Chapter Twenty-Eight
Raven had been right about the village.
What had been charming, quaint, even, in that aggressively English way, was now under siege.
Three more photographers had shown up overnight, camping out near the pub.
She'd spotted at least two journalists lurking around Blossom's Café.
Even Daisy the postwoman had been stopped on her rounds by someone asking questions.
It was exactly what Raven had feared would happen.
And it was exactly what she deserved for being stupid enough to think she could hide here forever.
She stood at her kitchen window, watching a man with a camera lean against the garden wall, clearly settling in for a long wait. The guitar in her hands felt heavier than usual, or maybe that was just the weight of everything else pressing down on her shoulders.
She tried to remember that she'd written a song.
A proper one. Not the half-formed fragments she'd been cobbling together for months, but something real.
Something good. And more were coming. She could feel them, waiting just beneath the surface, ready to be pulled out and shaped into something worth listening to.
Her music was back.
Which meant it was time to leave.
The realization sat like a stone in her chest. She'd known it was coming, of course. She'd always known Bankton was temporary. A pit stop. A place to lick her wounds and figure out what came next.
She just hadn't expected "next" to arrive quite so soon.
Or to hurt quite so much.
She set the guitar down carefully and turned away from the window.
She’d already spoken to Claire. Talked about the options, told her that she wasn’t returning to Krimson Khaos no matter what.
And, to her credit, Claire had taken it in stride.
There was support there for her to go solo, especially now she could write her own material again.
She wasn’t going backwards, she told herself.
This was a step forward, a good thing. She’d found everything she’d come here to find.
All she had to do was say yes.
Sign the contracts. Go back to London. Start recording. Start the machine up again, interviews, photoshoots, promotional appearances.
She wasn't running anymore, was she? She'd found what she'd lost. The music. The creativity. The part of herself she'd thought Alissa had taken with her when she'd gotten married in bloody Vegas.
So really, there was no reason to stay.
The village was a disaster now, anyway. Parents were probably complaining to Lily about "Annabelle's judgment" in bringing a celebrity to the school.
Gloria had been cornered by three different journalists asking invasive questions about the fundraiser.
Even sweet, cheerful Blossom had snapped at someone yesterday for taking photos of customers without permission.
Raven had upended everything. Made a mess of the one place that had offered her peace.
And Annabelle…
No. She wasn't thinking about Annabelle right now.
Except she was. Obviously. Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw Annabelle's face when she'd told her about the article. The way her expression had crumbled. The tears in her eyes as she'd tried to explain.
I defended you. I told them the truth.
You told them MY truth.
Raven pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She needed to stop replaying that conversation. It was done. Over. Annabelle had made a mistake, a well-intentioned, devastatingly naive mistake, and Raven had walked away before she said something she'd regret.
That was the mature thing to do, right?
Except now it was the next day, and the photographers outside had multiplied, and Raven still hadn't figured out what the hell to say.
I'm angry, but I understand. I'm leaving anyway. Sorry for ruining your life.
Yeah. That would go over brilliantly.
She tried practicing in her head as she made coffee she didn't drink and toast she didn't eat.
Annabelle, I know you were trying to help, but…
No. That sounded condescending.
Look, I'm not mad anymore, I just think it's better if…
Too casual. Like she was breaking up with someone she'd been dating for three weeks instead of… whatever this was.
The label wants me back in London. It's a good opportunity. I should probably…
Cowardly. True, but cowardly.
By noon, she still hadn't come up with anything remotely adequate. By two o'clock, she was pacing the sitting room like a caged animal, her phone burning a hole in her pocket every time Claire texted asking for a decision.
By four, she'd finally accepted the inevitable truth: there was no good way to do this.
She was just going to have to go over there and say it.
ANNABELLE’S COTTAGE LOOKED exactly the same as always, cheerful, welcoming, with those ridiculous flower boxes and the doormat that said Welcome! in swirling script. Like nothing had changed. Like the world hadn't shifted in the past twenty-four hours.
Raven stood on the doorstep and knocked before she could lose her nerve.
Annabelle answered almost immediately, like she'd been waiting. Her hair was loose around her shoulders instead of in its usual neat bun, and there were shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Raven." Her voice was soft, careful. "Hi."
"Hi." Raven shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. "Can I come in?"
"Of course." Annabelle stepped back, opening the door wider.
The cottage interior was as aggressively cheerful as the outside, all bright colors and comfortable furniture and photographs on every surface. It should have felt cluttered, but instead it just felt… lived in. Loved.
Raven stayed standing near the door.
"I wanted to apologize," she said, before Annabelle could speak. "For yesterday. For snapping at you. I know you were trying to help."
