8. Eight
Eight
Luke
The plane touches down at a private airfield near JFK, and I’m already exhausted. Not physically—though the red-eye flight didn’t help—but emotionally. My fingers drum restlessly against my thigh, playing phantom melodies as I stare out the window.
“You look like shit,” Cass says cheerfully, dropping into the seat next to me as the other band members file past. “Trouble in paradise?”
If by paradise he means the constant war between what I want and what I have to do, then yeah, there’s trouble .
“I’m fine,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.
“Right.” He draws out the word skeptically. “That’s why you’ve been moping around like someone kicked your ass for days.”
“I don’t mope.”
“Bro,” Vince calls from the aisle, “you’ve been playing nothing but sad ballads during rehearsals. Even your sound check yesterday was depressing.”
They’re not wrong. Ever since that kiss on the beach—God, that kiss—I haven’t been able to focus on anything else. The way she felt in my arms, the soft sound she made when I pulled her closer, and the look in her eyes before she walked away.
“I almost invited Lila,” I admit quietly, while the others are distracted with gathering their carry-ons. “To come with us tonight.”
Cass frowns. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I can’t offer her what she deserves.” The words taste bitter.
“Can’t? Or won’t?” He fixes me with that penetrating stare that’s always made me feel like he can see right through my bullshit. “Luke, I’ve known you for all these years, and I’ve never seen you so instantly enamored by anyone—“
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “I know I’ve got it bad.”
He holds up his hands in surrender, but his eyes are knowing. “All I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to stop letting other people control your life.”
If only he knew how impossible that was.
Our driver is waiting with a sleek black SUV, and soon, we’re threading through Manhattan traffic toward our hotel. The others chat excitedly about tonight’s show at Madison Square Garden, but I’m lost in my own thoughts.
Years ago, when we were just starting out, playing at The Garden seemed like an impossible dream. Now we’re headlining, our band name in lights above one of the most iconic venues in the world. I should be ecstatic. Instead, I wonder if Lila will watch the performance on live stream or even miss me while I’m gone.
“Earth to Luke,” Nate’s voice breaks through my brooding. “We’re here, man.”
The Four Seasons rises above us, all glass and luxury.
In my room, I sit at the baby grand piano the hotel provided at Emily’s request—she’s a great manager and always thinking of each band member. My fingers find the keys automatically, playing the melody that’s been haunting me for days.
It’s a new song—one I haven’t shared with the band yet. Too personal, too raw. Every note speaks of hope and new love.
I suddenly turn from the piano and walk over to the floor-length window.
New York City. The lights, the noise, the energy—it’s everything you’d expect. And usually, it’s the kind of place that gets my adrenaline pumping. Walking through the bustling streets, knowing I’m about to play to a packed house, should have me riding high. I’m a rockstar in one of the biggest bands in the country. This is the dream, right?
So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about her?
We’re playing a one-night show. The event was planned to keep the hype alive before we head back to the studio to finish the new album. It’s the kind of thing we live for—stepping onto a stage, hearing the roar of the crowd, and losing ourselves in the music—especially here.
But instead of focusing on the setlist or the soundcheck, my mind keeps drifting back to Lila. I think about the way her smile lights up her whole face. I remember how her voice softens when she talks about her dreams. And I can’t forget how she looked at me on the beach—like she was starting to feel something, too.
But then my phone rang, and she left—and who could blame her?
I drag a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. She made her feelings clear. She wants to keep things neighborly, and I’ve been doing my best to leave her alone. But damn, it’s not easy. Not when she’s all I can think about, even in the middle of the city that never sleeps.
I return to the piano, but this time the melody won’t come. Instead, I find myself thinking about choices and consequences, the price of freedom, and the cost of family loyalty.
Tonight, I’ll go on stage and play the part of the successful rockstar. I’ll smile for cameras and pretend everything’s perfect. But something has to give.
I pull out my phone, looking at Lila’s last text before I left on our flight: a simple ‘good luck’ with a smiling face emoji. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, but what can I say? Sorry, I’m trapped in a relationship because her father could destroy my family’s company. Sorry, I kissed you and then had to walk away.
Sorry, I’m not selfish enough to choose you.
I put the phone away and get ready for the performance.
We’re backstage at Madison Square Garden, and you can already feel the thrum of excitement in the air.
“Hey, you good?” Vince’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s leaning against the entrance to the dressing room, his guitar slung over his shoulder, his trademark frown firmly in place.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just... tired, I guess.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Tired? Come on, man. We’re in New York. You should be on fire right now.”
