“I meant what I said earlier,” I start, my fingers tapping against the table.
She raises a brow. “About dinner?”
“No. About not hiding.” I swallow hard, trying to will my heart into slowing the hell down. “Amelia, I—” My throat goes dry for half a second. “I’m in love with you.”
The words land heavy between us, heavier than I expected. She freezes, her hand still wrapped around her glass, but her eyes—god, her eyes—are wide, the wide that makes me nervous.
“Say that again,” she breathes out.
I smile, slower this time. “I’m in love with you.”
For a moment, she doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Then she leans across the table, her hand threading into my hair, and she pulls me in. Her lips crash into mine, fierce and soft all at once, like she doesn’t know if she wants to hit me or kiss me harder.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine, and her voice is barely a whisper. “Good. Because I’m in love with you too.”
And just like that, I am finished. Completely, absolutely gone.
The last weeksof the tour fly by in a damn blur. One minute, we were landing in Miami, and the next, we are hitting the last stop, engines roaring, crowds screaming, and somewhere in between all that chaos, I am spending every night buried in Amelia.
Yeah… life is looking pretty damn good.
Every stop feels like we are chasing the sun—early takeoffs, tight formations, and post-show adrenaline that keeps us wired long after the crowds clear out. But it is the nights that stick with me. The quiet after the storm. The hotel rooms don’t feel cold or empty because she is there—hair a mess, my T-shirt swallowing her frame, that soft laugh that only comes out when it’s just us.
No more sneaking around. No more worried glances over shoulders. The team knows now. Hell, they don’t just know—they tease the hell out of me for it. Noah won’t shut up about how “whipped” I am, and Knox? He makes it his personal mission to walk in at the worst moments, offering fake apologies and even faker excuses.
But I don’t care.
Because every night ends the same—her in my arms, the taste of her still on my lips, and her head tucked into my chest like she is finally letting herself relax. I run my fingers through her hair, feel her breathing slow, and think, Yeah, this. This is it.
And now, with the last show behind us, the roar of the engines still buzzing in my ears, I know one thing for sure—this isn’t just some tour fling. This is something bigger. Something I’m not willing to let go of.
Not now. Not ever.
The sun is high, the air thick with that perfect summer heat, and I stretch out on the lounge chair, the soft hum of the pool filtering through my aviators. The tour is over. Real life has finally set back in—no tight schedules, no radio chatter, no last-minute flight plans. Just a few months of breathing before it’s time to take to the skies again.
Nesta sits beside me, her legs stretched out, a glossy magazine in one hand and a cocktail in the other. She barely glances up as I let out a contented sigh, my pink bikini soaking up the sun’s warmth.
“You’ve been eyeing him for the last ten minutes,” she mutters, flipping a page.
I don’t even try to deny it.
Ash stands at the edge of the pool, beads of water dripping down his chest, his muscles flexing as he rubs the towel over his hair. His swim trunks cling low on his hips, the deep cut of his V-line on full display, and—god help me—I am staring.
“Can you blame me?” I murmur, my voice low as I tip my aviators down for a better view. “Look at him.”
Nesta snorts. “You’re insufferable.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
But before I can soak in another second of the view, something grabs my attention—off to the side of the pool where Noah and Knox sit. Usually, they are the loud ones, tossing beers and cracking jokes, but now? Noah sits slouched in his chair, eyes distant, fingers picking at the label on his water bottle.
Knox stands up, muttering something about needing more drinks, and I take my chance.
“Be right back,” I tell Nesta, sliding my aviators back up and heading toward Noah.
He barely notices me at first, lost in whatever has dimmed that usual spark.
“Hey,” I say softly, dropping into the empty chair beside him. “You good?”
