Page 29

It’s not a question. It’s a door she’s holding open. I rake a hand through my hair and let out a rough breath. “So,” I repeat.

“You okay?” she asks, turning to look at me properly. Her voice isn’t teasing now. It’s real. Steady.

I don’t answer right away. Because yeah—I’m surrounded by friends, the fire’s warm, my body’s still humming from playing music. But no, I’m not okay, not even a little. “Fine.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “Just tired.”

Naomi snorts. “That’s cute. Lie to someone else, Hayes.”

I exhale hard through my nose. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Nothing?” she repeats, cocking her head, voice dry as sand. “Because it looked like something from where I was standing. And my vision’s elite.”

I look at her then, and she’s already got that look on her face. The one that says don’t even try it. I’m ten steps ahead of you . So, I drop the act.

“I’m falling for her,” I admit, voice cracking a little. “Again. Still. Whatever the fuck this is.”

I scrub a hand over my jaw, trying to find the words that fit the size of it all. “But she’s with him,” I say. “She’s tied to him. And I hate it because…” I break off, shaking my head. Naomi waits. “I don’t think she even knows how unhappy she is.”

She’s quiet for a while. Then she says, gently: “She knows.”

My gaze snaps up.

“She knows,” she repeats, slower this time. A hint of meaning behind the words. “She’s scared,” Naomi says eventually, her voice low. “And she’s tired. And she’s been surviving for so long she doesn’t remember what it feels like to just… be happy.”

I glance at her, throat tight.

“You see her laugh,” Naomi continues. “You see those moments when she’s free. But you don’t see the hours she spends holding everything else up. Mia. Uni. Her parents. Keeping the peace with David. Pretending she’s not drowning half the time.”

I close my eyes, the ache blooming deep in my chest.

“She doesn’t let people see it,” Naomi says. “Doesn’t know how. She’ll get there, but she’s not ready yet. Just… be patient with her,” she says. “She trusts you. More than you realise. Just give her space to come to you. And she will come to you, Kieran.”

I nod, staring at the fire like it might have answers tucked between the flames. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Good.” Naomi bumps her shoulder against mine, soft but solid. “She needs someone that will be.”

A gust of wind kicks up from the water, carrying the smell of smoke. I watch the fire crackle, feel the empty space Ellie left behind like a ghost against my skin.

I’ll wait for her. For as long as it takes.

The first thing I notice is the god-awful pounding in my skull. The second is the unmistakable taste of tequila and regret coating my tongue.

I groan, one arm flung over my face as I shift against the hotel mattress. My eyes stay screwed shut, like that might somehow hold back the nausea lapping at the edges of my stomach.

How the hell did I get back here?

Bits and pieces shuffle through my memory like a broken slideshow. The beach. Ryder shoving another beer into my hand. Theo daring Luca into a shot competition neither of them should’ve accepted.

Ellie, sitting between my legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands curled around the guitar I’d dropped in her lap. That laugh. Ringing through the air as she fumbled her way through the chords.

The way the rest of the world faded into the background until it was just us, tangled in the easy gravity of something too big to name.

The way she pulled away when I was dangerously close to crossing a line.

I force my eyes open, instantly regretting it as the ceiling glares back like a personal attack. My hands drag down my face in protest.

Across the room, an obnoxious snore cuts through the silence like a chainsaw. I tilt my head and spot Ryder sprawled across the sofa, one leg hanging off the side, arms akimbo, still fully dressed. Dead to the world.

Christ .

What time is it?

I reach instinctively for my phone on the nightstand, squinting against the blast of light from the screen. 11:47 a.m. Not ideal. But not tragic.

Just as I’m about to drop the phone back onto the bed, a notification flashes across the screen.

Ells [11:49]

Hope your head isn’t suffering too much today

Another follows before I can even blink.

Ells [11:50]

Also! Naomi says she hates you for getting her involved in that last round of shots.

A breath of laughter escapes me. If Naomi looks anything like I feel, I understand her outrage.

Tell Naomi I regret nothing. She made her choices. Hope you get home safe.

I hover for a second, thumb tapping the edge of the phone. Only a few seconds pass before her reply lands.

Ells [11:53]

Setting off later. Naomi is no longer living, laughing or thriving. That’s for sure! And I’ve felt better lol.

I chuckle again, sitting up now, back protesting. My head’s still a war zone, but this stupid little conversation, bright and easy, helps.

So what you’re saying is you’re both unfit for human interaction today?

Ells: [11:56]

Already accepted my fate. Bed and hydration are severely calling my name.

