Page 12

Lying in the grass behind the food trucks, counting constellations neither of us could name.

Her head on my chest as the crowd thinned out, eyes closed, murmuring along to the last song of the night like she wanted to memorise it.

That early morning walk back to the tents, cider-sticky hands linked loosely, both of us tired and a little hungover, but not quite ready to say goodnight.

The way she looked at me like I wasn’t just noise and chaos, but something steadier. Something worth keeping.

It all hits in a rush. A hundred moments, all crammed into a single week, that somehow mattered more than it should have.

And now she’s standing there. And all I can think is: how the hell could she just walk away? How did we never finish what we started?

I half-step back and grin just enough to steady myself.

“So, uh…” I say, voice settling, “we’ve been working on something new.” The crowd erupts. “You lot,” I grin, “are gonna be the first to hear it. Right here. Right now.”

“South Havens!” Ryder jumps in. “This one’s for you.”

But it isn’t.

Not really.

Luca eases into the opening riff, slow and aching. Ryder’s keys follow, threaded with nostalgia. Theo drops into a heartbeat rhythm, low and steady.

I step up to the mic, not the part of me that plays the frontman, but the part that remembers her.

The room dips into stillness, and my eyes flick over the crowd. But I don’t see them.

I only see her.

And suddenly, none of it matters. Not the label, not the chaos, not the noise. Because this was always hers.

Maybe one day, when the universe is feeling kind, our paths will cross again.

Until then… play something for me.

Her note plays at the front of my mind as the music swells, lifting with me until the last note hangs in the air like a held breath. And for a second, everything stops.

Then the roar.

But I don’t move. Don’t smile. Don’t soak it in.

I’m still watching her.

And all I need to know is: Did she hear me? Did she feel it?

Adrenaline thrums under my skin, my heart pounding like it hasn’t got the memo that the set’s over. Sweat clings to my neck, my chest, my collar. But I don’t care. We did it. We gave the crowd everything, and they gave it right back.

Offstage, the venue is still buzzing with leftover energy. The music shifted into something louder and less important. The kind they pump through the speakers after the main act to keep the buzz alive.

I weave through the crowd, past fans and sound techs, and there she is. Standing by the bar, backlit by neon, laughing with Naomi, hair catching the light like the old festival days. My heart kicks hard.

There’s no hesitation. My feet are moving before my brain catches up.

She watches me approach, eyes wide and unreadable. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.

I lean against the bar, close but not too close, forcing a confident grin. “Careful,” I murmur. “Keep ordering drinks like that and you might need someone to carry you home.”

She laughs, quiet and breathless. “Kieran.”

The way she says my name. It lands under my ribs, soft and familiar, like it never left her mouth.

I lean in, grinning just enough to cover the sudden thump of nerves. “Oh, no more Mr. Hayes? That was quick. Thought I’d have to earn my way back to first name status.”

She shakes her head, lips pulling into a small smile, but it’s cautious. Like she’s trying to figure out the rules of this.

Of us.

Of whatever this is.

I curl my fingers around the edge of the bar. Anchoring myself. “You gonna give a guy five minutes?” I ask, nodding toward the booths at the back of the bar where the lighting’s low, the shadows are soft, and the music’s dulled just enough that we won’t have to shout.

Ellie blinks, just once—but I catch the flicker. The tiniest smirk at the corner of her mouth.

She remembers.

I shoot her a wink, just to be sure.

She hesitates slightly, eyes flicking to Naomi, who’s already deep in conversation with Ryder. Hands animated, face lit up in full storyteller mode. Whatever she’s saying, he’s eating it up. “I’ll just let her know,” Ellie says.

I nod. “Okay.”

We find a booth tucked in the corner, the kind that feels like its own little world. She fidgets, smoothing her skirt, brushing a finger through a ring of condensation on the table.

Between us, a candle flickers in a grimy glass jar, illuminating her face as her long lashes cast shadows down her cheeks. For a second, I forget how to breathe.

She’s stunning. Not in some over-the-top way. But in a way that ruins you a little. The kind that makes time fold in on itself. And my heart? It doesn’t stand a chance.

“You know. You’ve broken at least three hearts tonight,” I grin.

She tilts her head, amused. “How’d you figure that?”

“Bartender’s watching you like his whole playlist just turned into breakup songs.”

Ellie laughs. And God , it undoes me. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, lifting her glass.

“Maybe. But you look good, Ellie. Meant what I said ya know. The nurse thing suits you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve got a thing for knackered women in scrubs?”

I shrug. “Just you.”

That catches her, and she falters, cheeks flushing pink. And that’s when I see it.

The ring.

