Chapter 25
Lily
Breathe
Anna Nalick
I spend the rest of the next day convincing myself I can do this. That leaving Larkin with Rita, our bus driver, for a few hours won’t spontaneously combust the universe. She’s sound asleep, and Rita has been part of Luc’s road crew for years.
The reasonable part of my brain knows I need air, time away for myself. The irrational part keeps whispering bad idea, abort mission, take the baby and run.
But when I looked at Luc earlier, stretched out across the couch, guitar resting against his thigh, sunlight leaking over his bare chest, the fear softened. I knew I could do this. I wanted to see him in his world. I wanted to see him onstage.
Which is how I find myself at the venue door, breathing like I just ran a marathon I didn’t train for.
“You sure?” Luc asks gently. Not doubtful, just making sure I have an exit if I need one.
“I’m sure,” I lie. My voice sounds two seconds from hysterical laughter, but whatever. We’re here. We’re doing this.
He smirks like he knows I’m panicking and finds it adorable. Annoying man. Inside, it’s chaos; the buzzing, frantic kind. Crew weaving through corridors, radios crackling, amps rumbling through walls. It's alive, electric, and… loud.
A security guard steps in front of us with a clipboard and a stack of stapled packets. “She needs to sign before she can go any further.” Luc stiffens beside me.
The top page reads:
Non-Disclosure and Confidentiality Agreement
Pertaining to the private lives of Lucifer Sarris and minor child known as…
“You have a kid?” The guard blurts, blinking over at Luc before I can even inhale. Luc takes one step forward with predatory calm, his voice quiet and lethal. “Say another word and I swear to-”
“Got it, got it,” the guy stammers, thrusting a pen at me like a peace offering.
My throat tightens as I sign. It’s not the NDA. It’s the reminder. Being here puts a target on my child. On us.
Luc brushes his thumb over the back of my hand when I hand the papers back. “This is just protection,” he murmurs. “Not restriction. Not for you.”
Somehow, that helps. Somehow, it also makes my stomach flip like it’s auditioning for gymnastics nationals.
We move deeper into the venue, and the first crack hits, splintering my false sense of security. The hallway opens near the general entrance, and suddenly we’re caught in a fast-moving wave of fans shifting past barricades.
Security holds them back, but one girl screams when she recognizes Luc. “OH MY GOD—LUC! LOOOOVE YOU!” Another girl shoves in her excitement, bumping my shoulder. Hard.
“Watch it!” Someone yells, definitely not me, but I think it loudly enough.
A guy behind me mutters, “Looks like Luc got himself another backstage toy.”
My spine snaps straight. Heat shoots through me as anger, humiliation, and protective rage I didn’t know I could produce surges.
Luc hears. I feel him hear it. A growl vibrates low in his chest, feral and dangerous, his hand tightening around mine. “It means nothing. Ignore it.”
He shifts, stepping between me and the crowd, shoulders tense, gaze razor-sharp. “You okay?” he murmurs, hand sliding to my lower back. Not possessive. Protective.
“Yes,” I whisper. No idea if it’s true. We make it through, breath shaky, adrenaline humming. And that’s when I see her. Different than I thought, but recognizable by the press badge she’s got clipped to her camera strap.
She’s wearing cut-off jean shorts, a dark t-shirt that’s seen better days, and black combat boots.
Her brown hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and a Nikon hangs from her neck.
She’s younger than I expected, maybe in her late twenties.
But it’s her eyes I notice. Eyes that say she’s already unimpressed with this world.
Dean’s there, leaning against a road case, arms crossed, smirk already locked and loaded, staring her down like she’s a challenge he wants to unwrap.
“I don’t do fluff pieces,” she’s saying as we approach.
Dean snorts. “Relax, sweetheart. Nobody asked you to.”
A single brow arches. “Sweetheart?”
I don’t know her yet, but I think I already love her. And also, maybe slightly fear her.
“You journalists always show up acting like you’re saving rock ’n’ roll,” Dean drawls. “Pretty sure we’ve been doing just fine without your moral compass.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she shoots back, voice like ice that could scald. “I don’t plan to waste any time on morality here.”
