Page 61 of Vengeful Melodies

It’s only been three weeks. Six shows. A thousand moments strung too tightly together.

And yet… it’s hard to breathe without noticing if she’s near. Hard to speak without wanting her eyes on me. It's hard to write anything that isn’ther.

The air shifts before I even hear the door.

The guys don’t notice right away, but I do. I feel her.

The hush that follows is heavier than footsteps.

Dreya steps through, back-lit by the hallway’s golden light, a strand of hair loose against her cheek, her expression caught somewhere between tired and alert.

Jack trots in behind her, tail wagging like this was all just a casual stop.

She holds up a jangling set of keys, brows raised. “Your ride, gentlemen.”

And just like that, the haze becomes a wire pulled taut in my chest.

Kai sits up straighter. Alix stretches like a goddamn cat. Bash smooths his hair, lazy and too late.

None of us say it. None of us have to.

She’s close—and that alone is enough to wreck every version of calm we pretend to carry.

She’s in the doorway, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, backlit like a goddess dipped in gold. Jack winds around her ankles, tail wagging. The words are simple. Mundane. But my chest collapses with relief and something far sharper—hunger. She’s seen everything—the sweat, the raw desperation, the four of us unraveling. The mess we are: empty bottles, sticky skin, muscles trembling, hair clinging in wild strands.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Dreya

I push the dressing room door open, keys jingling in my hand, Jack padding confidently at my heels like he owns the venue. The smell of sweat and alcohol hits me first—followed by the haze of something else I can’t quite name.

I step into it anyway.

Four pairs of eyes find me almost immediately.

Alix’s hand stills mid-stretch, like I caught him doing something far more intimate than just reaching for his drink. Bash’s cocky grin returns like a mask snapping into place, but there’s something softer in his eyes, something searching. Kaiser’s gaze lingers longer, slower, as if he can’t decide whether to tease me or swallow me whole.

And Takoa… he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me like I’ve pulled the floor out from under him again.

I hold the keys up with a small, amused raise of my brow. “You boys forget we have a hotel waiting? Or are you too famous now to care about things like check-in times?”

Bash chuckles, low and hoarse. “We were… celebrating.”

“Clearly.” I glance at the array of emptied bottles and the dazed heat clinging to the air. “You look like the cover of a very tragic rock ballad.”

Alix leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking me like I’m part of a dream he hasn’t woken up from. “Where’ve you been, Darlin?”

“Finishing the promo edit. Feeding Jack. Breathing,” I say, my voice dipping quieter on the last word, too aware of the way Takoa is still watching me like I might vanish if he looks away.

I tuck the keys in my back pocket, pretending I don’t notice the silence settling over the room. But I do.

I feel it crawl into my chest. I feel it in the heat licking up my spine every time one of them looks at me like that—like I’m something they didn’t know they were starving for.

It’s only been three weeks.

six shows.

But I’m not blind to the current running between us. I feel it. I’ve been feeling it since Remington. Since that first moment on the bus, since Takoa’s voice wrapped around a song that wasn’t even about me but somehow still was.