. Do your artistic goddess thing."

The studio was warm and alive, the low thump of bass from the next room blending with the scent of rosin, fabric softener, and fresh coffee. Leo met me at the door with his usual grin, sweeping me into a hug that smelled faintly of cologne and sweat.

"Finally,"

Leo said, leaning dramatically against the barre like he'd been waiting weeks for this moment.

"The queen has returned to her kingdom."

Alice popped her head out from behind the front desk, a clipboard in hand instead of her usual water bottle.

"And just in time. We've survived, but barely. You should've seen us juggling last week's rehearsal schedule."

We caught up quickly, Leo filling me in on a couple of the students' progress, Alice detailing which parents had been late on costume payments and which lighting rentals were still up in the air. Then, inevitably, the conversation shifted.

"So,"

Leo began, tapping the barre like it was a drumroll.

"about this big performance... I'm thinking we open with just you and me. A duet—something sharp but fluid—before we pull the students in for the final sections."

"I like it,"

I said, already picturing the stage.

"It gives us room to set the tone before the energy shifts."

"And we can stagger the student entrances,"

Alice suggested, flipping a page on her clipboard.

"Keep the audience's attention building instead of dumping everyone on stage at once."

Leo nodded.

"We'll need at least three rehearsals with just us before we even think about bringing them in."

"And costume designs early,"

Alice added.

"If we wait too long, shipping will be a nightmare."

We moved into problem-solving mode instantly, plotting the arc of the piece, debating music edits, and figuring out which of the more advanced students could handle featured moments without panicking. The air felt alive again, humming with the kind of energy that only comes when an idea starts to turn into a plan.

After some time, I stepped outside into the late afternoon glow, still warm, and there he was.

Aaron.

Leaning against a lamppost like some kind of movie cliché—only he looked better than I remembered. More built. Tanned. Like life had forced him into the gym and out of his old habits. His hair was shorter, his jaw sharper. His eyes lit up the second they found me.

"Hey,"

he said, pushing off the post, stepping forward like he was about to pull me into a hug.

I froze. My body stiffened, instinct pulling me back.

His smile faltered, hope flickering in his face.

"I... missed you so much,"

he said quietly, almost pleading.

I said nothing, and that silence must have pushed him to keep talking.

"I've been... fixing things,"

he said, his voice steadier now, but there was a roughness to it, like every word was scraped out from somewhere deep.

"Not just for you—for me. I had to look in the mirror and face the fact that I wasn't the man you deserved. I thought I was, but I wasn't. I was selfish. Blind. I let my ego drive everything, and it cost me... you."

His hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for me but knew better.

"I messed up, huge. The kind of mistake that changes the entire course of your life and if I could go back, if I could grab that version of me by the collar and stop him, I would. But I can't. I can't rewrite the past. All I can do is make damn sure the man standing here now isn't the same one who broke your trust."

His gaze locked with mine, steady and unflinching, even when my silence stretched.

"I've been putting in the work—therapy, discipline, tearing apart everything I thought I knew about myself. I'm not just trying to be better; I am better. And I'm not doing it halfway this time. I'm coming for you, Junie. I'll do anything. Everything. Whatever it takes to earn my way back into your life. I'm not asking you to forgive me today. I just need you to know I'm not done. I'm not giving up. Not now, not ever."

The street was quiet around us, but my heartbeat was loud in my ears. He hesitated, then reached into the small paper bag in his hand and pulled out a cup—my cup. My favorite drink, made exactly the way I liked it, down to the extra cinnamon dusting on top. The lid was warm against my fingers when he placed it in my hand.

"Will you meet me for coffee sometime?"

he asked quietly.

"Just to talk. Anything. I'm that desperate, Junie. If I can't have you... can I at least have you as a friend?"

I let out a slow breath.

"I don't know. We're... we're preparing for a big performance, and I won't have time."

Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment, maybe—but instead of stepping back, he gave me this small, knowing smile. "I know,"

he said, his voice almost maddeningly calm.

"You know?"

I frowned.

His smile deepened.

"I, uh... found out about your upcoming performance,"

he said, voice a little uneven now.

"Ran into Leo at the coffee shop yesterday. He mentioned they're short on backstage help."

My eyes narrowed. "And?"

"And I... might've begged him to let me volunteer,"

he admitted.

"I told him I'd do anything—hauling sets, taping marks on the floor, ironing costumes, holding cue sheets. He said they actually need the help. But..."

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I told him I'd only do it if you were okay with it."

I blinked at him.

"You're asking me?"

"Yeah,"

he said simply.

"I'm not going to force myself into your space if you don't want me there. I want to be close enough to help, but not in a way that makes you feel cornered. If you say no, I'll walk away. No drama. I just... I want to support you, even if all I get to do is hand you a water bottle and untangle a mess of cables."

I studied him, torn between suspicion and the tiny, with ache blooming in my chest. "Why?"

"Because,"

he said, his voice low but certain.

"this is your world and I can't dance in it but I can hold it up, steady it, so you can shine without having to think about what's going on in the shadows."

For a second, I didn't trust my voice. I had to look away, my fingers tightening around the coffee cup he'd brought me.

"That's ridiculous,"

I murmured.

"Maybe,"

he said quietly, his smile small but sincere.

"But I'll be ridiculous for you every single day if that's what it takes. I'll be the one who shows up early and leaves last. The one who notices when you're tired before you say a word. The one who learns the quiet language you speak when you don't want to be touched but still need someone close. I'm not asking for center stage. I just want to be where I can see you—where you can see me—so you know you're never standing there alone again."

I stayed silent, my fingers wrapped tight around the North Star bracelet.