9. Closer
Closer
After two sold-out shows in New York, the next stop on tour is Boston.
I still haven’t gotten used to the rhythm of show days—the early arrivals, the press runs, rehearsals, and endless sound checks. Every detail has to line up perfectly; every night has to feel like magic for the fans.
Now, sitting in my hotel suite with Mark and Kylie, the city humming somewhere below us, my phone hasn’t stopped buzzing—and neither has the Text in the City group chat.
Riley
Good luck tonight, I wish I was there!
Philippa
Break a leg
Andrew
or shake a leg. LOL
I glance at the other notifications and can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. For the first time in a while, the noise feels good.
Even though the news was coming in hot and fast after my performance, I find my mind drifting back to Broderick—writhing in pleasure under my touch, jaw tight, as he came hot and fast because of my…other performance.
Now that’s the kind of headline I care about.
The way he looked at me like I was the only thing that existed...He’d given in completely—and it made me feel powerful. In control. Especially when so much of my life feels out of my hands.
It feels good. Really good.
I shift in my seat, crossing my legs as I try to focus.
But Kylie’s voice cuts through the haze—all business, scrolling through the tablet which holds my entire life.
Mark slides an espresso toward me, his brows raised in that way that makes me think he knows exactly how much I’m struggling to focus.
“You’re gonna need this,” he says with a grin.
I chuckle softly, wrapping my hands around the precious cup. “Thanks.”
“Okay,” Kylie starts, glancing up over the rim of her glasses. “We need to talk schedule. Boston tonight and tomorrow. Then back to New York—after which is going to be non-stop.”
Mark pulls out his own list, tapping away like he’s conducting an orchestra. “You’ve got the morning show, Cosmo magazine cover shoot—they’re thinking vintage glam—and the producers from Saturday Night want to lock in a date for your appearance.”
“Vintage glam?” I say, my lips quirking. “I like that.”
Kylie hums her agreement, but she’s already moving on. “And we’ve got the first concept meeting for your next music video for “Touch”. Pacific’s pushing for something edgy, something to show you’re stepping into this new era—but you need to sign off on the director.”
Mark glances at me with a smirk. “Also...Ava’s team is now casually asking if you can take over for Gracie. She’s still recovering from surgery for vocal nodules and, well—after going viral in New York, you’re it, honey.”
Gracie Miller, the original opener for Ava, had to pull out of New York and Boston due to vocal nodules a common injury for singers who push too hard, and surgery can be a gamble.
Sometimes it changes everything—range, pitch...
for some, it’s never quite the same. For Gracie to be facing that at only twenty-five years old.
It’s scary to think about.
If it wasn’t for Gracie’s misfortune, I wouldn’t even be on this tour.
“Hey,” Mark says gently, picking up on my shift in mood. “Don’t do that.”
I glance up, and he meets my eyes, steady and kind. “You earned this. Ava asked for you—personally.”
“Poor Gracie though.”
“Yeah, but great for you,” Kylie jumps in, her tone sharp but excited.
“I know.” I take a sip of my coffee. I should be exhausted—and yeah, okay, maybe I am—but I’m also…grateful. For all of it because last time, I never got the chance to enjoy it. This time, I want to make the most of it.
“Can we send some flowers and a card to her?” I suggest, glancing over at Mark.
“You got it,” he says, already jotting it down on his tablet. “Then you’ve got a few days off for your sister’s wedding—”
At the mention of the wedding, my mind drifts.
To my father—and all the heavy, unfinished things still hanging between us.
To Riley, who’ll at least keep me grounded, even if I haven’t told her anything about Broderick. Which makes me feel guilty.
And then there’s Broderick.
I bite back a smirk, shifting in my seat as heat flickers low in my stomach. I can still feel the weight of his stare, the tension in his body when I touched him.
God, if he knew even half the things running through my mind right now...
“Elena?”
I blink, snapping back to the present. Kylie’s watching me, one brow raised, waiting for me to rejoin the conversation.
“Sorry,” I say, smiling, hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel. “Pardon?”
“You okay? You’ve been distracted since we landed.”
“I’m good. Just...thinking about everything coming up.”
She eyes me for a moment longer but doesn’t press. Instead, she flips to the next page on her tablet.
“Well, you won’t have much downtime to think. After your sister’s wedding—it’s all systems go.”
Mark leans in. “It’s a good thing.”
I meet his gaze and smile—genuinely. “Yeah. It is.”
