Chapter 15
fifteen
Two Months Later
Times sure have changed.
Nowadays, I confidently walk into The Mission every Thursday as a VIP, surrounded by my friends.
It’s Hope’s night. Her standing gig’s become the highlight of my week, and many of her fans who missed her. She’s transitioned from the whimsical, unpredictable life of busking to a more established presence here.
Her journey hasn’t been all hearts and flowers.
Beyond her music career taking a significant turn for the better, she’s navigating all aspects of her recovery with grace and resilience.
Her physical symptoms have all but resolved.
She’s added therapy sessions to her routine.
A necessary step for her to heal from the assault’s lingering shadows.
It’s a testament to her strength, witnessing her tackle these challenges head-on. Hope’s unwavering determination to move forward is an inspiration.
Before she steps onstage, I make my way to her dressing room, eager to steal a kiss before her set. Knocking softly, I enter and find her in a state of focused preparation. She strums her battered guitar, playing a melody I haven’t heard before. “Hi, my love.”
Flipping her dark hair over her shoulder, Hope smiles at me and puts down the instrument. “Hey, baby.”
“Ready?” I sit beside her and tug her close.
She blinks up at me. “Yeah, I’m inspired. I’m writing a song about fate.”
“Oh yeah?” I kiss her temple. “Tell me.”
Hope nestles into my side. Strokes my bicep.
“Therapy’s been tough, but it’s making a difference.
Do you know, I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened.
Lissa was right. Meeting you was predestined.
As weird as it sounds, especially given how hard my recovery has been, I really believe we were in the right place at the right time. ”
“Well, I’d take the part of you getting hurt away any day.” I squeeze her to me. “I’d have figured out a way to talk to you eventually.”
She laughs. “Oh, you’d probably still be watching me from behind the flower vendors. Tell the truth.”
“Probably.” I chuckle.
“And now you’ve received a promotion and I’m working at Gus and playing here. After tonight, the real work begins. Auditioning my band…” She strokes my cheek. “If the Isis Management thing works out, maybe I’ll be able to record next year.”
Her resilience in the face of adversity and drive to reclaim her narrative is nothing short of remarkable. “You’re the only thing that matters to me.”
“Same.” She smiles. “Same.”
A knock on the door signals it’s time for her to perform. I offer a supportive smile. “I love you. You’re going to be phenomenal. I’ll be in the front row with the guys, cheering you every step of the way.”
“I love you, too. So much,” she whispers and we share a sweet kiss before she steps into the spotlight.
As she heads to the stage, her silhouette is framed by the backstage lights. I can’t help but feel a surge of pride. She’s right. Our journey, marked by its trials and triumphs, has led us here.
She strums the first chord and her music fills the room. “I’m Hope Kristiansen and this song is dedicated to Alek for his birthday.”
“Dude!” Jamie nudges me and I can’t help but beam.
“It’s brand new.” She gazes out into the audience, my angel on earth. “It’s called, Chords of Destiny.”
I recognize pieces of it from the way she builds the opening to the way the rhythm falls into place. She keeps an eye on me during the first verse, not long enough to pull focus from the rest of the room.
I don’t look away.
The chorus hits and the crowd is mesmerized.
No one talks over her. The lyrics are about us, I realize.
Her attack. The days after when she could barely stand without holding on to something.
The slow return of strength, piece by piece.
The night everything between us nearly went sideways.
All the way to now, when she stopped needing me for everything and started choosing where I fit instead.
I didn’t expect my birthday present to bring tears to my eyes.
It does.
When the song ends, the response is overwhelming. She smiles, takes it in, and shifts into the next one without breaking the flow. I stay where I am. Jamie nudges me once, mutters something about me being whipped
I ignore him.
Tonight, I don’t have the bandwidth to split my attention between my friend and girlfriend.
When Hope’s set ends, the energy in the room shifts and redirects while the next act sets up. I don’t wait in the crowd when she steps offstage. I make my move as soon as she disappears behind the curtain, slipping past the edge of the room while the audience breaks into conversation.
The hallway behind the stage leads me to her. I knock once and push her dressing room door open.
Hope stands at the mirror with her guitar still strapped on, fingers moving through a progression I haven’t heard before. It sounds deliberate, each note placed and left alone long enough to breathe. She catches my reflection and turns, the change in her face warming me every time.
“Hey,” she beams.
“Hey.” I close the door and step toward her. “Your set—” I stop, because anything I say will shrink it. “I don’t have a good word.”
She smiles, easy. “You don’t need one.”
I rest my hands at her waist and she leans into me without thinking, grounded, steady. I nod toward the guitar. “Another new song?”
“Still working on it.”
“It never sounds like work.” I kiss her temple. “More like magic.”
“Smooth talker.” She slips the strap off and sets the guitar on its stand, fingers grazing the worn edge for a beat before she turns back. “We need to go. Fiona’s holding the last seating.”
“My birthday dinner is so fancy,” I tease.
“People wait months for a reservation.” She grabs her jacket. “Don’t argue with her. Try everything.”
“I wouldn’t dare do otherwise.”
We step out through the side door and the cool, quieter air is a drastic departure from the club dropping away behind us. Gus sits just a shared wall over, amber light spilling onto the pavement. A different world waiting on the other side.
