“This is something I gotta do myself.”
Harry’s eyes softened, and he nodded again.
I leaned in, pressing my forehead to his, our hands still tangled between us.
“I love you,” I whispered.
Harry smiled, then kissed me slow and sweet. “I love you too, babe. More than anything.”
I took one last breath, squeezed his hand, and pushed the door open.
The morning sun was warm on my back as I stepped out of the truck and onto the grass. I could feel Harry watching me, and it gave me just enough strength to keep walking.
Toward Astrid.
Toward the conversation that might just change everything.
* * *
The crew was still breaking down the last of the barricades when I found Astrid at the production desk, clipboard in hand, sunglasses on and barking orders into her headset like the show was still happening, pointing sharply toward the last of the equipment trucks as they reversed into place.
“No, no,no!Speaker stack three goes in the blue truck, not the red one!” She yanked the headset off with a frustrated sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “God, give me strength. These people would drown in a rainstorm if I didn’t tell them how to float.”
I swallowed hard, shifting on my feet.
“Hey,” I said softly.
As soon as she saw me Astrid jumped out of her folding chair and hugged me tight. “Dean, darling. Are you alright? Last night was fucking crazy. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. You?”
“Fine, although I felt like I lost at least three years off my life watching that chaos unfold. You’re lucky your lovely boyfriend fought off half the crowd or we’d be scraping you off the stage with a spatula.”
I couldn’t argue with her on that.
I stuffed my hands deep into my jacket pockets, stared down at my boots. What I wanted to say felt big and heavy in my chest, but I knew I had to get it out.
“I need to talk to you,” I said quietly.
Astrid’s arms dropped slowly to her sides, her expression shifting. She pulled off her sunglasses, tucking them into the collar of her shirt. “That sounds ominous,” she said. “Go on, then. Hit me.”
I took a breath. “I’m done, Astrid. With performing.”
She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard me right.
“I don’t want to be on stage anymore,” I said, steadier now. “I don’t want the lights. The interviews. The crowds. I can’t… Ihateit, Astrid.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Dean—”
“No, please. Hear me out. I love writing songs. I want to keep writing songs. I want to move back to Mulligan’s Mill and write the best songs the world has ever heard. But I can’t keep doingthis.” I gestured to the staging being packed down all around us. “It’s not for me. Not anymore.”
Astrid crossed her arms, head tilting, eyes searching my face. “You’re serious.”
I nodded. “Dead serious.”
She inhaled deeply again, held her breath, then let it out through her teeth. “Goddammit.”
I flinched, but she wasn’t shouting. She just shook her head, looking up at the sky like she was asking for divine patience.
