Chapter 11
11
SAM
“Just a brown-eyed boy in love with a brown-eyed girl”
- Wild Ones, “The Girl”
I closed the door behind me, hating myself for leaving her alone in there, knowing exactly how her mind worked, how she’d twist and turn over every word she’d read, every lyric, every note. She’d be overthinking it, dissecting the years of feelings I’d tried to keep hidden, wondering how she could have missed it, doubting every moment. Part of me wanted to barge back in, to grab her and make her understand that none of this changed anything—except that now she knew.
But maybe that was what scared her most. And, if I were honest, it scared me too.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but I couldn’t shake the strange mix of emotions twisting in my chest. For years, I’d been careful, methodical, hiding how I felt, shoving it all into quiet moments and notebooks and songs I’d thought she’d never know were about her. It was safer that way; it was easier to keep her as my friend, my partner, and tell myself that was enough.
And yet… a part of me was relieved. Relieved she’d found the notebook, relieved that, finally, she’d seen it all. I’d always worried about what would happen if she knew, if she saw how deep my feelings ran, if she understood how much of my life—hell, how much of me —was wrapped up in her. I’d thought it would be terrifying, like standing in front of a firing squad, but now, walking down the quiet hall of the arena, I realized I felt lighter.
She knew.
She’d seen all of it, every line and lyric and late-night confession I’d scribbled in the margins. She’d seen my heart laid bare, and even if it had shaken her, she hadn’t run.
She’d even said she’d be there tonight.
And that—that tiny glimmer of hope was enough to keep me moving, to keep me from turning back around and barging into that hotel room to try and explain what I could barely put into words. It was the hope that maybe, just maybe, we could move forward. Together. Or at least… that I could finally let myself hope.
My phone buzzed and I practically fumbled it as I pulled it from my pocket.
I made my way—shirtless I might add—back to the arena. The bus was quiet, the band out somewhere.
FayeMoyo
One question – when we were together, were you only ever imagining this? Us being in a relationship?
My fingers hovered over the screen as I considered how to respond.
SamDogg
No. But only because I never let myself imagine the possibility of us.
I watched the three little dots appear and disappear and reappear then disappear once more.
FayeMoyo
Never?
My answer was simple and honest.
SamDogg
What we had before was always more than enough.
FayeMoyo
I’m not sure if that’s the correct answer or super depressing, but thank you for not being a creep. At least not today.
The tension that had twisted around my heart relaxed a fraction, allowing me to draw breath for the first time since I’d left her in the hotel room.
It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was a start.
Without thinking, I picked up my guitar, absently strumming as a whisper of a lyric took root.
The thing about being a songwriter is that sometimes the music says what you can't.
I let my fingers find chords that matched the ache in my chest. The melody that emerged was soft, tentative—like the way Faye had touched the notebook before fleeing.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Justice
Get your ass down to the arena
SamDogg
No
Justice
Not a request, brother. Band meeting. Now.
I sighed, setting down my guitar. The last thing I wanted was company, but five years of being in a band had taught me that ignoring a "band meeting" only led to them bringing the meeting to you.
Usually with alcohol.
Always with opinions.
The backstage of the arena was quiet this early in the morning, just a few roadies and crew checking different things ahead of our gig later today.
I found them in the greenroom, our regular security detail by the door.
Justice, Felix, and Radley were bent over a table, their heads practically touching like they were plotting something.
They probably were.
"There he is!" Justice called out. "Our resident lover boy."
"Don't," I warned, sliding into the spare chair.
"What? I'm just saying, if I'd known you were going to not come home last night I wouldn’t have waited up.”
I snorted. “As fucking if.” I glanced around the table. “What’s this about?”
“Call it a romance intervention.” Justice leaned forward. “Is she in love with you yet?”
A knife cut through my chest, piercing my heart.
"Justice." Radley's tone held a warning.
"Fine." He pushed a glass toward me. "Drink. You look like you need it."
I took the drink but didn't sip it. "Why am I here?"
"Because," Felix said, "you're an idiot."
"Thanks."
"A well-meaning idiot," Radley added kindly. "But still an idiot."
I rubbed a hand over my face. "If this is an intervention?—"
"This is us," Justice cut in, suddenly serious, "telling you to stop hiding."
"I'm not?—"
"Dude." Felix leaned forward. "You've been in love with Faye since before we were even a band. You wrote an entire album's worth of songs about her. You married her—drunk or not, that wasn't an accident."
"And now," Radley continued, "when you have the chance to do something romantic and declare you’re love you’re piss-farting around with your dick in your hand. You need to be fighting for her."
I rolled my tongue over my teeth. “She knows.”
That took the wind out of their sails.
“What?”
"And she said she needed time."
"And you're giving it to her because that's what you do." Justice's voice was gentler now. "You give and give and never ask for anything back. But brother, sometimes you have to fight for what you want."
"I don't want to pressure her."
"It's not pressure to be honest." Radley reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "She deserves to know everything. Not just the songs, but why you wrote them. Why you kept them hidden. Why you've stayed silent all these years."
I stared into my untouched drink. "She'll overthink this. Try to work out why we don’t make sense."
"Maybe." Justice shrugged. "Or maybe she’ll come around. Who the fuck knows?”
"Not me," I muttered.
"Oh for—" Radley threw her hands up. "Are you actually blind? Have you not seen how she looks at you? How she takes care of you? How she's the only one you let close enough to really see you?"
"That's just Faye. She takes care of everyone."
"No." Felix's voice was firm. "She takes care of the band because it's her job. She takes care of you because she wants to."
"There's a difference," Justice added, "between professional Faye who manages our careers, and your Faye who knows exactly how you take your coffee and carries pain relievers for your shoulder. She watches you during every performance like you're the only person in the room."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it as memories hit me.
Faye adjusting my guitar strap before I even noticed it was twisted.
Her hand on my back when crowds got too overwhelming.
The way she'd started wearing my favorite perfume after I'd mentioned once that it reminded me of home.
"Oh," I breathed. “I never….”
"Finally," Justice muttered. "He gets it."
"But she ran."
"Because Faye needs to process." Radley's smile was knowing. "She likes to understand things, to categorize them. And you just handed her years she has to recontextualize. Give her time but not too much."
“And continue fighting for her,” Felix added. “Women love that shit.”
We all looked at him.
“And how, exactly, would you know that?” Radley asked, arching her eyebrow.
“I read romance.”
Justice threw a pen at him.
“So what are you proposing?” I asked, glancing around the table. “I can tell you already have plans cooking.”
Justice's grin turned wicked. "Funny you should say that…."
"Why am I suddenly terrified?"
"Because you're smart." Radley laughed. "But trust us. We've got your back."
"Always have," Felix added.
I looked at my family—this weird, wonderful group of people who'd seen my love for Faye long before I'd admitted it to myself.
“Love you guys,” I said gruffly. “Now, what’s the plan.”
Justice's grin widened. "How do you feel about performing a solo at tonight's show?"
My heart stopped. "Fuck. That's..." I swallowed hard. "That's terrifying."
"Good." Radley squeezed my hand again. "Time to lay it all on the line, lover-boy."
I thought about Faye reading my notebook. About years of loving her in silence. About how tired I was of pretending this fake marriage wasn't everything I'd ever wanted.
"Okay." I picked up my drink, finally taking a sip of the cool soda. "Let's do it."
Because maybe what we’d have wasn't enough anymore.
Not for either of us.