Chapter 29
It’s strange being back in L.A. after my whirlwind tour of the places I used to live and places that are important to Sam. Each city carried its own ghosts, but none of them haunt me like this one. This might become the city where all my dreams end.
I drop my bag on the floor of the hotel room and turn to Tish, who’s already rifling through her suitcase with purpose.
“I don’t know if I should go,” I whisper.
She freezes, then straightens, her brow furrowed. “What? Babe, you’ve come this far.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands knotting in my lap. “If I couldn’t see him at the smallest venue, then there’s no hope that I’ll see him tonight. Not with thousands of people packed into that arena.”
Saying it out loud feels like setting fire to the last thread of hope I’ve been clinging to.
Tish moves to sit beside me, taking my hand. “Charlotte, the girl I know would’ve snuck onto a crime scene in stilettos to get the truth. Don’t give up now. Not when you’re this close. Not when everything you’ve been through has led you here.”
I manage a shaky smile. “Yeah.”
“Think about it,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’m going to get ready.”
Even though we weren’t able to get her a seat close to mine, she still found one on the floor. It’s not the front row, but at least we’ll both be there.
Tish disappears into the bathroom with her makeup bag, humming some pop song under her breath, but I stay rooted to the edge of the bed. The hotel room is quiet, but inside my chest, everything’s loud. My heartbeat. My thoughts. The echo of Sam’s voice in my memory.
I twist the hem of my shirt in my fingers, staring blankly at the floor. We’ve flown across the country. Slept in too many hotel beds. Waited outside venues in the rain. And he still doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that I’m here. That I’m carrying his child. That I never stopped loving him.
I press my palm to my belly, the faintest curve barely there, and whisper, “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”
But even promises feel fragile in a city this big.
The air conditioner kicks on with a low hum, and something in me stirs. A flicker of defiance. Of hope.
I stand slowly and walk to the closet where my pink dress hangs. The one I picked out weeks ago, knowing somehow, this night would come. It’s soft, with fluttery cap sleeves and a swingy skirt that hits just above the knee. It makes me feel strong. Seen.
And then, the boots. White leather with tiny stitched blue flowers along the sides. The boots that make me think of Wyoming. Of rain. Of lightning in Sam’s eyes. Of the girl I was when I first stepped onto that ranch. But these aren’t cheap knockoffs. No, they’re the real thing .
I slip into the dress. Zip it up with trembling fingers. Then pull the boots on and smooth my hands down the skirt.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t see the ghost of a girl who sobbed into her pillow every night. I see someone who’s still standing. Still fighting.
Tish comes out of the bathroom and stops.
“Ready?”
I take a deep breath, my reflection nodding back at me.
“Yeah,” I say, voice steady. “Let’s go.
The car ride to the venue is quiet at first. The city flies past in blurs of color and light, but I hardly see any of it. I keep one hand pressed against my stomach, grounding myself. Tish steals glances at me now and then, like she’s worried I might bolt. But I won’t.
When we pull up to the venue, the sheer scale of it takes my breath away. The marquee glows in soft amber light against the dusky sky: Sam Stone — Coming Home: Final Tour Stop.
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
The crowd is massive. People are gathered in clusters, cowboy hats and rhinestones glinting like stars. A line snakes around the building. The buzz in the air is palpable and feels magical.
Tish turns to me as we step out of the car.
“You good?” she asks, slipping her phone into her bag.
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m here.”
“That’s what matters.”
We walk toward the entrance, weaving through fans laughing and sipping overpriced drinks. I clutch my ticket so tightly it wrinkles. My boots click softly on the pavement. Every step closer to the doors makes my heart beat harder.
Inside, the venue hums with anticipation. The lights are low. The stage is massive, wrapped in velvet curtains and flanked by glowing sconces shaped like lanterns. It looks like something out of a dream.
I find my seat. Front row center.
I don’t even remember breathing as I sit down. I just lower into the seat like my knees might give out. Tish finds her spot a few rows back and blows me a kiss with both hands.
This is it.
No storm. No distance. No security guard or back exit.
Just me and the last night of a tour born from heartbreak.
The lights dim slowly. A hush spreads through the crowd like a reverent wave.
And then Sam steps onto the stage.
His silhouette is sharp, familiar, and bathed in golden light.
The show starts, and he jumps right into Wyoming Flood . People sing and dance to it, but all I do is watch him.
