Page 51

I shake my head, but I’m smiling now, the tension bleeding out of me under the weight of his teasing.

“It’s not about labels,” I say after a minute. “It’s about being where I’m supposed to be. She might never pick me. I get that. But it won’t change the fact that I... I choose her. Even if all I ever get to do is stand by and hope she finds her way back to herself.”

Luca watches me for a beat longer, something softer flickering behind his grin. Then he claps a hand on my shoulder, solid and grounding. “Alright, mate. Sounds like you’ve thought it through.”

“I have.”

He squeezes once before letting go. “Still think you’re a lovesick idiot. But you’re our lovesick idiot.”

I bark out a laugh, the knot in my chest loosening a fraction.

The breeze tugs at the edge of Luca’s jacket. For a long moment, he just watches the street, the way the last light catches on the windows and the sea beyond.

“Also, for the record,” he says, a smirk tugging at his mouth, “if you get us kicked out of this place for a romantic rooftop serenade, I’m absolutely telling the landlord I warned you.”

I grin, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Deal.”

We step back inside and Luca’s already poking around the kitchen drawers, pretending not to care while quietly inspecting the hinges.

I linger for a second longer in the living room, letting the weight of the place settle into my bones.

This isn’t just somewhere to crash between gigs. It’s a choice. A reset.

I pull out my phone.

Found a place in South Havens.

Ells [15:37]

Wait… WHAT?? You’re actually here?

Will be when it’s all sorted. Big place. Even got my own balcony.

Ells [15:39]

I can’t believe you’re moving to the city. What happened to life on the road?

Apparently all I needed was sea air, decent coffee, and one good reason to stay.

Ells [15:40]

Well. Welcome to South Havens, rockstar. Can’t wait to see how long you last without setting off the fire alarm

Challenge accepted.

I pocket my phone, a grin still tugging at my mouth.

The momentum doesn’t just feel good.

It feels right.

The apartment came together faster than I expected.

The moment we left the viewing and spoke to the boys—we called the agent. There was already a queue of interest. Young professionals, a newlywed couple, some influencer who just wanted the balcony for content.

But Luca worked his magic, all charm and compliments. And within forty-eight hours, the place was ours.

From that point on, it’s been non-stop. Total chaos. But somehow—it’s the good kind.

And now? I’m standing in the middle of our new living room, coffee in hand, watching Ryder crash through the door with his suitcase and Theo puffing behind him, hauling a bean bag he apparently refused to part with.

“Whose idea was it to fetch a bloody bean bag the size of a Mini Cooper?” Ryder huffs, helping Theo wrestle it through the door in a true Pivot moment.

“It has sentimental value,” Theo calls back, now dragging a laundry basket filled entirely with snacks, a lava lamp, and three tangled phone chargers. “Also, it moulds to my stress.”

“What moulds to my stress,” Luca mutters from the kitchen, “is the idea of moving into an apartment with three grown-ass men and watching it turn into a teenage boy’s fever dream in under forty minutes.”

I lean against the island, coffee still in hand, grinning as the chaos explodes around me.

The place is already losing its minimalist edge. Bags kicked halfway into rooms, empty takeaway boxes stacking by the sink, someone testing the Bluetooth speaker with an aggressively bad playlist.

“I swear I labelled everything,” Ryder groans. “Why do I have three blenders?!”

“A man can never have too many blenders,” Theo says, dropping the bean bag in the middle of the living room like he’s placing a crown jewel. “This spot gets the most sun. It’s mine now.”

“It’s a bean bag, not a sun lounger.”

“You can pry it from my cold, Wotsit stained hands.”

Ryder opens another box, pausing before holding up a blackened chunk of something vaguely metallic. “What the hell is this?”

Theo squints. “Oh. That’s my toaster.”

Ryder looks horrified. “Why does it look like it survived a war?”

Theo shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’m not saying I meant to light it on fire. But here we are.”

I lean against the counter, grinning as Ryder mutters something about insurance premiums and spontaneous combustion.

Luca finally gives up trying to maintain any order and slouches onto the sofa with a resigned sigh. “Just don’t spill anything on the rugs. Or the fridge. Or literally anything I might have to clean.”

Ryder flicks on the espresso machine with a triumphant flourish. “See, this is why we moved in together. Domestic bliss.”

“And,” Theo adds, pointing a solemn finger at me, “a lovesick frontman who may or may not have orchestrated this entire relocation as part of an emotionally charged long game.”

I raise a brow, deadpan. “That’s slander.”

“It’s correct,” Luca says without even opening his eyes.

I shake my head, a smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re lucky I like you lot.”

“We know,” Ryder grins, already unpacking a keyboard with the delicacy of a brain surgeon.

The banter continues, filling the space like music.

Eventually, I slip away from the noise, heading down the hall to the room I quietly claimed after the viewing.

It’s not the biggest, but it’s bright, angled ceilings and a wide skylight that throws sunlight in soft streaks across the floorboards.

My guitar case leans in the corner. A stack of lyric notebooks sits beside the bed.

I drop onto the edge of the mattress and exhale, letting the hum of laughter and low music drift through the cracked door. I lie back on the bed, arms folded behind my head, staring up through the skylight.

The light’s fading fast, dipping toward dusk, and the glass curves the sky into a soft blue frame overhead.

For years, life’s been loud. Gigs, flights, hotel check-ins at 3 a.m. The constant churn of motion. Barely a breath between soundcheck and the next city.

And I loved it. Still do.

But somewhere along the line, I started craving something else. Not to leave the road behind. But to have somewhere to come back to.

I sit up and drift back into the living room.

Luca’s sprawled on the sofa with a book balanced across his chest, eyes closed, but definitely still listening. Ryder’s curled into the corner chair like a human marshmallow. Theo’s fully nested in the bean bag, head tipped back, half-snoring already.

It’s not clean. It’s not quiet. But it’s ours.

A place to crash. To write. To breathe. To escape to when the road gets too loud.

I take a slow sip of my coffee and look around at the boxes and bags, the half-hung coat hooks, the IKEA tools Theo’s definitely been using wrong.

No screaming fans. No deadlines. No tour bus humming through the night.

I don’t feel like I’m chasing something anymore.

I feel like I’ve landed.