Chapter 10
10
KATRINA
I unlock my front door and pause, inhaling deeply before pushing it open.
It’s good to be home.
After three months on the road with the band, countless nights in hotel rooms, sleeping in rented beds or stiff bunks on the tour bus, I finally step into my townhouse.
My little sanctuary.
A simple two-bedroom place—one upstairs in the loft, one downstairs—with an adorable kitchen straight out of a magazine. Nestled between the city and the suburbs, it’s the perfect quiet hideaway from the neon glow of The Strip.
As I step into the anteroom and kick off my shoes, my gaze lands on the shoebox sitting on the table by the door. It’s stuffed full of summer’s worth of letters, magazines, and takeout menus. Everything Derrick gathered from my porch and mailbox. Beside it, a new vase overflows with fresh summer flowers, a crisp note propped against the glass: Welcome home!
I smile. Ira and Veronica really hit the jackpot with that nanny. I lean in, inhaling the delicate floral scent, already making a mental note to send him a little extra cash for the trouble. Not that he’d accept it.
As much as I’d love to sink into my couch and do nothing, I take out my phone. A tap of my thumb, and my Weekly Reset playlist kicks on through the Bluetooth speakers wired throughout the house—a ritual I haven’t indulged in since before the tour.
I swap my clothes for a pair of shorts and a tank top, pull my hair back, and slide on a pair of cleaning gloves. Music pulses through the house, wrapping around me as I move from room to room, a microfiber cloth in one hand, all-purpose cleaner in the other.
With every swipe and spray, I breathe a little easier. The stale air of an empty house lifts. My limbs loosen. I sing along, twirling through doorways, opening windows, throwing open the patio doors to let the breeze sweep in. The weight of the summer, the exhaustion, the long hours—they all melt away. The memories of the last few nights blur at the edges. Never gone, never forgotten. But at least, for the moment, they don’t consume me.
Not until I dust off the picture frames above my mantle.
Knox and I, backstage at the Sin and Sand, the night of our first piano battle. Jonah took that photo, so he’s not in it. But I remember him standing right in front of us, phone raised high, grinning widely as he captured the moment.
He’s in the next one, though. Me, Knox, and Jonah at a casino. The first and last time I ever gambled.
Then, another photo. Me and Addison, lounging by the hotel pool in Miami, seconds away from disaster. She’s stretched out in her skimpy two-piece, me in my one-piece and skirt. And in the background, caught midair, is Jonah—poised to cannonball straight into the water, ready to drench us both.
I sigh, the memories pressing in, vivid as ever. Jonah’s hands on my shoulders, guiding me back. The regret in his eyes when he realized a kiss is never just a kiss. The happiness in his voice when he said, I do.
Then—
Lights flicker, shadows dance,
Heartbeats hammer, take your chance.
Feel the fire, hear the roar,
This is the moment we’ve been fighting for!
Logan Shock’s voice surges through my house, and something tugs hard at the tether in my chest.
I blink, stepping back from the mantle, my mind scrambling for an explanation. I know I didn’t add Ignite the Night to my cleaning playlist. Or any playlist.
And yet, here it plays.
I find my phone, the screen glowing with an app notification. Based on your interest, we think you’ll like this, too!
Of course. I forgot to enable looping mode. The playlist ended, and the app took liberties, auto-playing songs it assumed I’d enjoy.
Logan coos in my ear as my thumb hovers over the Next Song button.
I should tap it.
But the admittedly catchy chorus is only seconds away.
No one would know.
And who would care?
...Besides my brother. And all of my friends.
We don’t back down, we don’t play nice,
We’re gasoline and you’re the strike.
Flames are rising, set to burn,
Turn it up, it’s our turn now!
Damn, his voice is sexy.
Don’t worry.
Your secret is safe with me.
A slow heat unfurls along my spine, warm trembles licking up my skin. Eyes closed, I move to the rhythm, to the voice urging me to let go. To ignite. To boldly go where no Benton has gone before.
I sing along, the electric lyrics flowing through me, setting every nerve alight. I harmonize with him, our voices blending in ways I never expected.
“Ignite the night! Let it all explode,
Sparks fly high in the afterglow.
We’re wild, we’re loud, we’re built to shine,
Turn it up—this world is mine!”
My phone vibrates in my hand, jolting me. I nearly drop it as the song cuts off, replaced by my ringtone blasting through the speakers.
Addison calling.
Her name flashes across the screen, along with a photo of the two of us at Diablo Pink back in LA. The both of us grinning, slightly tipsy, leaning into each other.
I swipe off the Bluetooth and answer. “Hey, Addison.”
“Hey, Kat.” Her voice is stiff, cautious. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m at home.”
“Oh. Good.” A relieved exhale. “That explains the strange man who just answered your door in a bathrobe.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I checked out this morning.”
“Already?”
Dragging my suitcase up the stairs, I grin. “We’ve been there since the end of the tour, Addy. And after three months on the road in hotels, I kinda need to sleep in my own bed for once. Plus, I miss Freddie.”
She makes an affectionate noise. “I bet he misses you, too!”
“But I can swing by if you wanna hang. We can do girly spa stuff or?—”
“Nah, Harvey and I are poolside today. I just called to see if I could borrow the new Melanie Rose.”
I drop my suitcase on the bed in my loft. “Oh,” I say, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well, I can grab my suit and bring it over.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I can eBook it.”
“Maybe we can get dinner later, then?”
“Can’t tonight. Post-pool time is naked time.”
I hold back a sigh. Probably the same with Knox and Harmony. And Bronson and Jordan, too.
Being the seventh wheel sure is fun.
“Okay,” I say. “Well, then I guess I’ll see you next week at practice.”
“Yeah. No. Harvey, stop—! I’m on the phone—!” Her giggles carry over the sounds of hands slapping each other. “See you then, Kat. Bye.”
“Bye—” The call ends. “Addy.”
A beat later, my phone switches back to music. Logan Shock fills my house once again, his voice a low and raw caress in my ears.
No more waiting, no regrets,
Take the shot—place your bets.
Rules are breaking, chains undone,
Take what’s yours—take it all and run!
I toss open my suitcase, grabbing my dress from the other night gently folded on top, the dry-cleaning note still attached. As I walk it into the closet, I brush my hand down the front to keep it flat, and my hand stills, feeling something foreign in one of its pockets.
I reach in and pull it out.
A bright yellow flyer, folded twice.
I unfold it.
The Electrics.
One night only at The Sin and Sand in Las Vegas!
Where did this come from?
A sharp bite to my cheek. A pulse in my throat.
Logan.
Flyer in hand, I walk downstairs to the first floor, my feet light but my stomach heavy as I head toward my music room. Passing by my violin sitting safely in its case by the door, I reach for my song journal sitting atop the grand piano in the center of the space, its cover worn soft from years of use.
I flip through the pages—scribbled lyrics, half-finished verses, messy doodles littering the margins. It falls open to a spot in the middle; the spine surrendering to a familiar line.
A crushed yellow rose sits here, pressed against the page.
Carefully, I tuck the flyer inside and close the book.