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We all made it through. And I love you, too.

Because that’s the thing no one tells you about grief.

And we’re not going alone.

The words echo in my head as I step out of the steam-filled bathroom and into the cool hush of my hotel room, towel slung low on my hips, heart still racing like I never left the stage. Madison Square Garden—goddamn. We did it. We bled for it. Thorin nearly broke during it. And still, we did it.

I drop onto the edge of the bed and grab my phone like it’s my lifeline. Because it is. Because she is.

Mya.

One ring. Two.

“Hey,” she answers softly, the sound of her voice like warm sugar and safety, like the after of a storm.

“Hey, baby.” My voice comes out rough. A little wrecked. “You still awake?”

“I never sleep on show nights. You know that.” There’s a smile tucked between her words, and God, I miss her. Like physically ache miss her.

“How’s Reese?” I ask, even though I know Thorin’s probably still on the phone with her right now, whispering the same apologies he’ll never stop carrying. “Is she… okay?”

“She’s hanging in. They both are.” There’s a pause, soft and full of things she’s not saying. “And the twins are finally asleep—finally—so don’t you dare wake them with that gravel-voiced rocker growl of yours.”

I huff a laugh. “Noted.”

I lean back against the headboard, close my eyes, and let the silence stretch between us like the space it’s always trying to fill. She doesn’t rush me. She never does.

“So,” she says gently, “how was it? Really?”

My throat tightens. “It was everything. Loud and electric and terrifying. MSG is like… standing in the belly of a legend and trying not to fuck it up.”

“Oh, babe.”

I swallow. “We opened with Sanctuary—Thorin’s song. The one he wrote for Reese years ago.”

“I remember.”

“Yeah, well… he cracked.” My voice lowers, quieter now. “Bridge hit, and he just… couldn’t. Like his whole chest caved in. Benji and Carson jumped in, carried the bridge, but he looked like he was bleeding right there on the mic.”

“Oh no.” Her breath catches. “Fletch…”

“But the crowd…” My voice breaks on a half-laugh, half-sob. “They didn’t let him fall. They started chanting—You can do it, Thorin and We love you!—and it was like… fuck, Mya. You’d have thought the Garden grew lungs and loved him back.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers, and I can hear the tears in her throat. “That’s… beautiful.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.” I rub my palm over my face. “I think it wrecked him in the best and worst way.”

There’s a pause, then: “Your socials are blowing up, by the way.”

I blink. “Ours?”

“Yours, the band’s, the venue’s. You’re trending on TikTok for Thorin’s Moment and MSG Cry Heard ‘Round the World.” She snorts softly. “Also someone edited a clip with slow-mo confetti and Hozier in the background. I cried. Twice.”

“Of course you did.” I grin, but my chest is full again. Of her, of this, of all the shit that feels too big to say across a phone line.

“I wish you were here,” I murmur. “Wish I could come home after this and crawl into bed with you and the boys.”

Her voice dips to something just above a whisper. “We’re always waiting. Just… come back in one piece.”