Chapter 28 Celeste
Celeste
The water hits my back in a relentless sheet.
Every nerve ending is screaming at me, but I stay under the stream anyway, letting it beat down on me like it can cauterize the parts of me that were left gaping open after the attack.
My hands keep moving; motion is the only grammar left to me.
The loofah rakes over my skin until the rhythm becomes a litany I can mouth without thinking, each pass asking the same impossible questions that curl back on themselves and offer no answer.
If I abrade the places that hurt, maybe the edges will dull, and the scene will sand down into something I can carry without it cutting me open every time I breathe.
I don’t feel clean, I feel stripped raw. Like the water is washing away everything except the parts I don’t want to look at.
The pressure builds in my throat again. I brace a hand against the tile, forehead dropping forward, trying to breathe around the pressure building in my throat.
The curtain rustles behind me. I can’t turn. I can’t stand the thought of seeing myself reflected in anyone’s eyes right now. I don’t want to see pity, worry, or anything that might make the tightness in my chest snap.
A hand reaches past me and twists the faucet off. The sudden silence is jarring, like the world has been muted.
“Baby,” Korbyn murmurs, her voice soft enough to slip under my guard. “The water’s freezing, please come out.”
Freezing.
I blink, disoriented. I hadn’t noticed the shift from scalding to cold. I hadn’t noticed anything except the noise in my own head. I don’t know how long I’ve been under the spray, like I’m trying to dissolve. Time feels warped and stretched thin, as if I stepped out of reality without meaning to.
I turn toward her, every movement heavy, like my limbs are soaked fabric instead of muscle and bone. My body feels unfamiliar, weighted, as if I’m moving through someone else’s gravity.
Korbyn wraps the towel around me with a gentleness she’s always used, then pulls me straight into her chest. Technically, she pulled herself into my chest since she’s half a foot shorter than me.
Her face ends up pressed right into my boobs, and for a second, the absurdity of it almost cracks something in me.
Her arms tighten, and I’m thankful she doesn’t ask a single question.
Not about what happened or how I’m feeling.
She just holds on like she’s stitching me back together with her bare hands.
I don’t have answers. I barely have thoughts, and the thoughts I do have ricochet between anger and fear. This ache keeps expanding, pressing against my ribs like it’s trying to make room for itself.
When she finally pulls back, she gives me her signature smirk that could probably stop a moving vehicle. “Come on, let’s get you dressed. Shiloh made you tea.”
I nod, because nodding is easier than speaking, and follow her out of the bathroom and change without looking at the bruising forming on my body.
My stomach twists at the thought of walking into the living area and facing everyone after Lucian told them what happened.
I can already imagine their faces: worry, anger, pity, all of it too heavy for me to carry right now.
My pulse kicks up, sharp and fast, and I have to swallow around it.
Once I’m dressed, we step out of the room to hear hushed whispers coming from my kitchen. Korbyn’s hand slips toward mine, and our pinkies curl together like they always do when the world gets too sharp. My heart stutters as her gesture says what she isn’t.
No matter what, we are in this together.
Linkin is the first to move. He shifts on the couch, scooting over and patting the space between him and Lucian like he’s offering me a seat at the safest table in the world. “Right here,” he says, voice soft but steady. “This is the best spot in the world. You can sit between us.”
I sink between them, the cushions dipping under my weight.
Linkin leans his shoulder into mine immediately, warm and grounding.
“And just so you know,” he adds, tilting his head toward me with a crooked grin, “I’m more than happy to let you play with my hair; it has therapeutic benefits and ten out of ten doctors recommend. ”
Shiloh kisses her teeth from across the room. “Please. If she’s gonna play with anyone’s hair, it’s gonna be Lucian’s. Man’s got the whole shampoo-commercial thing going on.”
Lucian groans, dragging a hand through his long, wavy hair like he regrets letting his hair down around them. “Can we not do this right now?”
But the tension breaks. Linkin nudges my knee with his. Lucian’s thigh is solid against mine on the other side. The room is still heavy, still full of everything unsaid, but it’s no longer suffocating.
