Chapter 30 Stevie
Stevie
Two nights later, I’m seated on the balcony of Lex’s high-rise condo, pretending I’m on the roof of my old house.
I’m not sure why I haven’t sat out here before.
Probably for the same reason I haven’t peeked inside his bedroom or toured the other empty guest rooms. This feels like his space, and I’m the outlier in his territory.
But tonight the balcony drew me in, so I grabbed a cardigan and shuffled out to the two-person terrace, adorned with a pair of chairs.
The stars called to me. I needed the glow.
While I was gone most of the day for a series of interviews—one on a popular morning show—I returned to an empty space. Lex told me he had errands to run, people to meet, so he’d be home late. It’s after eleven, and he’s still not back yet.
Drinking in a breath, I pull out my phone and notice a missed call from my mom. I immediately call her back.
She picks up, sounding groggy. “Stevie?”
“Hey, Mom. Sorry I missed you.”
“Honey…I called four hours ago. It’s after one a.m. here.”
Crap. I forgot about the time-zone difference. Wincing, I bite my lip. “Oops. I didn’t mean to wake you. My phone was on silent all day for my interviews.”
Rustling sounds in the background, and I imagine her pulling off the covers and traipsing out of the bedroom. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I don’t even care that I was dreaming about Harrison Ford.”
I snort. “My guilt is now tremendous.”
“Have you met him yet? If you do, please put in a good word for me.”
“You know I will.”
Water starts running, and my mind runs along with it, recalling the outdated bathroom I know she’s standing in.
The porcelain pedestal sink, chipped and stained.
A vintage glass mirror, always smudged with fingerprints and the residual spray of daily teeth brushing.
The gaudy mauve bathtub and pale-pink wallpaper.
Innocence and childhood.
“How were your interviews?” she asks, footfalls shuffling across creaky floors. “We saw you on that morning show at breakfast. Your father cried.”
“Oh God.” My face heats, and a chuckle falls out. “Did I do okay?”
“You looked like a Hollywood star to me. Where you were always meant to be.”
My stomach pinches. A feeling creeps across my skin, heavy and invading. “Thanks,” I murmur, leaning back in the chair and scanning the inky stretch above, settling on the brightest star. It twinkles and beams, begging for a wish. “Hey, Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“What was your dream?”
She hesitates, the echo of heavy breathing filtering through the speaker. “What do you mean?”
“Your dream…when you were growing up. Did you always want to be a housewife, living on a farm? A librarian?”
I listen and wait, my heart rate doubling. I’ve never asked her this before.
Mom sighs before responding. “No. I didn’t want any of those things.”
“You didn’t?” Her answer tugs at me. “What did you want?”
“I wanted to travel the world. I yearned for independence. I wanted to be a singer, a solo artist, and I wanted to spread my wings and fly.” She pauses. “But then I met your father.”
My eyes glaze over, the stars blurring together. “At that concert.”
“Mudstock. 1994.” She makes a humming noise. “Feels like centuries ago. But I still remember that moment. It was so small, so brief, but so life-changing.”
“What moment?” I whisper.
Another long pause. “The moment I knew my dreams had changed.”
My grip tightens on the phone, a lump swelling in my throat. “How did you know?”
“There was just…something in his eyes. He bought me a beer, and we found a place on the grass, started talking like we’d known each other forever.
And he said to me—while Peter Gabriel just happened to be playing ‘In Your Eyes’—he said, ‘Are you the one I’ve been looking for?
’” She snickers under her breath. “Cheesy, I suppose. But all I could think was yes . And I knew then that sometimes the dreams we give up make way for dreams we never knew we wanted.”
I let her words settle in, somewhere deep. Part of me wonders if she has any regrets, if she’d go back and change anything if she could. But I don’t think I want to know. I want to believe everything worked out, just like it was supposed to. She’s happy.
Staring at the big, bright star, I ask her one more question. “Do you and Dad still give your daily highlights at dinnertime?”
“We do. Every night.”
I smile. “Can you add mine into the mix?”
“Of course.”
“I just wanted to say…” My eyes close, the sixty-degree breeze feeling like a hug from home. “I wanted to say thank you. For the childhood you gave me. I’m appreciating it a lot more right now.”
There’s a beat of hesitation. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I guess I’m just a little homesick.”
“Understandable,” she says. “How are things with Lex?”
“Oh, he’s—” My words are cut short when I feel a presence behind me, followed by a sound.
