8. Luke
luke
. . .
Iknow I’ve fucked up. That’s the thing that won’t leave me alone, not the guilt exactly, but the certainty of it. The way it sits in my chest like a weight I can’t shift, no matter how fast I move.
Bailey said the words divorce lawyers and my world tilted.
I promised her I’d fix it. I promised her I’d do better. I meant it, God, I meant it, even if I still don’t know how to show it the right way.
Everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
Dave pitched the co-tour like it was a lifeline. A handful of small but rising acts, all under the same management umbrella. Rotating openers, shared headliners and built-in buzz. A short run with a big payoff.
“It’s smart,” he’d said. “You get visibility without being tied to anyone else’s name.”
That part mattered more than I wanted to admit. I told myself I’d talk to Bailey first. I didn’t. Because every time I thought about explaining it, my chest tightened with panic. Because what if she heard it as me choosing something else over her again?
I couldn’t afford another fight. So, I show up at her venue with the group of artists and my band, when I know she is already on the stage, our buses pulling in one after another.
I know her schedule well enough to time it.
I want to surprise her, show her I’m trying, that I’m still here.
She needs to know I love her, that I am making an effort.
When I see her across the space, my heart lifts.
For half a second, everything feels possible.
Then I see her expression change. It's not anger, or jealousy, it's something quieter... something sadder. One of the girls from the tour, bright, green, excited, barely able to contain herself, is standing close to me, practically glued to my arm. I don’t even notice until golden eyes flick there and stay.
“Luke?” Bailey says, surprised.
“Hey,” I say quickly, stepping toward her.
The girl beats me to it. “Oh my God,” she gushes, already extending a hand.
“You’re Bailey Brooks. I can’t believe this.
I’m Kacey... Kacey Ray! I’m touring with Luke and the guys.
I mean... who would’ve thought little ol’ me would get to perform and write with Luke Carter?
And that he’d open for me on some nights? ”
Her fingers tighten on my arm, and she keeps talking. I don’t hear most of it, because I am so focused on Bailey. I watch recognition give way to shock, shock flatten into something carefully blank. I watch her school her face into politeness like she’s done a thousand times before.
“Lucky girl,” Bailey says lightly.
Kacey doesn't stop, "Dave says I could be the next you... Isn't that exciting? That I could someday be in your shoes. It's my dream."
Bailey sucks in a breath, "Wow, in my shoes with my husband. Careful what you wish for."
Then she turns and walks away. She doesn’t wait for me, and she doesn’t look back.
Noah’s already moving, catching up to her down the hall, his voice low and urgent.
He pulls her into a hug, and that’s when I see it...
the way her shoulders shake, the way she presses her face into his chest. She’s crying, and it's all my fault. My chest caves in.
I cross the distance in seconds. “Bailey...”
She shakes her head and pulls away before I can touch her. “I can’t,” she says, voice breaking. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“I didn’t mean...” I start.
“You didn’t talk to me,” she says, tears spilling now. “You didn’t even tell me. Are you... Are you sleeping with her?”
Her question feels like a punch to my gut.
“God no, Bailey. It’s not what it looks like,” I insist. I step closer, but she steps back, and Noah steps between us. “I could never be with anyone other than you... Bailey. I swear... This is just work...”
She laughs once, broken. “Do you hear yourself?”
I reach for her again, but she steps back, a look of contempt on her face.
“I’ve turned down every collaboration,” she says, voice rising despite herself.
“Every single one. Because you asked me to.
Because you said it mattered. And now this?
What even is this, Luke? You couldn't open for me, couldn't sing with me... write with me. But Kacey gets too. She gets your time? Gets to do everything that you refused to do with me?”
“I’m not replacing you,” I say desperately. “That’s not what this is.”
“How can it be anything else?” she sobs.
“I did everything your way. I signed the contract you told me to sign. I became the thing you told me would keep us together, would give our families everything they deserved. I waited. I stayed loyal. And it’s still never enough.
” Her words keep up their assault. “I can't do this anymore, Luke. I... I have a few shows left,” she says, wiping at her face. “Then I have a break so I can go home to help Sadie with the wedding. We can talk then. If we can’t fix this when we are home… I don’t know what else I can do.
Maybe it doesn't matter, maybe we are already over...”
“No... NO, Sunshine. I’ll be there,” I say quickly. “I have shows scheduled up until the wedding day, but I’ll make it. I promise.”
The words come out too easily, I don’t even notice.
I step toward her, panic clawing at my throat. “Don’t walk away from me.”
She holds up a hand. “I am not the one who did this, Luke.”
I can’t leave it like this, so I pull her into my arms, holding her tight, pressing my face into her hair like maybe I can anchor her there.
She doesn’t fight me, but when I try to kiss her, she turns her head and collapses into my chest instead, sobbing harder.
Footsteps approach. I look up and meet Noah’s eyes.
He nods once, then turns, intercepting people before they reach us and steering them away.
Bailey’s breathing eventually evens out.
She steps back on her own, wiping her face.
Rachel appears like she always does when things go sideways.
“We need to go,” she says gently.
Bailey doesn’t say anything to me. She just looks at me, a look so full of hurt it feels like it caves my chest in, then turns away without a word. Rachel slips sunglasses onto her face, wraps her in an oversized hoodie and guides her away from me. She never looks back.
Someone claps a hand on my shoulder behind me. “What do you want to do?”
The guilt is unbearable. “I don't want to feel like this anymore,” I say.
Later, lying awake in a hotel room that feels too big with a bottle of Jack dangling from my fingers, another memory hits me.
Bailey was on the phone years ago, telling me she’d been offered a writing collaboration on Jackson Reed's upcoming album. That it was such a big deal, they wanted her to co-write the album and sing on one of the tracks. A surge of jealousy ripped through me, and I begged her to turn it down. And she did without question. She turned down a career-making offer, one that everyone said she’d be crazy to refuse.
“For you,” she’d said. “Because I don’t want anything to come between us.”
I’d thanked her as if it meant everything and promised her nothing would ever matter more than us.
Now I am in a hotel room alone, while she is on a tour bus, bound for her next sold-out city.
I think I broke something in us that I can't fix.
But I cannot walk away from this. This is my chance.
I close my eyes because all I can see is Bailey standing next to Noah, her big golden brown eyes red-rimmed and tears streaming down her face.
I don't know what I am doing anymore.
I sit up and down a mouthful of Jack. I need to make this worth it; I need her to see that everything I have done up until now was worth it. That we can come back from this.