Madeline stood there in her sensible shoes, soft brown eyes watching me like she could see all the way through to the part of me I was trying real hard to hide.
She gave me that gentle, no-bullshit smile of hers—the one that saiddon’t you dare tell me you’re fine if you’re not.
“You got a minute?” she asked.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and nodded. “Yeah…. yeah, I got a minute.”
Dean was up on stage again, guitar slung over his shoulder, mic in hand, ready to do one last quick walk-through onstage.
The crowd hadn’t fully arrived yet—just a slow, steady trickle of fans filling the outer perimeter—but the stage lights were already kicking up dust into gold, making the whole scene look bigger than life.
Dean’s eyes found mine across the field.
Just for a second.
And in that second, everything in my chest tightened. Because I saw it written all over his face—the same exhaustion, the same hurt, the same desperate, achinglovethat was chewing me up from the inside out.
I gave him the smallest nod. Steady.I’m here.
Dean’s lips pressed together, his chin lifting just a fraction, like he was bracing himself.
Astrid’s voice crackled through the stage comms. “Okay, Dean, babe—we’re rolling. Let’s go from the top, cue one!”
The opening bars of the first song kicked in through the massive speakers, bass humming low beneath my feet. The crew moved like clockwork, heads down, focused.
I felt a soft hand on my arm.
“Harry.”
It was Madeline. She stood close, her voice just loud enough to carry over the thrum of the final soundcheck and Dean’s walk-through.
“Come with me.”
I let her lead me across the grass, past the crew tents and food vendors, into the shade of the big white merchandise tent. Inside, it was cooler, quieter—the thick canvas walls muting the music outside to a distant thump.
And everywhere I looked… Dean.
His face on shirts.
Posters.
Laminated lanyards dangling from a rack.
Badges and stickers and tote bags all stamped withDean Reeves Homecoming Concert.
My stomach clenched.
I tore my eyes away from the merch table and focused on Madeline as she guided me into the corner of the tent where nobody else was hovering.
“I know what happened this morning,” she said softly.
I swallowed hard, felt my bruised jaw tense out of instinct. “Yeah?”
“Andy called me,” she went on, eyes kind but serious. “He was in tears, Harry. Said he caught Dean at your place. Said the two of you had a fight.”
I let out a slow breath and the bruise on my jaw throbbed like I needed another reminder of what happened.
Madeline’s eyes turned to it, her expression softening even more. “I can see Andy wasn’t exaggerating the part about a fight.”
