9. Nine
Nine
Emily
I’ve always liked Jacksonville with its salty ocean breeze, the warm sun on my skin, and the sound of waves rolling onto the shore. It’s comforting in a way that’s hard to put into words. But staying at Cass’s sprawling oceanfront house while the band prepares for the big Jacksonville Arena performance feels different this time.
Cass’s house feels crowded, and I feel like a third wheel as he and Kendrick begin planning their wedding. They don’t seem to mind that I’m around, but even so, I feel I’m intruding on their precious family time.
The band is busy rehearsing in the soundproofed studio Cass had installed on the property. Most of my days are spent coordinating schedules, finalizing setlists, and fielding calls from sponsors. It’s exciting, sure, but it’s also exhausting.
And then there’s Sam.
We still haven’t talked—Not about what happened that fateful night in my hotel room—Not about the divorce papers or the fact that we crossed a line we can’t uncross. Yet, I’m relieved because the animosity seems to have dissipated from our relationship. Leaving something else behind.
Every time he's near, my body hums with awareness. It's the little things—the way his T-shirt stretches across his shoulders when he plays guitar. Each accidental brush of his hand sends electricity through my body, awakening memories of that night in my hotel room—his taste, his touch, the way he made me feel.
It’s these same things that give us away—how his eyes linger on mine a second too long, the way he hovers just a little closer than necessary when we’re in the same room. It’s maddening. And thrilling.
But we’re never alone. Someone is always around, whether it’s the band or even Cassidy. Every stolen glance, every accidental brush of hands feels like a secret we can’t afford to share.
By the end of the week, the house feels less packed. Luke and Nate have decided to rent a duplex nearby, saying they’re ready to plant roots now that Jacksonville is the band’s home base. Vince, predictably, has opted to stick it out in the tour bus, claiming he’s more comfortable there than anywhere with ‘walls and a mortgage.’
Sam, however, remains undecided.
“You thinking about getting a place?” I ask casually one afternoon as I catch him tuning his guitar on the back patio.
He looks up, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I press, crossing my arms, trying to get him to open up to me, but he remains stubbornly vague.
He shrugs, his fingers pausing on the strings. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On many things,” he says, his gaze flicking to mine. For a moment, the weight of his stare makes my breath catch, but then he looks away, resuming his work on the guitar.
I bite my lip, resisting the urge to ask him what he’s really waiting for. Because deep down, I already know.
The days blur together as the band ramps up rehearsals for the Jacksonville Arena show. The energy in the studio is high, the sound of music filling every corner of the space. Even Vince, who’s usually the first to complain about long hours, seems motivated.
But for me, the pace is starting to take its toll.
I’ve always been good at pushing through exhaustion, telling myself I’ll rest when the work is done. But lately, it feels like my body is rebelling. My limbs feel heavy, and no matter how much sleep I get, I wake up feeling drained.
“Are you okay?” Kendrick asks one morning as we sit at the kitchen island, her wedding planner spread out between us.
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a smile.
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been working long hours, Emily. When’s the last time you took a break?”
“I don’t have time for breaks,” I say, flipping through the color swatches she’s laid out. “You’ve got a wedding to plan, and the band has an important show coming up. Everyone’s counting on me.”
“Everyone’s counting on you to be well,” she counters, her tone teasing but serious. “It won’t help anyone if you burn out.”
I wave her off, pretending not to hear her as I focus on the tasks at hand. But the truth is, I feel like I’m already starting to burn out.
Later that afternoon, I’m in the studio, watching the band run through a new song. Cass is in top form, his voice raw and powerful as he belts out the lyrics. Vince is off to the side, his fingers flying over his guitar strings with a precision that makes it look easy.
I’m so caught up in the music that I don’t notice Sam looking at me until I feel his gaze. When I glance up, our eyes lock, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
It’s just us, caught in a moment we shouldn’t be sharing but can’t seem to avoid.
The spell is broken when Luke cracks a joke, and everyone laughs, including Sam. But as the band launches into the next song, I can still feel the heat of his gaze on me, making my heart race.
That evening, Kendrick corners me in the living room, a knowing glint in her eye.
“Okay, spill,” she says, plopping down beside me on the couch.
“Spill what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Don’t play dumb, Emily,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Something’s changed between you and Sam. I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”
I freeze, my mind racing for a way to deflect. “We’re just... getting along better. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly unconvinced. “And that’s why you practically jumped apart like teenagers caught in the act when I walked into the studio earlier?”
Heat floods my face as I remember the moment she’s talking about. Sam and I had been standing closer than we should’ve been as we discussed the setlist. I don’t even remember what he said that made me laugh, but when I looked up, Sam was leaning toward me just as Kendrick walked in, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Nothing is going on,” I insist, avoiding her gaze.
