Chapter Twenty-Five
Declan
“I’m gonna be a rock star.”
Those words still ache in my chest, just as loud and unbearable as the day he first said them. It’s been three weeks, and the weight of them still hasn’t eased. If anything, it’s heavier.
Pride and heartbreak keep trading punches somewhere behind my ribs, but guilt is the real winner.
Because, yeah, I’m proud of him, proud that the nights he spent hunched over his guitar, proud of those gigs in half-empty bars actually meant something, proud that he’s making his dream come true.
But the world feels a little duller now that he’s leaving.
Not forever, not yet. But soon.
And I don’t know which is worse: knowing this was always coming or realizing how fast it’s all happened.
“You know what I want to do before I leave,” Cooper says, thumbing through the notebook now packed full of lyrics and songs and his new name.
“Oh yeah?” I mutter, tossing my shirt on top of the laundry pile and grabbing a clean one. “What’s that?”
Grinning, he bounces a little where he sits at the bottom of my bed. “I wanna go to The Verge. I wanna see the whole damn town before my last gig tonight.”
He’s vibrating with energy, full of everything I used to be, the sight of it smacking me square in the chest. All I can do is nod, swallowing hard, the words scraping out as I say, “Sounds good.”
“Great.” He jumps up, already zipping his leather jacket and heading for the door. “Let’s go. Time’s ticking.”
He’s pure adrenaline in the truck, pressed up against the window like he’s seeing Taunton Falls for the first time. The late summer sun bleeds orange across the sky, making the familiar route look almost cinematic, like his goodbye tour deserves a decent backdrop.
“Wild, huh?” he says as we pull into The Verge parking lot. “I’m moving to LA to record my first album.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’m so proud of you.”
He shoots me a wide smile, and I force one back, even though it feels like someone’s twisting their fist right under my sternum. He’s glowing, I’m cracking. Those two things shouldn’t coexist, but somehow, here they are. The start of everything for him, and maybe the end of everything for us.
You won’t let that happen.
We park near the trailhead and he’s out of the truck before I’ve shut off the engine.
The air is warm, thick with the sound of crickets, and he doesn’t look back to see if I’m following.
Just keeps walking, legs eating up the incline like he can’t get to the top fast enough.
My knee starts to burn as the slope steepens, but I don’t stop, don’t want to slow him down.
He’s leaning over the railing when I reach his side, staring out over the town. Sunlight catches on the metal rings on his fingers he’s always wearing now, a soft halo of gold around his curls that blow in the breeze. My breathings heavier than his, knee throbbing under my palm, but I keep quiet.
“I’m gonna miss this place,” he says wistfully, voice low. “Home.”
“You’ll be too busy being famous to think about home.”
“Unless everyone hates my stuff and I’m on the first flight back.”
“Whatever,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “There’s no way that would happen.”
He sighs, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I’ll always miss you, though. Even if we talk every day.”
The words hit like a bruise. Missing him is one thing, but hearing that he’ll miss me back? I shouldn’t feel this much over a damn sentence. Maybe if he knew what his words did to me, he wouldn’t say them so easily.
We stand there, gazing at Taunton Falls sprawled below in silence until, eventually, he sighs and pulls out his phone.
“Take a picture?”
He poses with arms wide, the town spilling out behind him.
The sun hits just right, soft and hazy, making him look untouchable, like the world’s already claimed him.
Passing it back, he beams, then flips the camera around and gestures me closer.
I shuffle beside him, half-smiling, half-breaking apart as he snaps the image.
Lowering his phone, the smile’s still there, but his focus has already shifted, dreaming out loud—LA, studio sessions, maybe opening for a bigger band. Each word drifts further from me, carried out over the town, pulling him with it.
“It’ll be epic,” he says, kicking the dirt near the railing. “And you’ll be there, right? I’ll leave passes at every show.”
I nod, the motion automatic. “Sure.”
“And when I’m set up, you’ll fly down. Stay a week or two.”
“Yeah,” I manage, staring at the winding roads below. “If you’ve got time.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him glance at me, a frown tugging at his eyebrows, before he nudges my leg. “You good? You’ve been quiet.”
“Just tired,” I lie.
The truth sits heavier than that, pressing against my ribs. I thought I could do this. Thought I could stand here and be happy for him without feeling like I’m being torn in two.
I was wrong.
“Well, you can’t be tired yet.” He grins, bright and unbothered. “It’s my last gig, Dec. I need my number one fan awake and ready to lose his mind.”
I smile because it’s all I’ve got.
He pushes off the railing, stretching like this is just another night, just another show at The Lost Compass.
But it’s not. It’s the end of something I’m not ready to let go of.
In a few minutes, we’ll get back in my truck and then I’ll be watching him walk into that bar one last time, toward everything he’s ever wanted, and away from everything I’ll ever need.