Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Sadie
Last Kiss
Pearl Jam
The next morning feels different. Not the good different. Not the hopeful different.
The… God, why does my chest feel like this different.
I drag my suitcase down the hallway, my camera strap cutting a diagonal across my torso like a seatbelt I don’t remember buckling.
There’s a knot in my stomach I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist since I opened my eyes.
The lobby is a mess of cases and carts, rolling trunks, crew shirts with headsets, and the kind of early-morning chaos you only see on tour.
Everyone’s moving with purpose. Everyone except me.
I see the band before they see me. Hayden is talking to Cherry about load-in times, Mikey is trying to shove three muffins into his pockets while drinking a Red Bull, and Dean, Dean is leaning against the same marble column as yesterday, arms crossed, head tipped back, looking like sin and trouble and every bad decision I shouldn’t have let in my room the other night.
All I notice is that damn chain around his neck, and the urge to go over and use it to strangle him is strong.
He sees me. His expression doesn’t change. Not even a flicker. I inhale slowly through my nose, give myself a silent pep talk, and step forward like I didn’t spend half the night trying not to cry.
Lily waves the moment she notices me. She’s bouncing Larkin gently against her chest, the baby’s fist clutching a handful of her shirt. “Morning!” she sings, smiling like she always means it.
I manage a smile back. “Hey. Need help with anything?”
“Nope,” she chirps. “Just waiting for the boys to decide who’s sitting where.”
“Like kindergarten,” I mutter.
She laughs, nodding. “Basically.”
Dean pushes off the column with a theatrical stretch, muscles flexing in a way that is absolutely, one-hundred-percent intentional. He doesn’t look at me. But he knows I see him. Of course he does.
Luc appears beside me like he materialized out of thin air, calm and observant as ever. “You alright?” he asks.
I nod a little too quickly. “Yep. Just tired.”
He studies me - really studies me, with those deceptively gentle eyes. And because Luc misses nothing, he offers softly, “If you want a quieter ride today, we’ve got a free seat. Bus is calmer with Lily and Larkin onboard.”
My breath catches. Because yeah. I do want space from Dean. I do want quiet. I do want a break from pretending I’m made of steel. But admitting that feels like losing something.
Before I can answer, Dean laughs loudly at something Mikey says; one of those big, exaggerated laughs guys use when they’re performing for a particular audience. My jaw tics. Luc doesn’t push. He just gives me a small, knowing nod, like he already has my answer.
“I’d appreciate it.” I nod gratefully.
“Perfect.” He flashes a smile so wide, dimples appear. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving in ten.”
Dean’s head snaps up. His eyes lock onto mine like I’ve done something unspeakable.
Something personal. Then his gaze flicks to Luc.
Then back to me. A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he doesn’t say a word.
He just turns away, laughing again, too loud, too forced, throwing an arm around a crew member like he suddenly cares deeply about this conversation.
He’s pissed. Good. He can stew in it. He doesn’t get to pretend we’re nothing and then get mad when I do the same.
I climb onto Luc and Lily’s bus a few minutes later, stepping into warm lighting, soft music, and a space that feels lived-in but peaceful. The exact opposite of the testosterone fog that hangs over the other bus.
Lily settles onto the couch, still bouncing Larkin. “Hey, sweetie. Sit, get comfy.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, sliding into the opposite bench.
Luc disappears briefly and returns with two steaming mugs. “One decaf,” he reports with a small smile as he hands Lily that cup. “I live to serve.”
Lily beams at him like he hung the moon. I wrap my hands around my cup, inhaling the scent. It’s good. Really good. Like someone actually cared enough to make it right.
“We’ll get going once Dean and Mikey stop arguing about who gets to control the remote,” Lily jokes, rolling her eyes with a fondness that makes me smile.
“Want to do your interview?” Luc sits across from me. “Good a time as any, I suppose?”
I nod, even though my chest tightens. Yeah.
I’m ready for this. And absolutely not ready at all.
But this is good. I need the distraction.
