7. Levi
CHAPTER 7
Levi
A naheim, Friday, August 15th
Sunlight gilded the tops of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Emily darted ahead while Mason and I followed our VIP guide a little more slowly. With our baseball caps pulled low, sunglasses firmly in place, I half expected someone to mistake us for a low-budget crime duo scouting the place for a heist.
“You’re a right twat, you know that?” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth, meant for Mason’s ears only.
He tilted his head, tone relaxed. “Because I didn’t stop Emmy from interrupting Cass and you?”
“‘Didn’t stop’? You told her to say good morning!” Between needing a moment to myself after Cass’s departure and Emily’s helium-bright excitement, this was the first chance to air my displeasure. All around us, children squealed and rides whirred, the faint strains of A Whole New World filtering in from somewhere. Privacy of sorts.
“You’re here for a week,” Mason said. “Did you really want to leave without telling him?”
No. Yes. I adjusted my hat and frowned at the overload of pinks and pastels that assaulted my senses. “I would have told him.”
His eyebrows rose above the edge of his sunglasses. “You had a plan, then?”
“I had, uh…” I hesitated. “The general outline of one.”
“Right, right.” His tone was syrupy with sarcasm, softened by a sweet tilt to his smirk. He let the words hang for a second, then added, “Aren’t you kind of glad it’s out there?”
Emily and our guide had stopped in front of a discreet side gate with a ‘Staff Only’ sign, barely warranting a second glance. It was a ready excuse to forego an answer. But… well. Right before we reached them, I angled closer to Mason and bumped our hands together. “Maybe just a little.”
He slid me a bright, slightly smug look. “You’re welcome.”
We joined Emily and our guide Claire, who wore sensible trainers and clothes designed to deflect attention. All swishing ponytail, she had a way of talking to Emily like she was an equal while Mason and I got the well-rehearsed professional treatment: yes, sir, this way, sir.
Claire steered us through a private gate and along a hedge-lined path, Emily squeezing my hand in excitement because Peter Pan awaited. All right, be present. This was her day, and I didn’t want to spend it with half my mind on Cass. Honestly, I’d done enough of that to last me a lifetime.
We bypassed the normal queue—thank you, obscure vestiges of my old fame and Mason’s present one—and slipped into a quiet loading bay. Sunglasses off, then; no need to look like I was casing the joint.
Within a minute, we boarded our tiny ship. The safety bar clicked down, and we soared forward, the lights dimming as we travelled through a painted night sky. Glittering stars spun above us as a miniature London unfolded below, its streets dotted with tiny lampposts and glowing windows. It was pretty—fake, of course, but nothing wrong with a temporary suspension of disbelief in favour of enjoying the moment.
The ship dipped and swayed as we were whisked into Neverland. The lagoon glimmered with greens and blues, the crimson sails of Captain Hook’s ship billowing in the distance.
“When Peter grows up…” Emily sounded deeply thoughtful, her hands gripping our vehicle’s edge as she leaned forward. “What do you think he’ll do?”
“He won’t,” I said. “That’s his whole shtick, remember?”
“But what if he has to?”
Hmm. Time for a chat about the inevitability of adulthood, or was it okay to let reality sit this one out? It had been a day, after all, and it wasn’t even noon. Door two it was. “He’d be a hot air balloon pilot, I reckon.”
“ I could be a hot air balloon pilot,” Emily said.
“Who am I to disagree?”
We flew past Peter duelling Hook and onwards, until the ship slowed. When we emerged back into the sunny morning soon after, the sudden brightness was blinding. I remembered to slide my sunglasses back on just as Mason did the same.
Too late—two young women had stopped to stare at us, hesitating as they held onto each other’s arms. One smile from Mason, and they approached, a little timid at first, all shy grins and flushed faces as they apologised for bothering us.
“Not at all,” Mason told them, sounding like he meant it—because he did. Ten years of fame, and he still enjoyed talking to fans as long as it was small groups rather than screaming crowds. I’d struggled more, at least for a while, tired of the constant attention and wondering who’d remain if I let my rainbow flag fly.
Turned out that these two would have been entirely cool with it. “Neon Circuit is how we met,” the auburn-haired one said, with a sweet sideways glance at her companion that hinted at more than friends. “So thank you.”
“You always made me feel like it’s okay to be me,” the other one said, and wasn’t that just ironic? Inclusive statements came without a price tag, so as a band, we’d risked nothing. And yeah, I was out now, but without fanfare—just rumours I hadn’t denied, at a point in my life when I didn’t make regular headlines anymore.
Cass coming out would be different. It would be… God. It would be so much braver.