I spin around in the chair and find him standing at the cracked-open door, his shoulder propped against the slider.
I wet my lips and clear my throat. “Everything is great, Mom. I need to get going. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Anytime, Stevie. Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams.” The call disconnects, and I pivot back around, finding him staring at the stars, one hand in his pocket. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies softly.
We haven’t spoken much since he laid his ghosts out at my feet and gave them names.
The truth is I haven’t known what to say or what to do.
Every instinct in me wants to take him in my arms, sink my fingers in his hair, and tell him that I’m here.
But I don’t think that’s what he needs, and the last thing I want to do is make it worse.
So my heart remains in limbo, living under the same roof with this broken man while unable to mend his pieces.
Lex’s throat rolls as he squints at the skyline. “Was that your mom?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He looks tired. He often does, but right now it’s the kind of tired that draws gray lines across his face and dims his blue eyes to something murky.
My heart pangs. There’s so much I want to say.
“Have you been in your room yet?” He glances at me, a slow slide of his eyes. “Since you got home?”
A frown creases. “No. Why?”
“Just wondering.” He nods up at the pinboard of milky jewels. “This feels familiar.”
I follow his stare while he takes the empty seat beside me, the arms of the chairs clacking together. “Yeah, I guess it does. But the farm is quieter.”
“The noise is the only thing I like about this city.”
I’m about to ask him why, but I think I already know: city noise is better than the noise inside his head. My swallow is tight, clunky, as I cross my legs at the knee. “How was your day? I saw someone posted a TikTok of you signing autographs outside that new café on Melrose.”
He doesn’t look at me, but his gaze lightens, just a touch. “Stalking my hashtags, Nicks?”
Color blooms on my cheeks, and I duck my head to hide the guilty grin. “I should probably keep myself in the loop with my boyfriend’s whereabouts, don’t you think?”
“You can always text me.”
“I—” Blinking back up, I glance at his profile as my smile slips slightly. “Yeah. I could.”
“Did you save my number to your phone?”
“No.” I didn’t delete it either. So far, he’s only texted me twice. Once that first night and another that just said food .
Lifting the phone off my lap, I unlock the screen and scroll through my messages, landing on the unadded phone number a few texts down—right beneath Misty’s TELL ME EVERYTHING BITCH .
I swipe through the prompts and start typing “Lex” into the name field.
“Eh.”
I frown, popping my head up. “What?”
“You can do better. I’m your boyfriend, the love of your life. We’d hardly be on a first-name basis in each other’s phones.”
“What did you put for me?”
A knowing look.
“Right. Nicks.” I watch as he unlocks his phone and angles it in my direction. I was right. But the accompanying picture is what seizes my attention. It’s not a photo swiped from my social media profiles or even a tabloid shot. It’s candid. One he took himself, last week, when I wasn’t aware.
I’m sitting at his grand piano, singing through a lovesick smile, the image taken to my left and capturing my profile. I’m totally immersed in the music, my chin tipped, shoulders taut with passion as my fingers press along the crisp white keys.
Chewing my lip, I erase the three letters from the name field. “I don’t have a nickname for you,” I murmur, trying to think of something relevant. “Babe?”
“Not personal enough.”
“Lexy-Boy?”
He makes a face of disgust.
“Hmm.” My thumb taps the side of the phone. And then an idea hits me. Rubbing my lips together, I swipe across the keypad and show him the final verdict.
My Christian with a red heart.
A heavy look steals his eyes. His brows dip, lips pressing together. He swallows. “Better.”
Warmth invades my neck, my collarbone, and I wonder if it’s too much. Too intimate and raw, a secret only meant for us and for that stage. But it’s already out there, so I let it go, closing the screen and returning the phone to my lap.
Another surge of silence swells as I look back out at the canvas of stars and wonder what he’s thinking. The longer the quiet stretches, the more my mind replays the moment in his living room when he unveiled his truths and I felt sucker punched and gutted. Stripped to bare bones.
I still wonder if I should have walked away or if I should have taken him in my arms like I wanted to.
“Hey, Lex?” My voice is a breath, a tiny voice.
He leans forward in the chair, elbows to knees. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to talk?”
I watch his eyes glaze over as starlight inhabits the blue. He doesn’t respond, propping his chin atop his clasped hands.
“About the other day?” I add. I want to be there for him. I want to be his friend, a shoulder to lean on.
Whatever he needs.
