Page 47 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

I swear if Eddie tries to carry me to the bathroom one more time, I’m going to start biting.

I love him. With everything in me, but I’m bruised, not broken.

And the way he hovers—like I’m made of glass, like if he takes his eyes off me for a second I might disappear again—is starting to gnaw at something deep inside my chest.

I pad barefoot into the living room, slow but steady, one hand braced lightly on the back of the couch as I move. Eddie looks up from where he’s setting tea on the coffee table like I’ve just committed a felony.

“Baby, sit down,” he says, already moving toward me like I’m about to faceplant.

“I’m fine,” I say, sitting anyway because I am a little sore. But still. “Not made of jelly. Nothing’s falling off.”

He doesn’t smile. He hasn’t smiled properly since he pulled me off that bed.

I watch him kneel beside me and pull a blanket over my legs, adjusting it like I might catch cold from the air. He’s quiet. His hands linger on my knees. His eyes flick up to mine—and they’re so full of tension it presses into my ribs.

“Eddie,” I say softly. “You’re doing it again.”

He blinks. “Doing what?”

“Holding your breath like I might disappear.” He doesn’t answer so I reach out, take his hand in mine. “Sit with me.”

He does. But he doesn’t look at me. Which is how I know there’s something more.

“I get that you’re scared,” I say gently. “Hell, I’m scared. But this… this feels heavier. Like you’re blaming yourself.”

His jaw tightens.

“Are you?”

His silence says yes.

I wait.

It takes a full thirty seconds before he speaks.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, voice low. Rough. “And it’s not easy.”

I brace, but stay close.

“I slept with her,” he says. “Tasha Monroe.”

The name punches into me like ice water.

He looks at me now, searching my face. “It was over a year ago. A mistake. One I regret more than anything I’ve done in my life. I was drunk. Stupid. Lonely. And she, she made it easy. I didn’t know she was going to become… what she became.”

I stay still.

Let him speak. He only mentioned her name once in passing when he told me she’d be working with him on tour. Otherwise, I know nothing about this woman.

“She started following me. Not just around the scene—everywhere. Messaging. Calling. Showing up at hotels. It got worse when the label started pushing her onto my team. I told Reggie I didn’t want her around. They didn’t care.”

I swallow. “That’s why you didn’t want me to come on tour.”

His head dips. “Yeah.”

“Because of her.”

“I didn’t want that kind of poison anywhere near you,” he says, his voice breaking.

“But I didn’t know how to explain it. I was ashamed.

I thought I could manage it, keep you protected from it, from me.

I think in my heart I knew she was a dangerous person and I was trying to protect you.

” He huffs out a humorless laugh at that one.

“Then she tried to falsely accuse me of assault after I finally told her to go to hell in no uncertain terms when we were in Madrid.”

“She what?” Merlyn looks up at me as my voice goes up several octaves.

Eddie nods. “In London, just before the gig, the police came to question me, but luckily Nico had a full dossier on her too. She’d done this before to other rich men and was wanted for fraud in multiple countries.”

“Remind me not to get on Nico’s bad side.”

Eddie chuckles. “Nico likes you, so you’re fine. Anyway, that’s the story of why I fucked up. A one-night stand when I was drunk almost cost me everything.”

I exhale, slowly. The ache in my chest sharpens. “So you didn’t tell me.”

He nods once, guilt etched into every line of his face. “And then I left you here. Alone. And Randy—” His throat closes. He tries again. “He got to you because I wasn’t here. Because I was too fucking afraid to be honest.”

I put my hand on his cheek. His eyes close, lashes damp. I’m angry he wasn’t honest with me but, unlike Randy, I know in my soul that this came from a good place. “It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper. “What Randy did… that was on him. Just like what Tasha did is on her.”

“But I—”

“No,” I say, firmer. “You don’t get to carry that.

Not alone. Yes, you should have been honest with me and treated me like a partner not a side character, and it will not happen again.

” I look at him fully now, and let the pain show as he nods solemnly.

“But I should’ve told you Randy was still calling me.

Threatening. I thought I could handle it, and I didn’t want to drag it into what we had. And that wasn’t fair.”

His eyes open, searching mine.

“So maybe we both screwed up,” I say. “Trying to protect each other by not saying the hard things.”

He swallows, nods slowly. “I would’ve killed him, Laney. If Nico hadn’t pulled me back….”