As the song finishes, he lifts his head and looks out into the crowd.
And he sees me.
His eyes lock on mine and I swear, I see everything flash across his face in an instant. Shock, confusion, disbelief, and then… Hope.
A slow, stunned smile spreads across his face, like he can’t trust what his heart is telling him he sees.
But then he moves. He hops down from the stage without a second thought, not caring about the chaos, the crowd, or the stunned security scrambling behind him.
He crosses the barricade in long, determined strides, every step sure. Every step for me .
I rise to my feet, breath caught in my throat, the world spinning. And then he’s there.
“Darlin’,” he breathes, voice rough.
Before I can answer, his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s not polite. It’s raw, aching, desperate. It’s months of longing poured into a single kiss that tastes like salt, and sweat, and salvation.
The audience erupts into wild cheers, hoots and hollers echoing around us like fireworks. But I don’t hear any of it.
There’s only Sam.
His hands frame my face, holding me like he’s terrified I’ll disappear. His lips move against mine like he’s trying to breathe me back into his life.
Tears slip down my cheeks, and when we finally part, just enough to breathe, I whisper, “I missed you.”
He leans in again, pressing his forehead to mine, his eyes glassy. “Me too, Charlie. Me too. Every damn day.” His thumb catches a tear as it falls. “You came back to me.”
“I never stopped trying.”
His grin turns into something that makes my heart melt. “God, I love you.”
The crowd around us might still be roaring, but in this moment, we are the only two people in the world.
He pulls me into his arms, tucking me tight against his chest like he’s afraid someone might try to take me from him again. I bury my face in his neck, inhaling the scent I’ve been dreaming of. Cedar, clean sweat, and something uniquely him. It hits me so hard I nearly collapse into him.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs, the words brushing against the shell of my ear, barely a sound but enough to crack something open inside me.
“You didn’t,” I say, gripping the back of his shirt like a lifeline. “I never stopped trying, Sam. I wrote to you. I didn’t know if you were getting them.”
He leans back, just enough to meet my eyes. “I didn’t.” His voice is tight, raw. “But if I had? Charlie, I would’ve dropped everything.”
“I was scared,” I whisper.
“So was I,” he says. “Every day I woke up wondering if you were gone forever. But you’re here now.”
Around us, the crowd is buzzing. Phone lights flashing, voices rising in waves but it’s all background noise. Sam tilts his head, kissing me again, slower this time. Tender. Like he’s sealing something sacred between us.
“Come on, darlin’.”
He takes my hand, leading me toward the stage.
“Sam,” I laugh. “I can’t go up there.”
“You can and you will. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
We take the stairs onto the stage and a stool is brought out for me. Once I’m situated, Sam goes to the microphone and speaks to the crowd while he straps on his guitar.
“Sorry about that, folks, but when you see the love of your life, you bring her on stage.”
Loud cheers make me grin.
Sam glances back at me. “And I do love you darlin’.”
And then he goes right into Makin’ Babies in the Barn .
I can’t stop grinning. By the time the concert is over, my face aches from smiling so much.
He holds my hand as we go backstage and then outside to a waiting tour bus, not stopping for anyone. We pass reporters, fans, and I even think I see Liam and Phern.
Once we’re on the bus, the doors close leaving just the two of us.
“Hi. ”
“Hi,” I say with a smile.
He moves closer toward me, making my pulse kick up.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I know.”
He reaches into his pocket, digging out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting your damn number just in case.”
I laugh, rattling it off to him. A moment later my phone buzzes in my purse.
Sam chuckles and pulls me into his arms again, forehead to forehead, our breath mingling.
“I’m never losing you again.” He swipes his thumb over my cheek, brushing away a stray tear. “You didn’t stop fighting for us.”
“Neither did you,” I whisper. “Even if you didn’t know it.”
“I knew,” he says softly. “Somewhere in my gut, I knew you hadn’t given up.”
I slip my hand into his. “Guess the universe had a plan.”
He grins. “Damn right it did. And now I think we should celebrate.”
“Celebrate?” I laugh. “We’re on your tour bus.”
“Exactly. I happen to think tour buses are highly underrated when it comes to romance.” He brushes his lips over mine. “Unless you’re too tired.”
I shake my head slowly, curling my fingers into his shirt. “I’ve been tired for months, Sam. But this? This isn’t tired. It’s me coming back to life.”
“Me, too, darlin’.”