Page 21

DEAN

The next day, the park felt even more chaotic than before.

It was only mid-morning, but the sun was already baking the damaged grass, and the buzz of power tools, forklifts, and yelling tech crews filled the air. The stage was nearly finished—towering metal rigs, black curtains snapping in the breeze, rows of lights stacked like soldiers waiting for orders. Somewhere nearby I could hear Maggie arguing with one of the lighting guys about whether or not she was “technically certified” to help operate a laser light. She wasn’t.

I stood dead center on the stage, mic in hand, watching Astrid pace in front of the production desk like a general preparing for war.

“Alright, Dean, let’s run it again from the top!” she ordered into her headset, not even looking up. “Cue one, lighting ready—Dean, whenever you’re set!”

I gave a thumbs -up, forced a smile I didn’t feel, and took my mark. The crew adjusted the monitors, waved me into position, and the backing track kicked in through the giant overhead speakers.

I opened my mouth to start… and promptly came in two beats late.

“Cut!” Astrid’s voice sliced through the comms. “Dean, babe, we gotta lock the timing in, yeah?”

“Sorry,” I called back, waving at the sound guy. “Let’s go again.”

The music rolled. I focused. Tried to, anyway.

But my eyes kept wandering—out past the stage, to the edge of the field where Harry stood, head tilted back, squinting up at the roof rigging like he was thinking through ten problems at once. God, he looked good. Plain work shirt rolled up at the sleeves, cap low over his eyes, arms crossed tight over that huge, solid chest of his.

Every now and then, when he caught me staring, he’d give me this little half -smile—just a curve of the lips, soft and secret—and it made my heart flip so hard I almost forgot where I was.

Almost.

“Dean!” Astrid snapped again. “Come on, darling, focus. Let’s take it from the chorus.”

I nodded, adjusted my grip on the mic, and tried to steady my breathing. But my mind wasn’t there. My body might have been on that stage, but my heart… my heart was back in that gazebo with Harry last night, tangled up in his arms, skin to skin, safe and warm.

God, I just wanted to be with him.

Nothing to hide.

Nowhere to run.

Nobody wanting anything from me.

Just Harry… asking for my love.

The track rolled again. I missed the first note completely.

“ Cut, cut, cut! ” Astrid threw her hands up and yanked off her headset. “Dean, what the hell, darling? Where are you today?”

“I’m sorry, I just—” I blew out a breath, wiping sweat from my brow. “I didn’t sleep much. I’m fine, I can do it.”

Astrid leveled me with a sharp look, one hand on her hip. “You’re not fine. You’re about three seconds from forgetting what planet you’re on.” She glanced toward the crew. “Take five, people. Reset.”

She walked toward the stage, heels clicking hard on the plywood, eyes narrowing as she reached me.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, Dean? You’re all over the bloody place. The concert’s tomorrow night. This is not the time to start sniffing nail polish remover.” She paused and added, “Wait, that was a joke. Please don’t tell me you’re actually sniffing nail polish remover!”

“I’m not sniffing nail polish remover.” I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “I’m just… I’m tired, Astrid.”

Her expression softened, just a little. She sighed, pressing a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose.

“Fine. You’re no good to me like this. Go take a break before you drive me to drink.” She pointed a finger at me like a warning shot. “One hour. Clear your head. Eat something. Meditate. Pet a llama. I don’t care what you do—just come back ready.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, hopping down off the stage before she changed her mind.

Astrid was already barking into her headset again. “Barney! Where the hell is the pyro team? And someone tell Maggie to get off the bloody scaffolding— again! She is not Spider-Woman!”

I headed toward the edge of the field, my body already relaxing as I slipped out of the center of all the madness.

I wanted to see Harry.

I needed to see Harry.

But there was something I had to do first.

And I knew exactly where I was going.

* * *

The second I pushed open the door of Raven’s General Store , the bell overhead let out its tired old ring, and I was immediately hit with the smell of dust, musty leather, and what I could only describe as wet dog… even though Old Man Raven had never owned a dog in his life .

I hadn’t been in here for over a year.

I’d forgotten how cluttered the place was.

Every available inch of wall space, counter space, and floor space was stacked with… stuff. Not organized in any way that made sense. Just… stuff. Paint thinner next to children’s coloring books. Cans of Spam stacked against bags of potting soil. A wobbly pile of VHS tapes threatening to topple into a cardboard box labeled Clearance: Golf Balls & Rosary Beads—Play and Pray Combo. $5.99 each or Best Offer.

Behind the counter, Old Man Raven was busy trimming a stack of laminated signs with a pair of rusty scissors. When he looked up and saw me, he smiled from ear to ear. “Well, I’ll be damned, if it ain’t Dean Reeves himself. Local boy makes good. Back to honor us with your celebrity presence, huh. You wanna autograph some jars of pickled onions for me?”

“Hey, Mr. Raven. Thanks, but if it’s all the same to you, pickled onions aren’t exactly… on brand.”

I noticed the signs he was making. In Comic Sans font they read We Heart Dean and Dean We Love You and Dean I Want Your Babies . Some had clip-art guitars on them. A few had pictures of random male models who definitely were not me.

I raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Real high production values there. Although I’m not sure Constellation’s marketing department would approve.”

Old Man Raven shrugged off my comment. “Who cares about them. Better get in quick if you want one. Five bucks a pop. Don’t miss out. I’m expecting these to fly off the shelves like hotcakes.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

Old Man Raven kept snipping, completely unfazed. “Suit yourself. So, what brings the rock god to my humble establishment? Is it the two-for-one CD offer? I’ve burned all your music onto blank CDs so your fans can buy them for half the normal retail price. You wanna sign some of those?”

“Oh wow! That’s really not Constellation Records approved.”

“Then what the hell is it you want?”

“Actually, I was wondering if the new Rolling Stone magazine came in.”

Old Man Raven’s eyebrow crept up a notch. He reached under the counter and pulled out a glossy stack of magazines wrapped tight in plastic. Right there on the cover, staring back at me like some other version of myself, was me. Shirtless. Hair messy. Red leather pants low on my hips. One hand holding an electric guitar. One hand in my hair, mouth parted just enough to look like I was thinking either something deep or something filthy.

I felt my face flush the second I saw it.

Old Man Raven tapped the magazine stack and said, “I don’t know about you, but that cover is hot enough to turn even me gay.”

I coughed, looking anywhere but at the cover. “Yeah, well. It was… my manager’s idea.”

“I ordered extras. Figured the tourists’ll eat it up. You want one… or did you just come in here to critique my CD merchandise?”

I pulled out my wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Yeah. I’ll take one.”

Raven rang it up slowly, sliding the magazine across the counter like it was a porno.

“That’ll be nineteen ninety-nine,” he said.

“Is that price right?”

“Concert surcharge.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a real thing?”

“No,” he replied, already pocketing the cash.

I slipped the magazine under my jacket as casually as I could and hurried out the door.