“Hey, Izzy, while we have you on the phone, we have amazing news,” Dare says after tapping on the speakerphone button.
“Tell her,” Nash says, nudging my arm with his elbow. At the same time, Keaton squeezes my shoulders, adding his encouragement.
A grin lights my face as excitement returns. “I got into the studio today and was able to record the lyrics for our first single on this album.”
“That’s amazing!” Izzy exclaims, her voice bursting with pride. I can practicallyseeher grin through the phone. “I’m so proud of you. The tide is turning,” she continues, her tone slipping into that confident, take-no-shit manager energy that always steadied me. “The public narrative’s flipped completely in your favor. Industry folks who wouldn’t evenreturnmy calls four months ago are suddenly reaching out, wanting to collaborate, to back the label. Even some of the old guard are scrambling to pretend they’ve been on our side.”
“No way,” Nash says, leaning closer, his grin wide.
“Way,” Izzy laughs. “I’m telling you, Survival Records isn’t just the new kid anymore. You’re becoming the standard. People want to be part of what you’re building.”
“Told you,” Dare says smugly. “People can’t resist us.”
“Pretty sure they meanRaina,“ Nash teases.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling. “Whatever it is, it’s working.”
The laughter that follows is easy and real, the kind that feels like coming home.
The terrace glows in the soft wash of lantern light, strung from the old tree above us. Fake candles flicker around the edges, their glow catching in Raina’s hair.
Even the night air seems to still—the breeze gentles, the lanterns sway slower, like the world’s paused for us. I settle beside her, guitar in hand, my heartbeat keeping time with the strings I’m about to play.
Raina’s curled up on the couch, Kindle in hand, and one of the guys’ oversized sweatshirts enveloping her in a cocoon of comfort. She tilts her head back, a smile dancing on her lips, and I can’t help but grin back at her. There’s something so serene about her, sitting beneath the sparkling lights and nestled in the warmth of our sanctuary in the mountains.
“Hey,” I murmur quietly, almost reverently. “Can I play for you?” I steady the guitar against me, fingers hovering over the strings, hoping she’ll feel what I can’t quite say out loud.
She meets my gaze, her blue eyes glinting. “I’d like that,” she replies, voice soft but steady, proof of how far she’s come.
As I start to strum, the notes cascade into the air, filling the quiet with something familiar and fragile. Her eyelids flutter half-closed as the lantern light catches the curve of her cheekbone, casting the rest of her face in shadow.
Each note carries a message, and I find myself remembering all the times I used to play for her when the weight of the world became too heavy to bear.
“You know,” Raina says, her fingers toying with the hem of her sweatshirt, “I always felt better whenever you played for me. Like somehow, it made everything lighter.” She lets out a laugh, the sound mingling with the melodies dancing in the air.
“I guess I did,” I admit, my fingers slowing on the strings. “Playing for you always felt like a way to fix things when I didn’t have the right words. I wanted to help you escape for a bit. Dark days always seem less daunting when there’s music.” I’ve seen it in her eyes countless times—the way her worries and fears dissolve for a moment with each chord. I want to bring her that solace again.
Her smile falters for an instant, replaced with a shadow of vulnerability I can’t help but want to chase away. “It’s… well, I want to check in on how you’re really doing after we found out about Napalm Delights.” I take a breath, holding her gaze steady. The nervousness creeps in again, wondering if I’m crossing boundaries I shouldn’t be. “I want to know how you’re dealing with the news.”
The air feels thicker, charged with unspoken words. Her gaze drifts to the floor; she presses her lips together, shoulders tightening. She’s thinking about the weight of our shared past, the difficulties, the wounds still healing. And maybe part of that includes me, because god knows I wish I had protected her better all those years ago.
“Honestly?” she replies slowly, her fingers absently rubbing the couch cushions as if they hold answers that might eludeher. “It hurts. Seeing them in the spotlight again, it brings back everything—every time I felt powerless.” Her voice breaks a little, and the weight of those memories hangs heavy between us. “Sometimes it feels like all those scars are waiting to bubble back up.”
The ache in my chest sharpens as I realize how deep her pain runs. “I’m sorry, Lexi. I wish I could’ve protected you from everything that happened. I hate how we were both manipulated. How both our lives went off track because of them.” I look up at her through my eyelashes and give her a small smile. “And while I’m at it, I’m sorry for how I treated you when I came back into your life.” I’ve said it before, but I’ll keep telling her until the day I die. “I was too caught up in my own bullshit to realize the pain you were in. I only hope you know that’s not who I want to be anymore.”
There’s a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She blinks slowly, her breath hitching in a way that’s oddly reassuring, a delicate balance of our truth pulling us closer.
“I think I’ve had to learn to forgive you along with myself,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re both learning how to navigate our own scars, and it feels like such a wild process.”
Something loosens in my chest, and I exhale for what feels like the first time all night. “Promise me, as we figure this out together, you’ll keep me in the loop. If there’s anything I can do, anything you need, just tell me.”
Her gaze softens, the warmth radiating from her smile brushing away some of the shadows. “I promise,” she says, and my heart swells at the sincerity in her eyes. “How are you doing with it? They put you in the hospital.”
I take a moment to think it through. What they did to me doesn’t even compare to anything they did to her. I’d let themdo it to me again and again if it meant she would’ve been spared from ever meeting them.
“I’m really fucking happy they are behind bars, and hope whatever they got busted on is rock solid. The only reason I didn’t go to the authorities myself is because I didn’t want you to get any backlash,” I admit.
“Do you think we should reach out?” she whispers, a hint of terror in her voice, but there’s strength too alongside it.
