Page 248 of End Game

“Grave Intentions is good. We have fun. We write. We practice. We play enough shows that I get the rush without having to blow up my life over it.”

“And now?”

“Now somebody who actually does this for a living looked at me and went, 'Hey, come do this with me.'”

Micah's thumbs move slowly against my sides. “That's a good thing.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I laugh once.

“Currently under review.”

He smiles.

I don't.

Because the thought has already gotten loose.

What if Austin likes what I do in the studio?

What if one invitation becomes another?

What if somebody else hears the song?

What if there are more shows?

More writing rooms?

More cities?

I used to think that would be easy.

You go.

You chase the thing.

You figure out the rest later.

Except now the rest lives here.

Micah standing between my knees.

Cami's blood sugar stuff on the counter.

Ronan's stupidly precise coffee setup shoved into one corner.

Griffin's keys by the door.

Five stockings we still haven't taken down because Cami claims Christmas decorations can legally stay up through January and nobody has had the energy to litigate it.

Home.

Fuck.

I have a home.