Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
AFTER
Inever thought flying back to LA would feel like coming home.
The last time I moved back—after being in New York for so long—I was terrified. I’d been excited to see Atty again, but I also knew I’d have to face what I’d done to him. Seeing the absolute hatred in his eyes had been worse than waking up in a hospital bed not knowing if I’d live.
But this time, walking off the plane with Atty’s hand in mine, it was hard to imagine a place that felt more like home.
Classes were starting next week, and I had to make some big decisions.
First, whether I was going to keep training with the team or dedicate that time to the band.
Atty and I had one full year of college together, and the idea of spending it with my boyfriend—having a normal year—was exhilarating.
I’d been craving normal for what felt like most of my life.
Still, I wanted to chase this new dream too. One I’d never even considered before.
We had a big show on Friday, and I’d let that be the deciding factor.
If it felt right—if it lit something up inside me—then maybe this was it.
Maybe it wasn’t just another rush I was chasing.
Because, unfortunately, that question was always going to linger at the back of my mind.
I needed to figure out if I was riding the high of something new that would eventually burn out—or if this was real. If it actually made me happy.
The way Atty did.
Thursday morning, I was with Holly, helping her out at her internship and hoping to get some solid life advice.
I stood on a stool as she fixed the hem of my pants—well, her pants. The ones she’d designed and was now stitching together with surgeon-level precision. “Impressive” didn’t even begin to cut it.
“How are things with Mommy Dearest? Since the shift?” Her pink neon glasses were perched on her nose, a small crease of concentration between her brows.
“Better, actually. Or at least as far I can tell. She’s been talking to Lan these past few days—just texted me a couple of awkward-as-fuck pictures from dinner, and that was it. It’s been nice not having to avoid her.”
“That’s great, Noh. You need the break. Just make sure you set up Lan with Samuel and you’ll be golden,” she replied, still focused on the hem.
I chuckled. “Definitely a good idea.”
“How about Mr. Husband Material? Everything okay there too?” I’d already filled her in on what had happened at dinner and the conversation that followed.
“He’s perfect, as always.”
“Then why the frowny face?” She didn’t even look up. I swear she had a sixth sense.
“Nothing bad,” I said. “Just…thinking a lot about the future.” She paused and stared at me, waiting. “The team. The band.” I waved a hand like that explained everything.
“So basically, everything is working out, and you need to learn how to balance good things instead of bad ones?”
“Basically,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, my sweet boy, that sounds like a good problem to me, and I think that merits a hallelujah, don’t you?”
I laughed again, watching her press her lips together to suppress her grin.
“You don’t know how happy that makes me,” she added softly.
“Don’t make me cry,” I warned. “It’s all I’ve been doing for fucking ever, and I’m done walking around with a puffy face.”
“Noh, I’ve earned the right to make you do whatever.” She eyed the pants deliberatively. “Case in point—the forced modeling. So if I want to get sentimental about you being happy, you’ll fucking suck it up and cry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and then cleared my throat. “And I’m sorry—for always making it about me and my problems. You’ve had to put up with a lot of bullshit, and I’m really fucking grateful. You deserve everything.”
“I do,” she said without hesitation.
I laughed and rolled my eyes, but she gave a sharp tug on my pants and pulled my focus back.
“But that’s not how friendships work. You don’t owe me anything just because I was there for you.
I wanted to be. I always will be—because you’re my annoying little brother, and I fucking love you.
We’re stuck with each other for life, Noh.
I’ll take the bad and the good and all the messy in-between.
” Her voice was steady, no-nonsense as ever.
“I love you too.”
“I know.” Her gaze shifted as she returned to her work. “That’s why you’re still standing there, putting up with this crap. And why you’ll keep doing it until your dying day.”
“Even when I’m a rock star?”
“Especially then. Because you’d have to be out of your damn mind to hire someone else as your fashion consultant.”
“I would never,” I declared, pressing a hand to my chest like I was swearing an oath. “Even if that’s not technically in your job description as a textile designer, but okay.”
“My style is unmatched. Who cares about titles?”
“Not me.”
“Exactly,” she said with a satisfied chuckle.
