Chapter 11 #2
He’s not dancing. He’s watching. His drink in his hand. His posture relaxed. His gaze locked on me like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. Like I’m the only thing worth looking at.
Everything else melts away.
The music dulls. The crowd becomes background.
It’s just him.
The man who has seen me at my worst. The man who has held my face in his hands in borrowed rooms and promised me forever anyway. The man who’s standing in the middle of his own chaotic world, watching me like I’m the prize.
My pulse pounds against my ribs.
Rafe smiles, slow and private, like he’s proud of me for being here. For trying. For letting him love me loudly tonight, even if we still have to live quietly tomorrow.
He takes a drink after that—automatic, like punctuation. Not because he needs it. Not because he’s sloppy. Just because he’s learned the trick of staying a little buoyant when the room gets too loud.
Eli leans close and whispers, “Maybe you want to stare in a different direction?”
“No one!” I shout back, too quick, and not making a lick of sense.
He squints at me, snorts. “Subtle.”
Marco laughs like he knows exactly what this is, but he doesn’t say anything. He just claps me on the shoulder and keeps dancing.
The song changes again, something slower this time, and bodies shift into looser movement. Couples gravitate toward each other.
I watch Miles with his date, their foreheads close as they talk. Drew’s hand rests at the waist of his date, protective and gentle. Dan sways with Jody like she’s the only person in the room.
And me, I dance and laugh, with a husband across the room I can’t touch. It should hurt. It does, a little. But tonight, it mostly feels like possibility.
Because when the party ends, when the last guest leaves, when the DJ packs up and the house goes quiet, Rafe and I will climb the stairs together. We’ll disappear into his bedroom, and for two uninterrupted nights, we will belong only to each other.
Rafe catches my eye again and mouths something I can’t hear, but I can read his lips easily. “Tomorrow is ours.”
My heart kicks hard in my chest. I nod once, smiling so wide it aches.
The song fades into another, the DJ riding the mood like he knows exactly what he’s doing. People cheer at the transition, and the dance floor surges again, bodies pressing closer, laughter rising.
Eli spins away from me like he’s possessed, yelling something unintelligible and immediately getting a chorus of approval from anyone within range. Marco laughs so hard he doubles over, his arm around Carol’s waist while she shakes her head like she’s used to this brand of chaos.
I’m in the middle of it, sweat starting to bead at my temples, and fuck, this feels good. I don’t feel like I’m acting. I’m just… here. Present. In my body. In the moment.
Then a hand catches my elbow.
I turn, expecting Eli again, but it’s Dan—taller than me by a fraction, broad shoulders filling his shirt like he was built for stability. He looks slightly out of place on the dance floor, which is exactly why I trust him.
“Marshall,” he says, leaning in so I can hear him. “We’re going to head out.”
“Okay. Let me say goodbye properly,” I say, letting him steer me off the floor.
We step into the edge of the living room where the music softens just enough to make conversation possible. Jody appears beside him like she’s been summoned, eyes bright.
“Happy birthday,” she says warmly.
“Thanks,” I reply, meaning it.
Dan nods toward the crowd. “This has been… something.”
I grin. “Tell me about it.”
Jody laughs. “I’ve never seen you look so relaxed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I didn’t either,” I admit.
Dan’s expression shifts into something more thoughtful. “Your friends really did a nice job with this.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Rafe—” I catch myself automatically, then pivot smoothly. “—they’re good guys. Knowing each other before all the mayhem and fame makes a difference.”
Jody’s eyebrows lift. “You did?”
I blink. “Yeah.” I glance at Dan, and he shrugs, knowing full well the band and I know each other from way back. Apparently it’s not something he shared with his wife.
She looks delighted, like she’s just discovered a fun secret. “That’s insane. Steel Saints are everywhere. It must be something special seeing them rise to this level.” I nod as she continues, “I’ve had their songs stuck in my head for months. I can’t believe I’m partying with them.”
Dan smirks. “Jody’s been acting like she discovered them personally.”
“That’s because I did,” she shoots back. She turns to me with a grin. “How do you even know the band from before?”
