Chapter 14
Joel
I should be feeling smug.
Anna was flustered. Really flustered.
And that’s becoming something I enjoy more than anything. I love seeing her unravel.
She always has control. Always.
She’s built from fire and sharp edges—a master at throwing up walls the second anyone gets too close. She cuts with words before anyone else can. She’s made an art of keeping herself untouchable.
But tonight?
She slipped.
And I saw it happen.
I felt it.
The small, barely-there hitch in her breath. The way her chest rose sharply before she forced it down, like her body had betrayed her first and her brain was scrambling to cover it up. I can relate to that.
The way color bloomed along her cheekbones, so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed if I hadn’t been watching for it.
And I was watching.
I was waiting.
Waiting for the inhale, the hesitation, the second it took her to shut it all down.
I meant to catch every single tell.
However, what I didn’t mean was for it to hit me just as hard.
I can still feel it—her.
I let out a slow breath, rolling onto my side, my body still buzzing like I just stepped offstage.
But this isn’t stage adrenaline. This is something else.
Something tangled and restless, coiling under my skin.
I scrub a hand down my face, but it doesn’t erase the memory of the way her hair slipped through my fingers, the way she froze under my touch. The way she swallowed hard, forcing down whatever emotions were coming up.
And that’s what’s messing me up the most. All this time I thought she hated me—plain and simple.
Never in a million years did I think she might still feel something else. Something I tried to kill when we were teens.
That’s not my ego talking. It’s not wishful thinking or some bullshit fantasy.
It happened.
And now I don’t know what the hell to do with that or why it was so important to test it.
I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this—but I am.
And it’s not stopping.
I close my eyes, willing the feeling away, but it’s already under my skin. It’s still running through me, a live wire, sizzling along my nerves, making it impossible to sit still.
I roll onto my back, rubbing my hands over my face.
Fuck.
This is not how this was supposed to go.
I was just pushing her. Testing her, because something about that moment at Nocté told me I should. Hell, it was probably the whisky.
But I wasn’t supposed to be here, alone in my room, replaying it over and over like some lovesick idiot.
I mean, I’m Joel fucking Price. Rock god. Legend.
At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself as I build by career.
But Anna tears that all away, stripping me back to that stupid kid who just loved the music.
I let out a slow breath, willing my pulse to settle. But the second I do, my mind slides into dangerous territory.
Because a flicker of recognition tickles at the back of my mind.
None of this is new.
This feeling—the way my body reacts to her, the way my chest tightens when I remember the look on her face—it’s not the first time.
I just never let myself sink into it before.
And now, I’m back there.
I had just turned seventeen.
It was a random Saturday. Nothing important. No big moment.
I had crashed at Ethan’s the night before, as I had a thousand times before that.
I’d just gotten out of the shower, towel-drying and barely paying attention to anything except trying to shake the water out of my ears.
Anna was sprawled out on the Ethan’s bed—Ethan, of course, nowhere in sight—watching something on Ethan’s laptop.
She was almost fourteen—still had her hair in those half-braids she always used to wear back then.
I was half-distracted thinking about who the fuck knows what. I was hardly aware of her as I walked by to grab my phone. But when I leaned down, my arm brushing against hers, and something shifted.
The shift was so small, so barely there, that if I hadn’t been standing right next to her, I might’ve missed it.
But I did notice.
The air between us changed.
She didn’t move away. Didn’t roll her eyes or huff dramatically like she normally did whenever Ethan or I got too close.
She just… stopped.
Completely still.
Like she was waiting for something.
And that’s when I became acutely aware of myself. Of the way water still clung to my skin, trailing slowly from my hair down my chest. Of the way the towel hung low on my hips, the only thing between me and a whole lot of awkward if my grip slipped.
For the first time, standing there, half-naked in Ethan’s room, I suddenly felt hyperconscious of Anna’s presence.
It wasn’t like before, when she was just Ethan’s annoying little sister, tagging along because she had no one else to hang out with.
We’d spent the last six months working on music together. Just the two of us.
And sometime in between her scribbling lyrics in her notebook and me teaching her chords, something had changed. Something I hadn’t noticed—until this moment.
Until she sat frozen on that bed, gaze locked on the screen, pretending I wasn’t standing next to her in a towel.
I should have walked away then. I knew I should have. I should have grabbed my phone and left the room to get dressed, just like I’d done a hundred times before.
But instead, I hesitated. Instead, I lingered. For just a second too long.
My fingers curled around my phone, but my eyes flicked back to her.
And there it was.
The way her breath shuddered in her chest before she covered it up. The way her hands tightened around the laptop. The way her jaw flexed, like she was forcing herself to look unaffected. Like she knew I saw it and she was mad at herself for slipping.