Dean blinks. Then grins like she just handed him a dare.
Luc leans down, lips brushing my ear. “Incoming hurricane.”
“Dean or her?” I whisper.
“Both.”
Luc is called over to gear up. He touches my hip, looks into my eyes for one beat longer than necessary. The kind of look that fills my lungs and steals my breath at the same time.
“Stay close,” he murmurs.
I nod. Watch him go. Then let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My brain is cycling between this is fine and what the hell am I doing here.
Except… I am here. I chose to be. And for the first time today, beneath the nerves and the adrenaline and the roar of a waiting crowd, it hits me, maybe I’m allowed to belong here too. I’m here for him. And maybe, maybe I’m here for me too.
And suddenly, I realize I’m standing beside the world’s most chaotic budding hate-relationship duo. The reporter is still staring Dean down like she could set him on fire with sheer will, when her gaze flicks to me. In an instant her expression shifts.
The heat is gone, steel softening, like her brain just switched files. “You must be Lily,” she says, and her tone surprises me. Warm. Normal. Human. Not sharp or postured like she was two seconds ago.
I blink. “I- yeah. Hi.”
Up close she’s not intimidating, or, okay, she totally still is, but there’s a glimmer in her eyes I recognize. She’s someone who has walked into rooms full of louder voices and refused to shrink.
She extends her hand. “Sadie Brooks. I promise I don’t bite.” She shifts her gaze momentarily to Dean. “Unless you’re a lead guitarist with a God complex.”
Dean snorts. “Journalists with superiority issues are my favorite species, thanks.”
I shake her hand before I can overthink it. “I’m not entirely sure what’s happening right now,” I admit.
Sadie smiles. A real one, not a reporter kind of fake smile. “Trust me, neither is he.”
Dean opens his mouth. Probably to say something cocky and inappropriate. We both ignore him.
“You’re staying on the tour?” Sadie asks, eyes flicking to my backstage pass, then to the direction Luc disappeared in.
“I- trying to,” I say, honest because lying feels pointless. “If I don’t have a panic attack first.”
She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t brush it off. She nods like she gets it, like she’s had her own version of that thought every time she walked into a new arena with her notebook and her spine made of steel.
“If you need air later, come find me.” She offers quietly. “I know all the good hiding spots around here.”
Warmth hits my chest. Unexpected kindness. Exactly when I need it. “Thank you.”
Dean scoffs. “Oh great. Girl gang forming. Let’s just add it to the list of things this tour doesn’t need.”
Sadie gives him a dazzling smile that does not reach her eyes. “Careful, Ross. Some of us came here to observe. Not worship.”
He looks personally offended. I try very hard not to laugh. Maybe I will survive this tour after all.
We step into the area behind the stage we’ve been directed to, just as lights sweep across the crowd, thousands of screaming fans already swaying to the opening band.
The scale of it bowls into me. Echoes. The tang of metal and dust. The loud hum of amps.
Bodies moving everywhere, purposeful and loud. Too loud.
My pulse kicks up. I tell myself it’s excitement, not panic. Excitement sounds prettier. I cling to that thought for exactly three seconds.
Then all the lights slam on, flooding the arena in bright white, the warm-up band coming off the stage, a ripple of screams echoing from fans calling out for Devil’s Halo. The sound slices straight down my spine.
Breathe. Why can’t I breathe? Why does my chest feel like it shrunk?
Luc is halfway to the stage stairs, talking to someone. I try to focus on his voice; low, steady, familiar, but everything else swells instead. Light. Noise. Movement. Shadow. Too much space and nowhere to hide in it.
My throat goes tight. Fingers numb. Oh God. I grip the wall beside me like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth. Breathe. It’s fine. You’re fine. You are absolutely-
“Hey.” A soft voice at my elbow. Sadie. She doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t grab me. Just angles her body so she blocks the open space, dulling the chaos behind us by an inch. Her eyes flick over my face. Sharp. Knowing. Kind in a way that hits me behind the ribs.
“Breathe,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Air shudders out of me. I suck another in. She matches pace quietly, like she’s done this before; panic or stadiums or, maybe both.
