Page 24

HARRY

The bruise on my jaw wasn’t the worst of it.

It throbbed, sure—a hot, ugly ache radiating down my neck—but I’d taken harder hits back in high school brawls behind the local gas station. No, the part that hurt most was somewhere deeper, somewhere I couldn’t patch up or put an ice pack on.

It was the way Andy had looked at me.

Like I was a stranger. Like I was something filthy.

I stood at the edge of the concert site, clipboard in hand, watching the final rig checks, the sound team tweaking the speakers, the lighting crew calling down from the trusses. The park looked like a different world now—stage glowing under the afternoon sun, cables taped down neatly, barricades set, vendors wheeling in carts of bottled water and corndogs.

It was showtime. Whether I was ready or not.

The first of the crowds had already started rolling in—vans and buses coming down the hill from the highway, lines of cars backed up all the way to Brannigan’s Bridge. People in cutoff shorts and T-shirts with Dean’s face plastered across their chests were spilling out onto the sidewalks, chattering, laughing, snapping selfies under the big banner that stretched across Main Street: Welcome To Mulligan’s Mill—Home Of Dean Reeves!

I should’ve been proud.

I should’ve been excited to see the town bustling, thriving like this.

But all I felt was dread twisting hard in my gut.

Because somewhere in that sea of fans—faces I didn’t know, people smiling and laughing and waving signs—one of them might be the sick son of a bitch who’d been sending Dean those letters. One of them might be here for something darker than a concert.

And God help me, if I couldn’t stop it—if anything happened to Dean on my watch—I’d never forgive myself.

I caught myself rubbing my jaw again, fingertips tracing over the sore spot like I could scrub the memory of Andy’s fist right out of my skin.

“ Fucking hell, ” I muttered under my breath.

I hadn’t seen Andy since he stormed out of my house that morning. Hell, I didn’t know if I would ever see him again. My best friend—my found family —had looked at me like I’d betrayed him in the worst possible way. And maybe, in his eyes, I had.

A lifetime of friendship had gone down the drain in one sickening, awful moment.

I shook it off.

Or at least tried to.

I had work to do.

I had Dean to protect.

“Harry!” one of the crew called from the barricade line. “We need a hand over here!”

I waved back, nodding, pushing down the ache in my chest and the pounding in my head. I could fall apart later. Right now, I had a job to do.

I crossed the grass toward the stage, jotting notes on my clipboard, giving the lighting rig one more visual check, triple-checking the path to the green-room area. Watching the roads, the fences… the faces in the crowd.

I scanned every damn stranger twice.

The band’s equipment truck was backed in now, crew unloading even more amps and mic stands, hauling gear toward the wings. Astrid was a streak of motion near the front of the stage, headset on, shouting into the mic, already looking like she was one caffeine hit away from a coronary.

And then I heard the voice I hadn’t realized I needed to hear.

“Harry.”

I turned.

Madeline stood there in her sensible shoes, soft brown eyes watching me like she could see all the way through to the part of me I was trying real hard to hide.

She gave me that gentle, no-bullshit smile of hers—the one that said don’t you dare tell me you’re fine if you’re not.

“You got a minute?” she asked.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and nodded. “Yeah…. yeah, I got a minute.”

Dean was up on stage again, guitar slung over his shoulder, mic in hand, ready to do one last quick walk-through onstage.

The crowd hadn’t fully arrived yet—just a slow, steady trickle of fans filling the outer perimeter—but the stage lights were already kicking up dust into gold, making the whole scene look bigger than life.

Dean’s eyes found mine across the field.

Just for a second.

And in that second, everything in my chest tightened. Because I saw it written all over his face—the same exhaustion, the same hurt, the same desperate, aching love that was chewing me up from the inside out.

I gave him the smallest nod. Steady. I’m here .

Dean’s lips pressed together, his chin lifting just a fraction, like he was bracing himself.

Astrid’s voice crackled through the stage comms. “Okay, Dean, babe—we’re rolling. Let’s go from the top, cue one!”

The opening bars of the first song kicked in through the massive speakers, bass humming low beneath my feet. The crew moved like clockwork, heads down, focused.

I felt a soft hand on my arm.

“Harry.”

It was Madeline. She stood close, her voice just loud enough to carry over the thrum of the final soundcheck and Dean’s walk-through.

“Come with me.”

I let her lead me across the grass, past the crew tents and food vendors, into the shade of the big white merchandise tent. Inside, it was cooler, quieter—the thick canvas walls muting the music outside to a distant thump.

And everywhere I looked… Dean.

His face on shirts.

Posters.

Laminated lanyards dangling from a rack.

Badges and stickers and tote bags all stamped with Dean Reeves Homecoming Concert.

My stomach clenched.

I tore my eyes away from the merch table and focused on Madeline as she guided me into the corner of the tent where nobody else was hovering.

“I know what happened this morning,” she said softly.

I swallowed hard, felt my bruised jaw tense out of instinct. “Yeah?”

“Andy called me,” she went on, eyes kind but serious. “He was in tears, Harry. Said he caught Dean at your place. Said the two of you had a fight.”

I let out a slow breath and the bruise on my jaw throbbed like I needed another reminder of what happened.

Madeline’s eyes turned to it, her expression softening even more. “I can see Andy wasn’t exaggerating the part about a fight.”

I didn’t say anything. Just stared down at the trampled grass underfoot.

She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice. “Harry… he’s angry, yeah. But mostly he’s confused. Embarrassed. This is uncharted territory for him.”

“It’s uncharted territory for all of us,” I said, then shut my mouth again, kept my eyes down, hands flexing uselessly at my sides. I could feel the shame burning behind my ribs. The fight was playing on a loop in my head…

The look on Andy’s face…

The weight of a lifetime of friendship crumbling between us.

“He’s your best friend,” Madeline said gently. “And yeah, this… this caught him off guard. But that’s not how your story with him should end.”

I finally looked up, meeting her eyes.

“You should try again,” she said softly. “Talk to him. When he’s calmer. When you’re calmer. Don’t let the way it happened this morning be the end of it.”

I nodded slowly, throat thick. God, I knew she was right.

But the fear of standing in front of Andy again, of taking another swing at that conversation, of risking another punch to the face—or worse, another punch to the friendship—that fear sat heavy on my chest.

“I just…” I swallowed. “I don’t wanna push him. Not if it’s only gonna make it worse.”

Madeline reached out, gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Just… give him another chance. He’s a good man. And so are you. That’s why you’re best friends.”

The music outside faded, the last chords of the soundcheck ringing through the park.

Madeline gave me one more nod, then stepped back, leaving me standing there surrounded by Dean’s face on a hundred pieces of glossy merch, the ache in my chest louder than the speakers outside.

I knew what I had to do.

I just had to find the courage to do it.