Chapter 48 Annalise
Annalise
One Band, Five Passports, And Zero Plan (Because Kenna Broke Her Foot & We Are Lost Af): Europe, Please Be Gentle
Paris
It’s March. Paris is damp, chilly, and gray.
The venue is a converted cathedral, and the acoustics turn our opening chords into something that sounds like witchcraft.
Tag snaps a guitar string mid-song but keeps playing anyway.
When the crowd cheers, he grins through it, feeding on the noise.
Backstage, Chase is quieter than usual. He cracks open a Coke, sneaks a pill past his lips, and brushes a hand over his temple like it’s just a passing headache. When I catch his eye, he throws me a faint smile that doesn’t quite stick.
After the show, we ride scooters through the rain to a café that serves breakfast at midnight. I lean in, kiss powdered sugar off his mouth.
This time, his smile sticks.
And I let myself believe it.
***
London
We shoot a live interview with a music magazine.
The cameras roll. We’re mic’d up and swarmed with handlers.
We laugh, we joke, we play our parts.
When the lights cut, Chase pulls me out a side door, into a hallway lined with unused amps and coiled cords.
He tickles me until I can’t breathe.
I leap into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist as he pins me to the wall, and we disappear into the soundproof shadows of the industry that made us.
Back in the green room, I fix my hair, still glowing.
Chase avoids the mirror.
***
Berlin
They chant our name before the lights go up.
Zach takes his shirt off mid-set. Rock crowd-surfs.
My brother disappears for twenty minutes before the encore. I find him sitting alone in the green room, staring at a wall like he wants to climb through it.
When I take a seat beside him, he wraps an arm around me. I press my head against his shoulder, hugging him harder than ever before.
I think that’s all he needed. Because when he storms back onto the stage, he’s fire.
Larger than life.
At the hotel, Chase pulls the curtains closed, shutting out the city lights until the room is hushed and dim. He tugs me into bed beside him, his thumb drifting along my arm in gentle strokes. He loosens, sinking against me like he can finally rest.
I press closer, letting my heartbeat answer his.
***
Barcelona
We play an open-air festival in a courtyard that smells like sangria and clove smoke.
It’s the biggest crowd yet, thousands of bodies moving in time with every beat.
Chase busts out a guitar solo so good the whole place roars.
When it’s over, he retreats into silence, his throat raw, eyes rimmed red. He pulls me against him on the walk to the limo, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple.
I melt into it, but the longer he holds on, the more I wonder if he’s steadying me or himself.
Kenna sends me a text at 3:00 a.m. because she’s six hours behind. I tell her I miss her.
She knows.
***
Rome
We soundcheck in an abandoned opera house with gold ceilings and crumbling frescoes.
Rock takes my lipstick and writes something in Latin on the dressing room mirror. We laugh, but none of us ask what it means.
The show is a dream, every note clean, every voice in the crowd screaming like they know our souls.
Afterward, Chase slips away, saying he needs air.
Back at the hotel, I stay awake longer than I should, replaying the music in my head and holding on to the part of the night that felt like magic.
When the mattress finally dips under a new weight, Chase slides in beside me. He sets a paper cup on the nightstand, cherries piled inside, and pulls me close like he never left.
***
Amsterdam
Our last show.
We sell out a warehouse with no heat and questionable wiring.
It’s chaos. Glorious, messy, wild.
Chase forgets the second verse to “Our Last First Goodbye.” I cover for him. He smiles wide.
After, the high carries us into the back lot where fans cluster by the exit gates. Flashbulbs. Screaming. A dozen hands reach out, everyone shouting our names like we owe them pieces of ourselves.
I feel one grip my wrist. Tight. Too tight.
A guy in a denim vest pulls me toward him, asking for a kiss. I yank back, heart spiking.
Chase is there.
Fast. Loud. Shoving the guy back with a snarl I’ve never heard before.
Security rushes in. Cameras flash. Fans scream for selfies as Chase hurls himself between us, a wall made of fire.
In the hotel room, Chase paces, jaw locked like he’s still in the fight. I sit on the edge of the bed, trembling in the aftermath.
When he finally calms, his eyes soften, and he cups my cheek in a warm hand. He asks if I’m okay.
I nod.
But for the first time, I see it clearly:
I’m not sure if he is.
***
We stay one more night in Amsterdam, wandering the canals, hand in hand beneath a silver sky that couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain.