"Raven, no, I should—"
"Let me finish." Raven took a breath. "I was angry. I am angry. But I also understand that you genuinely thought you were doing the right thing. You always do. It's one of the most frustrating and wonderful things about you."
Annabelle's eyes were shimmering now, threatening tears. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have… I didn't think…"
"I know." And she did. That was the worst part. Annabelle hadn't done it out of malice or thoughtlessness. She'd done it because she cared. Because she'd wanted to protect Raven. Because fixing things was how she showed love.
Which made what Raven had to say next so much harder.
"I'm going back to London," she said.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and final.
Annabelle went very, very still. "What?"
"I accepted the solo career opportunity. The one Claire's been pushing. I need to leave soon. Maybe in a few days."
"Is this because of the tabloids?" Annabelle's voice was barely above a whisper. "Because of what I—"
"No." Raven cut her off firmly. "This is because this was always temporary. I came here to write an album and figure my shit out. I've done that, or I’m on the way to doing it. Now I need to actually do something with it."
"But…" Annabelle looked lost, searching for words. "I thought…"
"I never meant to stay forever, Annabelle." The words felt cruel even as Raven said them. "I was always going to leave eventually."
"Right." Annabelle nodded mechanically. "Of course. I knew that. I just… I didn't think it would be this soon."
They stood there in silence, the space between them feeling wider than the few feet it actually was.
"I understand," Annabelle finally said, and there was that brightness trying to creep back into her voice, that determined optimism she wore like armor. "I'm glad you found your music again. That's what matters."
"Annabelle…"
"Could we…" She stopped, swallowed. "Could we try long distance? I know you'll be busy, but we could make it work. FaceTime and visits and—"
"I don't think that would work." The words came out harsher than Raven intended, and she watched Annabelle flinch. "I'm going to be touring, recording, doing press. I'll be gone for months at a time. It's not fair to either of us to pretend…"
"Right." Annabelle's voice was small now. "Right, of course. I understand."
But she didn't understand. How could she? Raven could barely understand it herself.
She was terrified. That was the truth of it.
Terrified that if she tried this, tried them, she'd fuck it up the way she fucked everything up.
That she'd get lost in the chaos of touring and recording and forget to call.
That Annabelle would realize she wasn't worth the trouble of waiting for.
That this bright, lovely woman would end up just another casualty of Raven's inability to keep anything good in her life.
Better to end it now. Cleanly. Before it could turn into something uglier.
"I'm glad you found your music again," Annabelle repeated, and there were tears on her cheeks now, though she was still smiling. Still trying so fucking hard to be okay. "That's what's important. That's what you came here for."
Raven wanted to reach for her. Wanted to pull her close and say no, that's not all I found here.
Wanted to tell her that somewhere between the terrible livestream and the guitar lessons and the middle-of-the-night confessions, Bankton had stopped being a hiding place and started being something else entirely.
But the words stuck in her throat.
"Take care of yourself," she managed instead.
Then she turned and walked out before she could change her mind.
THE COTTAGE FELT emptier than it had before. Which was ridiculous, because it was exactly the same as it had been twenty minutes ago. Same furniture, same guitars leaning against the walls, same notebooks scattered across every surface.
But something had changed.
Raven sat down heavily on the sofa and stared at nothing.
She'd gotten what she came for. Her music was back. Songs were flowing again, melodies arriving in the middle of the night, lyrics forming faster than she could write them down. The creative well that had been bone-dry for months was full again, overflowing.
She should feel triumphant. Relieved. Ready to take on London and the label and whatever came next.
Instead, she felt like she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.
But she couldn't figure out how to fix it. Couldn't figure out what she'd even say if she went back over there right now. Sorry, changed my mind, let's give this thing between us a shot even though I'm about to leave and I'm terrible at relationships and I'll probably let you down within a month.
Yeah. That would go great.
Outside, through the window, she could see more photographers gathering. Soon there would be news vans. More journalists knocking on doors, asking invasive questions, disturbing the peace of this village that had been kind enough to take her in.
She'd destroyed this place. Turned something charming and peaceful into a circus.
All because she'd been selfish enough to think she could have this. Could have quiet and music and Annabelle's bright smile and not pay a price for any of it.
Raven picked up her guitar, fingers finding the opening chords of the song she'd written. The one about finding home in unexpected places. About sunshine breaking through the gray.
The one she'd never be able to record.
Her phone buzzed. Claire again, asking for an answer.
Raven typed back: I'm in. Start the paperwork.
Then she set the phone down and kept playing, even though every note felt like goodbye.