Luke #3
“I’ve got a special guest tonight,” he says. “And we’ve got an announcement.”
My pulse roars in my ears.
And then...
“Come on out, Bailey.”
My eyes snap to the stage, as she walks out like a ghost and a sunrise all at once.
Bailey.
My wife.
Onstage beside Jackson.
The crowd loses their minds, and for a second I can’t breathe.
Because she looks… composed. She looks like she’s wearing the version of herself the world buys. But I know her.
I see the tightness in her shoulders. The way she holds her smile like it’s a shield.
Then my brain catches on something small.
What....
My manager’s voice slices in, too sharp. “Why isn’t she wearing her ring?”
Noah makes a sound, like a laugh, but it’s all pain.
My eyes go to her left hand...
No ring.
My vision tunnels.
Why isn't she wearing her ring?
My phone keeps buzzing.
I hear Dave reading out headlines...
Luke Carter parties while Bailey Brooks sings at sister’s wedding.
Luke and Kacey are seen together again.
Bailey Brooks pictured dancing with a mystery man.
Jackson Reed collaboration confirmed!
It feels like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
I reach forward and touch the tv as Jackson turns toward Bailey, a smile I want to wipe off with my fist. "There she is! Everyone give her a warm welcome!"
Bailey smiles and waves with her left hand... her hand that is bare...
The crowd loses their mind...
No... No...
She lifts the mic. "Thank you for sharing your stage with me Jackson."
The fucker grins...
Dave is somewhere in the background talking to Noah, still reading out loud...
"Bailey... a little birdie told me it's your birthday."
The crowd erupts again and I can see her pushing down the pain... I can see her physically swallowing it while she smiles and the band and crowd sing to her.
"How lucky are we that we get to celebrate your birthday with you!"
A look passes over her face so quickly I almost miss it and then the mask is on and she looks at Jackson with a megawatt smile and says "There's no place I’d rather be."
No place I’d rather be.
No... fuck.... FUCK....
And then she starts to sing.
Not alone.
With him.
The sound of her voice with someone else harmonizing hits me like a punch.
It shouldn’t.
It’s music.
It’s her job.
But it feels like betrayal because I don’t get to share that space with her anymore.
Because I threw it away.
My hands shake so hard I....
My eyes flick to the envelope on the table.
The words echo in my head: You’ve been served.
I stumble toward it like I’m moving through water.
My fingers tear it open. Paper slides out that are filled with legal language.
Our names…
Dates.
Petition for divorce.
The words blur, then burn. I drop the papers like they’re hot.
“No,” I whisper.
My voice cracks. “No... no... no.”
Noah’s face is stone.
I look at him, panic ripping through me. “Noah, what the fuck...”
His voice is deadly calm when he says,“Luke, how long did you think she was going to put up with this shit. She’s done.”
“No,” I snarl, because denial is all I have. “No, she’s not. She’s mad. She’s... she’s hurt. She’ll...”
“She served you,” Noah cuts in. “On her birthday. On your anniversary. Because you weren’t there. Again. Because you chose to be on a stage with Kacey, instead of being with your wife and your family.”
My chest hurts so much it feels like it might split wide open.
“I need to find her,” I choke. “I need to talk to her. Explain...”
Noah steps closer, blocking my path.
“You don’t deserve to know where she is,” he says again. “You don’t deserve to touch her life anymore.”
Dave steps in like he can’t help himself.
“We need to get on top of this,” he says, voice quick, calculating. “We need to control the narrative. We need to make it look mutual. We need to...”
“Shut the fuck up!” I roar.
The sound shocks even me. Noah flinches and Dave goes still.
My hands shake.
My chest heaves.
“We are not over,” I snarl, eyes wild, because I can’t breathe. “Do you hear me? We are not fucking over.”
Noah’s mouth twists. “You made sure to burn your marriage to the ground, Luke. Believe me when I tell you, she is done!”
I whip toward my manager.
“Find her,” I bark. “Find out where she goes after this. I don’t care how. I don’t care what it costs. Find her.”
Dave hesitates, just a beat, then nods.
Noah steps between us again.
“Don’t,” he says.
I glare at him. “Move.”
“No.”
My voice drops, “Noah.”
Noah’s eyes shine, but he doesn’t blink.
“You go after her,” he says, voice breaking on the edge, “after everything she’s given you...
after every chance, every grace, every time she swallowed her pain so you could keep pretending you were a big man...
” I flinch, but he continues anyway. “You go after her and make a scene? You humiliate her again? I’m done. ”
My whole body feels like a live wire.
Noah shakes his head slowly, like he can’t believe this is real.
“I’m done with the band,” he says. “Done with you dragging me through your ego and your mess. Done being the one who has to watch you ruin everything good you touch.”
“Noah...”
He lifts a hand.
“Don’t,” he says, and his voice is raw now. “You’re too far gone. You’re not listening. You’re not hearing anyone. All you care about is you!”
My chest aches.
My eyes burn.
I want to say I’m sorry.
I want to say please don’t.
But my pride rises like bile.
So I say the only thing my broken brain can reach for.
“I can fix it.”
Noah’s laugh is like shattered glass.
“You can’t even remember what day it is,” he says, voice cracking. “And you still think you get to fix something you destroyed.”
He steps back, his eyes sweep the room, over the bottles, the mess, the papers on the floor, the envelope… Then he looks at me one last time.
“I love you,” he says quietly. “But I had to watch her fall apart and then hold herself together for everyone else's benefit. I had to watch her tell mom and dad that she was filing for divorce and then try to shield you from the blame.” He scoffs and I see tears lining his eyes.
"You were off shitfaced with god knows who...
and she was still protecting you. Still trying to protect and shield everyone.
You don't deserve her, Luke. Maybe you never did. "
And then he turns and walks out.
The door shuts.
Dave clears his throat, stepping around the divorce papers like they’re inconvenient.
“We should get you cleaned up,” he says briskly. “There’s a party tonight. The one Bailey will be at. Jackson’s team is hosting. If we play this right, you can get in front of her and try to salvage the narrative.”
My stomach twists.
Bailey.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to beg.
Close enough to fix.
The thought is oxygen and poison at the same time.
I stare at the papers on the floor.
I want to pick them up.
I want to read every word until I understand what I did.
Instead, I kick them.
Hard.
They scatter across the carpet like birds taking flight.
Dave watches, unreadable, then says softly:
“Good. Get it out. Then we move.”
Move.
Always move.
Always forward.
Always away from the wreckage.
I drag a hand down my face.
My skin feels wrong.
My bones feel hollow.
My phone keeps buzzing.
Bailey’s voice is still in my head from the wedding video, singing promises like they meant something. Like I meant something.
I swallow hard and whisper the truth I can’t outrun, “I’m not letting her go.”
Dave nods like that’s a strategy.
“Then get dressed,” he says. “We’ve got a party to make.”
And I hate myself because part of me... still... still wants to believe that if I can just get in the room with her, I can rewrite the ending. Even as I stand in the ruins of everything I chose.