Page 37 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

The familiar scent of antiseptic and bubblegum-scented hand soap fills the air as I gently settle onto the edge of the hospital bed, careful not to jostle the cluster of stuffed animals surrounding the sleepy-eyed girl nestled under a Minnie Mouse blanket.

“Again?” I ask with a soft smile.

Mylene grins up at me, her dark curls wild around her cheeks, one hand resting protectively on her side where her bandage is hidden beneath a hospital gown covered in tiny rainbow stars.

“Again,” she whispers, nodding.

Her voice is still a little raspy from the surgery—appendix out, two nights ago—but her spirit is bright, sweet, and unshakably curious.

I take her small hand in mine and start to hum, soft and slow. “ Twinkle, twinkle, little star …”

Mylene joins in, her voice quiet and just slightly out of sync, but I let her lead the rhythm. We rock gently to the melody, her tiny fingers gripping mine, and I feel it deep in my chest— this . This is why I come here. This is what matters.

Her mom has ducked out for coffee, reluctant at first, clearly running on fumes. I promised to stay. That I’d keep Mylene company. And now, as her lashes begin to lower, her breathing evening out, I know I’ve done something small but meaningful. A little patch of calm in a hard week.

“You sing pretty,” Mylene says, blinking slowly, half-asleep.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You should be on a stage,” she says around a yawn. “Like Eddie Crowe.”

I blink. A smile tugs at my lips. “You like Eddie Crowe?”

“He’s my favorite,” she says, all sleepy-serious. “I have his song on my mom’s phone. The one about the stars.”

“Midnight Dune?” I ask, my chest catching.

She nods. “I pretend it’s about me. Is that weird?”

“Not weird at all,” I whisper. “That’s the best part of songs—they can belong to anyone.”

“I bet you like him too.”

My smile deepens. “Yeah. I do. Very much.”

She stares at me for a moment, like she’s trying to puzzle something out. “Why don’t you sing on a stage? You sound like a star too.”

The words make something soft curl inside me. A strange ache, like being seen in a way I haven’t let myself be seen before. “I get nervous,” I say honestly. “Really nervous. My voice disappears. My hands shake. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

She considers this, wise beyond her seven years. “My mom says being scared means you care. And if you care… maybe you should try.”

The quiet hits me like a wave. “I think your mom is very wise,” I whisper, brushing her curls back from her forehead.

“I know,” she says sleepily, eyes finally fluttering closed. “She says it a lot.”

I sit there for a long moment after she drifts off, heart full and heavy and strange.

And when I leave the hospital, I don’t go straight home like I planned.

The sun is low in the sky by the time I pull into the long gravel drive of Eddie’s property. The house glows soft and golden, but I don’t head inside. My feet move before I fully decide, guiding me toward the barn.

The recording studio.

The place where he sang to me with just a guitar and a look in his eyes that said, you’re mine.

The barn doors creak as I open them, the scent of cedar and soundproof foam and faintly lingering cologne wrapping around me like a memory.

It’s quiet inside. Warm. Familiar.

The mic still stands in the center of the room. The same stool he sat on. The same soundboard blinking softly in standby. I trail my fingers along the edge of the mixing desk, then move to the mic.

I sit.

And for a moment, I just breathe.

I remember his voice in this room. The way it filled the space. The way it filled me.

Without fully thinking, I pull the mic a little closer and hum a few bars of ‘Midnight Dune’. Then I start to sing.

It’s shaky at first. But I keep going.

And something opens up in me. My chest, my throat, my soul. The words settle on my tongue like they were always meant to be there, and my voice finds its strength, line by line.

I sing through the chorus once, then again.

By the third time through, I close my eyes, let it all go, and feel it.

I don’t hear the footsteps until I finish the last note.

I look up—flushed, heart racing—and there’s Lucas in the doorway. One brow arched, a slight smile on his face. “Hey,” he says. “Didn’t mean to sneak up. That was… beautiful.”