I mostly let Mason handle the rest of the conversation, stuck in my own head, before we posed for a picture that Claire took against the Disney backdrop of a mediaeval Bavarian village. Emily was used to occasional interruptions like this and tended to bear them with an eye roll here and there, or by demanding some kind of sugary reward. I usually gave in to compensate for all those moments when she had to deal with my leftover fame—not great parenting, but there it was.
True to form, once the two women had wandered off, I bought some churros for Emily and Mason to share. We ambled on, my mind chasing shadows even as I tried to be in the moment. It was hard, though—thoughts tripping back to the open shock on Cass’s face at Jessica’s death, the darkness in his eyes. His low, achingly serious ‘I would have been on the next flight.’
“Y’all right?” Mason asked in an undertone while Emily was distracted with one of those pressed coin machines. Because we desperately needed a souvenir that would get lost in the wash by Tuesday.
“Just thinking,” I said. “I know, I know—I’ll try not to break anything.”
He glanced at me sidelong, his mouth curving up. “You stole my punchline.”
“You’ll live.”
“Barely.” He leaned a little closer, shoulder resting comfortably against mine. “Let me guess. It’s about Cass?”
There was little point in pretending with someone who’d seen me panic over hotel Wi-Fi speeds. “Did you know he wants to come out?”
Mason didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, he told me. But I can do a jaw-drop if you like?”
“You’re a true friend.”
My sarcasm was met with a sunny grin. ”You love me.”
“It’s my unfortunate lot in life.” I smiled back, voice gone stupidly soft. My sharper, mouthier teenage self would be so embarrassed. “Anyway, yeah. So. Cass, uh. He asked if I’d help him set the stage. Like, encourage some rumours.”
“Hang on .” Mason widened his eyes, all theatrics but for the persistent upwards tug to his mouth. “As in, be his fake boyfriend? Like some Hallmark Christmas special?”
Jesus, when he put it like that… I glanced at where Emily was squinting at the machine like it was a science project, her “Do I have to turn that thing? What happens if I turn it backwards?” drifting over. I focused back on Mason.
“Something like that, I guess. Just less rom-com, maybe. More a ‘the hunt is on’ media special.”
Mason’s amusement faded into something more sombre, almost sad. “You said no.”
I should have. Probably. But… dammit . Cass coming out now, at the height of fame rather than as some washed-up has-been like me… It would be lonely. Not that he didn’t have friends—people fell into his gravity like moths drawn to a flame. But no one would truly get it unless they stood right there by his side, just like no one could ever really understand the sheer madness the five of us had lived through.
I rocked back onto my heels. “He thinks I did.”
Mason’s gaze sharpened. “And did you?”
“No. I’m…” I hesitated, the words in my head like puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit. “I’m still thinking about it.”
Mason nodded, a strange quirk to his expression as he studied me. “All right, let’s hear it. Pros and cons?”
“This is a big deal for him, and I’d love to help. He’s still… my friend.” It felt far too small for what Cass was to me, even now. His offer to pick an opening act for his tour? Nice, but I wouldn’t accept it. If I decided to help him, that was. “But there’s Emily, right? I don’t want her mixed up in any of this. Or make her lie. Nothing like that.”
“Can’t it just be, you know, hanging out? But in public?” Mason tilted his head. “No need to confirm anything, right? So also no need to lie. Not like rumours about us ever needed much fuel. Could just be you and Cass having dinner out somewhere, and then you wait for the internet to set itself on fire. You’ll be engaged by breakfast.”
He wasn’t wrong, but it felt inadequate—like I’d be there for the easy part only to step out when it mattered.
“I mean, yeah. True that the rumours are an independent ecosystem.” I let my gaze slide away. A carousel spun slowly, its painted horses frozen in eternal gallop, one boy clinging to the pole as though it was a ride into the apocalypse. Me too, kid. Me too.
“But?” Mason prompted.
“Kind of the coward’s way out, isn’t it?”
He considered this. “That’s a bit harsh, I think. You’d still be out of your comfort zone.”
“Why—because I’d be spending solo time with Cass?” I’d meant for it to come out wry, a half-joke, only it twisted into something far more serious. Mason lowered his sunglasses for a brief, searching look.
“Is that a pro or a con?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
He barked out a laugh, then sobered. “Look, it’s your call. Obviously. But to quote someone extremely smart: it’s often the things you didn’t do that you regret the most.”
The hint of humour in his tone gave me pause. I raised an eyebrow. “And when did you say that?”
“Just something I told Cass a few weeks ago.”
“Did you?”
“Yup.” He didn’t offer more details, and I didn’t press. “So,” he added after a beat, his smile softer now, almost hopeful. “Think about it, yeah?”
I would. Whether I liked it or not.
* * *
Beverly Hills, Friday, August 15
My first year with Emily had been the hardest. I’d been twenty-five, twenty-six, still trying to glue my own life back together. Each time I blinked, I remembered my sister, pale as a ghost in her hospital bed, the relentless beeps of monitors and the smell of antiseptics cloying my senses.
