DEAN

The park looked almost peaceful again. Peaceful and totally fucking trashed.

The stage was half dismantled now, light rigs coming down piece by piece, stacks of black crates lined up like dominoes across the grass. Crew members moved slowly, quieter than they had all week—heads down, voices low, the adrenaline of the show setup long gone, replaced by the steady, tired rhythm of pack-up.

Harry’s truck rolled to a stop along the perimeter fence, tires crunching on the gravel. He killed the engine and sat back, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, the other finding mine where it sat clenched tight in my lap.

“Are you sure you wanna do this today?” he asked softly, squeezing my hand. “It can wait.”

I shook my head, eyes fixed on the half-collapsed skeleton of the stage.

“No. It can’t.” I let out a slow breath. “I’ve already waited too long.”

Harry nodded, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.

We sat there in the pickup for a minute, the only sound the distant clang of metal being loaded onto trucks and the calls of the crew counting off inventory.

My stomach twisted nervously.

God, I didn’t know if I could actually say what I needed to say. Not to Astrid. She’d put so much into my career. I could already see her face, that sharp little frown, the way her jaw clenched when something didn’t go the way she’d planned.

But I couldn’t keep doing it. Not the way I had been.

I felt Harry’s eyes on me, steady and patient.

“You want me to come with you?” he asked. “Stand by your side?”

I turned to him, swallowing hard, my throat thick.

But I shook my head.

“This is something I gotta do myself.”

Harry’s eyes softened, and he nodded again.

I leaned in, pressing my forehead to his, our hands still tangled between us.

“I love you,” I whispered.

Harry smiled, then kissed me slow and sweet. “I love you too, babe. More than anything.”

I took one last breath, squeezed his hand, and pushed the door open.

The morning sun was warm on my back as I stepped out of the truck and onto the grass. I could feel Harry watching me, and it gave me just enough strength to keep walking.

Toward Astrid.

Toward the conversation that might just change everything.

* * *

The crew was still breaking down the last of the barricades when I found Astrid at the production desk, clipboard in hand, sunglasses on and barking orders into her headset like the show was still happening, pointing sharply toward the last of the equipment trucks as they reversed into place.

“No, no, no! Speaker stack three goes in the blue truck, not the red one!” She yanked the headset off with a frustrated sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “God, give me strength. These people would drown in a rainstorm if I didn’t tell them how to float.”

I swallowed hard, shifting on my feet.

“Hey,” I said softly.

As soon as she saw me Astrid jumped out of her folding chair and hugged me tight. “Dean, darling. Are you alright? Last night was fucking crazy. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

I shook my head. “I’m okay. You?”

“Fine, although I felt like I lost at least three years off my life watching that chaos unfold. You’re lucky your lovely boyfriend fought off half the crowd or we’d be scraping you off the stage with a spatula.”

I couldn’t argue with her on that.

I stuffed my hands deep into my jacket pockets, stared down at my boots. What I wanted to say felt big and heavy in my chest, but I knew I had to get it out.

“I need to talk to you,” I said quietly.

Astrid’s arms dropped slowly to her sides, her expression shifting. She pulled off her sunglasses, tucking them into the collar of her shirt. “That sounds ominous,” she said. “Go on, then. Hit me.”

I took a breath. “I’m done, Astrid. With performing.”

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard me right.

“I don’t want to be on stage anymore,” I said, steadier now. “I don’t want the lights. The interviews. The crowds. I can’t… I hate it, Astrid.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Dean—”

“No, please. Hear me out. I love writing songs. I want to keep writing songs. I want to move back to Mulligan’s Mill and write the best songs the world has ever heard. But I can’t keep doing this. ” I gestured to the staging being packed down all around us. “It’s not for me. Not anymore.”

Astrid crossed her arms, head tilting, eyes searching my face. “You’re serious.”

I nodded. “Dead serious.”

She inhaled deeply again, held her breath, then let it out through her teeth. “Goddammit.”

I flinched, but she wasn’t shouting. She just shook her head, looking up at the sky like she was asking for divine patience.

“I knew,” she muttered. “Deep down, I knew this was coming. You were never like the others. Never had that bloodthirsty, fame-hungry look in your eye. You were the only artist I’ve ever had to push onto the stage instead of pulling them off it.” She dropped her arms, planted her hands on her hips, and stared at me for a long moment. “Of course, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t utterly devastated. I’ve worked my arse off to get you where you are. We built this together, you and me.”

“I know,” I said, my dry throat clicking as I swallowed. “And I’m grateful for everything you did for me. I mean it. But I can’t keep standing out there like that. It’s not who I am.”

She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “No. No, it never was.”

There was a beat of quiet between us—heavy, but not angry.

“I still want you to be my manager,” I added quickly. “For the songwriting. If you’ll have me.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you bloody well write the biggest hit songs of all time.” She jabbed a finger at me. “You owe me that much.”

I laughed, the weight easing off my chest. “Deal.”

Astrid stepped forward and pulled me into another hug. “I guess you can take the boy out of Mulligan’s Mill, but you can’t take Mulligan’s Mill out of the boy, huh.”

“I guess not.”

As we parted, she wiped her eyes. “Go on, then. Go and be happy.”

I nodded, my heart thumping, soft but steady, the fear replaced by something warmer. Something right.

“Thank you, Astrid,” I said, my voice cracking a little. “For everything.”

She waved me off, already pulling her sunglasses back on like she couldn’t handle another second of emotional vulnerability.

“Off you go, darling. Before I change my mind.”

I grinned, turned on my heel, and walked away.

Free.