“I am. I will be,” I lie, grabbing a bottle of water from the dressing table. “Just need to get through tonight.”
Vince watches me for a moment, trying to figure out what’s really going on. But thankfully, he doesn’t push. “Well, snap out of it,” he says, smirking. “We’ve got a sold-out crowd waiting to lose their minds. ”
I nod, taking a long sip of water as he heads out to join the rest of the band for a soundcheck.
By the time we hit the stage, the venue is electric. The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound that crashes over me like a wave. I hover over my keyboard, my fingers finding the familiar keys as the opening notes of our first song fill the air.
This should be the moment where everything else fades away, and it’s just me, the music, and the crowd. But even as I lose myself in the performance, the ghost of Lila’s presence lingers in the back of my mind. Her laugh, her warmth, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
I push through, song after song, pouring everything I have into the music. By the time we hit the final notes of the encore, the audience is on their feet, screaming for more. I should feel invincible, untouchable. But as the lights go down and the adrenaline starts to fade, all I feel is the ache of something missing—or someone.
Back at the hotel, the guys are in full celebration mode. The couples share the moment; Cass is kissing Kendrick, and Sam has his arm around Emily. Vince orders a round of drinks, and Nate gets his phone out, probably checking the stocks again. Everyone’s in high spirits, the kind of energy that comes from nailing a show in one of the biggest cities in the world .
I should be right there with them, soaking it all in. But instead, I find myself standing by the window, staring out at the glittering skyline.
“Hey, Luke,” Sam says, walking up to me and nudging me with a grin. “What’s going on with you, man? You’ve been in your head all day.”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Just... thinking.”
“About what?” Sam presses, taking a sip of his drink. “Wait, let me guess. Blonde, curvy, killer cook?”
I glare at him, but he just laughs. “Come on, man. It’s obvious. You’ve been different ever since she showed up.”
“Drop it, Sam,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Alright, alright.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “But for the record? You should go for it. Life’s too short to play it safe. I should know.”
I don’t respond, turning back to the window as his words echo in my head.
Later, lying in bed in my darkened hotel room, I can’t sleep. My body is practically humming like a live wire from the adrenaline still coursing through my veins .
The show, the city, and the noise outside—it all blends into a kaleidoscope of noise and energy as my thoughts circle back to Lila. I remember how she looked at me on the beach like she was daring me to close the distance between us—and I wanted to. I also remember the look on her face as she walked away and how it made my chest ache.
I can’t keep doing this—hovering in limbo, pretending I don’t want more when every part of me is screaming that I do. But what the hell am I supposed to do? I wasn’t lying when I told her it was complicated.
And then there’s Crystal. Her father’s hold on me, the mess I’ve been trying to keep under wraps—it’s all tied together in a knot I don’t know how to untangle. The last thing I want is to drag Lila into it, to make her a part of a world that’s been filled with nothing but difficulties and compromises.
I turn and punch my pillow, but it doesn’t help. Nothing can change the fact that she’s under my skin in a way no one else has ever been. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think I can walk away.
Glancing at the clock again, I see it’s almost three in the morning. Lila sometimes gets up this early when she’s working at the bakery. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone from the nightstand and tap out a quick text .
‘NYC performance went great. Hope you have a good morning.’ My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before hitting the send button.
A few minutes later, I get her response. ‘It was incredible!’ with her familiar smiley face emoji.
I wait to see if she’ll say more but after a few moments. I put my phone away and lean back against the pillows. What did I expect? She’s probably busy taking a shower and getting dressed before she heads to work. Damn. My mind immediately gets a picture of how she looked, spreading oil on her arms and legs, only this time she’s damp and naked in the shower. Fuck!
In frustration, I viciously yank off the covers, stand, and walk into the hotel’s luxurious bathroom. I turn on the shower, full blast and step under the stinging spray.
As I soap up, an image of Lila in the shower with me appears. Her soft pink mouth opening as she kneels in front of me and leans her head back, blinking water drops from her long lashes. My hand, slick with soap, snakes down my body and wraps around my lengthening cock. I begin stroking myself as I imagine what she does next with her hot little mouth, giving a guttural groan when I finally find a singular form of release—jerking off with my hand .
Leaning against the cool shower wall, I rest my forehead on my arm and let the warm water continue to cascade over me. Reduced to satisfying myself—some hot shot, rockstar I am. But I don’t want anyone else. No groupies, no Crystal. All I want at this moment is Lila. But she’s millions of miles away, and I’m not just talking about distance.