Page 77 of Spotlight Hearts

Michael mutters under his breath, “I swear if he bailed on the Europe leg⁠—”

The time ticks down like a bomb, and I watch the open door.

The flight attendant steps up beside Tasha.

“We need to close the door.”

Tasha hesitates. Three seconds. Four. Then she nods.

“Alright. Close it.”

The attendant reaches for the handle. And right then⁠—

“Hold it!”

Every head in the cabin turns. Footsteps pound up the stairs outside. A second later, Luca appears in the doorway. He’s breathing hard like he ran the entire terminal. His hair is a mess, sunglasses pushed up on his head, hoodie half-zipped.

For a second, no one says anything. Michael is the first to recover.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurts. “Where the hell have you been?”

Luca steps inside like nothing’s wrong. “Traffic.”

I can’t hold back my scoff. He’s lying.

“Problem?” he asks lightly, eyes flicking to me for the briefest second before looking away.

I clamp my mouth shut. I’d rather bite off my tongue than get into an argument with him right now. Just the sight of him makes my chest hurt, and the familiar scent of his cologne reminds me of our very brief time together. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

Tasha sighs in relief. “Just sit down. We’re already behind schedule.”

Luca drops into the seat farthest from me—the one in the back row by the window. He pulls his headphones on and turns toward the glass, shutting everyone out.

The door finally closes. The jet taxis. We take off. And the silence between us feels louder than the engines.

Hours later, after we’ve been in the air for a while, I can’t take it anymore. I unbuckle and walk back to the private quarters at the rear of the plane. Luca’s door is closed. I knock once. No answer. I knock again, harder.

The door opens.

Luca stands there, hoodie still on, eyes tired and guarded.

“What?” he says.

I step inside and close the door behind me. The small cabin is dim, just the reading light on above the bed.

“We need to talk.”

He crosses his arms. “About what? You made it pretty clear in the Bahamas that there’s nothing to talk about.”

The hurt in his voice is unmistakable. It makes my stomach twist.

“I was scared,” I say. “I still am. But running away wasn’t fair to you. Or to us.”

“Us?” He laughs, the sound bitter. “There is no ‘us,’ Kai. You made sure of that.”

I step closer. The space between us feels too small and too big at the same time.

“I was wrong,” I admit. “I pushed you away because I was terrified of how much I feel for you. Because if this is real, it could destroy everything—the band, my control, my heart. But these last ten days without you have been hell. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you.”