Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Quinn
The Cover of “Rolling Stone”
Dr. Hook
The next few days feel normal. And completely not. Everything’s the same. Work is work. The L rattles through the city every morning. Coffee tastes like coffee. My office smells faintly like dry erase markers and old books.
But underneath it all something hums. A low, restless energy that wasn’t there before. I replay that moment in the kitchen more times than I want to admit. The laughter. The whipped cream. His hand on my face. The way he leaned in slow and deliberate like he was giving me time to decide.
And the way I stopped it. Not because I didn’t want more. God, that’s the problem. I did. I do. But sleeping with him, really going there, that changes things. It tips the scale, and I can’t afford that right now.
The apartment sits in the back of my mind like a ticking clock.
A decision I haven’t made yet. A life I’m supposed to be building, that isn’t supposed to include getting tangled up with something I can’t easily walk away from.
If I cross that line with Mikey, this stops being simple.
And I don’t trust myself to choose clearly if I let how I feel about him take over everything else.
So, I stopped it. Even though I still feel the imprint of his mouth like is still pressed against mine. And now? Now I’m stuck in this in-between. I know exactly what I want, and I think I know what he wants, but until I make a decision, I’m holding off on taking things to the next level.
My stomach flips every time my phone buzzes. He was stuck at the studio late last night, but he kept texting. His messages are casual. Easy.
Long day. Studio chaos. Save me a slice if you order pizza.
You surviving the tiny humans today?
Pretty sure I just played the same drum fill twenty-seven times. Send help.
I grin at my screen more than I should.
Him: How many drum fills before it counts as psychological torture?
Me: Asking for a friend?
Him: Asking for my sanity. Come rescue me.
The words sit warm in my chest long after the screen goes dark. He never says he misses me. But somehow, I can feel it between the lines. And somewhere this afternoon, sitting at my desk with my lunch untouched, I realize I miss him too.
Last night felt strange without him there.
No shared dinner. No couch. No quiet laughter drifting through the apartment while the city hums outside.
I ate standing at the counter, scrolling my phone between bites like I was waiting for something to happen.
The TV stayed off. The couch felt too big when I glanced at it.
At one point I almost texted him just to ask when he’d be home, but stopped myself.
We aren’t whatever that would make us. Still, I left the pizza box out longer than necessary.
Just in case. And now, I’m restless. It’s Friday after work and I’m at the apartment by myself.
I tell myself I’m just curious about the studio.
That I miss Sadie. That’s the lie I go with when I call an Uber.
Music leaks out of the building before I even step inside. The studio feels different than I expected. Louder. Looser. Drinks in plastic cups. Someone laughing too loudly near the back. The smell of beer and something sweet and smoky hanging in the air. Girls I don’t recognize are hanging around.
I hesitate near the door, suddenly aware that this is his world.
The version of him I first met with the tour buses, chaos, and easy charm.
I spot him across the room but he hasn’t seen me yet.
He’s laughing at something Dean says, a beer in his hand, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen all week.
People orbit around him naturally, touching his arm, leaning in to talk.
A girl stands close, hand brushing his forearm as she laughs at something he says.
Something sharp twists low in my chest. I don’t like it.
Not in a quiet, reasonable way either. In a sharp, immediate way that catches me off guard.
Before I can decide what to do, his gaze lifts and finds me. Everything changes. His face shifts instantly; surprise melting into something warmer. Softer. He moves without hesitation, weaving through people until he’s standing in front of me. “Hey.”
The noise around us fades a little. “Hey.”
“You’re here.” Like he didn’t expect me, but he’s glad I came. His hand settles lightly at my back, grounding and familiar, like it belongs there. The tension curling inside me eases almost immediately. He leans closer.
I shrug, suddenly shy. “Thought I’d see what all the chaos was about.”
A grin flashes across his face. “Careful. You might never recover.”