I blink, caught between embarrassment and a strange, swelling pride. “I was just messing around,” I say, standing quickly, brushing my hands on my jeans.

He shakes his head. “You were doing a hell of a lot more than that.”

I don’t know what to say. But I feel it—deep in my bones.

Like something inside me just shifted. Grew.

For the first time, I didn’t freeze in front of the mic.

And even if no one hears it but the walls and Lucas… maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe it’s just the beginning.

Lucas leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between amused and impressed. He’s wearing dark jeans and a Henley that looks like it came straight out of the handsome husband starter pack, and his presence, as always, radiates steady, solid comfort.

I smile and brush a piece of hair from my face. “You’re not allowed to sneak up on people in the middle of an impromptu emotional solo performance, you know.”

He grins. “You’re not allowed to sing like that and not expect someone to wander in.”

I huff a laugh, but it’s tinted with self-consciousness. “I didn’t even realize you were out here.”

“I was walking the property. Needed some air. Heard singing and…” He shrugs. “Had to see for myself.”

I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie and sit back on the stool.

Lucas steps in, letting the barn door swing closed behind him, soft light filtering in through the cracks in the boards. “You’ve got something special, Laney. That wasn’t just good. That was real.”

I try not to blush but probably fail. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing exactly what you should,” he says, voice quieter now. “And, hey… about tonight—the event. The Kidney Donation Chain kickoff…”

I look up, meeting his eyes.

He steps closer, resting his hand briefly on my shoulder. “Thank you. For all of it. Not just today. From the moment we met. You showed up at the hospital with that guitar and that shy smile, and Joey’s been obsessed with you ever since. So have we.”

The lump in my throat sneaks up on me, thick and sudden. I clear it with a small smile. “You’re welcome, Lucas. It’s meant a lot to me too. To be… part of this.”

“You are,” he says. “You always have been.”

There’s a beat. The kind where something else wants to be said.

He shifts his stance slightly. “So… why aren’t you in London for the show?”

I hesitate, then shrug lightly, eyes drifting to the mic. “Eddie never asked.”

Lucas frowns, his head tilting. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I mean… I love the guy. He’s like a brother. But sometimes he’s an idiot.”

That makes me laugh. “He’s busy. It’s fine. I’d rather be here.”

Lucas doesn’t call me on the lie but he knows it. I can see it in the way he lets the silence sit for a second longer than usual before nodding.

“Well,” he says, brightening a little, “If you’re not going to the show… will you sing one more for me?”

I blink. “You want me to—what?”

“Sing. One more. Come on, give a guy a private concert. I’m the supportive big brother, it’s in the job description.”

I laugh. “I don’t know…”

He throws himself dramatically onto the nearby sofa like he’s settling in for a stadium show. “Come on. Hit me.”

I roll my eyes but move back to the mic, my fingers brushing the stand as I pull up the lyrics in my head. Something familiar. Something honest.

Hard to Love by Lee Brice

The moment the first few words leave my lips, I forget he’s in the room. It pours out soft and steady, my voice barely above a whisper at first, then growing stronger. I feel the lyrics, the cracks in them, the heart of them. And by the end, I’m singing it for me, not him.

When I finish, silence falls. Lucas doesn’t say anything for a second, just exhales slowly.

Then he claps, full and proud. “Damn. You’re amazing, Laney.”

I let out a breathy laugh, covering my face with my hands. “Stop it.”

“Not kidding. If Eddie could hear you right now—”

“He’d probably hide his guitar,” I tease, stepping down from the stool.

Lucas shakes his head at me, rolling his eyes. “He would fall at your feet and you know it.”

I do know it, but, still, that tiny voice asks why he doesn’t want me with him in London.

We walk back toward the house together, the barn door creaking closed behind us, the sky streaked orange and pink.

Jake dropped Merlyn back about an hour before I got home, using the spare key I gave him.

