57. Amelia
Chapter 57
Amelia
T he look on Tobias's face that morning as he stood in the street, hands tangled in his hair like a man on the verge of falling apart, is something I'll never forget. Not ever. I practically screamed at Logan to stop the car the second I saw him. The poor guy nearly jumped out of his skin, his hand flying to the steering wheel like I'd almost given him a heart attack.
Nothing mattered except getting to Tobias. I would've hurled myself straight through that car door if that's what it took for a few more precious moments with him.
We're thirty-seven nights into the tour, and my ballet shoes can probably tell stories of their own—worn satin, fraying ribbons, and memories etched into every scuff mark.
Tonight, itwassome city in Wisconsin. Tomorrow, it'll be somewhere else, but they all blend into the same rhythm—a symphony of stage lights, curtain calls, and what feels like magic.
Each performance, I get my moment. Just a few precious minutes where the spotlight finds me, where the music seeps into my bones and my body remembers every hour spent at the barre, every ache and every blister earned.
When I'm not performing, I stand in the wings, my heart in my throat as I watch my friends transform under the lights. Their grace, their power, the way they make the impossible look effortless—it steals my breath every single time.
This is everything I dreamed of during those years of endless rehearsals, and standing here now, I know with certainty that this is what I was born to do.
But that dream is now tangled up with thoughts of Tobias, and I know with the kind of certainty that aches in your bones that I'll never choose another tour that steals me away from him for months again.
Every night after the show, no matter how my muscles scream or how the exhaustion weighsdown on me, I make my way back to my hotel room for our ritual. And every night, like clockwork,Tobias isthere waiting.
When his face fills my screen, my heart does this stupid little dance it's been doing since the first time I saw him. He's sprawled on our couch, all inked skin and dangerous beauty, cigarette smoke curling around him, and the sight of him—shirtless, tattooed, and so fucking beautiful it hurts—makes my throat tight.
"Hi, baby," he says with that lazy smile, and when he lifts a beer bottle to his lips, I can tell by the slight glaze in his eyes that it's definitely not his first.
"Are we smoking in the apartment now?"
"You're not here, so I don't have to worry about damaging your beautiful lungs."
"Do you think you could stop damaging yours for me?"
"When you're home, I'll quit."
"Are you okay, Tobias?"
"I miss you, but I'm okay." He stubs out his cigarette before dragging his fingers through his hair, and my eyes track every flex of muscle like I'm dying of thirst. "Don't look at me like that."
"I can't help it." The words come out breathier than I mean them to. He reaches for another cigarette, and I snap. "Don't you dare."
"Then you better distract me, baby, because I'm climbing the walls here. All I'm doing is fucking my fist thinking about you or chain-smoking just to keep myself from losing my mind with how much I'm missing you."
This is what distance does—it turns desire into desperation and love into an ache so deep it feels like you're sinking.
"Hey, baby, look at me." Our eyes meet through the screen, and his blues are almost swallowed by black. "Is there any way you can get a little time off work?"
He blows out a breath, and for a second, I can see every ounce of tension etched into his body. "I'm fucking swamped, Mills," he admits, his voice rough and raw, "but let me figure some shit out. Because, baby, I'm not doing too good. And it's not the loneliness or the abandonment crap that people might think. It's just… not having you here." He pauses, and his jaw tightens like he's trying to pull it together, but his next words come out broken. "Fuck, baby, thirty-seven days and nights without you is so fucking long. Maybe that's nothing to anyone else; maybe it makes me sound pathetic, but this shit is hard."
"I know."
Through the screen, I watch him hurting, and my hands itch with the need to touch him, to smooth away the shadows under his eyes. "I just wish I could do something to help you right now."
"Jesus, you shouldn't have to… I'm sorry, Mills. I shouldn't be dumping this on you," he replies, clearly frustrated with himself.
"You absolutely should." I cut him off, my voice firm enough to stop his spiral. Because that's what we do—we catch each other before the fall. "You're always there for me when I'm having my worst days. So let me be here for you now."
"Just keep talking to me, Firefly." There's a pause, and I hear the telltale click of his lighter. "Don't yell, but I'm lighting up."
"Fine," I say, knowing some battles aren't worth fighting, especially when he's like this. "I meant to tell you—I'm inPennsylvaniain a couple of weeks, and my mom's asked me to get tickets for her."
"So Kayla's actually pulling her head out of her ass long enough to come and watch you perform?"
"Yeah," I reply, still wrapping my head around it myself. "Her and David both are."
"Well, she definitely hasn't told my dad about us," he says with a dry laugh. "Because there’s no way he wouldn't have blown up my phone—or possibly my entire fucking life—if he knew."
"You think he's going to take it that badly?"
"Yeah, Firefly, but only because they care too much about what people think. This thing between us will have people whispering, and all they'll focus on is how it looks on them. Like we're some dirty little secret they need to sweep under their designer fucking rugs."
"I could maybe understand it if we'd grown up together as kids,"I say, picking at a loose thread on my hotel comforter. "But we didn't. We both already had raging hormones when we met, and let's be honest—I wasn't exactly blind to you."
His lips curve into that devastating smirk—the one that makes my insides melt, no matter how many times I've seen it. "Imagine the fun we could've had if you'd opened your damn mouth."
"Please. You would've laughed in my face and gone back to sneaking whatever girl was in your room out the window."
"I never would've laughed at you, Mills. But it never crossed my mind that this could happen between us."
"Because you weren't attracted to me, and that's okay."
"You've always been beautiful,"he says, his voice low as he takes the last drag of his cigarette, the glow of the ember flickering once more before he exhales a cloud of smoke.
"That's not true, and we both know it."My laugh comes out hollow, but he doesn't join in.
"If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't say it,"he says, his voice rough like gravel. "I just wish—"
"Don't." I cut him off before he can venture down that road. "Because we wouldn't have gotten as close as we did. And even though you left for a while, you were always my person."
His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip as he smirks."Am I still your friend, Mills?"
"You're my best friend."
"Amelia…" he says, and I laugh knowing how much he hates me calling him that.
"What? You are my best friend," I taunt.
"I personally like the word boyfriend, but it doesn't feel strong enough to label what we are." His voice suddenly drops. "Doesn’t even begin to cover what you do to me."
"So I'm your girlfriend?"
"Fuck yeah, you're my girlfriend."Joy bubbles up in my chest as we laugh, the sound mingling through our screens. "I like that. And I love you."
"I love you too, but I've got to go. We're back on the road tomorrow."
"Where to?"
"I'm not sure, but it's somewhere just outside of Indiana."
"Check in with me, yeah? Just let me know you're okay."
"Of course I will. Now go get some sleep."
"I'm sleeping in your bed tonight,"he says, and butterflies swirl in my stomach at the thought of him in my space.
"I'll be back in itwith yousoon."
"One hundred and forty-five days,"he murmurs.
"Yeah, baby. It's getting less."
"Still too fucking long."His sigh carries the weight of every mile between us. "But all I want is for you to be happy."
He's my happy.
"Right, go rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Firefly."
"Talk tomorrow," I whisper.
The call ends, and I'm just settling into bed when my phone vibrates. I grab it, see it's from Tobias, and when I open the photo of him in my bed, sprawled out and looking like every wet dream I've ever had, I'm ready to scream fuck you to my dreams and ride him to the moon and back. His hair's a mess, his smirk is sinful, and I swear he's trying to kill me. I let out a frustrated groan, dropping my phone onto my chest before sending back the most inadequate response in the history of human communication—a heart emoji.