Chapter 30
KATE
THE ONE WHO WRECKS ME
“You’re the one who wrecks me/Slow burn, fast crash, can’t break free/I swore I’d never fall this deep..” Kate Riggs
Everything seems to be working.
The shows are packed. The crowds are loud. The merch is selling, and my manager is happy. Hell, I’m even happy.
And I should be thrilled—and I am. But the second I step onto the tour bus after tonight’s stadium set, the high flickers for a second, because I miss him.
Finn.
It hits harder than I expect, the empty space next to me where he should be—where I’ve gotten used to him being.
God, what has he done to me? I’m wrecked.
I try to shake it off and force myself back into the post-show glow. Hell, I just blew the roof off an outdoor stadium. The crowd was electric—singing every word back at me, the lights flashing like fireworks, the air thick with sweat, fake smoke, and adrenaline.
It was everything I used to dream about, back in that double-wide, writing songs in the dark. And now, I get to celebrate it. But it’s not the same without Finn being here to celebrate with.
I duck into my room on the bus, peeling off my stage clothes—tight black leather pants, a fringed cropped tank clinging to my skin like it grew there, and the heat of the show. My body’s still buzzing. I can’t sit still.
Outside, I hear the band laughing, someone’s girlfriend’s voice rising over theirs, calling for an after-party.
I swap my sweaty clothes for something wilder—a slinky black mini dress that hugs every inch of me, paired with thigh-high boots that practically dare anyone to look too long.
My makeup’s already smudged perfectly from the show—dark liner, glitter still catching under my eyes.
I rake my fingers through my hair, letting it fall messy and wild.
I look like trouble. And I feel like it, too.
My phone buzzes just as I’m adjusting the neckline of my dress.
Finn
You still riding that high?
I grin, my stomach flipping.
Still buzzing. But it’d be better if you were here.
He calls instead of texting back, and the second I hear his voice—rough, familiar-I go weak at the knees.
“Tell me about the show, Princess,” he murmurs, voice thick with something darker than just curiosity.
I settle back on the bed, my legs draped over the armrest, phone pressed tight to my ear.
“It was wild,” I breathe, still catching my breath. “The crowd was insane. Lights, cameras, everything. I felt like a fucking star.”
“You are a star,” he growls, and I can hear the heat creeping into his tone. “Wish I could’ve been there to see you strut around in that little outfit.”
My skin prickles.
“I’m not wearing that anymore,” I tease, my voice dipping. “I changed.”
“Yeah?” His voice drops lower, rougher. “Tell me what you’re wearing now.”
I let my head fall back against the couch, closing my eyes as I describe every inch of the dress to him—how short it is, how tight, how it barely covers anything at all.
His breath catches on the other end.
“Fuck, Kate,” he mutters, his voice thick with hunger. “Wish I could tear that off you right now.”
I bite my lip, heat pooling low in my belly. “What would you do if you were here?”
Silence stretches for a beat, thick and charged. Then his voice comes back, dark and deliberate.
“I’d pin you against that wall. Make you keep your boots on. Slide that dress up and pull your panties down nice and slow,” he murmurs, every word curling hot against my skin. “Then I’d fuck you right there, with your whole crew outside, not knowing you’re coming on my cock.”
My breath stutters, a soft whimper slipping out before I can stop it.
“You like that, sweetheart?” he asks, smug now. “You like me talking dirty to you while you’re all dressed up for someone else’s party?”
I can barely speak, my hand already slipping down between my thighs, dress pushed up around my waist.
“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”
“Then be a good girl and let me hear you,” he growls.
And I do.
Right there in the bus, while the band’s laughing just outside, I let Finn pull every filthy sound out of me through the phone—his voice, smoking hot, and he makes me want to sin, just for him. I love the way his words send me spiraling fast and hard as I touch myself.
By the time it’s over, I’m breathless and boneless, sprawled across the bed like I’ve been wrecked from head to toe.
He chuckles darkly in my ear, smug and satisfied.
“Miss me a little more now?” he teases.
I can’t even pretend otherwise.
“Always,” I whisper.
And I mean it.
Tour life never really slows down.
It’s just sound checks and spotlights and hotel rooms that all start to blur together. I’m barely keeping up—every day, another city, another crowd. My brain’s fried from too many late nights and half-finished lyrics that refuse to come together the way I need them to.
There’s pressure building, heavy and constant.
The label’s breathing down my neck about new songs. Ray’s nagging me about being “authentic” online. And tonight, I just need a goddamn drink and a break from pretending I have it all figured out.
So here I am—stuffed in a dim corner booth at some trendy restaurant with my band, trying to loosen up after the show. I’ve got a Prosecco sweating in my hand and half a plate of overpriced fries in front of me.
This should be fun. Except it isn’t because Finn’s not here with me. I want him to be, but he has his career, and I have mine.