Someone calls his name from behind him. He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. “Give me a minute,” he yells back without looking away from me and something warm loosens in my chest.
He stays near me after that. Not hovering, just present.
Leaning down so I can hear him over the music.
Checking in with quiet touches. Introducing me to people I vaguely recognize from the tour.
The best part of the night is when Sadie bursts through the studio doors, face lit up, arms full of fresh copies of Amped.
Devil’s Halo dominates the cover and it’s dark, moody, electric and captures them perfectly.
Her article is the magazine’s feature. I’m so damn proud of her.
Every conversation in the room dies instantly. Dean’s halfway through a joke. Luc’s leaning back on the couch, drink in hand. Someone’s music hums low in the background. It all fades the second she walks in.
“All right, rockstars,” she announces, breathless and glowing, fanning the magazines out like she’s holding winning lottery tickets. “Prepare to be immortalized.”
A chorus of laughs, whistles, and a dramatic, “Oh God, here we go,” from Dean.
Mikey shifts beside me on the couch, his knee brushing mine as he leans forward, curiosity on his face.
But me? I’m watching Sadie. Watching the way she owns the room without even trying.
She flips one open, finds her page, and clears her throat with a grin that says she knows exactly what she’s about to do to them.
“Okay,” she sings out. “Highlights.”
She starts reading. “Somewhere between cities and stages, the story shifted. What started as coverage became something far more intimate with an inside look at a band that doesn’t just live the music, but the moments in between.”
The room quiets. Not forced. Just naturally. She continues reading. “There’s a vulnerability to Devil’s Halo that fans don’t always see. But on this tour, it surfaced in glances, in tension, in the quiet spaces between songs.”
Luc’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but there.
Like he recognizes it. Sadie glances up, eyes sparkling as she glances at him then keeps going.
“At the center of it all is Lucifer Sarris, a frontman who doesn’t just command the stage; he owns it.
Every movement feels deliberate, every lyric delivered like it costs him something to let it go. ”
Luc huffs out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Dean mutters.
Lily shakes her head with a smile, “Jeez, if I thought he was hard to live with before, this is going to make it even harder.”
Sadie smirks and continues, shooting a glance in Dean’s direction. “Dean Ross brings a different kind of fire, and it’s sharp, restless, and impossible to ignore. His guitar riffs don’t just complement the music, it challenges it. Pushes it. Dares it to become something bigger.”
Dean points at the magazine. “Now that, that you can frame. I want that on the wall.”
“You would,” Luc shoots back.
A ripple of laughter moves through the room. Sadie flips the page slightly, her tone softening just a touch. “Together, they create a sound that feels both controlled and on the edge of unraveling, held together by something deeper than talent alone.”
Mikey leans in closer to me, his shoulder resting against mine now, his attention completely locked in.
Sadie doesn’t look up this time. She shifts her weight slightly, eyes flicking across the page before she continues.
“And then there’s Hayden Sloane who is measured, composed, and impossible to read at first glance. ”
A few heads turn toward him automatically.
Hayden doesn’t move much. Just leans back a fraction, one brow lifting like he’s already decided he’s not participating in whatever this is.
Sadie keeps going, unfazed. “Where others burn bright and loud, he’s something quieter.
Controlled. Intentional. The kind of presence that doesn’t demand attention, but holds it anyway. ”
Dean lets out a low hum. “That’s annoyingly accurate.”
Hayden just smirks, barely. Sadie goes on. “There’s a depth there you don’t fully understand until you’re looking for it, but once you see it, it’s impossible to ignore.”
A beat passes. Not long. Just enough to let it land as she continues.
“But what anchors Devil’s Halo isn’t just what happens at the front of the stage, it’s what drives it from behind.
” She keeps reading. “The rhythm section is the band’s pulse.
It’s steady, intuitive, and impossible to shake.
There’s a quiet precision there, a constant presence that doesn’t demand attention but earns it all the same. ”
Dean nudges Mikey with his foot. “That’s you, man.”