Shiloh hands me my favorite mug, the one with the chipped rim and the tiny crescent crack near the handle, and the warmth of it seeps into my palms. Seeing my cup again knocks the air out of me for a second.
I thought it was gone with everything else, lost in the wreckage of my rig.
But here it is, solid and warm and mine.
My hands are still shaking, but the tea doesn’t spill. Small victories or whatever. The steam curls up into my face, chamomile and honey and something minty, and for a moment I just stare into it like it might tell me who I’m supposed to be now.
Having arrived sometime during my shower, Rowan clears his throat, the sound slicing through the quiet. “We were just about to talk next steps.”
The words make my stomach dip. Next steps. Like this is a strategy meeting and not the aftermath of my world tilting sideways.
Shiloh is the first to speak. “I’m going to try to fly back home to Miami tomorrow. My mom and my sisters have been blowing up my phone about some new drama involving my Tío.”
“Spending time with the fam sounds good,” Linkin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need to head back to California. I was going to go between shows to handle a few things, but I can take my time and get everything situated there.”
Then Korbyn shifts, clearing her throat. “I’m going back home, too. I’ll be packing up all my stuff from the house. I’m leaving James.”
The room freezes, and even the air seems to stop moving.
Rowan blinks like he misheard. “Wait. For real?”
She nods, jaw set. “I had the divorce papers drawn up a few weeks ago after someone sent me all those pictures. I’ve just been sitting on them.
With the vandalism on Celeste’s rig, I thought he knew, so I was just waiting until he got arrested or…
y’know. I’ve decided I’m leaving the state.
I don’t ever want to run into him again. ”
Linkin explodes.
He launches off the couch like a firework, lets out a whoop loud enough to rattle the cabinets, and before anyone can react, he scoops Korbyn clean off her feet.
She yelps, startled, but he’s already spinning her in a full circle, her legs kicking out, her laughter breaking free in bright, breathless bursts.
“LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!” he shouts, spinning her again. “FINALLY! I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT FOR WEEKS—PUT IT ON THE CALENDAR—THIS IS A NATIONAL HOLIDAY—”
“Linkin, put me down!” she laughs, swatting at his shoulder.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” he says, spinning her one more time for good measure before setting her back on her feet, breathless and flushed.
Shiloh is laughing into her mug. Rowan’s grinning like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket. Even Lucian’s mouth twitches, the closest he gets to a smile when he’s worried.
I can’t help it, I smile too. “You should be so proud of yourself, you’ve been done for a while, and now you’re finally putting it into motion.”
Korbyn shrugs, but there’s a steadiness behind it. “It’s long overdue.”
Rowan stands and pulls her into a hug, and then Linkin piles on, and then Shiloh, and suddenly they’re all wrapped around her in a chaotic, lopsided group hug that looks like it might collapse the entire rig.
It’s messy and loud and warm and exactly what this room needed.
Rowan steps back as his expression shifts, the excitement draining into something tight and pained. He looks like he’s chewing glass. “Instead of heading back first thing, why don’t you stay with me for a while. I have a few things to take care of, but once I’m done, I can help you move.”
Korbyn softens, just a fraction. “I like that idea.” I can hear the slight tremor in her voice as I notice the way her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt.
The room erupts again, everyone talking over each other in a way that feels like oxygen returning to the space. Linkin throws himself back onto the couch and shouts, “Are you gonna torch the house on the way out? Because I volunteer as tribute to hold the lighter.”
Shiloh raises a hand like she’s in class. “I can hex James. Just a little, nothing too permanent. Maybe I can make his hair fall out in patches.”
The laughter rolls through the room, warm and chaotic and familiar. It buzzes with Korbyn’s decision, with Shiloh’s plans, with Linkin’s ridiculous commentary. For a moment, I forget why we need to make these plans.
Then the quiet creeps in, and all eyes slowly turn to me.
The quiet settles over the room like a held breath, and every pair of eyes shifts toward me. It’s gentle, careful, but it still feels like a spotlight I’m not ready for.
“What about you, Cel?” Korbyn asks, her voice soft but steady. “Where are you going?”
The question catches on something sharp inside me.
Where am I going?
