Page 44

string lights and sunsets

KIERAN

D usky evening light spills through the high garage windows, soft and amber, casting long shadows across the floor. The chill is damp and bone-deep, and the stubborn scent of engine oil clings to the walls like something half-remembered.

Not much has changed.

The old posters still curl at the edges, faded and peeling from paint-cracked corners.

The same threadbare rugs lie scattered across the concrete—just enough to muffle footsteps and soften the echo.

Cables snake between amps and speakers like ivy, some so frayed they violate at least three safety codes.

Ryder’s already in his spot by the old garage door, his keyboard set up on the same battered folding table we’ve used since we were just starting out.

A half-empty mug of coffee perches on a cracked speaker beside him.

He looks right at home. Like this space, this chaos is woven into his DNA. And—it is. For both of us.

I grab my guitar from its wall hook, fingers brushing over the wood out of habit, before I strum a few quiet notes. I sink onto the sagging bench across from him, the one with our initials carved into the edge from a night we barely remember.

It’s not glamorous. But it’s ours. Always has been. We’ve written more proper music here than anywhere else.

"Alright," I say, running a few more chords. "Let’s go again. But come in earlier this time, let it build slower. I want it to feel like it’s sneaking in."

Ryder gives a salute, fingers already finding the keys. "Roger that."

We settle into it. Him catching the rhythm—me shifting the melody, letting it move and breathe however it wants. It’s fluid. Unspoken. The kind of ease you only get when someone knows how you play before you do. Years of gigs, late-night rewrites, and midnight panic have shaped this.

We stumble a few times. Try a new fill. Mess up a transition. Laugh. Swear. Start over.

It’s perfect.

Ryder leans back, scrunching up his face. "Okay, that was rough. Not entirely my fault, but still."

I snort, muting the strings. "We’ll tighten it up. That verse doesn’t sit right anyway."

He stretches, spine cracking as he lifts both arms overhead. "So," he says, casual as hell, eyes sliding to me, "you and Ellie."

I blink. "What about us?"

He shrugs, but there’s a look on his face. Mildly amused, mostly nosy. "She’s here. You’ve been smiling like you’re in a bloody toothpaste ad. Seems like something worth poking at."

I rest the guitar across my lap and exhale. "It’s not like that."

"Mhm." He sips his coffee. Waits.

I rake a hand through my hair. “She’s been through hell, Ryder. I don’t even know how deep it goes yet.”

"And yet, here she is. With you."

"She’s not here with me," I say, quieter this time. "She didn’t come to pick up where we left off or fall into anything new. She’s here because she had nowhere else."

Ryder sits forward, losing the teasing edge. "You think that makes it mean less?"

I glance up.

"She chose this place, Kieran. She chose you when she broke. Not her parents. Not her best mate. You . That means something."

My throat tightens. "It just… it kills me. Seeing her like that. Pretending she’s fine when she’s clearly not."

He’s quiet for a beat, then nods. "So be the person who makes her feel like she doesn’t have to pretend."

I let the words settle, finding their own place in my chest.

"You care about her," Ryder says, but it’s not a question.

"More than I should," I admit. "But I’m not gonna be another thing that complicates her life. She needs space. And someone who’s just... there."

Ryder taps the rim of his mug and nods once, solemn. "Well, lucky for her, she picked the right place to crash."

He lets the last few notes of his melody hang in the air, his fingers hovering over the keys. I lean back, stretching out my legs, the guitar resting across my chest.

"Barn’s starting to look bloody decent now," he says, glancing out the cracked garage window at my dad, who's brushing a final coat of paint across the old doors. "Feels wrong not celebrating it somehow."

I smirk. "What, like a ribbon-cutting ceremony?"

Ryder rolls his eyes. "Nah, idiot. I’m talking old-school. Food. Fire pit. Some tunes. Like we used to before we got fancy and half-famous."

I raise an eyebrow at him, glancing at the grey-streaked sky. "It’s barely ten degrees out and you want a barbeque ?"

"If it’s not raining sideways, it’s grilling weather," Ryder says. "Adds flavour. Builds character. Gives the sausages a real sense of hardship."

"You’re an idiot."

"An idiot with a plan."