“Shut up,” He mutters, but it comes out quiet, his cheeks flaring a dark pink.
“Drummer Michael ‘Mikey’ Sarris, younger brother to Luc,” she pauses just long enough to glance at him, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth, “brings something deceptively effortless to the stage. There’s a looseness to him, an ease that masks just how much control he holds over every beat.”
The room fades a little around the edges as I slide my fingers through his. Not subtle. Not careful. Not hiding. “He doesn’t fight for the spotlight. He doesn’t need to. Because once you notice him, you realize he’s been carrying the weight of the entire set all along.”
“Well, damn,” someone says.
Dean lets out a low whistle. “Okay, Mikey. We see you.”
He huffs out a laugh, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get emotional on me.” I squeeze his hand and lock my gaze with his letting him know I see him.
I’ve always seen him. And then the moment is gone as Luc pops a bottle of champagne and begins spraying the room with it, cheers and whoops breaking out.
We decide to head out an hour later, the celebration still in full swing, but we both acknowledge we’d had enough.
I drive us, since he’s had a few drinks.
He looks softer now, relaxed in the passenger seat, head tipped back against the seat as city lights flicker across his face.
The leftover energy of the studio fades slowly between us.
I like seeing him like this. Calm. Unguarded.
The silence isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable.
He turns his head slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m good.”
I’m suddenly very aware of him beside me. The closeness. The quiet. When I pull into his spot behind the apartment, neither of us moves right away. The engine hums softly before I shut it off, leaving us wrapped in silence.
He turns toward me. “I’m really glad you showed up tonight.”
Something warm unfurls low in my stomach. “Yeah?”
His smile is small, honest. “Made my night better having you there to celebrate that with us. With me.”
The words settle between us. I look at him.
Really look. The softness in his eyes. The way he’s watching me like he’s waiting for something.
My heartbeat kicks harder. The silence stretches.
Not awkward, but heavy, like it’s waiting for one of us to finally stop pretending.
I turn toward him fully. “I’d really like you to kiss me now. ”
The words land between us, clear and steady leaving no room to misread them. His expression shifts instantly. It’s not surprise. It’s something deeper, darker. Like something he’s been holding in that finally gets let loose. His eyes search mine for half a second. “You sure?”
I nod. Slow. Certain. “And this time,” my voice softens but it doesn’t waver, “I’d really like it if we didn’t stop.”
That does it. Something in him snaps into place. His hand comes up immediately, fingers sliding along my jaw, first this time, no testing, no hesitation as he pulls me in.
This kiss hits harder. Deeper. Like we skipped right past everything we’ve already done and landed exactly where we were always headed. My hand finds his shirt, gripping, pulling him closer as I lean in fully until there’s no space left between us.
He exhales against my mouth, rough and real, like he’s done pretending he’s not just as far gone as I am. “Careful,” his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. “You know I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”
Heat floods through me. “I know.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth is on mine again, slower this time, but somehow more intense, like he’s letting himself feel all of it now instead of holding anything back.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, steadying me as I shift closer, my knee brushing his, my body angling toward his without thinking. Everything narrows. Breath. Heat. Him.
The kiss deepens again, and this time there’s no mistaking where it’s going. My fingers dig into his shirt, grounding, holding, asking without words. He answers. Immediately. His hand slides to my waist, tugging me closer, anchoring me against him like he’s not letting me second-guess this.
And then, he pulls back. Not far. Just enough. Forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard now. “Yeah,” he exhales, voice low, rough around the edges. “We’re not finishing this in a car.”
A small breathless laugh slips out of me. “No?”
His thumb drags slowly along my jaw, eyes still locked on mine. “Not when I’ve been this patient.”
My stomach flips hard at that.
“So,” he tilts his head, a hint of something dangerous creeping into his expression now, “we going upstairs or are you planning on torturing me a little longer?”