Chapter 2
Hadley
Saturday mornings always felt like borrowed time.
No club tonight, no glitter, no hands reaching for what wasn't theirs.
Just me and Eli, and the kind of quiet that didn't feel like it was waiting to explode.
I woke up to sunlight slicing through the blinds in thin, dusty lines, hitting the wall where his train posters were taped crooked.
My back ached from the mattress on the floor, but I didn't mind.
It meant I'd slept next to him all night, close enough to hear if he needed me.
Eli was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at the star projector even though it was off. His glasses were smudged. Hair sticking up in the back like always.
"Morning, bud," I said, voice still thick with sleep.
He didn't look at me right away. "It's Saturday."
"Yeah. No club. Just us and the rich people's grass."
He nodded once. Serious. "I mow straight lines. No overlaps."
"I know you do. You're the best lawn guy in Vegas."
He finally turned, small smile tugging one corner of his mouth. "You're the best cleaner."
We had this little game. Compliments like facts. It made him feel safe.
I pushed myself up. "Bath first?"
He hesitated. "I can start the water."
That was new. Last month he'd only let me turn the knob. Progress.
"Okay. Show me."
He slid off the bed, padded to the tiny bathroom. I followed, leaning in the doorway while he twisted the faucet- hot first, then cold, testing with his wrist the way I'd taught him. Steam rose slow. He added the blue bubble bath he liked because it smelled like "ocean rain." His words, not mine.
"You good?" I asked.
He looked over his shoulder. "I can wash myself today."
Pride hit me square in the chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But... stay close?"
"Always."
I left the door cracked, went to make coffee, - weak, instant, the cheap stuff that tasted like regret but kept me moving. While the kettle hissed, I heard the water slosh, heard him humming one of his train songs under his breath. Normal. Ordinary. Mine.
When he came out wrapped in the too-big towel with trains on it, hair dripping, I helped him dry off without making it obvious I was helping. He hated feeling babied. Lately he'd started saying "I'm thirteen, Hadley. I'm not a baby." Fair enough.
We got dressed- me in jeans, old Converse, a plain black tee under a flannel. Eli in khaki shorts, polo shirt tucked in neat, sneakers he'd scrubbed clean himself last week. Perfectionist. Always had been.
We grabbed our things- my cleaning caddy, his little push mower we'd bought secondhand- and headed out. The complex was quiet except for kids yelling somewhere down the block. We walked the mile and a half to the bus stop because the fare saved us gas money we didn't have.
On the bus, Eli sat by the window, counting license plates out loud. "Nevada, Nevada, California, Arizona..."
I leaned my head on his shoulder. "You excited for today?"
"Mowing is good. Straight lines make me calm."
"I know."
The family we cleaned for lived in Summerlin- big house, big driveway, big pool nobody used. Mrs. Delgado always left cash in an envelope on the kitchen counter, plus extra if we did the patio furniture. She never hovered. Just waved from the window sometimes.
Eli started on the lawn while I went inside.
Vacuum, dust, scrub toilets that looked like they'd never been used.
I worked fast, efficient. Muscle memory.
Eli finished the front yard perfect- stripes like a baseball field- then moved to the back.
I watched him through the sliding glass door for a second.
Head down, focused, pushing steady. He didn't wave.
Didn't need to. We both knew he was okay.
By two we were done. Mrs. Delgado added an extra twenty. "Your brother's a hard worker," she said.
"He is."
"Tell him thank you."
"I will."
We took the bus home, tired but good tired. Eli fell asleep against my arm halfway there. I didn't move him.
Back at the apartment, we kicked off our shoes, washed up, and started our Saturday ritual. Grocery run first- cheap chicken thighs, rice, frozen broccoli, a loaf of bread on sale. Eli pushed the cart, checked prices like a pro. "This one's cheaper by twelve cents," he said about the rice.
"Get it."
Home again. I put him in charge of rice while I seasoned the chicken. He measured exactly one cup, leveled it with a knife, poured it into the pot without spilling a grain. Perfectionist.
We ate at the card table, TV on low- some random cooking show neither of us cared about. Then we moved to the couch. Eli picked a nature documentary about trains in Japan. I didn't argue. We watched three episodes back-to-back, me with my feet up, him curled against my side.
Around five I checked my phone. Zariah had texted twice.
Z: You still coming???
