Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sloane
I wake up with the kind of hangover that feels like my skull is trying to escape my body.
My mouth is dry, and the room spins in ways that make me question if I’ve somehow ended up in a parallel universe. The faint smell of bourbon lingers in the air, mixed with something more intoxicating.
The scent of Roman is all over my body.
I groan to myself. Why the hell did I sleep with him again? Ten years ago, I was a journalist interviewing him. I barely knew the guy when we hooked up. But now… now he’s my boss and I have to go in that kitchen and cook for him.
Ezra and Creed, too.
I slowly sit up in bed, my head pounding, trying to play a drum solo, and glance around the cabin. Everything’s a little hazy, still soaked in the aftermath of last night. My fingers slip over my lips, still warm with Roman’s imprint, and I hate myself for liking it.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the fog in my head.
Focus, Sloane. You can handle this.
After a long stretch, I get out of bed, finding my clothes scattered haphazardly around the room. Nothing feels right, but that’s probably because my body’s still trying to catch up with my brain.
I glance toward the door and realize it’s still early. The guys are probably asleep, or if they’re not, they’re nursing hangovers of their own.
I slip into the bathroom, splash water on my face, and stare at myself in the mirror.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask myself softly, because, for once, I don’t have an answer.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor catches my attention, and I peek out into the kitchen. There’s a faint light coming from there. Someone’s up. I don’t see Roman, but I can hear the rhythmic scratch of a pen on paper.
Ezra.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I can handle this. It’s Ezra. Not Roman. No drama here. As I approach, I see him hunched over the table, scribbling like a madman. His hair is messy, and his usual stoic expression is almost serene.
I stop in the doorway, watching him for a second. There’s a new kind of energy in him today.
Last night’s performance was clearly a key that unlocked something in him. It’s good to see. It’s the Ezra I think he wants to be again, the one who used to get lost in his music until the whole world faded away.
I don’t want to interrupt that, but I need coffee, and I need to know if he’s noticed anything weird between Roman and me.
I need to know if I’m about to be fired… again.
“Good morning,” I say hoarsely, but I try to sound nonchalant as I walk toward the counter. “You’re up?”
He doesn’t look up right away, just keeps scribbling furiously. His handwriting is a mess, hardly legible, but it’s clear he’s in a zone.
When he finally looks up, his eyes are sharp, but there’s warmth there. A spark that’s been missing.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “had some ideas last night. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d capture them before they slipped away like smoke through my fingers.”
I smile, relieved to see him so energized. “I think the band’s been waiting for this. You’re on fire today.”
Ezra shrugs, looking down at the paper again, but the corner of his lips twitches in that almost smile of his.
“Could say the same for the band. Last night was… well, let’s say it left its echoes.”
His eyes flick to the side. He’s trying to pretend it didn’t mean as much to him as it clearly did.
I walk to the coffee machine and turn it on, letting the sound of the coffee brewing fill the silence between us. It’s comforting, in a way. At least I can focus on something simple, something that doesn’t involve Roman’s gaze or the heat of his touch.
“You’re writing a lot,” I say, glancing over at Ezra’s scribbled notes. “Anything good?”
Ezra’s eyes flick up, and now there’s an openness in them. “I think so.”
It really doesn’t seem like he knows anything about me and Roman. Maybe no one noticed. Unlikely, in this small gossipy town, but as long as I can keep my job, I’ll be happy.
Ring, ring… Ring, ring… Ring, ring…
Ezra’s phone buzzes across the table, the sound breaking through the comfortable quiet between us. He glances at the screen, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see him really smile. It’s small and warm, sunlight sneaking through clouds after days of rain.
“Hey, Mom,” he says, almost boyishly. The kind of tone that doesn’t belong to the brooding musician hunched over lyrics at seven a.m. “How are you all?”
I smile to myself, turning my back on Ezra. I need to focus on what I’ll cook the band for breakfast, but it’s hard not to eavesdrop a little.