Bicycles zip past in every direction, street performers play violins under stone archways, and we share a paper cone of fries drenched in mayo, laughing when half of it falls into the canal.
The city is all charm and crooked beauty. Leaning houses, narrow bridges, tulips bursting from windowsills like confetti.
The hotel room feels like another world.
Minimalist, too clean, and still. The kind of place that tries to look expensive but feels empty. The curtains are drawn, and everything feels muffled, the room holding its breath with us.
Chase is spread out on the bed just after midnight, bare chested, an arm draped over his eyes. I brush my teeth and pop a mint to replace the taste of Marlboro, then pad back into the room, feeding a comb through my hair. “Do you want to talk about last night?”
His arm moves away from his face, but he doesn’t answer right away. When he finally sits up against the headboard, I catch the faint scrapes across his knuckles from that single punch he landed before security dragged him off.
I step closer, setting the brush aside. “Chase—”
“We don’t need to talk about it.” His tone is even, almost light, like he can flick it off as easily as lint.
Sighing, I climb onto the bed beside him. My knee presses into the mattress, and his gaze flits down, lingering for just a beat before sliding back up to me. A tired smile softens his mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”
The compliment warms me, but it doesn’t erase the image of him outside that venue with fire in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you so angry,” I admit quietly.
He glances away. “He grabbed you, Annie. He could have hurt you.”
“He was just a drunk fan.”
“I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”
“Chase…” Inching closer, I place a hand against his chest, absorbing the beats of his heart. “I don’t want you to hurt either. Are you okay?”
His gaze wheels over to me, eyes darkening for a second before another smile tugs, brighter than the last. “Of course.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He takes my wrist, presses my hand into his chest, harder, deeper. “I’m more than okay. You don’t have to worry about me. I promise.”
His heart thumps, galloping and alive.
I collapse against him in a desperate sprawl, burying my face in the curve of his neck. “I need you,” I say, clinging to his shoulders as I crawl into his lap, straddling him.
His hands trail down my body. When I shift, he surges forward, taking my mouth in a breath-stealing kiss. My tongue meets his on instinct. Wild, hungry, frantic. He squeezes harder, his hips jerking up off the bed.
I grind down, palms braced against his neck, our bodies moving with urgency. Our mouths clash, all teeth and tongues and beautiful ache. He pulls my shirt over my head, and as our lips break apart, he follows the arch of my body, diving to my breasts, licking, tasting, devouring.
A second later, my underwear hits the floor, and I’m ripping his belt open, yanking his jeans halfway down his thighs. I take a moment to trace the jagged scar roped around his thigh, then climb back on and sink down onto him in one hard, quick motion.
Bare. No condom.
I don’t care.
I’m on the pill.
He groans, sharp and guttural, propping himself on his elbows, lips parted, eyes wild as he watches me take his cock, nothing between us. “Annie—”
“Need to feel all of you,” I gasp, moving fast, frenzied, trying to outrun the worry in my chest.
He sits up all the way and pulls me into him, wrapping an arm around my back, our foreheads pressed tight. His thumb skims my jaw, firm enough to guide me back to his stare when my eyes start to slip shut. His voice is low and rough, but tender beneath the strain. A gentle urgency. “Stay with me.”
The words thrum through me, grounding me. I clutch his shoulders, lock onto his gaze, my body syncing to his rhythm.
“Jesus,” he chokes out, guiding my hips. “That’s it. Stay with me, Annie. You feel so good.”
I clench around him, taking every inch, watching his head fall back, throat exposed, body shaking. My hands cradle his face, dragging his gaze back to mine, our lips barely brushing. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
“So much.”
“So fucking much.”
An orgasm crashes seconds later, rocketing through me. Embers and tinder and firelight. Everything. All I need.
Him.
Just him.
He hooks my hips with both hands and rams into me two more times before letting go, growling his release against my throat and clutching me tight.
I feel it all. Pulsing, tingling, tangible, alive. Here.
He’s here. I’m here.
We’re okay.
We lie there in the quiet, skin against skin, hearts still beating too fast. I listen to the sound of his breath start to even out, feel his body slacken beneath mine, the adrenaline finally letting go.
Eventually, I slip out of bed, careful not to wake him. I find the hotel’s notepad and tear a page from the top, the paper flimsy and lined with gold.
The pen shakes, but the words come easy. Small and strange and true.
I fold it once and leave it on his nightstand.
Right beside the glass of water and the pills he never took.
You glow with the night
And I still trace your shadow
Beneath the same moon