And suddenly, I was responsible for this tiny, silent girl.
I’d loved her to pieces but felt hopelessly out of my depth, scared to mess up, scared she wouldn’t accept me. My parents had tried to help but they were overwhelmed, caught between grieving for their daughter and my grandmother’s rapidly deteriorating Alzheimer’s disease. Maybe the only reason I’d been able to step up was because there was no other option.
The first time Emily had snuck into my bed had been well past midnight. The shift of the mattress woke me, and then she tucked herself up against my arm, little hands curling into my T-shirt. I didn’t dare move—afraid she’d disappear, afraid to fall asleep, to roll over and accidentally squash this small, precious person. In the morning, she didn’t say anything and neither did I, but when I dropped her off at school, she gave me a hug when before, it had always been me initiating one. I’d blinked back tears and then didn’t stop smiling the entire drive home.
This time, when the door inched open, I was still awake. I’d been working on one of Cosma’s songs, laptop on my knees, lights off and overlooking LA’s glimmering cityscape from where I was perched on the massive bed in Mason’s guest room. The creative buzz was just wearing off, tiredness settling around my shoulders, when Emily slipped in.
“Hi,” she whispered like it was a secret. Her timid smile put me at ease. Nothing wrong, it seemed. Just jet lag and an overdose of sugar.
“Hey, monkey.” I set the laptop aside and opened my arms. “Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head and climbed in with me, hugging me around the middle. Her curls tickled my chin. “I was just thinking, you know?”
”About?”
“It’s unfair, isn’t it?” She paused like I was meant to agree.
“Many things are.” I grinned, waggling my brows for effect. “What are we talking about?”
“How people made Elsa feel bad about her powers. It’s not like she could help having them. And it’s kind of cool, isn’t it? Making it snow.”
My little justice warrior. I kissed the top of Emily’s head before I replied. “Sometimes people are scared of things that are different. They think it’s easier to just ignore them, much easier than trying to understand.”
“That’s lazy,” she said, her decisive tone carrying a faint echo of my dad’s disapproval at the concept of people who slept past seven. Such as me. And Emily.
“I guess it is,” I agreed.
She was silent for a few seconds, clearly mulling something over. “Am I different?” she asked then. “Because you’re like my dad and you’re famous?”
Something lodged sideways in my chest. “I’m really not that famous anymore, sweetheart. Why do you ask? Is there someone who makes you feel different?”
“Not really,” she said. “Just, like, Joey always says it’s weird that my dad likes boys. But I just tell him his face is weird.”
She sounded proud of herself, and I didn’t have the heart to admonish her. Honestly, her classmate Joey deserved worse—the kid was a spoiled brat, although maybe that was more the parents’ fault. Can’t blame a seven-year-old boy for acting like a unique, entitled snowflake when that’s the storyline he’s been fed at home. Yes, Emily was my precious princess, but if she whined about having to practise for a spelling test, I didn’t call the teacher about her workload; I told her to pull up her big girl socks because life was no walk in the park.
“That’s fair.” I hugged her a little closer. “You know, it took me a while to admit that I like boys. I did worry that people would treat me differently.”
She digested that. “But it’s fine, right?”
“Yeah. It was a little easier when I did it, though. I wasn’t quite so famous anymore.”
“Famous sounds hard.” Emily’s tone was confident in that way kids had sometimes when they’d made up their minds about something, brushing aside any nuance and complexity. “Like, you can’t really do what you want. And you have to wear a hat when you go to Disneyland.”
Out of the mouths of babes, huh?
“You’re one clever girl,” I told her. And wow, this conversation hit kind of close, didn’t it? “Say, love, I could use a bit of advice. You up for that?”
She sat up, clearly flattered, her expression serious beyond her years. “Sure!”
“Okay, so I’ve got this friend, right? And he likes boys too, only he’s scared because he’s a lot more famous than I was when I told people.” All right, how did I put this into words that a smart seven-year-old would understand? “He asked if I could help him, maybe. Like, hold his hand when he starts letting people know. So he’s not alone, you know?”
“Like how Elsa had Anna?” Emily asked, and, uh. Not exactly given those two were sisters while Cass and I were… not. Jace and Mason and Ellis—yeah, they were my brothers for life. But not Cass.
“A little bit like that,” I said. “Only people might think we’re together. Because I’m holding his hand and all. There might be pictures and stuff.”
”Because he’s famous?”
“Yeah.” I tapped her nose, smiling even though something in me felt on edge, like standing on a high cliff with the wind in my face and the ocean glistening below. Jump or scuttle away? “So, what do you think—should I help him? Even if it gets people talking and maybe it’s not totally true?”
She frowned, her hair a golden halo turned wild. “Like lying? You always tell me it’s wrong to lie.”