Inside, everything runs on control. Contained voices. Precise movement. Organized chaos.
Fiona, who always sports bright-magenta hair, spots us and waves us over. “Right on time. Sit. Relax. Happy Birthday, Alek.”
Hope slides into the plush chair at the counter, already relaxed here in a way I recognize more and more. I take the seat beside her. No menus appear. A small plate is placed between us.
“Blood orange, Calabrian chili, fennel.” Fiona dips her head between us as she moves past.
Hope goes first. She pauses mid-bite, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Okay,” she says under her breath. “This is divine.”
I follow. Bright citrus explodes on my tongue. Heat builds slow under it. The fennel cuts through everything, cooling it down before it gets out of hand.
“We’re in trouble,” I say.
“You had doubts?” She giggles.
“I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Which is the point.”
The next plate replaces the first before I finish it. Caviar over something warm and soft, the salt sharper, the texture smoother than anything I would have picked on my own. Hope leans slightly toward me as she eats, shoulder brushing mine intentionally.
“You’re quiet.” She chews thoughtfully.
I lick a crumb from the side of my mouth. “I’m paying attention.”
“To the food?”
“To you.”
She smiles and looks back down.
A smoked scallop is next, followed by a savory soup. The pace of the meal pulls us into a dreamlike state.
No rush. No gaps. Each plate placed specifically before giving way to the next course.
“So, I got a text from Zane after the show.” She wipes her fingers on the napkin.
I look at her. “Good one?”
“Uh, yeah. He said Tyson Rainier is willing to record me.” She hides her face with her hand. “Can you believe it?”
“Of course.” I bring her knuckles to my lips and kiss them.
“I’m actually recording an album.”
I nod once. “It was only a matter of time.”
She scrutinizes my face as though she’s looking for something deeper. “That’s it?”
“It’s huge.” I nod. “You’re doing it.”
She holds my gaze a second longer. Glances down. “There’s more.”
“I figured.”
“Linus O’Donnell from Isis Management was in the crowd.” She shakes her head. “Zane also wants to set up a meeting for me.”
I lean back slightly, letting it settle. “They wouldn’t ask unless they’re serious.”
“I know.”
I push the hair away from her face. “What do you think?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I want it.”
“Then do it.”
She studies me again. “You don’t need to think about it? This could change everything.”
“I don’t need to think about it at all.” I cup her face. “I’m not stopping you from following your dreams, ever.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“Good.”
The next course of lobster risotto is placed before us. For the remainder of the meal, we eat in a quieter rhythm, plates shifting from one direction to another. Something fried and bright, followed by a smoky, layered dish. Waygu beef so tender I nearly cry.
Toward the end of the meal, Hope’s hand finds mine. The last plate sits between us untouched as we gaze into each other’s eyes.
Dessert is meant to close the meal, but we have other ideas. From the glint in her eye, we’re on the same page.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods once, already standing.
We don’t rush the goodbye. Fiona catches Hope on the way out, pulls her into a quick hug, whispering something I don’t catch. Hope laughs, softer than before, and threads her fingers through mine.
Outside, the air cuts through everything leaving only the two of us moving down the street to my car in step.
She doesn’t talk much on the way home.
Neither do I.
I can see the shift in her without needing words. Something settled even deeper during dinner. By the time we reach the apartment, my pulse is running too fast for something as simple as unlocking a door.
Hope doesn’t wait once we’re inside.
Her bag drops somewhere behind her. The door barely clicks shut before she turns and pulls me into her, hands finding my shirt and yanking me toward her.
I don’t think. My hands find her waist and I pull her closer to feel the shape of her through the fabric. Heat builds between us. She presses in, rising slightly on her toes, one hand sliding into my hair, holding me there.
Every part of me locks on to her.
I back us toward the couch without breaking contact, barely aware of the movement until the edge of it hits behind my knees and I sit, pulling her with me. She follows without resistance, shifting into my lap the way she’s done so many times
Like this is the most natural place she could be.
Her breath is uneven now. Mine isn’t much better.
“You okay?” I manage.
She laughs against my mouth, quiet and breathless. “I’m better than okay. I need you to fuck me, birthday boy. Give me your big, beautiful cock.”
God I love it when she talks dirty.
Her hands move again, slower now, not rushed or unsure. She’s present. Choosing every step.
Choosing me.
I follow her lead as we slow things down. Undress. Touch each other slowly, more aware. Let each movement settle instead of pushing forward.
When I press two fingers inside her, she responds immediately, her body easing, grip shifting from tight to steady.
I’m not trying to catch up anymore.
We’re together. I know her body and exactly what to do.
When she comes, her forehead rests against mine for a second, breath warm and steadying.
“See?” she murmurs.
“Yeah.” I let out a quiet breath. “I’m constantly learning.”
She strokes the length of my cock. “We both are.”
After, Hope’s hand slides down my arm, fingers lacing with mine, grounding again instead of pulling.
The room quiets around us, the city noise fading into the background, everything narrowing to this one space we’ve built without planning it.
I don’t think about what comes next or where this goes.
Or even about losing this.
Hope’s here. Choosing me.
Maybe this is destiny.
Quiet, certain, and impossible to walk away from.