Her mouth parts, just slightly. “Rafe…”
I don’t let her finish. I lean in and kiss her. The kind of kiss that leaves no room for doubt, no space for performance. My lips against hers are the echo of everything I should’ve said back at the hotel. She softens instantly, hands gripping the front of my shirt, a muffled sound escaping her throat. The noise of the airport fades, just a pulse of life moving around us, distant and unimportant. For a heartbeat, it’s only us, hidden in plain sight.
When I finally pull back there’s still hurt in her eyes, but something else too, something that feels dangerously close to hope. Maybe when I come back, she’ll still feel the same, I hear her say it again in my mind,I love you.I have to believe she still will.
Because I already know, I’m not walking away from this.
Chapter 53
Atta Boy
Rafe
The first-class cabin is loud with chatter and I drop into my seat, headphones around my neck, pretending I’m fine. The attendant recognizes me before I even buckle the belt, pretty, mid-twenties, the kind of smile that’s meant to look effortless.
“Mr. Ashton, we’re thrilled to have you on board.” Her voice lifts, bright, practiced. “I'll be your dedicated attendant.” I nod. She lingers, “You know, I’m really not supposed to say this,” she adds in a whisper, leaning a little closer, “but Riven is my favorite band. I’ve seen you live twice.”
I force a smile. “Thanks. That means a lot.” I turn toward the window.
A few minutes later she’s back with the bottle and another flash of that too-eager smile. “If you ever need anything, and I meananything, just press the call button.” Her tone dips slightly onanything.
“Hey, I appreciate it,really. But I’m kind of… wiped. Long morning.”
The hurt flickers across her face, quick, but there. I sigh, dig into my pocket, pull out one of the guitar picks I keep on me all the time, worn smooth at the edges. I hold it out. “Here. Souvenir?”
Her face lights up. “Oh my god, thank you.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, already looking back at the window. “No problem.”
She leaves happy, and I get peace, silence. Justfive fucking minutesof not being anyone so I can forget what I'm leaving behind, what I might have ruined.
By the time I land, the gray sky is bleeding into night and the city lights look washed out through the taxi window. Berlin air always smells like diesel and rain. Germany’s never been a big market for us, still sold out, but smaller, less fuss. No one’s waiting outside the hotel, no camera flashes. Just the usual blur of lobby marble and luggage wheels.
Normally, after check-in, we’d all go grab food. There’s a shawarma stand we’ve hit every tour since that first drunken stumble years ago, tiny place run by an old Lebanese guy who insists on feeding us until we can’t move. He calls usseine Jungs. His boys.The others already texted:meet in ten.
I ignore it, I’m wrecked. Half an hour later there’s a knock. Then another, louder.
“Rafe,” Ronan’s voice. “If you don’t open this door, I’m going downstairs and asking for a keycard. Don’t test me.”
I sigh, run a hand through my hair, open it and he looks me over like I’m a crime scene.
“Jesus, man. You look rough as fuck.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Feel wrecked.”
He walks in anyway, kicks his shoes off, drops onto the bed. “You weren’t answering texts. We’re heading for shawarma, it’s tradition. You, me, Rithy, Kiri, meat coma. Remember?”
I shrug. “Not hungry.”
He squints. “That’s new. You normally bounce off the plane like you snorted jet fuel. What is it?”
I don’t answer, just stare past him at the TV screen reflecting the city lights. My head’s still somewhere over the Atlantic.
Ronan rubs his face, groans. “Oh no, I know that look.” He leans forward, “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t.”
He grins, claps his hands once, then starts tapping a rhythm on the bedspread. “Our Rafey boy’s in love.”
