Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sloane
We need to leave. Now.
It’s four a.m., the kind of dark where the world still feels half-asleep, and here I am, tiptoeing through a creaky cabin like I’m in some low-budget spy movie.
Roman’s ready, hood up, grinning like a man who’s far too comfortable with sneaking out before sunrise.
His hair is a messy halo of platinum, his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be illegal, and he’s holding the keys as if he’s about to hotwire a getaway car.
“You ready to break the rules?” he whispers… loudly.
I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Roman, if you draw any attention, I swear—”
“Relax,” he says, all swagger and smirk. “We’re stealthy. Smooth. Like ninjas.”
Behind us, there’s a loud thud. Followed by a groan.
“Yeah,” comes Ezra from the hallway, “This is definitely going to go well.”
“It’s way too early for this shit,” Creed mutters, appearing out of the shadows, a thundercloud in sweatpants. His hair’s tousled, his hoodie’s halfway on, and he’s glaring at all of us like we’re the world’s dumbest criminals. “Why are we sneaking out like teenagers again?”
“Ah, yes, because we are to venture to the city incognito, in the most elegant sense of the word. Of course, that becomes a rather futile endeavor when Roman here is nothing short of a human paparazzi magnet.”
“I can wear sunglasses,” Roman offers.
“It’s four in the morning,” Creed deadpans.
“Exactly,” Roman says. “No one will expect it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, can we please just get to the truck before sunrise? The whole point is not to be seen.”
Roman salutes me dramatically, then immediately bumps into a chair. It screeches against the floor like a dying whale.
All three men freeze.
“Smooth,” Ezra whispers.
Roman flips him off. “You could help, you know.”
“Oh, I am helping,” Ezra says, smirking as he takes a sip of coffee. “I’m observing the craziness for future lyrical inspiration.”
Creed mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I can’t believe this is my life,” and grabs the duffel bags, slinging one over each shoulder as if he’s some grumpy action hero.
We make our way through the kitchen in a pathetic line of half-awake fugitives.
Roman leads the way, because of course he does, humming some Mission: Impossible theme under his breath. Creed follows behind him like he’s on a military op, eyes narrowed for traps. Ezra brings up the rear, somehow managing to look bored and amused at the same time.
“Okay,” I whisper, pushing open the back door. “The coast is clear. Let’s move.”
Roman throws me a grin over his shoulder. “After you, Sloane.”
I step out into the cold night, shivering as the mist clings to my skin. Behind me, the guys start whispering and bickering like children.
“Stop breathing down my neck,” Creed grumbles.
“You’re walking too slowly,” Roman whispers back.
“I’m walking at a normal pace.”
“You’re built like a tank, Hunter. A normal pace for you is a glacial crawl.”
Ezra sighs. “I’m genuinely considering going back to bed.”
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper-shout, spinning around to glare at them. “We’ve made it this far. Nobody’s been caught, nobody’s fallen…”
Roman steps directly into a puddle. The loudest puddle on Earth.
We all freeze. Again.
Creed mutters, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Roman lifts his foot and whispers, “It’s fine. It’s stealthy water.”
Ezra snorts so hard he chokes on his coffee.
And just like that, the tension breaks. I can’t help it, I laugh. Quietly at first, then harder when Roman joins in, his grin wide and wicked. Creed groans, but I catch the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips.
We make it to the truck finally, by some miracle, and pile in as if we’ve just escaped a war zone.
Roman starts the engine. Creed’s arms are crossed, Ezra’s head is tipped back against the window, and I’m wedged between them all, my heart pounding with leftover adrenaline.
“See?” Roman says, throwing me a wink. “Told you it’d be easy.”
“Easy?” I echo. “You fell over, made Ezra snort coffee out his nose, and stepped in what might’ve been an entire lake.”
Roman smirks. “And yet, here we are. Mission accomplished.”
Ezra looks over at me, his gray eyes soft in the dim light. “You have to admit, Katz. It was fun.”
Creed grunts in reluctant agreement. “Barely.”
But when I glance over, I see the corner of his mouth curve up just a little, and I know he’s lying.
Roman revs the engine, turning the truck toward the lights flickering in the distance.
“Alright, team,” he says, full of mischief. “Next stop: trouble. Let’s drive.”
I can’t help but smile. Because honestly? For once, I don’t mind a little trouble.
I’m nervous.