Kylie’s tablet pings, and I see the alert: Alexander Westerberg. She swipes it away, but it’s too late—I’ve already seen it.
“Sorry, I forgot to delete that auto-alert,” she murmurs.
“It’s all good,” I say, squaring my shoulders. Busy. We’re keeping busy. If I keep busy, there’s no space for Alex.
Broderick will keep my mind—and body occupied.
But sometimes the nights are merciless. In the hollow quiet, Alex returns.
He lives there, threading himself through my dreams: a constant reel of every word, every glance, every heartbeat we shared.
His drunken phone call loops on repeat. I lie awake for hours, picking apart what he said, what I did—until sleep finally drags me under.
And still—I can’t help but miss him.
Even after everything, I don’t know how to let him go.
The roar of the crowd still echoes in my ears as I come off stage, heart pounding in the best way.
I tug a hand through my hair, still catching my breath, when Ava steps up beside me, grinning from ear to ear.
“You killed that,” she says, as the stagehand rips her outfit off her body, helping her into her next.
Another stagehand rushes over to me handing me a water bottle.
I laugh. “You didn’t have to bring me out there.”
She smirks. “Please. My fans are obsessed with you. I was just giving them what they wanted.”
“I’m not sure anyone’s ever ready for that,” I tease, but Ava catches the slight waver in my voice—the vulnerability—I’ve gotten good at hiding in public.
She nudges me gently as the makeup artist pats her face with power. “It’s a lot, huh?”
I nod, glancing out at the arena, lights dimming and shifting into another color. “Yeah. I mean, I’m grateful—I really am, but sometimes it’s like…as soon as people love you, they want to watch you fail. And with everything that’s happened.”
“Alex?” Ava cuts in gently, and I sigh, giving her a small nod.
“Yeah. And before him? The press has had a field day with me and my personal life. Now that things are taking off…they’re just waiting for me to screw it all up.”
Ava is thoughtful as she gulps down water, then looks me dead in the eye.
“Listen, I’ve been in this game a while. And yeah, it’s brutal. But you know what I figured out? They only get to write your story if you let them. You want to know the secret?”
I tilt my head, curious.
“Keep something just for you. Something they can’t touch. Doesn’t matter if it’s a person, a place, or a feeling. You hold onto that, let it be your anchor.”
Her words settle in my chest, warm and heavy—and immediately, Broderick’s face flashes in my mind, unbidden.
I shake my head with a little laugh, trying to brush it off, but she winks at me.
“Looks like you might have already found it.” Ava watches me, her smirk softening. “Come on, superstar, let’s give Boston one more surprise before we call it a night.”
“Wait—what?”
But she’s already walking back toward the stage. “You’re not getting out of here without one more duet.”
The energy still dances under my skin as I make my way back to the hotel, body sore but alive. There’s nothing like a post-concert shower washing off the plaster of the on-stage mask and the sweat of a job well done.
The cheers, the way the crowd screamed when Ava pulled me out for that final song—everything I’ve worked for is finally happening.
I swipe the keycard to my suite, toeing off my sneakers, still smiling to myself as I step inside walking past the lounge area and into my room—and stop short.
Because sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning back on his hands like he owns the place, is Broderick.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls low, a wicked smirk curling on his lips. There’s absolutely nothing sweet about this impromptu visit—I know that immediately.
“What are you…how?” I stammer, my brain scrambling to catch up to the fact that he’s here. In Boston. In my room.
“I figured you’d want a proper way to celebrate your performance,” he cuts in smoothly, standing, rolling his shoulders as he strolls toward me, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans.
“Which one?” I try to sound playful, teasing—but it comes out too breathy.
My eyes rake over him—white T-shirt, worn jeans. I’ve never seen him dressed like this before. It makes him look younger. More relaxed.
But there’s nothing relaxed about the way he’s watching me. His gaze is intense and hungry. It makes my skin flush.
The door clicks shut behind me as I lean back against it, my heart pounding—for an entirely different reason now.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs, stepping into the space between us.
“You…should probably get help for that.”
Broderick chuckles darkly. Placing an arm above my head caging me in. His scent envelopes me, mountains, rain, woodsy, earthy and entirely him.
“You said this is about what you want,” he says, brushing a loose tendril of hair behind my ear, his fingers dancing gently across my skin. “But I think…I’d like to renegotiate the terms of our…arrangement.”
I swallow, throat dry as he fills the space between us.
“Hmm.” Is all I manage—because God, the heat radiating off him, is melting me from the inside out.
“Is that so?”