Page 3 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Three

Dreya

Wren sits quietly beside me as I try to process everything I’ve been through today.

My belongings are stacked in neat piles in the bed of his truck.

When I got home, Bradley had already thrown everything to the curb.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the already-bruising side of his face is a souvenir from Wren knocking him down outside the tattoo parlor.

The small urn holding my father's ashes rests in my lap. I clutch it tightly, trying—and failing—to steady my shaking breaths.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “How do you go on after something like this?”

“You’re strong, Jupey.” Wren’s voice is soft, full of hurt on my behalf. “That relationship was never meant for you to stay trapped in. He was sucking your soul dry, shaping you into someone you’re not.”

His calloused hands cover mine gently.

“You can stay with me for as long as you need,” he continues. “Tomorrow, we’ll call the leasing office and get your name off that place. We’ll file a restraining order on that cheating bastard. I’ve got you.”

He brushes his thumb beneath my eyes, probably smudging away what’s left of my makeup.

“I can’t believe that two-timing piece of shit had the audacity to call someone else to move my things out. Like he couldn't even face me after what he did.” My voice cracks. “And to leave my father’s ashes beside the road like trash... I could’ve lost him forever. Bradley knew that.”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat nearly unbearable. I swore I could spend my life with that man. Even if we weren’t getting married anymore… I wasn’t the one who cheated.

“I promise you’ll never go through this again,” Wren says, voice low but firm. “The next person who wants to be in your life? They’re gonna have to earn it. You deserve real love, babygirl. Now… let’s get you home.”

I nod, too numb to speak. I rest my head against the passenger door, about to close my eyes when my phone buzzes with the loud, obnoxious ringtone I’d set for Frieza’s Diner. Of course.

Groaning, I answer with my best fake-happy voice. “Hello, Steven.”

Steven’s nasally breathing is the first thing I hear. Instant dread coils in my stomach. And I swear… I can hear Bradley barking in the background.

“Ms. Lorena,” Steven begins. “It’s come to our attention that you’ve been improperly entering your till totals at the end of your shifts.

Witnesses claim they saw you pocketing money.

We don’t condone theft, and effective immediately, your position with us is terminated.

You’re also banned from entering the restaurant.

If you so much as look at the front door, we’ll call the police. ”

His voice sharpens.

“We’re very disappointed. We thought we could trust you. But clearly, you lack the ethics we expect. Goodbye, Dreya.”

The line goes dead before I can say a word. No defense. No explanation.

I stare at the screen, stunned.

“I just got fired,” I whisper. “For stealing.”

Wren stiffens beside me.

I've never stolen a thing in my life. Not even a piece of twenty-five-cent gum from the corner store. And now, I'm jobless.

I’ve never been without a job. Working was the only way to survive the house I grew up in.

After my mom left for a new life—with new kids and a new husband—it was just me and Dad.

My brother refused to help take care of him.

So at sixteen, it fell to me. I worked two jobs while finishing high school, just to keep the lights on and get Dad the meds he needed.

And now?

No job. No home. No plan.

“This is the first time in years I haven’t had somewhere I pay rent for,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“Dreya,” Wren murmurs, his deep Southern drawl wrapping around my frayed nerves, “I know you. You’ve never stolen a damn thing. Hell, I still remember when Jackson and I dared you to swipe a candy bar in middle school and you cried.”

He reaches for me. “Screw them. They’ve got no proof. That diner sucks anyway—and you’re the only reason I ever stepped foot in there. You’re gonna be okay. Job or not, you’ve got me. We’ll figure it out. Together. Okay?”

Fuck… did I make a mistake?

Leaving Bradley without a backup plan? No escape route?

I can’t do this to Wren. He doesn’t deserve to carry my baggage.

And what about school?

Bradley was going to cosign my loan for second semester. I’m so close to graduating. So close to finishing what I started.

My breathing spikes. Fast. Hard. Out of control.

No. Not here. Not now.

Not in front of this house. Not where Bradley’s cameras can see. Not today.

I will not break. I will not give him the satisfaction. I…

The words choke in my throat. My hands clamp down on the urn as my vision blurs.

I’ve already lost this battle.

I’m twenty-five years old. Homeless. Jobless. Abandoned. I gave everything for a love that wasn’t real.

No job. No home. No fiancé. No future.

My chest tightens, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my ribs. My hands shake violently. My vision tunnels.

“JUPEY!” Wren’s voice cuts through the panic. “Jupiter, babygirl, look at me!”

He’s outside the truck now, gripping my shoulders. I can see a blacked-out SUV slowing in the corner of my vision.

Everything else is fading—except the panic.

I’ve never been able to stop them once they start. When the grip hits, it’s like my body locks up, my heart trapped in a vice.

My therapist always said it’s my brain’s way of trying to protect me. Shutting down. Fading to black. Surviving.

I haven’t had one like this since my dad died. Since my brother OD’d. Since I realized I was truly alone in the world.

The SUV stops.

Grey. Shit.

And he’s not alone. A tall, lean guy stands beside him—tense, like he’s ready to fight. Which, to be fair, he might be. We’re strangers, after all.

Maybe it’s the way Wren’s yelling. Maybe it’s the scene in general. Either way, they approach fast.

God, I don’t need this right now.

But I fight through it. I fight against my body, against the tightness in my chest, the weight crushing my ribs.

I am not weak. I am not fragile. Even the strong break sometimes—but I will not break here.

“I’m… okay,” I croak. “I’m okay, Wren…”

My voice is shredded. My throat burns. My head throbs with the coming migraine.

“Is everything okay?” Grey asks, concern lining his voice. “Do you need an ambulance?”

I duck my head, ashamed. I can’t let him see me like this. Not again. Not twice in one day.

“She just needs food,” Wren answers quickly. “Her blood sugar dips sometimes. We’re going to get her something now.”

He turns to the other man, fumbling a little as their eyes meet.

“Alix,” Grey says. “Go grab the trail mix from the front. It's new. She needs something stable before you feed her real food.”

Then, to me: “Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance? I’m just taking him to the arena to meet the others.”

His voice is soft. Reassuring.

I lean toward Wren, whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

“If you don’t get that man’s number, I will hold it over your head forever.”

I nudge him forward, then lean back, taking shallow breaths as the cool air hits my skin again.

I won’t slip back. Not now.

This isn’t the end. It’s just a detour. A bump in the road.

“Here,” a deep Australian accent says as a hand extends a pack of trail mix toward me.

I brush my hair from my face—and freeze.

It’s him.

The man from Grey’s shop earlier. The kiss.

His eyes widen as they land on me.

“It’s you,” he says. “From the shop. Are you okay? Was it that guy? Did he hurt you? Where is he?”

His voice gets sharper as his gaze flicks to my things in the truck bed, to the urn in my hands.

He clenches his fist and starts to round the front of the truck, but both Wren and Grey block his path.

“If you get in trouble out here, the guys’ll kill me,” Grey warns, pushing him gently back toward the SUV. “Sorry about him, Dreya. Eat those. I gave Wren my number. If you need anything—anything—call me.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “I will.”

I turn to Wren. “Can we go home now?”

He nods, still red in the face, and bolts back to the driver’s seat. The truck door slams shut.

As we pull away from Bradley’s house, I glance back one last time.

Grey rounds his car. Alix stands beside him, watching us drive away. There’s something in his eyes—a softness, a sadness.

He looks like he wants to say something… but doesn’t.

So I say something for him.

“My name’s Dreya. Dreya Lorena,” I call out softly. “Maybe next time we’ll meet under better circumstances, Alix.”

I offer a faint smile. Then we’re gone.