“Not quite, no.” I gathered my thoughts. Beyond the windows, the city stretched like a distant constellation, the quiet hum of the air conditioner the only sound. “I’d just… be there for him, so he’s not so alone. But some people might think that means we’re boyfriends.”
“Oh.” She worked through this new piece of information before the line of her mouth firmed. “But then you’re just helping a friend. That’s good, isn’t it? We should always help if we can.”
It took me a moment to place it—I’d told her something to that effect when she mentioned how a new girl in her class seemed a little lonely. Reminder to self: anything you say can and will be used against you.
“You’re right,” I said. “We should. That’s great advice, love.”
Emily nodded proudly, pleased with herself, then yawned. I glanced at the clock—well past eleven.
“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” I asked. “It’s real late.”
She exhaled in a little huff. “D’you think Alba misses us? ‘Cause I miss her.”
“I think Granny and Grandpa are taking great care of her. But why don’t we call them tomorrow and you can check for yourself?”
Another yawn, followed by a quiet, “Okay.”
“Good.” I reached over to close my laptop, careful not to jostle her too much as I stretched to set it on the bedside table, then pressed the button for the curtains. They closed with a quiet whoosh, the room dissolving into shadows.
“‘Night,” she mumbled, already half-asleep, a small bundle of warmth against me. I shifted to get us both more comfortable, tugging the thin sheet up over us. Silence fell, a counterpoint to the thoughts still vibrating in my mind, like dogs chasing their own tails.
Tomorrow marked a crossroads. I still wasn’t sure which way to turn.
* * *
Beverly Hills, Saturday, August 16th
I’d fallen into a time capsule.
Cass’s house, the house we’d shared—it looked unchanged. Same Tuscan-style exterior, same fountain, same ivy climbing up its stone walls. Why hadn’t he moved? He could have told his assistant to arrange it, wouldn’t have needed to lift a finger. Walk out of this house one day and the next into a new place, fully set up and unburdened with history.
“Hey, man. Feeling all right?” Mason asked after he’d parked the car, the sudden stillness weighing in my bones.
“Yeah, just give me a sec.” I tipped my head back against the seat and took a deliberate breath, memories unfolding like origami.
Cass, barefoot and cross-legged on the sofa, strumming his guitar while I’d scribbled down half-rhymed lyrics. A stupid fight in the kitchen, couldn’t remember why, only that we hadn’t talked for hours—not until he slid into bed beside me, our fingers brushing in the dark. Our first day home after an epic world tour, no alarm set for once, waking up to sunlight and quiet. Tickling my fingers along the bare curve of his hip and how he’d shifted closer with a quietly pleased hum.
Moving out.
I hadn’t even packed the boxes myself. Some discreet company had come in while we were still on the road, wrapping up my life like it was just that easy. I did a final walk-through to make sure they hadn’t missed anything important and then walked out, leaving the gate remote and my heart behind.
“Come on, Lee.” Mason’s gentle voice made me blink dust out of my eyes.
“Right, yeah.” I nodded and unbuckled my seatbelt, taking another second to gather myself before I slid out into the morning heat.
We let ourselves in with Mason’s code for the front door. Would mine still work or had Cass deleted it from the system? I didn’t try.
Air-conditioned coolness hit. The entry hall smelled faintly of vanilla and cedar, unfamiliar. But the sculpture by the stairs was… Christ. Still the same. An oversized, spinning globe, its metal gleaming faintly in the low light as I stepped closer. I’d had it made for Cass’s nineteenth birthday, something to anchor us when the world felt too big. Rather than a perfect record of our travels, its surface was a collection of significance.
There was the bright red marker for Wembley, the night we’d played to an ocean of fans that didn’t seem to end, their screams still echoing somewhere in my chest. Tokyo had a silver pin with a note that said ‘Lost in translation’ for that time Cass and I had escaped our hotel to search the neon streets for a late-night ramen place. And then, just off to the side, was a small, almost inconspicuous mark on the US east coast. ‘The bus,’ it said in tiny, slanted letters that mimicked my handwriting.
The first time. We’d just finished another show, adrenaline still thrumming through us and the bus rocking slightly as we rumbled towards another city. Sprawled next to me on the couch, Cass had been leaning too close, his laughter wild and happy as we teased Mason about falling over and taking the mic stand with him. Between one word and the next, Cass had turned to me, quick and certain. He’d kissed me like it was the most natural thing in the world, like we’d done it a million times in his mind and this was just reality catching up.
In some ways, it had been inevitable. Months of late-night conversations and slow smiles, the way his touch would linger even as I held back, waiting for him to be sure. When it happened, it didn’t feel monumental. Just right.
Until it wasn’t.
I let my hand drop and forced myself to move along, walking the walnut floors of a place that used to be mine. Used to be ours.