The truth rises fast and cold. I don’t have an answer, I don’t even have the shape of one.
I can’t go “home” because I haven’t had one in years.
Not when I’ve lived out of my rig and suitcases or hotel beds that all smell of bleach and someone else’s perfume.
I’ve slept in so many places that home and safety have become moving targets I keep missing.
I think about disappearing into a city where no one knows my face. Somewhere I could be anonymous, invisible, unremarkable.
I think about—
“Shadow Grove,” Lucian says.
My head snaps toward him.
He’s not looking at me; he’s looking at the others. He’s already decided for me and is simply informing the room. “We’re going to stay with her sister for a while. It’s quiet, isolated, and I know the area. It’s much safer than bouncing from hotel to hotel.”
The words land in my chest like something warm and solid.
Not because it’s a perfect plan, but because he said it like it was obvious.
Like he knew I wouldn’t want to burden my sister with my troubles and wouldn’t dare bring this to his doorstep, even though a part of me wanted to.
Needed to. And he took the choice out of my hands before I could talk myself out of it.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, the word settling into place like it belongs there. “We’re going to Shadow Grove to be with Selene.”
Shiloh smiles into her mug. “That sounds perfect.”
Linkin’s grin widens like he’s physically incapable of containing it. “Tell her to save me a bed if I swing by. I’ll pretend to be your emotional support himbo.”
Korbyn snorts as Rowan mutters something about needing a permit for that. The room softens around the edges, the tension loosening like a knot, finally giving way.
Lucian leans in, his breath brushing my ear. “If Theo and Linkin are ever in the same room, the world will end.”
It’s a quiet joke, meant only for me.
Shiloh wipes at her eyes. “Okay, okay. Before we all start crying again, please remember to check in when you land, yeah? All of you.”
Linkin points at each of us like a chaotic kindergarten teacher assigning chores. “Duh. Group chat stays alive. Daily updates. Memes. Emotional check-ins. Pictures of pets. Full participation. And ‘Leste—your sister’s dog better serenade me again. I expect fresh content.”
Shiloh lifts her mug in agreement. “He’s serious. He sent me three voice notes last time demanding I make him another remix.”
Rowan nods, all business. “If anyone goes silent for more than twelve hours, I’m calling in a wellness check.”
Korbyn bumps her shoulder into mine, gentle but firm. “And you,” she says softly, “don’t disappear. Not even for a day.”
The words land warm and heavy in my chest like a tether. A reminder that even if everything else is shifting under my feet, they’re not letting me drift.
The room moves again, the energy brightening as everyone starts talking at once—hugging, teasing, making promises they fully intend to keep.
Shiloh stands first, stretching her arms overhead. “Alright, I should start packing. My flight’s at six, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll end up talking myself into flying home with one of you.”
Rowan pulls her into a hug that looks like it might crack ribs. “Text when you land.”
“Obviously.”
The rest of us say goodbye to her, each one in our own way. When Shiloh reaches me, she wraps me in a hug and presses her forehead against mine until we are nose to nose.
“You’re not alone,” she murmurs. “Not now. Not ever. Let me know if you need anything.”
My throat tightens. “I will.”
Linkin immediately swoops in after her, grabbing me and Lucian both into a dramatic three-person hug. “I love you, idiots,” he declares. “Don’t die. Don’t get kidnapped. Don’t do anything stupid without me.”
“No promises,” I say with a wink.
“Don’t touch me,” Lucian adds dryly.
He gasps. “Rude.”
Rowan hugs me last. It’s brief but grounding, his hand warm at the back of my head. “Shadow Grove is a good call,” he says quietly. “Lucian will take care of you.”
They file out into the lot in a messy parade, giving each other hugs at the door, as Linkin gives an overdramatic salute.
Lucian and I stand in the doorway watching them go to their own rigs to pack up to leave. He slips an arm around my waist, the motion so small it could be a reflex. It’s the same steady pressure he’s given me all day.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No,” I admit.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says with the kind of certainty that makes me feel safe.
I turn back to the rig to start packing for what I try to convince myself is just another fun trip to see my big sister.
What could possibly go wrong?