Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ezra
I should be happy.
Last night should’ve been the kind of memory that carries me for weeks. The kind that plays on a loop behind my ribs, soft and golden, untouched by the world.
But the world doesn’t let things stay untouched. It always finds the cracks and pries them open.
Now it’s morning, and my phone won’t stop vibrating on the counter. Each notification is another tiny punch to the gut.
Another headline. Another opinion. Another ghost I thought we’d buried.
Old scandals are crawling back out of the dirt. The kind we worked hard to outgrow, only for them to be polished up and paraded as fresh sins.
It’s incredible how fast people remember all the wrong things.
Someone’s dredged up photos, interviews, half-truths, and somewhere in the noise, they found her.
Sloane.
Or, more specifically, her voice.
It’s barely there, a laugh, soft and fleeting, in the background of some video she posted last week.
You’d miss it if you weren’t listening for it. But people on the internet—they always listen too hard. And now it’s a full-blown obsession. Threads dissecting her tone, her laugh, trying to match it to anyone who’s ever stood near us.
My stomach twists. I scroll until the words blur. Mystery woman, band member’s secret girlfriend, new muse. Speculation disguised as curiosity, but I know better. It’s bloodlust with better PR.
I lock my phone and toss it aside. It clatters against the counter, sharp and final. The sound echoes in my head as a symbol crash that won’t decay.
This isn’t her fault.
But it feels ours.
We should’ve known better. Should’ve been more careful. Should’ve stopped the video from ever seeing the light of day.
The door opens behind me. Roman cuts through the silence.
“You seeing all this?”
I don’t turn around. “Yeah.”
He steps closer, exhaling a humorless laugh. “They’re calling it ‘Reverie’s New Mystery Woman.’ Like it’s some marketing stunt.”
“Wish it was,” I mutter.
He leans against the counter beside me, scrolling through his phone. “They’ll get bored. They always do.”
I want to believe him. I really do.
But the knot in my chest says otherwise.
“Yeah,” I say. “Unless they find her first.”
That gets his attention. Roman looks up, expression flickering between guilt and something else… sympathy, maybe. It doesn’t help.
I turn away to the window. Outside, the forest looks pale and empty, the sky bruised with winter light. It’s supposed to be peaceful here. It’s why we came. But lately, it feels the silence is just holding its breath, waiting to break.
The thing about noise is. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. It grows, feeds on itself, until you can’t hear anything else.
I press my hand against the glass, watching the fog bloom beneath my palm.
“A week,” I murmur. “That’s all it takes to ruin someone.”
“Have you seen this?” I don’t even turn around to see Creed. I can already feel the rage rolling off of him in waves. “What are we going to do?”
“That’s what we’re just discussing,” Roman reassures him. “And since we already know who is behind all of this, we know where to start.”
“Elliot?” Creed asks.
I sit at the edge of the counter, hands clasped tight, while the other two circle the problem as if it’s prey.
Roman starts pacing, fists clenched, jaw tight.
“Of course it’s him. We know it is. He’s an asshole,” he spits. “And he’s not going to stop. We need to shut him down now, make him regret even thinking about touching Sloane.”
I glance at him, trying to catch his eye. “Roman, maybe—”
“Maybe?” he cuts me off, snapping his fingers. “There’s no maybe here. You let him breathe, even for a second, and he’ll ruin everything.”
Creed leans against the counter, arms crossed, chin down, watching Roman as a storm he knows will pass. “Calm down. Yelling doesn’t fix anything. We need a plan that works. Not just a punch to the face.”
Roman throws a look at Creed. “Sounds like someone willing to lie back and let Elliot do whatever the hell he wants to us.”
Creed shrugs, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. “Someone has to think ahead. Step one, we gather information. Step two, we contain it. Step three, we cut off the problem at the source. That’s it. Simple. Methodical.”
I take a slow breath. “And the source is usually people who want attention. Elliot thrives on chaos. If we predict his moves, we can prevent him from gaining leverage. We act with precision. Not rage.”
Roman spins to me, frustrated. “Precision isn’t enough. That guy doesn’t care about consequences. He’ll do whatever it takes. You speak like this calm, pretty words thing, but—”
I hold up a hand. “Anger is fire. Useful in the moment. But it burns everyone around it. We can channel it, yes, but not let it drive us blind.”
Creed finally speaks again. “We handle it like this: I monitor what he does. Call out anything public. Roman… you’re the deterrent.
You make sure he knows there will be consequences if he crosses the line.
Ezra… you guide the messaging. Calm and precise.
Keep it controlled. None of this spills over onto Sloane. ”
Roman groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. But if he touches her, if he even thinks about it, I’m going to—”
“No,” I cut in softly. “We don’t give him that satisfaction. We’re better than him. We act with intent, not impulse. He’s looking for drama. We starve him of it.”
Creed nods, quiet but resolute. “And if he tries to escalate anyway, we end it fast. I don’t like leaving gaps, and I won’t let him find one.”
Roman mutters under his breath, but the edge softens. “Fine. Methodical. But he’s going to regret thinking he can screw with her. And us.”
I let a small smile touch my lips, my voice almost lyrical. “He may think he prowls shadows, but we are light, gentlemen. And light reveals everything. We hold the line together, steady as the dawn. Nothing sneaks past us.”
Creed smirks faintly. “Damn. That’s one of your poetic speeches again.”
I shrug, calm. “Perhaps. But in chaos, a little poetry steadies the mind. And while we’re focusing on Elliot, let’s also make things nice for Sloane. She deserves a good Christmas, after all.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Creed sighs heavily. “There’s no point in letting Elliot ruin everything for us. We can do something special for Sloane.”
Roman snorts. “You mean like a spa day or some shit?”
Creed shoots him a look. “Like a date, dumbass.”
Roman blinks. “A date?”
“Yeah,” Creed says, the edge of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You know. Lights. Music. Normalcy. She likes that sentimental stuff.”
And suddenly, I can see it.
The cabin is lit softly and golden, with pine needles scattered on the floor.
The faint scent of cinnamon and oranges floods my nostrils. Sloane’s laugh, low and warm, not the brittle kind she uses when she’s pretending she’s fine.
The world could burn outside these woods, but in here, maybe, we could give her something whole.
“A Christmas date,” I murmur, almost to myself.
Roman raises a brow. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.” The word leaves me before I can second-guess it.
“Something small. Thoughtful. We could make it a surprise…” I trail off, already thinking through the details.
“A tree. Lights. Hot chocolate, maybe. Music… not our kind. The kind that plays in stores this time of year, the kind she’d hum to herself when she thinks no one’s listening. ”
“We could even take her around the town.” Creed looks to Roman. “What? It’s Coyote Glen. No one looks twice at unusual relationships here.”
“True,” Roman admits. “You think she’ll like it?”
I meet his gaze. “No,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She’ll love it.”