“Emily,” she says, her tone softening. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
I glance at her, surprised by the understanding in her voice.
“I always suspected there was something between you and Sam,” she continues, “just... be careful, okay? I’ve known Sam for a long time. He’s a wonderful guy. But It’s always casual for him. He’s never with the same woman twice, and he’s not exactly known for being serious.”
Her words sting, even though I know she doesn’t mean them to.
“I know, but don’t worry, my eyes are wide open,” I say quietly.
She studies me for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Just don’t get hurt.”
Kendrick’s words stick with me long after she’s left the room. Don’t get hurt.
It’s not that I think Sam would intentionally hurt me—not now, anyway. But the fear that she’s right lingers in the back of my mind, and I can’t seem to shake it off. Sam has a way of drawing me in, making me feel things I probably shouldn’t, at least not when I don’t know if he’s serious about us.
And that’s what scares me the most.
As the night wears on, I decide to go on a solitary walk on the beach, hoping for a few moments of peace, needing to clear my head.
Opening the sliding glass door to the deck, the sound of the waves is immediate–almost soothing. I make my way down to the beach, letting the soft sand shift under my feet as I walk.
The moon is high and bright, and I’m finally alone for the first time all day. I take a deep breath, feeling a calmness settle over me.
But my moment of solitude doesn’t last long.
I spot a tall figure ahead, silhouetted against the water. My heart skips as I recognize the broad shoulders and the casual stance. It’s Sam.
I freeze, torn between slipping away before he sees me and staying put. But before I can decide, he turns, his sharp eyes catching sight of me.
“Emily?” he calls out, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the waves.
“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my tone light as I approach him.
He’s barefoot, his jeans rolled up slightly, and his hands are shoved into his pockets. He looks so at ease, so Sam , that it makes my chest ache.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that makes me shiver even though I’m not cold.
“Something like that,” I say, shrugging. “What about you?”
Sam smiles, faint but genuine. “Needed some air.”
We fall into step beside each other, and the quiet between us is surprisingly comfortable. The waves lap at the shore, the cool breeze carrying the faint scent of salt and seaweed.
And then, without warning, he takes my hand in his.
The gesture is so unexpected, so simple yet intimate that I freeze as a current runs through me. His palm is warm and slightly calloused from playing guitar. The simple contact makes my pulse race, and I have to resist the urge to step closer, to press myself against him like I did that night.
I let him lead me, our hands still entwined, as we move further down the beach. The air feels charged, and every step brings a new wave of awareness.
Eventually, we stop, stepping closer to the water. The waves covering the tips of our toes, the coolness of the ocean feeling good against my skin.
“You’ve been working too hard,” Sam says suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, though even I don’t believe it.
“You’re not,” he counters, turning to face me fully. His free hand brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering just a second too long. “You look exhausted, Emily.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the concern in his eyes stops me.
“Maybe I have been pushing myself too much,” I admit reluctantly.
“Maybe?” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smile.
I roll my eyes, but the tension in my chest eases just a little. “I have been overdoing it a little. Satisfied?”
“More like you’re running yourself into the ground,” Sam says, his tone soft but serious.
The honesty in his voice and how he looks at me like he actually cares makes my heart stutter. And before I can talk myself out of it, I step closer, my free hand resting lightly on his chest.
“Sam,” I start, but whatever I was going to say gets lost as he dips his head, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss so gentle it takes my breath away.
The world tilts, the feel of his lips sparking something deep and dangerous inside me. As the kiss deepens, heat pools low in my belly. My fingers curl into his shirt, wanting to pull him closer and feel that passion again.
But just as quickly as it started, he pulls back, his breathing uneven.
“Emily,” he says, his voice strained. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, though my legs feel weak.
“No,” he says firmly, his hand brushing my cheek. “You’re not. And I’m not going to take advantage of you like this.”
The sincerity in his voice, the tenderness in his touch, makes my throat tighten.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand again. “I’m walking you back so you can go to bed—alone.”
The warmth in his eyes makes me feel safe, but it also fills me with longing. The walk back to the house is quiet, the tension between us replaced by something more intimate. When we reach my door, he stops, turning to face me with a small smile.
“Get some sleep, Cupcake,” he says, his voice gentle.
And he leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek before reluctantly stepping back.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sam,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
As he walks away, my body aches with need. The chaste kiss he left on my cheek burns like a brand, and I can still feel the phantom touch of his hands. My bed feels too big, too empty, and my skin tingles with memories of how it felt to have him there, his body moving over mine, his hands mapping every curve… I hug myself, imagining being wrapped securely in Sam's arms, and a smile tugs at my lips as I drift off to sleep.