Page 134 of Allegiant

“No. He didn’t. He protected you. Adi was the one who put a gun to your face.”

I shiver, remembering it, and Larry meets my gaze. “How do you know about that?”

“Know about it all, kid. They told me. Samson wants me looking out for you. When he’s no longer around.”

I hated that comment. It sat with me the rest of the next day, my eyes frantically searching for him when I couldn’t see him. But he was there, like he promised, watching and protecting.

Tonight is the first show, and my nerves about being front and center are making me slightly frantic. Along with the usual pressure about not fucking up, I’m all too aware that this will be the final opening night at Rhythm.

Maybe my last opening night ever. It’s not like there are many studios here in St. Dismas.

I could move elsewhere. I probably should. St. Dismas has done nothing but break my heart over and over again. But I know I’ll never leave it.

I might not admit it aloud, but I can’t leave Samson.

I also can’t let myself have him again.

Apparently I’m a sucker for punishment.

“Thanks for the oat bars,” Marcy says, drawing my attention back to the present.

I give her a wan smile. “Want to make sure you all have something in your stomach for tonight.”

She grins at me before pecking me on the cheek and disappearing to her car. We’re all resting for a few hours before we head back to the studio to perform. I haven’t told anyone else about the fact that Derek is going to sell, that we’re going to be shit out of luck soon. I don’t want their spirits to be crushed. I can do that after.

And hopefully, in the meantime, I’ll find a way to salvage this entire shitty situation. I’ll have to get a loan, find a place to open a studio of my own, figure out how to run a business… My head swirls, and I place my hands on my face, breathing deeply.

I sense Samson before I see him. He watched us rehearse, his eyes wide with awe as I moved across the stage. I think that was real, his appreciation of my talent. I don’t think he could fake that.

Honestly, I don’t think he’s faking anything about how he feels.

“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently. “What happened?”

I inhale shakily and let my hands fall from my face. “Just worried. Trying to figure all of this out. The studio, a job after this week, and…you.”

He says nothing, just watches me, offering me silent support. I peer over at him and see the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble on his jaw. He’s exhausted. So am I. I’m so fucking tired.

I want to say the words that’ll make this better. For both of us. I know I can stop this pain. All I need to do is let myself.

Fear. That’s what’s holding me back.

I wish I knew how to move past it. For both our sakes.

I force a smile onto my face. “Never mind. I’ll be fine.”

I hold out a box of oat bars I brought with me—extras I had. I tell myself they weren’t made for him, but deep down I know that’s not true.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

He makes a soft sound then, something I’m sure he wishes I didn’t hear, but it’s a small groan of desperation. Of hope.

I turn my back and inhale once more, trying to center myself.

“They’re just oat bars,” I say to the wall in front of me, unable to look at him as I bend down and pick up my bag. “It’s nothing more.”

He says nothing to that, but I can feel the vibration of need coming off of him. Or maybe that’s me. Either way, I don’t reach for him, and he doesn’t reach for me. But he does follow me out to my car, tail me all the way back to my apartment, and settle himself outside my door.