It’s asked innocently. Curious, not suspicious. Still, my body goes tight for half a second out of habit.
“College,” I say easily. “Same campus. Different circles at first, but…” I shrug. “LA’s smaller than people think.”
Jody beams. “This is so cool.”
Dan nods slowly, then adds, “They seem like good dudes. It’s nice to finally meet them,” he says pointedly.
I swallow. “Yeah, I know,” I say quietly. “And they are good guys.”
A cheer rises from the kitchen, and we all glance over to see Miles being roped into what looks like a photo with someone who might genuinely be an actor I’ve seen on billboards. Drew is laughing. Eli is gesturing wildly like he’s telling a story with interpretive dance.
Then Rafe appears again, sliding into the space beside us like he belongs everywhere at once. “Hey,” he says, flashing that easy smile. “You having fun?”
I aim for dry. “Against my will.”
Rafe laughs. “It’s working.”
He turns to Dan and Jody with warm attention that makes it impossible not to like him. “Thanks for coming.”
Dan offers his hand. “Appreciate the invite. This place is ridiculous.”
Rafe shakes his hand, unfazed. “It’s… bigger than it needs to be. But it’s good for parties.”
Jody laughs. “You’ve got Ollie dancing.”
Rafe’s eyes flick to mine. “I know.” It’s said lightly, but his gaze holds something private. Pride. Pleasure. Maybe relief.
Dan looks between us, amused. “Didn’t think I’d ever see it.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I say.
Rafe tips his head, playful. “We’ll see.”
Jody’s smile softens. “This is really nice,” she says. “You’ve done something special.”
Rafe’s expression shifts just slightly, sincerity breaking through the charm. “He deserves it.”
My throat tightens. I clear it quickly, taking a sip of my beer and not the weird green monstrosity.
Dan seems to sense the moment and claps me on the shoulder. “All right. We have to get out of here, relieve our babysitter from the terrible twins.”
“He’s not even joking.” Jody grins. “Thanks again, Ollie. Happy birthday.”
As they disappear into the crowd, Marco reappears at my side with Carol like he’s been watching for a chance to interrupt.
He points at Rafe. “So you’re the reason he’s like this tonight.”
Rafe blinks. “Like what?”
Marco gestures to the house. “Happy. Social. Smiling like he’s not about to be murdered by overstimulation.”
Rafe laughs. “He loves parties.”
“I hate parties,” I say immediately.
Carol leans in, smirking. “He does not love parties.”
Rafe looks at me with mock offense. “You told me you didn’t mind.”
“I told you I would survive,” I correct.
Rafe keeps the conversation going smoothly, asking Marco about the season, about Carol’s work, about their apartment renovations like he genuinely cares. Marco, shockingly, seems charmed. It’s surreal watching my closest teammate and my husband—my husband—talk like normal people.
Like this is normal.
Maybe that’s what makes tonight feel so good. The way Rafe has carved out a space where our worlds overlap without collapsing in on us. The way everyone here belongs for a reason.
Even if hardly anyone knows the real one.
A burst of laughter erupts again as Eli climbs onto the arm of the couch like it’s a stage.
“Oh no,” I mutter.
Rafe’s eyes sparkle. “Oh yes.”
Eli raises his drink like he’s about to deliver a State of the Union address. “Attention!”
The crowd reacts immediately—groans, cheers, someone yelling, “Get down.”
Eli waits for quiet in the way performers know how to. It doesn’t fully come, but he accepts the partial attention like it’s enough. He points at me dramatically. “Oliver Marshall.”
I flinch. “Jesus.”
Rafe leans into my ear. “He’s going to make a speech.”
“I hate him,” I whisper back.
“You love him.”
“I do not.”
Rafe just laughs.
Eli continues, “The man. The myth. The birthday bitch.”
The crowd howls. My face heats.
He holds up a finger. “I just want to say… this guy?” He gestures at me like he’s presenting an award. “He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met,” Eli says, unexpectedly sincere for half a second. “And he deserves everything he’s getting.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I glance at Rafe, who looks equally startled.
Eli’s sincerity lasts exactly one more second before he points at me again. “And because it’s his birthday, he has to do a shot.”
