Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Lucy
I grip the barre and stand on my right leg, left foot lifted just off the floor, toes pointed, breath held. Single-legged calf raises. On my injured ankle. And it feels…
Firm. Solid. Dependable.
Strong.
I rise and lower again, testing the limits of what I thought was still broken. But it isn’t. Not anymore. When I glance at Nash through the mirror, our eyes lock. His grin stretches wide across his face, almost, almost, as big as the one on mine.
“You’re doing it,” he says, voice warm and proud and happy for me.
“Oh believe me… I know.” My laugh is breathless.
“How’s it feel?”
“Amazing.” I lower my heel slowly, turn to face him. “You said once I might end up stronger than before the injury. I thought you were just saying that to keep me from crying.”
Nash holds up his hands, all that green light energy fading into a yield sign. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. They’re just calf raises.”
“I know that. But I also know how much better it feels. I used to have this little painful click at the top range of motion, and now, that’s gone. It feels great.”
Nash steps closer, arms crossed, head bobbing. “Then I think it’s time we level up. Careful two-legged jumps using the barre for support. Maybe some light dancing. But no turns or leaps. Not yet.”
Joy surges through me like wind catching a kite and before I can think better of it, I leap into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck, laughter spilling out of me before I crash my lips to his.
He catches me with a startled laugh of his own, hands gripping my thighs, then sliding to the small of my back as he kisses me like he means it. Like he feels it too.
“You might be the best thing that ever happened to me,” I whisper against his mouth, forehead pressed to his. “Just think where I’d be if it weren’t for you.”
He lifts a brow, skeptical. “Probably homeless. Begging on the street.”
I laugh, breathless, and unwrap myself, feet hitting the floor gently. “Or worse.”
“There’s worse than homeless and broke?”
I shrug. “Probably. But I’ll never know, because you stepped in and rescued me. Like a literal fairy tale. Just when the damsel thought all was lost, the handsome prince shows up and puts all her pieces back together.”
Nash scoffs. “I’m sorry, but Lucy Calder has never been a damsel in distress.”
“I was pretty distressed that day in the ER. Even more when I lost the tour. Kind of felt like my whole life was caving in.”
He starts to respond, but the sharp beep of his work phone cuts in. He winces. “Twenty bucks says I’m about to lose my day off.”
“Only a fool would take that bet.”
The hospital always needs him. Always. Stillwater Bay might be small, but we must be the most accident-prone, medically understaffed town in America.
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes dimming a little as guilt drapes across his shoulders.
“Don’t be.” I reach for his hand and squeeze. “We got our PT session in. All home-life obligations fulfilled.”
“Oh no,” he says, holding up a finger, a glint in his eyes that makes my heart soften in contentment. “Don’t you dare. Nothing about you is an obligation, kid.”
Nash starts toward me, like he might kiss me again, but another message dings. He groans softly, eyes skimming the screen. “I have to go. They’re short again.”
“Go. Save lives. Restore the hospital to order as apparently only you can do. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“I like the sound of that,” he replies, those gray eyes sparkling. He leans in, presses a quick, firm kiss to my lips.
As Nash disappears down the hall, my phone buzzes from its place on the floor with an incoming message.
I let it sit, watching myself in the mirror instead.
Then, without thinking, I begin to move.
Slowly. Carefully. Testing myself with a piece of choreography from the last class I took in Los Angeles.
My injured foot glides along the floor. No turns. No jumps. Just movement. Breath. Grace.
And it feels like coming home. Like freedom.
Like remembering who I am.
The thought sobers me. That version of myself doesn’t live in Stillwater Bay. She doesn’t belong in Nash’s quiet house, or his arms, or his every day. She lives in studios and on stages and in motion. In Los Angeles.
I stop dancing. My gaze finds itself in the mirror again.
My reflection stares back, posture collapsed, brows drawn tight, a question in her eyes I don’t want to answer.
To distract myself, I finally check the message.
Trish
So, I know we didn’t exactly part on great terms, but this tour is killing me. I thought I could do it but I can’t. I’m going to step down. You’ll probably get a call. Also… sorry I was awful. Hope you’re doing okay
I blink. My breath catches. Joy and fear join hands and stampede through my veins.
And then Nash’s voice rings out down the hall, startling me. “I’m out! I’ll text you when I know more, but you’re probably on your own for dinner.”
I pocket my phone and with it, the message I don’t know how to feel about yet. “No worries. I might see if Stella and the Gabster want to hang out.”
He pops his head around the corner. “Have fun with your friends,” he says, his voice low and warm, gaze locking on mine. “But save the best part of your night for when I get back.”