It was so quick, so fleeting, that for weeks afterward, I convinced myself it was nothing. That I had imagined it. Because just as fast as it happened, she shut it down.
She scoffed. Rolled her eyes in true Anna fashion.
And before I could process the moment we just had, she chucked a pillow straight at my face.
“Jesus, put some clothes on, Price,” she huffed. “Nobody wants to see that.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny—but because it was safe. Because that’s what we did. We covered things up with deflection and sarcasm.
And just like that, the moment was gone. But it wasn’t forgotten.
I remember walking out of that room feeling… off kilter.
Like I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to see—just like I had tonight at Nocté.
Like I had felt something I wasn’t supposed to feel.
And just like she did, I began to bury it.
I told myself it meant nothing. Because it had to mean nothing. She was Ethan’s little sister. No way was I stepping into that’s hornet’s nest.
So I told myself, whatever that was, whatever I thought I saw—it didn’t matter.
Except, what if it did?
Because tonight?
She looked at me the exact same way. She reacted the exact same way.
And this time, she can’t blame it on being thirteen, or some dumb childhood crush she outgrew.
This time, it’s real.
And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, but it doesn’t help.
Because now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Not just the way she reacted tonight.
What if she stopped fighting it? Would she still come undone—breath hitching, cheeks flushing—before she shoved it all back down?
Does she bring that kind of fire to the bedroom?
A flare of anger ignites, hot and irrational, and I push it aside. I don’t want to think about Anna with anyone else. I won’t.
I sit up, blinking hard at that thought.
Anyone else?
Holy shit. Do I wish it were me?
I play out that thought for a moment and find myself circling the drain.
Would she fight it at first? Would she let me—
Fuck.
I sit up fast, running my hands through my hair, forcing the thought right the fuck out.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This isn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to want this.
Not like this. Not with her.
I was here to get her forgiveness so I could move on and focus on my music career without the dark cloud over my head. That’s all.
I swing my legs over the bed, breathing hard, trying to push past the heat creeping into my skin.
I need a distraction. Now.
A cold shower.
Something.
Anything.
Marching to the bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my chest rising and falling like I just ran a marathon.
This is so fucked.
I’m standing here, trying to will my body into submission like some horny teenager.
What the hell? Where did that even come from?
I undress quickly and step into the shower, twisting the knob all the way to cold.
The first blast of water makes me suck in a sharp breath, my body jolting at the icy sting.
Good. I need it.
I brace my hands against the tile, letting the water pummel me, trying to drown out the fire in my blood.
But it doesn’t work.
Because my brain is still spinning, caught on a loop of what ifs.
What if I touched her again?
What if she didn’t stop me next time?
What would her lips taste like if I kissed her?
What if—
Fuck.
I close my eyes, groaning as I grip myself, trying—failing—to think about anything else. But all I see is Anna. The flush on her skin. The way her lips parted. The sharp inhale of breath before she forced it down.
My hand moves like it has a mind of its own.
I should stop. I don’t.
My free hand fists against the wall. My breath shudders as I bite back her name.
Fuck. Fuck.
A minute later, I stand there, head tipped back against the tile, feeling nothing but regret.
So much for a cold shower.
I blow out another captive breath, releasing myself as I let the water cascade over my head and torso.
I stay there as long as I can, allowing the water to wash away any evidence of my indiscretion.
I can’t tell her—can’t admit to any of this. Hell, I can’t even talk about this to my best friend because he’d literally kill me. But I also can’t just sit here waiting for her to crack again.
She won’t.
Anna’s too damn stubborn.
She’ll patch up the cracks, reinforce the walls, and pretend nothing happened.
And I can’t let her.
Not after this.
I scrub a hand through my wet hair, thinking.
She won’t give me an inch.
She won’t open the damn envelope.
She won’t let herself be vulnerable.
But there’s one thing she can’t resist. I know she can’t.
So maybe—
Maybe I don’t push her.
Maybe I let her pull herself in.
If I pretend to struggle with a song—something off, just enough to get under her skin—she won’t be able to help herself.
She’ll correct me.
She’ll engage.
She’ll forget, just for a second, that she’s supposed to hate me.
And once she lets herself lean in once—she’ll do it again.
This is it.
I shut off the shower and step out, gripping the sink, my pulse still too fast.
I don’t know if this will work. But I need to try.
If I can get the old Anna back, even for one night—
Maybe she’ll let me in.
And maybe—just maybe—she won’t want to shut me out again.
I smirk to myself, grabbing a towel and heading for my guitar.
Let’s see if she takes the bait.