The crowd erupts.
I jerk back. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes!” Eli shouts.
Rafe’s hand presses gently at my lower back, as if he’s bracing me. “It’s tradition,” he murmurs.
“There is no tradition,” I hiss.
“It will be if you cooperate.”
Marco laughs. “Do it.”
Carol nods seriously. “It’s your birthday. You’ll regret not doing it.”
“This is betrayal,” I mutter.
Rafe’s gaze meets mine—fond, wicked, knowing. “One shot,” he says softly. “For me.”
“For you?” I repeat.
He leans closer, lips near my ear. “And I’ll make it up to you later.”
That does it. I swallow hard, heat curling low in my belly, and roll my eyes like I’m doing it under protest. “Fine,” I grumble. “One.”
Eli cheers like he’s won a war. Someone appears with shot glasses. I don’t even know where they came from. The DJ lowers the music slightly, sensing a spectacle.
Rafe stands beside me, pouring the shot with unnerving confidence. He hands it to me first, and his fingers brush mine, brief and hidden, but it sparks.
I lift the glass, meeting Eli’s triumphant gaze.
“To Ollie!” he yells.
“To Ollie!” the room echoes.
I throw it back. It burns going down, and I cough immediately, eyes watering.
The crowd cheers louder. Rafe laughs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders casually—publicly acceptable—and presses a kiss to the side of my head like it’s instinct.
No one thinks twice. My heart thunders anyway.
Eli claps his hands together. “Cake!”
The chant starts. “Cake! Cake! Cake!”
I groan. “No.”
Rafe’s eyes gleam. “Yes.”
I’m dragged toward the kitchen—physically, by Marco and Drew—while Rafe follows, laughing like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
The cake is massive, because of course it is. It’s decorated with a basketball on top and a guitar crossed over it like a crest. My name is scrawled in icing.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
Rafe beams. “It’s art.”
“It’s insulting,” I argue.
“It’s accurate.”
They light candles. An absurd number of candles. The DJ lowers the music again. Everyone gathers around, faces bright with expectation.
I brace my hands on the counter, feeling strangely overwhelmed. Not in a bad way exactly, but in a way that makes me acutely aware of how rare this is. A room full of people happy to be here. People I respect. People who make me feel like something more than a player.
Rafe slides in beside me, shoulder touching mine. He doesn’t look at the cake. He looks at me. His eyes soften in that way that always makes my chest ache.
“Make a wish,” Marco says.
I snort. “I have no idea what to wish for.”
“You do,” Rafe murmurs under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
I glance at him. He’s smiling. Warm and certain. I take a breath, lean forward, and blow out the candles.
Cheers explode around me. Someone shoves a knife in my hand. People demand the first slice. Eli tries to steal frosting and gets slapped away by Miles.
I cut the cake, laugh when Marco insists on an edge piece like it’s a life-or-death preference, and let the night keep carrying me along.
At some point, amid the noise and laughter, Rafe leans in close again. “Still hating it?” he asks softly.
I look around—the band, my teammates, Miles pressed close to his date, Drew’s arm around his.
I meet Rafe’s eyes. “No,” I admit. “I’m not.”
His smile turns incandescent. “Good.”
And then, because he can’t help himself, because he’s Rafe and he lives for pushing right up against the edge of what we’re allowed, he adds in a whisper only I can hear, “Because when everyone leaves, you’re mine.”
My pulse spikes so fast it’s almost dizzying. I swallow. “I already am.”
His gaze burns. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But then I get to remind you properly.”
I nearly choke on cake.
Rafe just laughs, delighted, and drifts back into the crowd like he didn’t just light my entire body on fire in the middle of my own party. I stand here, smiling like an idiot, the noise of the room swelling around me.
I don’t feel like we’re just surviving the secrecy.
Tonight, it feels like we’re building something. Together.
And when the party finally begins to thin—when people start hugging goodbye, when the DJ shifts into slower tracks, when the lights feel softer and the house feels warmer—I catch Rafe’s eye across the room again.
He doesn’t wink this time. He doesn’t have to. His smile says everything.
I grin back, already feeling the pull of what comes next.