Z: Doors at 6:30. Meet me at the east entrance. VIP babyyyy
I sighed. Looked at Eli.
"Time for me to get ready," I said.
He tensed. "You're leaving?"
"Just for a few hours. Mara's coming."
"I don't like Mara. She talks too loud."
"She's nice. And I'll be back by ten. Promise."
He stared at the TV. "You said ten last time and it was eleven."
My stomach twisted. "I know. I'm sorry about that. This time ten. For real."
Silence.
I knelt in front of him. "Hey. If you're good with Mara- no trouble, no meltdowns- I'll get you that new phone by the end of the month. The one with the big screen for your train videos."
His eyes flicked to me. "The blue one?"
"Yeah. The blue one."
He chewed his lip. "Okay. But ten o'clock."
"Ten o'clock."
I showered quick, pulled on black jeans, a cropped tank under an open button-up, sneakers. Nothing fancy. Just clean. Hair down, loose waves from sleeping on it wet. A little mascara. That was it.
Mara knocked at 6:15. She was twenty-two, loud laugh, always smelled like vanilla body spray. Eli tolerated her.
"Hey, troublemaker," she said, ruffling his hair.
He ducked. "Don't."
I hugged him quick. "Be good. Love you."
"Love you more."
I grabbed my keys, left before I could change my mind.
The venue was the big outdoor amphitheater off the Strip- lights already flashing, bass testing through the gates. Crowds everywhere. Girls in glitter tops, signs with hearts and band names. I spotted Zariah jumping by the east entrance, waving like a lunatic.
"Hadley!" She ran over, hugged me so hard I almost dropped my phone. "You came! You actually came!"
"I said I would."
"Look at you. Normal cute. I love it." She grabbed my hand, dragged me toward security. "Come on, VIP line's shorter."
"VIP? You said passes, not VIP."
"Holland hooked us up. Childhood friend perks. Don't ask questions, just enjoy."
We flashed the passes. Got wristbands. Got led past the regular line, down a side path, right to the front barricade. Floor level. Dead center.
I stared. "Zariah. This is... insane."
"Told you." She grinned. "Best view in the house."
The crowd was already buzzing- girls chanting names, jumping, phones up. Lights dimmed. Smoke machines hissed. Then the intro track hit- low guitar riff, drums building- and the screams were deafening.
Four guys walked out.
First the drummer- Holland, Zariah whispered. Tall, messy curls, easy smile. He waved once, sat behind the kit, cracked his sticks.
Then bass- Jake. Dark hair, tattoos crawling up his arms, serious face until he grinned and the crowd lost it.
Guitar- Kei. Quiet vibe, black hoodie, long hair tied back. He tested a chord, nodded to himself.
And then Cal.
Lead singer.
He stepped to the mic, black leather jacket open over a white tee, jeans low, hair falling into his eyes.
Hazel eyes that caught the spotlight and threw it back gold.
Jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Voice when he spoke.
.."Vegas, you ready?"...was smoke and gravel and something that made my stomach flip.
The crowd roared.
Zariah elbowed me. "See? Told you they're gorgeous."
I couldn't look away from him.
He moved like he owned the stage. Not cocky. Natural. Like breathing. When he sang the first note, low, raw, building, the whole place shook.
Zariah leaned close. "You're staring, Had."
"Am not."
"You so are. Falling already?"
I shoved her lightly. "Shut up."
But I didn't look away.
Their set was tight. Songs I didn't know I knew, stuff that played on the radio when I was cleaning houses, stuff Eli sometimes hummed without realizing.
Catchy hooks, heavy guitars, Cal's voice cutting through everything.
He owned every note. Every glance into the crowd felt personal, even though I knew it wasn't.
Halfway through, he wiped sweat off his forehead, grinned crooked. "This one's for the city that never sleeps."
The opening chords hit. Slower. Sexier. His eyes swept the front row.
And for one stupid second, I swore they landed on me.
My heart slammed.
Zariah noticed. "Oh my God. He looked right at you."
"He didn't."
"He did!"
I laughed it off. Shook my head.
But I couldn't shake the feeling.
The set flew. Encore. Two more songs. When the lights finally came up, my throat was raw from singing along, my hands hurt from clapping, and something inside me felt... awake.
Zariah grabbed my arm. "Backstage. Come on."
I followed her, pulse still racing, telling myself it was just the music.
Just the music.