With a wry grin that liquifies my insides, he turns and strides down the hallway, leaving me awash in wanting… for him, here, in Stillwater…
…and for the life Trish just dangled in front of me.
The bells over the door at Holiday’s jingle as I step inside, sunshine spilling in behind me.
The air smells like cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee, and for a moment, it almost feels like the world hasn’t tilted sideways.
Stella and Gabby are already at our booth in the corner, the one we’ve claimed since high school.
Heads bent together, they’re staring at something on Gabby’s phone, whispering like we’re sixteen again.
Violet spots me from behind the counter and lights up. “No crutches? No boot? Driving yourself?” Her hands go to her hips like a proud aunt. “Look at you coming back to life.”
“It feels good,” I say honestly, voice catching just slightly on the last word.
Because I don’t know which life I’m coming back to.
The one I’ve spent years building, driving a wedge between me and my parents in the process?
Or this one, unexpected and calm and terrifyingly tethered to a man I never saw coming?
I place my order, thank Simon for the coffee and carry the steaming mug over to the booth.
“You have got to see this,” Stella says the moment I slide onto the bench beside her. Her eyes are wide, and Gabby looks mildly terrorized.
Gabby groans. “I don’t even know what to think.” She pulls out an earbud and offers it to me. “Here. Just listen.”
I slide the bud in and take the phone she pushes across the table. Grayson Kincaid’s voice flows through me before I’m ready—rich, aching, unmistakably him. Just a guitar, a mic, and the kind of raw honesty that makes your chest hurt.
Sweet angel
Hair touched with gold
Memories of days gone by
My love for you, never grown cold
Your voice, your touch, your sun-bright smile
When God made you, he broke the mold
The lyrics scroll across the screen, slow and deliberate.
My first, my last, my always…
I pull the earbud out, brow furrowing. “Yeah… about that…”
“What am I supposed to do?” Gabby asks, clearly rattled. “What can I do?”
“Stop listening and stop caring,” Stella mutters, leaning back with her arms crossed. “Anything else would be emotional suicide.”
“This song could be about anyone,” I offer, though even to my own ears, it sounds like a lie.
Gabby narrows her eyes. “My first, my last, my always? That’s not just a lyric. That’s a direct hit.”
“It could still be fiction,” I try again. “Grayson writes love songs for a living and lots of people think back on their first with longing and regret. He might be writing for them, not you.”
“Either way, this song just happened to land in my playlist while I was cleaning the apartment. Like some cosmic joke.”
I wince. “That sucks.”
Gabby closes her eyes, shakes her head, shoulders sagging. “It’s like getting slapped with the ghost of the life I thought I’d have, right in the middle of the one I’m actually living.”
“I can’t even imagine how that feels,” I say, even though I most definitely can.
Almost like it’s happening to me, too.
Stella glances between us, eyes narrowed. “Okay. We’re done spiraling. Gabby, you’re amazing and Grayson’s a moron, and Lucy—how’s boot-free life treating you?”
I force a smile. “Well, I’m officially a functioning member of society again. Or, you know, a weirdly blissed-out 1950s housewife whose life consists of physical therapy, meeting friends for coffee in the middle of the day, and making dinner for her man.”
Gabby snorts into her latte. “You? Domestic?”
“That’s not gonna stick,” Stella agrees, grinning. “The Lucy Calder I know is too independent to play house.”
“Right? You’re the bravest person I know,” Gabby says with a toast of her mug.
“Thanks,” I murmur, the kindness of her words settling into something more complicated.
Because they’re true. And also… maybe not anymore.
“I think this whole Nash bubble just feels so safe in comparison to trying to make it in Los Angeles. It’s easy. It’s…” I trail off, searching for the right word. “Calm.”
The girls exchange a glance.
“But what happens when the bubble pops?” Gabby asks softly.
Stella elbows her.
“Ow! I’m just asking. It’s not good to ignore the hard stuff. You know I’m right on that.”
“I don’t know what happens,” I say honestly. “I’ve only known Nash for what? Six weeks?”
Stella nods. “What happens when your ankle’s fully healed?”
“I don’t know.” The words scrape a little more this time.
“What if your agent calls?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t even have a place to live out there anymore.”
I drop my head into my hands with a groan. “And just like that, the bubble has burst. Thanks, guys.”
They both go quiet.
“Sorry, Lu,” Stella murmurs.
I consider telling them about the text from Trish. About how she’s stepping down. How I might get that call from my agent any day now. But if I say it out loud, they’ll ask questions I don’t have the answers to.
And honestly? Three I-don’t-knows in thirty seconds feels like my limit.
So instead, I sip my coffee and let the warmth coat my throat, my chest, my stomach. Let it hold the questions at bay a little longer.
Just one more moment in the bubble.