My vision stops tunneling just in time for Luc to notice. His gaze snaps to me and something shifts in his posture, concern wrapped in heat with purpose and protectiveness. His feet move before the thought finishes.
He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He just steps into my space, hand sliding to the back of my neck, thumb brushing the curve just below my ear. Warm. Solid. Human-sized in a world suddenly too big.
“Hey,” he crouches so he’s eye level with me, his voice low, steady enough to stand on. “You with me?”
I nod. A shaky, humiliating little thing, and his forehead touches mine for one heartbeat. And we take one breath together. Everything steadies. Like he flipped a switch inside me I didn’t know existed.
“You’re okay,” He assures me. “We do this together. No rush. No pressure. Just… be here with me.”
God, I could fall for him. I already am, in ways I don’t have names for yet.
Sadie backs up half a step, giving space but not distance. Like she’s anchoring me from the other side. A silent I’m not going anywhere either. And suddenly the arena doesn’t feel so big. Or I don’t feel so small.
Luc gives one last soft touch, his thumb brushing my jaw like a promise, just before the stage manager waves him over.
“I’ll be right there,” he murmurs. “If you need out, just look at me.”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice not to wobble.
He jogs up the stairs, and somehow the entire arena shifts around him, like gravity re-calibrates for him alone.
Sound techs snap to attention. Lights adjust. And suddenly I’m watching not just Luc, but the rockstar Luc that the world screams for.
The man with a microphone and a pulse that commands stadiums.
My heart is a traitor. It’s proud. I breathe again. And then-
“What was that?” Dean’s voice slices in, sharp and incredulous as he peers at Sadie. He’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed like he’s preparing to be offended by the world again.
Sadie lifts a brow. Calm. Unmovable. “It’s called empathy, Ross. Try it sometime.”
He scoffs. “He’s a rockstar. She’s with him. There’s gonna be noise, crowds, people breathing the same air. If she can’t handle it-”
Sadie's eyes narrow just a fraction, warmth gone, journalist steel sliding into place.
“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to write an entire paragraph about the fragile egos of lead guitarists.”
Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. Points a finger at her instead, like that’s somehow a rebuttal. “I wasn’t being a dick,” he mutters. “I was just saying.”
“Stop saying.” Sadie barks back, offering him a tight, diplomatic smile that somehow feels like a threat. “It was going so well for you.”
I choke on a laugh. Dean shoots me a betrayed look. Like I’ve personally joined an anti-Dean rebellion. In fairness, maybe I have.
He mutters something about “journalists with savior complexes” and stalks off, grabbing a guitar from his roadie as if the instrument personally understands him better than we do.
Sadie exhales and shakes her head. “God, that man needs therapy. Or a hug. Or both, in that order.”
“Probably the therapy,” I manage, still catching my breath from, everything. “He’d fight the hug.”
“He’d lose,” she deadpans. I believe her.
Before I can respond, a ripple moves across the crew, subtle, instinctive, and the sound system hums alive. The arena hushes like something ancient just woke up.
Luc steps up to the mic. And the world narrows to him.
He’s not even singing yet, just standing, letting the lead in of the song play, a low hum that vibrates in my bones.
He looks up, finds me, and something in his face softens then sharpens, like I’m the reason he does this and the reason he has to do it well.
Then he starts. And oh, wow. I get it now. This isn’t the man who held me steady five minutes ago. This is wildfire in human form. Raw voice, scraped and beautiful, curling through the arena like smoke that seduces, instead of suffocates.
Lights catch on his skin, gold and shadow and sin, and every ounce of restraint we traded in the bus turns into a slow-burning ache low in my belly. I knew he was talented. What I didn’t know, was that he could make breathing feel optional.
Sadie leans closer, whispering just loud enough for me to hear over the echoing chords.
“Yeah. That’s the part that ruins you a little.”
I swallow hard. “A little?”
She huffs a laugh. “Give it time.”
Onstage, Luc hits a note that feels like it cracks something between my ribs. His eyes find mine again. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wink. He claims. Quiet. Unspoken. Certain.
God help me. He owns me with that one look. I may not have told him. I may not even be able to admit it to myself, but I’m already his.