My stomach drops. It’s like slow motion. The glint, the realisation, the wave of gut-punching clarity that follows.

She’s engaged.

For a second, it’s like the air leaves the room. The noise of the bar—the laughter and the music—it all fades into a dull, hollow thrum.

“Nice ring,” I manage, aiming for casual, though my throat feels tight. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“David,” she breathes, twisting the ring around her finger.

David. The one who gets her. The one who gets the girl I lost.

I scrape together a smile, even as something sharp twists in my chest. “How’d you two meet?” I hear myself ask, voice light, and I don’t even know why I’m asking.

Ellie gives a small shrug, fingers still restless against her glass. “Our parents are friends. It wasn’t some big thing. No sparks, no drama. Just something that sort of… happened, I suppose.”

“And the rest is history, huh?” The words slip out before I can stop them, a little too sharp around the edges.

“Something like that.” She offers a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

There’s something in her voice—a pause, a softness that isn’t quite conviction.

A crack she doesn’t know she’s showing.

“Well, while I’m laying all my cards on the table, I have a daughter too.”

Jesus Christ. That stops me cold. “A daughter ?”

Ellie nods, slower this time. “Her name’s Mia. She’s twelve.”

I blink. Twelve. The number lodges in my brain, dragging the rest of the maths with it.

I think of that week we spent together. Everything we shared. Everything she let me see.

And yet—this never came up.

“You didn’t mention her,” I say, not accusing, just… stunned.

She shifts in her seat, fingers fidgeting with the cardigan in her lap, and lets out a soft, uneven laugh. “I know.”

Then, after a beat?—

“It’s just… not something I always share straight away. Especially back then. I’d only just started figuring out who I was outside of being someone’s mum.”

She pauses, eyes flicking to mine. “I’ve had my fair share of judgement over the years.”

I nod slowly, letting it land. Letting her words settle into all the space that suddenly feels like it was always waiting for them.

“I would never have judged you, Ellie.”

She shifts in her seat and nods. “She was eight when David and I met. Callum—Mia’s dad and I were… well, we were kids ourselves when she came along. Total shock for both of us. By the time Mia was born, we figured we were better off as friends.”

My brows lift slightly, a flicker of surprise that softens into something like admiration. “You know… that’s actually kind of impressive.”

Ellie shrugs, shaking her head. “Trust me, it hasn’t always been smooth sailing. Kinda had to learn a lot on my own.”

I tip my head, watching her carefully.

She hesitates, fingers circling the rim of her glass. “It’s not the life I pictured, definitely not. Not at seventeen, not even at twenty-five. I was… young. Stupid, really. I beat myself up about it for a long time, the choices I made, the way things turned out.”

She lets out a quiet breath, eyes dropping to her hands. “But I have Mia, and she’s happy. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“Hey,” I murmur, voice gentler now, the grin softening at the corners. “For what it’s worth… we’re all young and stupid sometimes. It’s not a bad thing. It’s how we figure out what matters, yeah? It’s how we grow.”

She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, maybe.”

For a moment, it’s just the weight of everything unsaid. The almosts, the maybes, the what ifs. Pulling the air tight between us.

Ellie shifts slightly, fingers brushing the edge of her glass. When she speaks, her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she’s stepping carefully into the quiet.

“That song,” she murmurs, eyes lifting to meet mine as she swiftly changes the subject. “It was incredible, Kieran. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing like that.”

I hold her gaze, something loosening in my chest. “Some songs,” I say, “aren’t just written. They’re felt.”

Her breath catches.

“And you, Ellie?” My voice dips lower. “You were always meant to feel this one.”

And there it is, that impossible hum that always charged the space between us, trembling on the edge.

But before anything can shift, a voice barrels through the haze of the venue.

“Ellie-Bellie! There you are!” Theo clambers through the crowd like a human Labrador, with Ryder and Luca on his heels. Naomi follows behind, double-fisting drinks and looking smug as sin.

And just like that, the storm rolls in.

“Oh my god, look at you. Come here!”

Theo reaches straight across the table and pulls Ellie to her feet, sweeping her into a dramatic hug, boots lifting clear off the floor.

“Theo! Put me down!” she yelps, somewhere between laughing and protesting.

I lean back and watch the way her fingers grip his jacket, the flush in her cheeks, the way her smile hits like a punch to the ribs.

As the booth fills with noise and laughter, her gaze finds mine again. And it stays. And whatever this is?

I want in.

Maybe it’s madness. Maybe it’s the universe playing games. But I have to believe it means something. That she wasn’t just thrown back into my orbit for nothing.

Something bent the rules, shifted the stars, just long enough to bring her back into my life. And I’d rather burn than try to figure out why—or walk away wondering, what if?