She was fast asleep in her bed when I left for the barn, so I hadn’t been too worried about her being on her own.

The second we step into the kitchen, we both freeze.

Merlyn has exploded a roll of kitchen paper across the entire floor. It looks like a snowstorm hit the farmhouse.

“Merlyn!” I gasp, and she bolts from behind the counter with a guilty tail wag and pieces of paper stuck to her fur.

Lucas laughs. Actually laughs. “She’s Eddie’s dog.”

“She’s my dog, and she’s a menace.”

We get down on the floor together, scooping up torn sheets and fluff while Merlyn trots around us like she’s helping.

“So…” I say, flicking a piece of paper at him. “What are you really doing out here, Mr. Ryan? Don’t tell me you just ‘needed air.’”

He shrugs, folding a few sheets of unshredded paper towel and tossing them. “Maybe I just wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay.”

Something warm blooms in my chest. “You always do that,” I say softly. “Show up when I need someone. Even before I know I need someone.”

He smiles but doesn’t reply. Just gives a small nod and keeps picking up paper.

As we finish, I glance around this house that’s slowly started to feel like mine.

And it hits me—there are so many people holding space for me now.

Lucas. Sam. Cherry and Lexi and Frankie.

Even Christie, who’s been texting me more often lately, asking how I am, checking in like we might be real friends now.

I didn’t have this before. Not really.

And for the first time in a long, long time… I feel like I’m not just surviving.

I’m seen.

I’m held.

And maybe… just maybe… I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

We’ve just finished scooping the last of Merlyn’s shredded chaos into a trash bag when Lucas looks up from the mess and says casually, “Hey, you should come over tonight.”

I pause, resting a hand on the edge of the counter. “Yeah?”

He nods, brushing his hands off. “We’re watching the London show. Eddie’s announcing the kickoff for the Kidney Donation Chain campaign. It’s a big moment. Thought you might want to see it live… with people who love him too.”

A soft warmth fills my chest. That invitation means more than he probably realizes.

“Should I bring Merlyn?” I ask, glancing at the furball who’s now lounging in a patch of evening sun, looking proud of her destruction.

Lucas laughs, the sound low and real. “Of course. Joey’ll lose his mind. You might not get her back.”

I smile, then lean against the counter, letting the quiet settle for a moment before I ask, “Why didn’t you and Sam go to London for it?”

He looks down, expression shifting—lighter to heavier in an instant. “We talked about it. We really did. But…” He trails off. His jaw tightens.

“But Joey,” I finish softly.

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. We didn’t want to leave him. His doctor wasn’t thrilled with the idea of us going anywhere, anyway. His numbers dipped again last week. Nothing drastic. Just… enough to make it clear we’re still on the clock.”

The words land like a stone in my chest. I step closer and rest a hand gently on his arm. “You’re doing everything you can,” I say quietly. “This campaign… this whole thing? It’s going to work. It has to.”

Lucas doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stands there, looking at the floor like maybe if he stares hard enough, he can will his pain into something manageable.

Then he lifts his gaze. And for the first time since I’ve known him, the weight he carries every day flickers in his eyes.

“I hope so,” he says, and his voice is rougher than usual. Almost like gravel.

It’s not just words. It’s a prayer. A plea. A confession he’s too strong to say out loud most of the time.

That he’s scared.

That the clock’s ticking.

That this little boy—the boy who changed my life too—is running out of time.

I squeeze his arm, steady and sure. “We’ll watch together tonight. Cheer Eddie on. And keep doing what we can.”

He nods once. No smile. But something steadier returns to his expression. The mask he wears so well slipping back into place—but not before I see the crack underneath.

“Thanks, Laney,” he says, softer now. “For everything.”

And when we walk out of the kitchen, I glance back at the spot where we’d been cleaning a mess made by a too-smart puppy.

And I think… maybe it’s okay that things get messy sometimes.

Maybe the beauty comes from loving each other through it.

Even when it’s heavy.

Even when we’re scared.