“I know.” My voice is quiet but steady. “And I love you for that. But I need you to live for me, not burn yourself out trying to carry every guilt alone.”

He leans in, forehead resting against mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“No more secrets.”

He nods. “No more.”

I cup his face in both hands. “We talk. Even when it’s ugly. Even when we’re scared.”

He kisses me, soft and deep and real. “Deal.”

We stay that way for a long moment—tangled in each other, the silence not empty now, but full of all the words we’ve finally spoken.

I rest my head against his chest and let myself listen to the sound of his heart beating.

Strong.

Steady.

Here.

And I know—we’re going to be okay.

The house is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the low hum of some old country record spinning in the background. I’m curled up on the couch in Eddie’s hoodie— still bruised, still tender—but warm and wrapped in the kind of comfort that doesn’t come from blankets or tea.

Eddie sits beside me, one arm slung across the back of the couch, fingers tracing slow circles against my shoulder. His other hand’s wrapped around mine, thumb brushing softly over my knuckles like he’s reminding himself I’m really here. Safe.

We haven’t spoken much in the last hour. Just enjoyed the stillness. But now, I can feel him turning something over in his mind.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask softly, tilting my chin up to look at him.

He exhales, then smiles—but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I owe you another truth.”

I sit up a little straighter, turning toward him.

He nods once, like he’s made the decision, then leans in, voice low. “After everything with Tasha went down, and after the police cleared me… Nico and I made good on something we’d started digging into weeks ago.”

I’d been processing what that bitch did to him since he told me and I still wanted to rip her face off. I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Gerald Whitmore. Reggie. The label. We had a feeling things weren’t clean, and we were right.

” His voice hardens. “They were covering up financial fraud, taking illegal cuts off artist royalties, and—worst of all—manipulating contracts to trap artists in long-term deals they couldn’t afford to break. ”

I blink. “You knew?”

“Nico had his people watching. He gathered everything. We were going to confront them after London… then all of this happened.” He pauses. “But I did it anyway. After the show. I walked into that boardroom and handed them the evidence.”

My heart races. “What happened?”

“They panicked. Tried to settle. Tried to silence me.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t work. I had my lawyer there, I had Nico, and I had the leverage. I told them I was done. That I wanted out—everything, clean. Every master, every song, every goddamn file with my name on it.”

“Did they agree?”

“They had no choice.”

Relief floods through me like a wave. “Eddie… that’s huge.”

“I’m free,” he says, quieter this time. “For the first time in years.”

I reach for his hand again, threading our fingers tighter. “So… what now?”

He smiles, and this time it’s full. Bright. Real. “Now? I build my own label.”

My mouth drops open slightly.

“I’ve wanted it for a long time,” he continues. “A label that doesn’t bleed artists dry. One that nurtures real talent. I’ve seen too many voices get lost because they didn’t fit the mold.”

I stare at him, warmth blooming in my chest. “You’d be amazing at that.”

He nudges my leg with his knee. “I was thinking of asking Lucas to manage the whole thing.”

My heart lifts. “You’re kidding?”

“There’s no one I trust more. Except maybe you and Nico. And Lucas… he needs a way to shift his world, you know? Something that gives him control again.”

“I love that,” I whisper. “So much.”

He watches me for a second, then leans in, brows lifting. “What about you?”

I blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.” His voice softens. “What do you want?”

I take a breath, surprised at how easily the answer comes. “I want to get back to music. But… I don’t think I’ll ever be someone who can stand on a stage. Not with lights in my eyes and a crowd breathing down my neck. It’s just… not me.”

His lips curve into something devilish. “What about a crowd of one?”

Before I can reply, he scoops me into his lap, one arm strong behind my back, the other cupping my thigh as he adjusts me with infuriating ease.

I laugh, curling into him. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” he teases, voice low against my ear. “Because I think this crowd of one is very passionate. Deeply invested. A devoted fan.”

“Mmm,” I hum, brushing my nose against his cheek. “Only if he behaves.”

“Oh, baby,” he growls, lips brushing the shell of my ear, “I’m never going to behave when it comes to you.”

I smile against him, my chest so full it aches. “I knew exactly who you were when I fell in love with you.”

His hand stills against my hip.

Then he whispers, “Say that again.”

I pull back just enough to look into his eyes—dark, golden, and wide with something vulnerable and wild and completely beautiful.

“I love you, Eddie Crowe.”

He exhales like I’ve just saved him.

And maybe I have.

Just like he saved me.