We stood there in easy silence, her focused on her work, me just soaking it in—grateful beyond words for her. For all of it. For her being the best fucking friend in the universe.
“How about this?” I said. “I stop saying thank you every five minutes, and instead, you get first dibs on gossip time. All your stories come first. Forever.”
“I do like the sound of that,” she mused, brow furrowed in thought.
“Bet you do.”
“Plus, I need to fill you in on the love triangle drama involving two of our closest friends.” Her voice came with a sing-song tilt.
I widened my eyes, already hooked. “Do not hold out on me. I need details. I’m already shipping Ez and Pax so hard.”
“I actually don’t know much about Paxton’s side of things, but Colin’s, however…” She let the sentence dangle on purpose.
“Stop edging me.”
She laughed hard, then leaned in to spill what was—by all accounts—completely speculative, totally unconfirmed gossip. But I didn’t care. It was wildly entertaining.
By the end, I was in stitches, nearly breathless from laughing, and silently thanking the universe for putting these people in my life.
Because they were truly unmatched.
Once again, I sat cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on a pillow in my lap. But this time felt different. Better.
The knickknacks weren’t all Samuel’s side of the screen anymore.
Behind me, the headboard was visible, and above it, framed records lined the wall—good ones too. Blondie. Chicago. Phil.
If he could see the rest, he’d find framed photos on the shelves and over the dresser.
Real ones. Atty hugging me from behind. Holly and me, laughing on the couch.
Ilana and me, from that day on the sailboat.
The whole band after our last gig—sweaty, wild-eyed, all of us grinning with leftover adrenaline.
It was a real room. It belonged to a real person.
“You look more at ease,” Samuel noted.
I nodded. We’d already gone over everything that happened in Seattle—finally getting through that letter and what it meant for me to say goodbye. Telling Atty everything, including the truth about my mom. Including the pills.
It wasn’t like I was magically cured. I still wondered if I’d done something wrong, still noticed every shift in someone’s expression when I spoke.
But now, the volume wasn’t always at a hundred. And on the good days, I could even ask it to quiet down—and it listened. Like I had some kind of magic in me after all.
“I feel like I’m finally starting to trust myself again. A little,” I said.
“How so?”
I stared out the window, then looked back at him. “The people around me…they want to be there.”
Samuel waited, letting the silence stretch until I found the rest.
“They want me. That’s such a weird thing to think. I spent so much time believing it wasn’t me anybody liked—it was the version I faked. And I’m starting to find things I like about myself too. Things I’m proud of.”
I exhaled, hands fidgeting in my lap. “I know I’m not supposed to tie my worth to what I do.
And I don’t—at least, not like I used to.
But I’m seeing how the things I do can help people.
That feels important. Like with Atty and his mom.
I helped him sort out his savings, taught him about investing.
That’s already making a difference. I did that.
“And then there’s Holly and her internship. Some of that stuff from back in the day stuck. I still had contacts, still remembered things—procedures, people. It wasn’t just something I studied. I figured it out. I know things.
“And yesterday, Ezra was having a hard time. I talked to him. Told him some of what I’ve been through with the pills, with drugs, with not wanting to be here anymore. About finding recovery. And I knew what to say. Because I lived it. And I’m still here. That has to count for something, right?”
Samuel nodded, his expression soft. His eyes carried something warm in them.
“And now I’m thinking that maybe—even though I fucked up—maybe I learned too.
And I get to be the version of myself who grew from all of that.
That’s a really good thing. Standing on the other side of it, knowing I crawled my way out.
And maybe I feel a little proud of myself for it. So I trust me. Because I did that.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right to give yourself credit,” he said. “As a therapist, it’s beautiful when I get to see someone who really wants to change and become a better version of themselves. And I see it with you, Noah.”
My chest ached in the way it does when you’re holding something too full inside you, and it starts to spill over.
“You did all those things, but this—what you’re saying right now—this is where the real work shines through. Because you finally see how to use what’s in you in your favor. In a good way. A healthy way.”
He held my gaze. “And it’s helping you learn how to heal. That’s one of the most amazing things to witness.”
I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to hold it together, but my throat ached. “I wouldn’t have been able to without your help.”