But I’m not equipped with the tools to deconstruct his pain.
I’m wavering, waffling, torn in two. I’m both the girl he once knew—the one who’d sing him songs and hold his hand on rooftop shingles—but I’m also this new character, this new role, unsure of where I stand or how to reach him in the ways that count.
Lex sighs, heavy and burdened. “I’m not much of a talker, Nicks.”
I glance between the phones in our laps and think back to our limo ride that first night, on our way to the gala. “If you can’t say it, write it down.”
A glance.
“Text me,” I continue, nodding at his phone. “Sometimes it’s easier that way.”
He scowls like the notion is absurd. But then the creases in his face unfurl, and his posture relaxes. A few beats roll by, and he picks up the phone.
My heart teeters.
I sit there anxiously, my own phone clasped in a tight grip. I wait for the vibration, the little ping.
Ping.
With a sharp exhale, I open his message.
My Christian: Hey.
My lips twitch.
Me: Hey.
He keeps typing. Longer this time.
My Christian: Apparently I’m not much of a texter either.
Me: That’s okay. I have nowhere to be.
My Christian: Sometimes I wonder if I’m anything at all. Just a puppet living out these different roles until one of them sticks.
Sadness pokes pinholes in my chest.
I steal a quick look at his profile, but he’s unreadable.
Me: One of them will stick. The one that matters.
My Christian: I envy you. Always have.
Me?
I was the poor girl living on a farm, and he was the movie star, a bright light.
While I understand now, with added context, why he’d feel that way, he’s still so young. His life isn’t over. His story isn’t over.
Me: Why?
My Christian: You’ve always known who you are.
Me: That’s not true. I’m no different than you. Nobody knows who they really are until they’re tested. That’s when it counts.
My Christian: I’m afraid this place will ruin you.
Me: Only if I allow it to. And I won’t.
My Christian: Then we couldn’t be more different.
Emotion pricks behind my eyes. I breathe in deeply, watching his thumb pause over the keypad before I send another reply.
Me: Thank you for confiding in me the other day.
Lex starts typing something, then backspaces. He does it two more times.
A moment later, his phone is in his lap, discarded.
No more messages come through.
I do the same, exhaling a lodged breath, and glance back out at the stars.
The one that twinkles the brightest calls to me, like it always does.
I used to think it was my baby brother watching me from the heavens.
A gentle reminder. A keepsake. I smile, letting the glow wash over me and chase away my shadows.
Then, slowly, I extend my hand in Lex’s direction. My wrist dangles over the edge of the arm of his chair, the underside of my palm facing up.
I don’t press, don’t pry. If he doesn’t take it, that’s okay.
It’s there if he needs it.
With my eyes on the sky, I lean back in my seat and breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. City bustling adds a soundtrack to the quiet night, distracting me long enough that I don’t expect it.
I don’t anticipate the moment his hand carefully closes with mine.
Warmth settles into my palm, zapping tingly trails all the way up my arm and to my chest. To my heart.
Our fingers link together.
I close my eyes and squeeze.
A violinist starts playing from thirteen floors below: a starry serenade for night owls and midnight dreamers.
Lex doesn’t speak, and neither do I. It’s a moment.
Peaceful, tranquil, untroubled. We sit like that for a handful of minutes, with intertwined fingers and steady breaths. Music swells, melancholic yet hopeful.
When my eyelids droop and the peace dips its toes into dreamland, I go to speak.
But Lex speaks first. “Good night, Nicks.” He unlinks our hands and pulls up from the chair, moving off the balcony and disappearing through the sliding door.
I watch him go, my hand still warm, my heart warmer. “Good night,” I whisper back, but he’s already gone.
A few minutes later, I’m winding up the staircase to my makeshift bedroom.
Still in a daze, I step into the room and flip on the light switch.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, for the haze to clear, but when the glow of the chandelier fills the space and yanks me back to reality, I freeze in place.
Blink.
A sharp breath falls out, a gasp of surprise.
The walls are painted ocean blue. Candles are placed on ledges, flickering and alive, sweetening the air with the scent of lavender and vanilla.
Prints and art pieces line the walls—a painting of a red farmhouse, a black-and-white-spotted cow, sheets of music framed with gold, and a promotional poster of Moulin Rouge!
And in front of me, scattered across the bedspread, is a sea of brand-new pillows. Some big, some small. Some are even shaped like stars.
All in my favorite color.