My phone alerts me to a new post. I click. It’s Finn. The view is from across the room, and he’s not alone. My heart sinks into the floor.
He’s with her. Tessa Langford. Model, ex-girlfriend. Yeah, I didn’t want to be trolled on the internet, so Shay did it for me.
The same ex who always seems to slither back into the headlines whenever Finn’s name trends. The one who stood between me and Finn at that charity event weeks ago, all smug smiles and subtle claws.
She’s draped across her chair, laughing too loud, leaning in like she’s still got some hold on him.
My stomach drops. I shouldn’t care. I don’t, I tell myself. Only.
Fuck me— I do.
Finn’s supposed to be in town for a game, but evidently, there’s time to be social because it looks like he’s having dinner with her. I gasp.
My heart shudders—the band notices, too. I can feel their glances, their curiosity, even as they try not to make it obvious.
“She’s bad news,” my guitarist mutters under his breath as he leans over and watches the scene unfold on my phone.
“Exes are always stirring up shit,” Matt, my drummer, adds.
And I know they’re right—but it doesn’t help. And then it hits me like a boulder. Suddenly, every doubt I’ve ever had claws its way up.
I can’t stop thinking about what Tessa said back at that gala—how she called Finn a hothead, how she made those smug little comments about his temper.
Then there’s the other thing no one stops talking about—his suspension from the league last season. The game he missed after losing his temper and throwing a punch that was talked about on all the sports shows.
People love to say Finn has a fuse, and maybe that’s not entirely wrong. I know him to be protective. But I’ve seen it up close that he’s a man about protecting those he loves, and that even his teammates are his family, and he protects them, just like he would his brother, James.
But what if it’s more than that?
What if I’ve been too wrapped up in the sex and the sultry nights to pay attention? What if the thrill of being with someone who makes me feel wanted blinds me to seeing what’s right in front of me?
My mind spins. Is he with me because he wants me… or because he’s trying to clean up his image? Smooth out the edges, show the world he’s not the guy who gets suspended for throwing punches—but the guy who falls for the quirky, country singer with a heart of gold?
God, I hate myself for even thinking it. But once the thought’s there, it doesn’t leave.
Meanwhile, the clips show Tessa still laughing, leaning in close like she knows exactly what kind of doubt she’s planting.
I should ask Finn about it.
I should.
But the truth? I’m too afraid of what the answer might be.
So I don’t. I sit there, swirling my drink, watching them from across the room, my stomach twisting tighter with every second. And even though I hate the feeling, the seed is planted.
Because suddenly I’m not so sure who I’m really married to.
As if seeing Finn with his ex wasn’t enough.
As if my brain wasn’t already a mess of unfinished lyrics, pressure from the label, and doubts about Finn that I can’t seem to shake.
Now the media’s decided to make it worse. Of course, they saw the same video. And now it will go viral, and everyone will have an opinion.
It starts small—just a few notifications on my phone while I’m backstage after another show, my skin still buzzing from the stage lights, my heart still raw from that dinner I can’t get out of my head.
Then the headlines start flooding in.
WHERE IS FINN? Trouble Brewing Between Hockey’s Favorite Bad Boy & Country’s Sweetheart?
Finn Callahan MIA While Wife Kate Parties Solo on Tour
Sources Say ‘Distance Taking a Toll’ on Kate & Finn’s Marriage
Every headline is worse than the last.
They’re twisting everything. They have an innate way of turning our separate schedules into something sinister.
Finn’s stuck at training camp, gearing up for the new season. He’s doing his job. I’m out here doing mine.
But to them? It’s a scandal. By the next morning, it’s everywhere. My phone won’t stop buzzing—texts from Ray, from the label, even from my brother back home.
Outside my hotel, a swarm of cameras is waiting—paparazzi shouting my name, asking if I’ve spoken to Finn, if we’re separating, if the marriage was always a “PR stunt.”
They’re outside his house, too. I see the photos online—Finn pulling into his driveway after practice, his face is solemn and unreadable, with reporters shouting from the sidewalk.
They plaster it everywhere.
Finn Hides Out at Home Amid Marriage Drama
Is Finn Training Alone… or Nursing a Broken Heart?
Kate Spotted Without Her Ring? Sources Say She’s Focused on ‘Career First’
I nearly threw my phone at the wall. I’ve never taken my ring off—but that doesn’t stop them from running grainy photos of me holding a microphone, hands blurred, claiming I’ve “ditched it.”
And suddenly, it feels like the walls are closing in.
Like no matter how far apart we are physically, we’re both trapped in the same damn spotlight—each of us boxed in, ripped apart by strangers who don’t know anything about what’s really going on.
And the worst part?
I don’t even know what’s really going on anymore, either.
Because those doubts are still sitting heavy in my chest, and now, it’s not just the media asking questions.
It’s me.