I let the idea settle. And then I think of Ellie. Of how she looked today. Soft and quiet, but lighter. Mia giggling with dad. That rare peace you don’t realise you’re craving until you find it.

"Alright," I say. "Something small. Simple. A bit of light."

Ryder raises an eyebrow. "You mean fairy lights and heartfelt speeches?"

"Fuck off."

He leans back, laughing. "What if we got the boys back? One flight from Italy, they’ll be here in no time."

"You reckon they’d come?" I ask, surprised by how much I want that. Want them all here, in one place.

"They’d be on the next flight if you asked," Ryder says, dead certain. "Tell ‘em it’s a reunion. Band bonding. Emotional wellbeing. Whatever makes it sound important."

"We should call Naomi too," I say after a moment. "I think Ellie needs her."

Ryder nods, all teasing gone now. "Do it. She’ll want to be here."

He’s already pulling out his phone before I’ve decided. "I’ll take the clowns," he mutters. "You get the responsible adult."

I smirk, lifting my phone and stepping out into the sun-soaked yard while he dials Theo and Luca. I can already hear his opening line. “Alright, you international men of mystery, pack your bags. We’re resurrecting the yonder years.”

I shake my head, then focus on the screen. Thumb hovering over Naomi’s name. Ellie didn’t want to disturb her. But this isn’t about interrupting a trip. It’s about giving Ellie something she might not ask for, but needs.

I press call.

"Naomi speaking. If you’re calling to tell me Mia’s gotten into street fighting, I swear to God…"

"It’s Kieran."

There’s a pause. A shift in the air, like she’s stopped mid-step. "Oh." Her voice softens, the snark peeling away. "Kieran. What’s going on?"

"She’s here," I say, my voice low. "Ellie. With Mia."

Another pause. Then a gust of breath, like she’s stepped outside or stopped pacing. "Fuck sake, Ellie," Naomi mutters. "I knew something was off. Hasn’t replied to any of my messages all week."

"She’s coping," I say. "But only just. She’s putting on a brave face I think.”

The silence stretches across the line, weighted now, heavier than before. “I bet she is.” Naomi huffs, sounding frustrated.

“She got here two days ago.”

"She left him," Naomi says eventually. It isn’t a question.

"Yeah," I say. "Well… I think. Not for me. Not for anyone else. She just... I don’t think she could take it anymore. I don’t know the full story."

Naomi exhales again, like she's fighting off every instinct to storm over. "It’s about bloody time. That man’s like mould, always creeping in no matter how much you scrub."

I almost laugh, but it dies quick. "It wasn’t easy for her," I say. "Still isn’t."

"Of course not," she snaps, but there’s steel under the heat. "And I bet she’s blaming herself, isn’t she? Acting like this is her mess to fix. Like she’s inconvenient."

I press a hand to the back of my neck. "Pretty much."

There’s a soft sound, like she’s dragging a hand over her face. "Where are you?" Naomi asks.

"Rosemere. My dad’s place. We’re doing something tomorrow night, something small. Thought she could use something easy."

"I’m coming. Text me the address," Naomi says, no hesitation. "But don’t tell her. She’s probably convinced she doesn’t deserve anyone showing up for her right now."

I smile despite the ache behind it. "She’ll be glad."

"And Kieran?" Her voice dips quieter. More real.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being there for her."

I swallow around the lump in my throat. "Said I would be."

I hang up just as Ryder bursts out into the yard, phone in hand, grin smug as hell. "They’re coming!" he declares. "Flights booked. Theo’s already making a playlist. Luca asked if there’ll be garlic bread."

"Fucking idiot," I mutter, shaking my head, a laugh bubbling out of me.

And just like that, something settles deep in my chest. A sense of things falling into place. Not everything. Not all at once.

But enough.

The next day, the barn is a full-blown construction zone.

Luca and Theo arrived about an hour ago. They wasted no time declaring the barn a vibe waiting to happen . Now they’re elbows-deep in boxes of cables and battered decorations, operating with the kind of confidence only people with no plan whatsoever can manage.

The evening sun slants through the open double doors, catching on the rafters where fairy lights are half-strung, tangled, and stubborn.

An old speaker system wheezes out a playlist Theo swears is curated to evoke nostalgic serenity.

Luca’s already questioned what the hell that’s supposed to mean, twice , and been ignored both times.

