Chapter 3 #2
But I feel his stare on my back as I flee out the bathroom door, heart racing, knees weak, every nerve under my skin still burning from proximity.
I hate him.
I hate that I don’t.
JASPER
I don’t follow her.
Not this time.
She left. Threw her little shield up and slipped out like she hadn’t just stopped breathing two minutes ago with me standing inches away.
She said she wasn’t interested. Said I didn’t affect her.
But her hands were shaking.
Her mouth was trembling.
And her eyes—fuck, those eyes—wide and drowning in everything she was too scared to say out loud.
She looked at me like she wanted to run. But not away.
She looked at me like she wanted to run into something.
Like she wanted to see what would happen if she stopped pretending.
She said no, but her pupils were blown, her pulse was stuttering, and when that phone buzzed with his name, she didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
Because I was in her head now.
Under her fucking skin.
So I let her walk away. Let her lie to herself, let her grip the sink and breathe like she wasn’t two seconds from falling apart for me.
This isn’t over. I know what I feel, even if she wants to deny it.
That spark?
It’s lit now.
She thinks she has space. Time. Options.
She doesn’t.
It’s not about music anymore.
It’s about her.
And I don’t give a damn what I have to burn to the ground to get it—she’s coming home with me. Even if I have to drag her there with teeth and fire.
***
SAWYER
The zipper screams across my suitcase like it’s trying to warn me. Today is the day.
I shove my charger and camera strap inside, trying to focus, trying to pack my sanity between socks and lens cloths. I can feel Blake behind me, and his silence is louder than any scream.
“You’re really going, huh?” he finally says with a huff.
I nod, not turning around. “Yeah.”
“I mean…I knew you wanted this. You’ve worked hard and I’m proud of you, I guess.”
The words sound supportive, but his tone drags them through sandpaper. There’s a weight in them, the kind that doesn’t belong to pride.
I keep folding. Keep pretending this is just an everyday conversation, I keep acting like this isn’t exactly what it is—a test.
“It’s just…” he pauses, breath shallow, insecure. “It feels like you’re running from us.”
There it is. I knew the line was coming.
I sigh, keeping my back to him while I roll my eyes. “I’m not running. This is an opportunity. You know that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, and I hear him crossing the room slowly, circling until he’s near my side. “I just didn’t think you’d be so quick to take off—not without talking about it.”
I finally glance at him.
His brows are drawn tight, his mouth pinched in fake concern if you didn’t know better. But I do. I can see the irritation buried beneath it, the way his jaw tightens just enough to betray him. He’s trying to look supportive, but it’s forced, as if he has to choke the words out before they sour.
“What’s there to talk about?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend, but steady.
He hesitates, weighing his words like he’s trying to decide if they’ll come out as concern or accusation. “You’re going to be out there, on buses, with bands and guys who live for sex and chaos. I’m not stupid, Sawyer.”
The accusation burns before I can block it.
“I didn’t say you were,” I reply, careful to keep my tone even. Soft. I’m constantly measuring my voice, slipping it through the filter that keeps his temper from catching flame.
His gaze holds mine for a beat, then flickers away.
“Are you really not even thinking about how this could go? What if something happens? What if I’m here wondering—” He stops mid-sentence, jaw flexing.
“If I have to imagine—” Another sharp cut-off.
His hand drags across the back of his neck before he forces the words out quieter.
“I didn’t mean that. I just… I’m scared, okay?
I’m scared you’re gonna get out there and forget about me. Find someone better.”
My chest tightens, a familiar ache settling in. It’s the one that comes when he twists worry into a chain.
He’s good at this. Always has been. Knows exactly where to place the blade, so I can’t tell if it’s meant to wound or keep me close.
“I’m not going out there to find someone,” I say, barely above a whisper. “This is for me.”
He nods as if it costs him something. “I know. I know that. I’m sorry. I want you to go—I do. I’m happy for you.”
But the crack in his voice betrays him, the tremor beneath the apology giving away what’s underneath.
“I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes. I’ll be here.”
I don’t know what to say in response to that.
It’s not a promise.
It’s a noose
And he’s waiting to see if I’ll wrap it around my neck willingly.
***
Blake insisted on driving me with the excuse of it’d be a "proper goodbye".
He loaded my bags into the trunk like a supportive boyfriend. Kept one hand on my thigh during the drive. Kept talking like I was going to war and he was the grieving widow being left behind.
Now we’re standing in the parking lot of the tour pickup spot at an old warehouse that’s been converted into a staging area for the bands.
Equipment cases litter the ground, vans idle, buses hiss, gear runners shout across the chaos, radios clipped to their belts, barking orders and updates over the din.
And standing in the middle of it all—the devil himself.
He’s dressed in a black band t-shirt with the sleeves completely ripped off, revealing a sleeve of tattoos that travel down his toned arms to his hands.
The sides of his shirt are sliced open almost to his waist, and the thin fabric clings to his chest. Every movement exposes his inked ribs and sharp lines, making you stare first and breathe later.
He’s wearing ripped jeans and black high-top Converse sneakers.
His eyebrow piercing and black lip ring shine in the sunlight like a beacon.
Guys with piercings and tattoos have always been a weakness for me.
A cigarette is hanging between his fingers while he talks to a tall guy with a nose ring and no patience. Bandmate, probably.
I try not to look, and I fail. I tell myself I’m only looking because he’s going to be a thorn in my side.
God, he’s so arrogant, and now I’m practically going to be living with him.
Blake notices and tightens his grip on my waist.
“So this is it,” he breathes, the warmth in his tone manufactured and practiced. “This is your big moment.”
I nod, forcing a smile like I’m not hyperaware of Jasper standing just twenty feet away.
“I’m so proud of you, baby.”
