Grayson looks shattered. He sits on the couch, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, his phone on the floor between his legs like it had burned him. He doesn’t even look up at the sound of my voice.
“Gray?” I ask carefully.
I’m scared to come near him.
Scared to touch him.
He looks up, blinking a few times as if it takes him a second to register that I’m here. When his eyes finally meet mine, I know. I know before he even says anything.
“Mia,” he says, and his voice… God, his voice.
It cracks me wide open.
“I missed the call,” he mutters. “I was on stage, and I fucking missed it.”
I cross the room in an instant and pull him into my arms, shutting the door behind me with one hand. No one else needs to see this.
“She’s gone,” I whisper, needing to hear the words come off of my lips for both of us.
His body folds into mine and his hands grip the back of my shirt like he’s clinging to me for dear life. He sobs into my shoulder—violent, heart-wrenching sounds I’ve never heard him make before.
I don’t know what else to do. I move us back onto the couch, guiding him down so I can hold him tighter. My fingers runslow, steady lines across his back, and I just let him cry. There’s nothing to fix. No magic thing I can say. I know that—even though I still wish there was. So I just keep holding him while his world caves in.
Then the door bursts open.
Johanna stumbles through it like the floor’s been ripped out from under her. Her makeup is ruined, her eyes bloodshot, and her body shakes as she sinks down on the floor beside the couch on Grayson’s other side. She clings to him, trying to find something solid to hold on to.
We stay this way for a long time. Long enough for the roar of the crowd to fade, for the next set to start, for the whole world to keep spinning even though ours has stopped.
Eventually, Grayson stands. Quiet. Composed, in the terrifying way that grief sometimes makes you when it’s completely taking you over.
“I need to get out of here,” he says hollowly.
“Okay,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I stand and begin gathering our things. “Okay, we’ll go tell Jake what happened and we’ll get on the first flight—”
“What do you meanwe?”
The words hit me like a slap. It comes so suddenly that I almost don’t register what he said.
“You’re not coming.”
“What?” I ask, my breath catching. “What are you talking about?”
He won’t look at me.
“We—Johanna and I—need to take care of this,” he says, his voice flat, like he’s already made the decision and doesn’t want to explain it. “You should stay here.”
It’s cruel. It’s not Grayson. NotmyGrayson.
My heart stumbles. I have to be in the middle of a nightmare. This isn’t really happening—is it?
“Gray,” I plead, trying to step closer and close the growing distance between us. “I want to be there. For you. Forbothof you. Why—?”
“Ican’t fucking do thiswith you there,” he yells, his voice exploding around us. “I can’t think. I can’t feel anything except the weight of you watching me, waiting to fix me. Idon’t want you to fix me, Mia.”
The words knock the air right out of my lungs. Slice me right open.
I know it’s the grief talking. I know he’s spiraling in the worst way. I know he isn’t himself.