Ryder’s perched on a ladder, muttering under his breath as he struggles to hook fairy lights onto one of the ceiling beams.

"Tell me again why I’m the one dangling from death’s doorstep?" he grunts.

"Because you’re the youngest," Luca calls from the floor, half-buried in a pile of tangled extension cords.

I’m crouched by the firepit just outside the barn, coaxing kindling into something that might catch. Smoke curls into the air, the scent already clinging to my clothes.

It’s been too long since we did something like this. Before the touring, before everything got big and serious. Back when music and late nights with dad were enough.

Just as I lean back on my heels, the front door bangs open, and a blur of pink and denim barrels down the porch steps.

Mia stomps across the grass, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. She halts to a stop in front of me, nearly toppling into the crate of firewood. "Can I help?" she asks, vibrating with the need to be useful.

I glance at her, this force of nature wrapped in stubbornness and heart. “Absolutely—Ryder!” I shout toward the barn. “New recruit reporting for duty!”

He leans over the beam to squint down at us. "Can she untangle forty metres of fairy lights and not complain?"

"I’m very patient," Mia says, folding her arms like she’s just been handed the keys to the company.

Ryder sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Alright, come on then. But if you mess up my system."

"You don’t have a system," Mia interrupts, skipping past me toward the barn. "You’ve got a mess. And no symmetry."

Ryder glares after her. "I’m being bullied."

"By a thirteen-year-old," I call, tossing another log onto the fire. "Tough break, mate."

Mia disappears into the barn, her voice already floating back, giving Ryder what sounds like an unsolicited lecture on light distribution and spatial balance. He tries to argue, but she steamrolls him with a confidence that would put an architect to shame.

I grin, sipping from my beer bottle as the fire catches. Warmth seeps into my bones, but not just from the flames. From the sound of them. The life. The messy, noisy, heart-full kind of life that only happens when you stop worrying about the rules.

Then I feel it. That shift. A ripple in the air, like the whole world holds its breath for a second.

I glance up and everything else fades. Ellie’s just stepped out of the house.

The sunset catches her first, throwing gold across her hair where it falls loose around her shoulders.

She’s wearing a soft peach dress, the hem fluttering just above her knees, paired with an oversized cardigan that looks like it was made for comfort, not show.

It hangs off her frame in that perfect, careless way.

Like she doesn't even know she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She moves across the grass, her bare toes curling in the cool dirt, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her cardigan. The breeze lifts the fabric of her dress, just enough to tease, just enough to undo me.

It’s not just the way she looks though, Christ, that alone would be enough to bring a man to his knees.

It’s the way she carries herself. Soft. Tentative. Like she’s not sure she’s allowed to take up space here, in this moment, in this skin. Like she’s been surviving so long she forgot how to just be .

And all I want is to pull her in, wrap her up, and tell her she’s allowed to take up every inch of it. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every piece of my stupid, wrecked heart if she wants it.

"Hey," she says, her voice carrying over the wind.

I rise to my feet, heart pounding like I’ve just been knocked sideways. "Hey," I manage. Every word I know has abandoned me. She’s short-circuited my whole system.

"You look… nice."

Theo coughs behind me and it sounds suspiciously like "understatement."

Ellie raises an eyebrow, smirking like she knows what I’m struggling to say. "Just nice?" she teases, her voice lilting in that way that used to wreck me years ago and still does.

I step closer without thinking, voice dropping low enough that it’s just for her. "You’re beautiful, Ellie. You look like something people write songs about."

She freezes, the words catching her off guard and then her cheeks flush this soft, breathtaking pink. She ducks her head, shy but smiling, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with the compliment.

That shy smile? It wrecks me. It finishes what the dress started and carves out the last bit of self-control I had left.

Behind us, Luca whistles low under his breath, and Ryder, who’s been watching despite pretending to argue with Mia, mutters, "Oof. Smooth, mate."

I barely hear them. Because right now, it's just her.

Ellie Carter, standing in the last light of the day, looking unsure and gorgeous, real and happy.

And fuck, if I wasn’t already completely gone for her…

I am now.

Every part of me knows it.

There’s no pulling back. No cooling off. No pretending anymore.

I’m hers.

Even if she doesn’t know it yet.