“Yeah, I’m good. You know me, just dancing with the same old disorder,” he says, glancing at the scatter of papers across the table like they might spring to life at any moment. “No, Mom, I am eating. Sloane’s been keeping us well fed. Miraculously so, considering the circus around here.”
My head jerks up at the sound of my name, and he grins faintly.
“She’s a food witch, I swear. One taste and you’re caught in her spell. None of us stands a chance anymore.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Quietly. Into my mug.
His mom must say something teasing because Ezra’s chuckle is low and genuine, the kind that vibrates through his chest. It’s… disarming.
“No, Mom, don’t start matchmaking again,” he murmurs, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Yes, I remember what you said about needing someone to ‘keep me fed and smiling.’”
His eyes flick to me briefly, and I feel heat creep up my neck.
He doesn’t look away immediately.
Then he laughs again. Louder this time, more open. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell her you said hi. Yeah. Love you too.”
There’s a pause, softer now. “Yeah, tell Dad I’ll be home to see him as soon as we can. The album is just… taking time.”
He laughs again when the voice on the other end shifts, lighter now.
“Lola! Hey, troublemaker. How’s college?” His whole face changes. Eyes bright, the edges of his expression softer than I’ve ever seen. “You’re still going to class, right?”
I grab food from the fridge, moving around the kitchen so Ezra doesn’t think I’m soaking up every single word.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that. I know what skipping means. You better not be blowing off midterms to come to gigs again.”
The affection in his voice is so effortless. So easy. Loving his family is something that’s stitched into the fabric of who he is.
He ends the call with a quiet, “Love you too, Lil,” and sets the phone face down on the table.
For a second, the cabin feels softer somehow. The air is lighter. Ezra looks… human.
I lean on the counter, watching him as he gathers his papers again. “You’re close with them.”
He looks up at me, almost surprised by the observation. Then that soft smile returns.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “My mom calls me every morning if she can help it. My dad pretends he’s too busy to talk, but I know he cares.
And my younger sister, Lola…” His voice softens just a fraction.
“She’s in college, pretending to be an adult but still calling me when she can’t figure out how to boil pasta. ”
There’s a fondness in his tone that tugs at something deep in me. It’s been so long since I’ve heard anyone speak about their family like that. It makes my chest ache.
“That’s… really nice,” I say, quietly. “You’re lucky.”
He studies me for a second, the way Ezra does. Not judging, but like he’s really listening. “How often do you talk to your family?”
I grip the counter edge, unsure how to answer, but the way he’s looking at me, calm, intense, open, makes it impossible to hide behind anything.
“They’re… not around,” I admit finally. “My parents died when I was little. Car accident.”
His expression shifts instantly, softening even more. “Sloane…”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, even though it’s not. “It was a long time ago. My aunt took me in, but we weren’t close. She did what she could, I guess.”
Ezra doesn’t interrupt. He lets me talk, as if the silence between us is a safe place to set my words down.
“I have a cousin, Riley. She’s… kind of a wanderer. Travels all over and never stays in one place for long. But she calls a lot. Checks in on me. She’s probably the closest thing I’ve got to family now.”
He nods slowly, that quiet intensity still there. “She sounds like she loves you.”
I laugh under my breath. “Yeah. In her chaotic, world-hopping way.”
“You must’ve been strong. Growing up like that.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten. Not pity, just understanding. The kind that feels rare and dangerous because it makes me want to tell him more.
“I don’t know if it was strength,” I say finally. “I think it was just… survival. You don’t really get a choice when life falls apart. You just keep going.”
Ezra leans back in his chair, watching me, filing every word away.
“Still,” he murmurs, “there’s a kind of courage in that. The quiet kind most people overlook.”
And just like that, I forget about my hangover. About Roman. About everything.
Because Ezra isn’t just listening… he sees me.
And that might be even more dangerous.