Page 27

DEAN

The moment Harry looked up from that half-finished letter—his eyes wide, stunned, shattered—it felt like all the air got sucked right out of the room.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

I saw the pieces falling into place behind his eyes, saw him putting it together. And when he whispered, “ Dean… are you— ” I didn’t even try to stop it.

The tears were falling before I even realized.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, my whole body crumpling in on itself like it couldn’t hold me up anymore. My hands shook so badly I had to press them between my knees to stop them from flying apart.

“ Yeah, ” I choked out, my voice barely more than a gasp. “It’s me.”

The words tasted like ash in my mouth.

Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just stood there, holding the magazine, staring at me like he didn’t know whether to come closer or run.

The shame poured out of me faster than I could catch it.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I sobbed. “I just—I couldn’t do it anymore, Harry. I couldn’t breathe out there. The shows, the lights, the fucking cameras in my face all the time. I couldn’t get away fast enough.”

I swiped at my eyes, but the tears kept coming, hot and blinding.

“The first three letters… that was it. That was all I planned. Just enough to scare Astrid into giving me a break. A reason to leave LA for a few weeks, come home, clear my head. I didn’t—” My voice cracked, and I pressed my hands to my face, curling forward. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”

I felt the weight of Harry’s gaze on me, but I couldn’t look at him.

“I had the fourth letter ready for when I got back. Just one more. But Astrid found it at my place before I could even decide if I was gonna send it.” I let out a broken, bitter laugh. “And then it all seemed to spiral out of control. And I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to tell her. I didn’t want to wreck her career. I didn’t want to ruin her dream too.”

My throat burned.

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

“I didn’t wanna let anyone down,” I whispered. “Not Astrid. Not my dad. Not you.”

The words hung there between us, the silence so loud it hurt my ears.

I finally forced myself to look up at him.

Harry was still standing there, the magazine clutched in one hand—but now his eyes were soft, wet at the corners, his brow pulled tight with something that wasn’t anger.

It was heartbreak.

And I couldn’t take it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shaking my head, my voice faltering. “I’m so fucking sorry, Harry. I didn’t know how else to make it stop. I just—I love writing songs. I love making music. But I hate the spotlight. I hate the crowds and the chaos and the noise. I hate the fucking… machine of it all.”

I wiped my face again, the tears still coming.

“I didn’t wanna give up the songs. But I didn’t know how to escape without blowing it all up. Without blowing up everything. ”

I swallowed hard, my voice barely a breath.

“Do you hate me now?” I asked.

Harry’s brow creased even more. “Dean, I…”

“Are you disappointed in me?”

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Just stared at me with those deep, steady eyes.

Then he dropped the magazine onto the floor and crossed the room in two steps.

His arms wrapped around me tight, pulling me in against his chest, holding me like he could put all my broken pieces back together with just the strength of his arms.

“Babe,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I could never hate you.”

I shook against him, sobbing into his chest as he held me tighter.

“I’m sorry,” I kept gasping. “I’m sorry, Harry, I’m sorry—”

“Shh.” He ran his hands slowly down my back, soft and sure, rocking me just a little. “I know, babe. I know. You’re scared. You’re hurting. But listen to me—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna keep you safe. I love you, Dean.”

I gasped softly. “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

I laughed and cried at the same time. “I love you too, Harry. God how I love you.”

I gripped his shirt in my fists, holding on like it was the only thing keeping me from falling.

Harry kissed the top of my head again, his lips gentle against my hair.

“We’re gonna fix this,” he murmured. “I’ll help you. I’ll make everything better.”

I could barely breathe through the tears, but I believed him.

Because he was Harry.

And he was holding me like he meant every word.