True survival mode then?

Ells [11:56]

yeah

What about you?

I glance across the room. Ryder hasn’t moved, except to dramatically flop one arm over his face, like he’s shielding himself from the memory of his own choices.

Currently watching Ryder battle for his life in his sleep. It’s touch and go but I think he’ll make it.

Ells [11:57]

I’m rooting for him.

Warmth blooms low in my chest, and I slip the phone into my pocket. Ryder’s death rattle of a snore fills the room, and then he shifts, eyes squinting like he’s just regained consciousness in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

“Water,” he croaks, like it’s his dying wish.

I raise an eyebrow. “Use your legs, dickhead.”

“Dying,” he rasps.

“Good.”

He flips me off blindly, doesn’t even lift his head. I shake mine, dragging myself upright and padding barefoot over to the mini fridge. I grab a bottle, toss it across the room, and it lands with a satisfying thud on his stomach.

He grunts but barely reacts, cracking it open with a groan and taking the tiniest sip known to man.

I lean against the dresser, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Where the hell did you disappear to last night?”

“Bro,” he mutters, voice as rough as gravel. “Do not ask me questions until I can feel my face again.”

I huff out a laugh, taking a long pull from my own water.

That’s when my phone rings. I take it out of my pocket and frown down at the screen, expecting Luca’s or Theo’s name to pop up. But it’s not them.

It’s Mrs. Patel.

I sit down, my stomach dipping like the floor just tilted under me. She has lived across the road from my dad for as long as I can remember. She’s basically family, always checking in on him when I’m gone. But she never calls me.

On the second ring, I swipe to answer. “Mrs. Patel?”

“Kieran.” Her voice is tight. Breathless. But it sounds urgent. “It’s your father.”

The air leaves my lungs. “What happened?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.

“He’s been taken to hospital.”

Blood rushes in my ears, roaring like a wave crashing over me. “What… what’s wrong?”

“It’s his appendix,” she says, her voice shaking. “It burst this morning. I called the ambulance, they got to him in time, but he’s in surgery now.”

Surgery. Jesus Christ. My mind blanks, then spins. Thoughts scatter, useless.

I’m moving before I even register it. Grabbing at my jeans with shaking hands, hoodie caught inside-out, yanked over my head in a rush. My bag’s barely zipped. I don’t check what’s inside. I don’t care.

Shoes. Where are my shoes?

There, half under the bed. I shove my feet in without socks, without thought, heart pounding like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest.

The room tilts. My hands are clammy. My lungs can’t seem to fill. I just need to get home. I just need to go.

“Bro?” Ryder’s voice is suddenly clear. Hangover forgotten.

I glance at him. My grip tightens around the phone. “It’s my dad.”

His face drops. He’s upright now, alert, like someone flipped a switch. “Shit. What’s going on?”

I tell him everything. Mrs. Patel. The emergency. The surgery. It spills out fast, too fast. My voice is tight, breath clipped at the edges, like I’m trying to outrun the panic clawing up my throat.

In my mind, I can already see it. Dad lying there alone, hospital sheets too white, machines blinking at his side.

And I wasn’t there.

It’s been months. Hell, well over a year if I stop lying to myself. I’ve been on the road, buried in shows and noise and deadlines, telling myself I’d call later. Visit next month.

Now he’s in the hospital, and I’m not there. The guilt hits, burrowing into my chest like a fist made of iron.

He’s on his own. And he shouldn’t be.

“I need to get home,” I say, the words tumbling out as I swing my bag over my shoulder.

But before I can move, Ryder is on his feet. “Let’s go,” he says, already shoving his wallet and phone into his pocket.

I stare at him, caught in a blur of panic. “What?”

“You think I’m letting you do this alone?” He shoots me a look. “No chance, mate.”

“Ry, you don’t have to?—”

“Shut up.”

I blink. The sharpness in his voice cuts through the fog in my head.

He steps in front of me, arms crossed, face serious in a way that silences everything.

“Kieran, I’ve seen you break bones, fight off food poisoning, and play through the worst flu I’ve ever witnessed.

But you suck at handling shit when it comes to your dad.

” His tone softens, but he doesn’t budge.

“So yeah, I’m coming. I’ll call Nick, see if he can sort us a car. ”

I let out a shaky breath. My chest is still tight, but I don’t argue. Because he’s right. And I need him.

I nod. Quiet, but grateful as hell.

He claps a hand to my shoulder and squeezes. “Good. Now let’s go.”