Now that I’m here, I don’t know if coming to the city for this Battle of the Bands event is a good idea, but here I am. Trying to make the best of it. It’s hard, though. The guys need me here, and I want to be here for them.
But it helps that the suite is everything you’d expect from a place built for the ultra-wealthy, and then some.
The minute I walk through the door, I’m hit with the kind of luxury that makes me question my entire existence.
The floors are polished marble, cool and slick beneath my feet. The windows are floor-to-ceiling, offering an incredible view of the city. Twinkling lights stretching far beyond the horizon. It’s the kind of place where you expect the soundtrack of your life to play every time you step into a room.
The couch sits across from a wide-screen TV, which I’m pretty sure Roman’s already claimed as his personal throne. He’s sprawled out on it, his feet up, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, already preparing for his close-up.
“You good?” he asks, raising an eyebrow,
I force a smile and give myself a mental pep talk. You’re fine. You’re fine. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. This whole thing feels weird. It feels like I haven’t been out of Coyote Glen in forever.”
“I agree,” Ezra states as he moves towards the window. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed to leave until I did,” he continues. “It’s like the city is… a different kind of air. It’s loud, and it smells different, and it’s easy to forget that you ever lived any other way.”
Creed rolls his eyes. “Well, are we going to hide out here all night long, or shall we go explore? Since no one knows Wild Reverie is here, I don’t think we need to be worried about the paparazzi.”
I laugh softly, grateful for Creed’s grounded practicality. “Explore, huh? You make it sound like we’re going on safari.”
Roman sits up, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, we are. Urban safari, baby. City lights, dive bars, questionable tacos… it’s all part of the experience.”
“Questionable tacos?” I echo. “That’s your selling point?”
He shrugs, standing and grabbing his jacket. “Some of the best nights start with questionable decisions.”
Ezra’s reflection catches in the window glass, and I see the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips. “He’s not wrong.”
Creed grabs his keys from the counter. “Fine. But if Roman gets us kicked out of another bar, I’m not bailing him out this time.”
Roman presses a hand to his chest. “I’m deeply wounded, Hunter. You act like I’m chaos incarnate.”
“You are chaos incarnate,” Creed mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.
I follow them out of the hotel, my breath visible in the crisp night. The city sprawls in front of us, glittering and loud, but tonight, it’s almost like we’ve stepped into a parallel universe where the world doesn’t know our names.
Roman’s grinning like he’s just won the lottery, jacket thrown on with a careless ease, sunglasses perched on his head, which is, you know, not suspicious at all.
“You good?” he calls over his shoulder.
I press my lips together, trying to hide the way my stomach churns. The moment we step into the city, the pressure of the world is still there, just on the other side of a thick glass wall, waiting.
But for now, it’s just neon and concrete beneath my shoes, nothing more.
“I’m fine,” I say, too quickly.
Roman doesn’t seem convinced, but he shrugs and leads the way. Ezra trails behind, moving with a quiet intensity, his eyes scanning the scene, waiting for something to go wrong. But when he turns to the city skyline, I catch the slight exhale as he realizes how much he’s missed the noise.
Creed follows, the last to move, still weighing the decision even to leave the room.
We step into the warmth of the bar, and everything shifts. Buzzing conversations, the clink of glass, the beat of something raw and unpolished coming from the stage. I could almost forget that the world outside is watching us, waiting for us to slip up.
Roman is already at the bar, engaging the bartender with an exaggerated charm that seems to work all too well. Creed sinks into a corner, striking up a conversation with some guy about old guitars. Ezra settles into a stool next to me, his eyes following the musicians, but not really hearing them.
“This is good,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “I could get lost in the noise.”
Ezra turns his head slightly. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you breathe in days.”
I feel my chest tighten before I catch myself. The words are too heavy. Too much. I smile, but it feels thin, like it might crack at the edges.
“Don’t get used to it,” I murmur, trying to make it sound light.
He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a softness in his eyes that says he’s not fooled.
Roman saunters back, somehow with a round of shots already in hand.
“To not getting caught,” he says, lifting his glass.
His grin’s all sharp edges and mischief.
Creed rolls his eyes but clinks his shot glass anyway.
“To not making me regret this,” he mutters.
Ezra lifts his glass and, with a half-smile, turns to me. “To Sloane. For keeping us from completely falling apart.”
My pulse does something strange at his words. I try not to think too hard about it. The shot burns on the way down, but it doesn’t touch the knot in my chest.
“To all of us. Let’s have fun while we’re here. Make the best of it.”