Something else to think about beside the mistake that shall not be named.
And now I won’t have to try and corner him later.
The bus is quiet, personal, the perfect place for us to talk.
The bus pulls away from the resort, the movement steady and soothing as we hit the main road toward Memphis. Lily rises after a few minutes, Larkin asleep against her shoulder. “I’m going to put her down. You two talk.” She disappears into the back lounge, closing the door behind her.
Luc exhales. “Okay,” he asks, “where do you want to start?”
I lift my recorder and set it between us. “Wherever you’re comfortable.”
He nods once. “Then I guess… her. Knowing this will help understand us.” My heart stutters. Because I know exactly who “her” is. The ghost Dean carries. The wound he hides behind all those sharp edges.
Luc’s voice drops low, soft. “Her name was Emily.” He doesn’t tell me everything at once.
He unfolds it slowly; like someone handling broken glass.
Dean was eighteen. Stupidly in love. Headfirst, heart-first, no-brakes kind of love.
Emily was bright. Kind. A spark. And they adored each other.
It was the kind of love every one dreams of finding one day, but they got lucky and found it early.
Luc talks about the accident next, but he talks around the worst parts.
He doesn’t need to be graphic. The way his voice tightens is enough to make my eyes sting.
They were driving behind her. They were dropping off the car to be serviced.
They saw it happen. A dump truck slamming into the driver’s side of the car.
Dean reaching for a steering wheel he couldn’t control.
Dean running toward twisted metal.
Dean holding her battered body in his arms, in the middle of the road until the ambulance arrived.
Dean refusing to let go of her once they did.
Dean shutting down every piece of himself afterward.
“He still thinks to this day that it should have been him,” Luc explains.
“It was his car. She wanted to drive it. It was a Mustang, and she thought it was the coolest. It was two miles.” He shakes his head.
“If he had been driving, she’d still be here.
” He grimaces. “At least, that’s what he believes. ”
My breath catches. Luc looks at me and something in his gaze gentles even more. “He loved her. Really loved her. And losing her, it changed him. Permanently.”
I swallow; throat tight. “He doesn’t talk about her.”
“He won’t.” Luc shakes his head. “If he does… he might never stop.”
Silence drapes heavy around us.
“And now?” I ask. It’s barely a whisper.
Luc’s gaze softens. “Now he cares more than he wants to admit. And he’s terrified. Of losing someone else. Of surviving it again. So, he pretends nobody matters.”
I blink hard, fighting the burn behind my eyes.
“You’re not going to tell anyone any of this,” Luc offers me a small smile. “I know that.”
“I wouldn’t,” I breathe. “I’m not that kind of storyteller.”
“I know,” he repeats. “That’s why I told you.”
My chest feels too full. Too complicated. Too raw. Luc glances at his phone and huffs a laugh. “And apparently Dean’s being dramatic as hell. He texted asking why you ditched them.”
I freeze. “He what?”
Luc smirks. “I told him to handle it like an adult. He sent back a middle-finger emoji.”
A laugh escapes me, it’s tired, disbelieving, and aching around the edges.
Luc leans forward slightly. “He’s an idiot.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“He’s also not hopeless,” Luc adds. “He just needs someone who sees past all the noise.”
My throat tightens. I don’t answer. I don’t trust my voice.
Luc doesn’t push. He taps the recorder lightly. “Is that enough for today?”
I nod. “More than enough.”
I close my laptop and watch as Luc strolls to the back of the bus to join Lily and Larkin in the bedroom. I move to the couch and fall into it. Breathing. Processing. My chest aches, and not from last night anymore, but from everything I never knew until now.
Dean isn’t cold. He’s wounded. He doesn’t avoid feelings because he doesn’t have them. He avoids them because he has too many. And somewhere between Lincoln and Memphis, somewhere between everything I thought and everything I now know, I whisper into the emptiness of the bus, “What am I doing?”
No answer comes. Just the quiet hum of the road. And the overwhelming truth that I’m already in deeper than I planned.