I try not to cringe as he leans in and kisses my temple. His hand slides from my waist to my lower back. It’s so possessive and obvious that it makes my stomach roll.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jasper watching and then moving, heading straight for us.
He’s walking right across the lot like he’s heading for something that already belongs to him.
My stomach flips, and my pulse trips over itself, for an unknown reason.
Blake doesn’t notice until the shadow falls over us.
I can feel Jasper behind me before he even speaks.
It’s not just his presence—it’s a pull. One that I will be denying as long as possible.
“Hey,” Jasper says, voice low and amused. “You made it.”
Blake turns toward him, looking him up and down. “Yeah, she did.” His tone is friendly, but only on the surface. He puts his hand out, going for a handshake. “I’m Blake. Her boyfriend.”
Jasper doesn’t take it. Doesn’t even glance at it.
Instead, his gaze locks on Blake for a unreadable beat before shifting to me.
Eyes dark. Curious. Knowing.
“Oh?” His mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in it. “Didn’t realize she needed someone to keep her on a leash.”
Blake tenses, his handshake dying mid-air before he drops his hand. “Just seeing her off. She’s got everything she needs.”
Jasper’s gaze doesn’t move to him. It stays on my face like he’s memorizing every freckle, then drags slowly down to where Blake’s hand still grips my waist like he’s staking a claim that doesn’t hold.
Then back to me.
“You ready, Sawyer?”
I nod my head, not trusting my mouth right now.
Blake shifts beside me. His hand tightens on my side, and I feel his thumb press into my hip bone like he’s trying to anchor me—to remind me who got here first.
Jasper reaches out and grabs the handle of my suitcase. “Come on,” he says. “Bus won’t wait forever.” Then he turns and walks off, not looking back.
My boots crunch across the gravel, each step louder than it should be.
“Sawyer.” Blake’s voice, sharp and desperate, stops me.
I turn, and he’s already stepping into my space.
“Just—one more thing.” Then he kisses me.
It’s messy. Forceful… Too much.
His hand cups my jaw as the other grips my waist like ownership. His tongue pushes against mine like he’s trying to drown me in goodbye. He grinds his hips into me, putting on a show—not for me, but for everyone else. As if his desperation can be described as devotion.
It’s the kind of kiss that’s supposed to prove something, but all it proves is that he’s already losing.
The only reason I let it go on as long as I do is so maybe Jasper will take the hint.
When he finally pulls back, my breath is uneven, but not because of him.
Jasper stands just ahead, watching, as still as stone.
But his stillness isn’t empty. His eyes lock onto mine, unmoving, unforgiving, and unreadable at first glance.
Yet beneath the surface, I can see it—a fire.
Something primal that doesn’t flinch or fade.
He has seen everything, and he doesn’t look angry…
He looks certain.
Like something just clicked into place. Like a decision was made the second Blake’s mouth touched mine, and now the outcome is inevitable.
Fuck. I may have just made this even worse.
Blake’s hand slides down my arm, his fingers trailing off like an afterthought he doesn’t want to release.
“I love you,” he says, and it lands between us.
I don’t even blink. All I can feel is Jasper’s stare dragging across my skin like a brand, scorching in its certainty. It doesn’t say jealous—it says, ‘Try that again and I’ll take her in front of you’.
And suddenly, the space between us feels electric.
Blake is still watching me, searching my face for something—love, reassurance, guilt—anything he can use to convince himself he still has a hold.
But all I give him is a smile. Sweet, but laced with poison.
“I’ll text you later,” I say, and he nods, satisfied, too blind to see the truth.
Because I’m already turning. Already walking away and following the man who, even though I deny it, doesn’t need to touch me to undo me completely.
Jasper walks ahead, one hand wrapped easily around my suitcase handle, as if it weighs nothing. He doesn’t glance back to make sure I’m following. Of course, I am.
And Blake?
He just watched me walk away with a goodbye I never said and a smile that never reached my eyes.
JASPER
Fuck that.
She kissed him.
Right there, out in the open, like I wasn’t still standing twenty feet away. Like she couldn’t feel me burning holes in the back of her skull. Like she didn’t know I’d been locked on her since the second she stepped out of that car.
It’s not just the kiss—it’s the way his hands were on her, holding her like a leash, like he was trying to remind her where to heel.
I’ve seen that look before. I heard enough from her little friend the other night to know what kind of man he is.
The kind that hides the cage behind “I love you.” The kind that thinks keeping her means owning her.
I couldn’t move; shit, I couldn’t even breathe. I just stood there, jaw locked, fists buried so deep in my pockets it was the only thing keeping one of them from connecting with his smug fucking face.
His hands were on her as if he had some goddamn right.
And her? She let him. Let him grab her like he owned her.
Let his mouth press to hers while I stood there bleeding slowly and silently inside my skin.
She let him kiss her like it mattered, and I felt every second coil tight around my ribs like barbed wire.
But it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even comforting. It was desperation—her trying to lie to herself while the man she should’ve been kissing stood a few steps away, swallowing the urge to rip them apart.
She pulled away first, because she didn’t want it. Not really. I saw it—hell, anyone with eyes could see it. And then her gaze found mine.
Boom.
That was it. The moment. Her lips were still wet from his, and the guilt hit her so fast that I saw the breath leave her body.
Good. She knows the kiss meant nothing. She’s going to be mine. She was thinking about it even as Blake’s hands were on her. Her soul is already trying to crawl to me, she just has to let it.
And him? Let him try again. Let him put his hands on her one more time. I won’t just break his face. I’ll burn his entire existence to the ground.
Because when I take her, when I finally get my hands on her…
It won’t be desperation.
It’ll be a choice.
And it’ll be the only choice she ever wants to make again.