Chapter 26 Joel
Joel
The door clicks shut behind us.
Anna moves like she’s escaping a crime scene—which to be fair, wasn’t far off.
Ethan made that pretty clear.
I want to talk—clear the air, but she heads straight to the kitchen sink to stare out the window that looks over her backyard.
She goes straight to pretending nothing remotely unusual happened today.
I follow her, heart still hammering, breath still uneven. We didn’t speak in the car because this is something we need to talk about face to face. I need to see her eyes—her micro expressions. Her body language.
This day—this entire fucking day—has been too much. My skin feels too tight. My body to big. Something has to give.
And yet…
She’s acting like that kiss didn’t just flip our whole world upside down.
Not just hers—ours.
No.
I won’t let her do this.
I won’t let her shut it down and shut me out.
Not this time.
As I approach, she makes to leave, but I catch her wrist before she can put any more space between us.
She stiffens, her jaw setting, her eyes shifting back to her backyard through the small kitchen window like it’s a portal to another world. One she can escape into if she glares at it long enough.
I don’t pull her back, don’t grip too hard. Just enough so she knows—I’m not letting this go.
“Anna,” I say, voice low, rougher than I intend. “Talk to me.”
She doesn’t face me or turn around.
Her other hand is braced on the counter like she needs it to stay upright.
“Joel, don’t.” Her voice is quiet, laced with something I really hope isn’t regret.
I step closer. “Don’t what?”
She lets out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “Just… don’t.”
That’s not an answer. That’s a deflection.
And I’m not letting her close herself off.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I press, softening my grip, but not letting go. “Because I know you’re thinking something.”
She laughs once, hollow. “Yeah. I’m thinking this is a fucking disaster.”
I don’t flinch, but—fuck.
It shouldn’t hit this hard. I should have expected it—hell, I did expect it. Anna Chang has spent years perfecting the art of self-preservation. But hearing her say it out loud? Hearing her call this a mistake?
It burns.
Something tightens in my chest, coiling around my ribs like a slow, suffocating squeeze. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the neighborhood outside.
I need her to take it back.
I need her to tell me she didn’t mean it.
I need—
I just need her to not look at me like that.
“Ace—”
She finally turns, finally meets my eyes, and I hate what I see there.
Not regret.
Not even anger.
Fear.
My stomach twists. Because I know I put that there.
Not today. But years ago.
When she was still full of life and believed in me.
When she still had faith that I wouldn’t let her down.
“This whole day has been too much,” she says, her voice tight. It’s like she’s inside my head. I literally thought the same thing. Just when I think she’s going to close down, she whispers, “This—” She drags a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to do this.”
I take a slow breath, choosing my next words carefully. “I’m not asking you to have it figured out right now. I know I sure as hell don’t.”
She exhales sharply, frustrated. “Then what are you asking from me?”
I hesitate, then say the only thing that really matters. “For you to not shut me out.”
Her lips part like she’s going to argue, but she doesn’t.
Because she knows.
That’s exactly what she was about to do.
She shakes her head, muttering a curse, then pulls her wrist from my grasp. I let her.
“I just… I need a minute, okay?” Her voice is low and almost cracks.
I nod, even though everything in me wants to tell her to stop running from this. From me.
That I won’t hurt her again. Never—I’ll never do it again.
She takes a deep breath, like she’s trying to get her emotions under control.
And then, before I can think better of it, I say—“Come to the show tonight.”
She freezes.
I don’t say it to pressure her.
I just need to know where I stand.
“Joel,” she says, already shaking her head.
I take another step toward her, slow, careful.
“Anna. Just—come. Please,” I say, feeling like a lovesick fool who knows the love of his life is slipping through his fingers.
Her lips press into a thin line. “I can’t.”
I study her face. She means it.
But this time, I can tell—it’s not because she hates me.
It’s not because she doesn’t want to see me play anymore.
It’s because she’s terrified.
Not of me.
Not of the crowd.
Of what this means.
I let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Look, I get it. I do. But I meant what I said, Ace. I don’t want to shut this down before we even figure out what it is.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t look away.
And that’s when it hits me.
Tonight is supposed to be my last show at Nocté.
After that, I don’t know what happens next.
Does she expect me to pack up and move on, like I was supposed to?
Do I stick around and see if she’ll let me stay?
Does she even want me here?
The thoughts tumble at me so fast that I almost ask her.
But I don’t.
Because if she tells me to go, I don’t think I can handle it right now.
So instead, I try one last time.
“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight,” I say. “But don’t let fear be the thing that makes the choice for you.”
She blinks fast.
I swear, for a second, I see something break in her expression.
But then—she looks away. “Have a good show, Joel.”
It’s not a no.
But it’s definitely not a yes.
And as much as it kills me to walk away from this conversation unfinished, I do.
Because pushing her right now won’t help.
And tomorrow?
I don’t know if I’ll still be here.
I pause in the doorway, hand gripping the frame. I don’t turn around—if I do, I won’t leave—but I wait. Just for a second. Just to see if she says something.
A long breath. A shift of weight. The quiet sound of her exhale.
But she doesn’t move.
She doesn’t call me back.
And that?
That fucking kills me.
* * *
The club is already packed when I step inside, the bass vibrating through the floors, the smell of whiskey and sweat thick in the air.
I should be getting in the zone.
Last show.
Last night at Nocté.
Last reason to stay.
But my head is still back in Anna’s kitchen.
With the way she wouldn’t look at me when she said she couldn’t come tonight.
With the way she didn’t tell me to leave, either.
With the way she’s scared shitless of what happens next.
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair as I head toward the bar.
Myles is behind it, pouring a drink from a cocktail shaker into a glass with the same smooth precision she always has.
She clocks me the second I step up, eyes narrowing.
“Jesus, Price,” she says, setting the glass down. “You look like you just got hit by a truck.”
I grunt, twisting the cap off the water bottle she slides my direction. “Rough day.”
Myles lifts a brow, wiping her hands on a rag. “Yeah? That have anything to do with Mina’s party?”
I pause mid-sip.
“I was there.” Myles smirks. “Tessa’s my friend, remember?”
My breath catches in my throat.
Shit.
What the hell did all of that look like to the people who were there for Mina? Did they notice the tension? Did they know what happened after?
“Wanna tell me about it?” She asks, her face sliding into a smirk that says she already knows way too much.
“You know, don’t you?” I mutter, taking another sip of water.
She nods sagely. “Tessa told me.”
I groan. “Of course she did.”
“Tessa told everyone, Joel. By the time you two left, the entire damn party knew about that kiss. I mean, to anyone paying attention, that song alone was enough to make it obvious. But what do I know?”
I mutter a curse under my breath, rubbing my hand over my jaw.
Maybe it really wasn’t my smartest move ever. No wonder Anna can’t even look at me.
Myles leans in slightly, studying me. “So… what’s the deal? You kissed Ethan’s little sister at a baby’s birthday party and now you’re brooding into a bottle of Aquafina?”
I glare. “I’m not brooding.”
Myles tilts her head. “You are literally glaring at hydration.”
I exhale sharply. “It’s my last show and—” I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the weight pressing into my ribs. “She’s not coming tonight.”
Myles’ expression softens a little. “That sucks.”
I nod. Yeah. It fucking does.
Before I can say anything else, a voice cuts through the noise.
“Price.”
I turn to see London approaching, all business, as always.
“Got a minute?”
I push off the bar, glancing back at Myles, who just gives me a knowing look before turning back to her customers.
I follow London toward the back hallway near the greenroom. “What’s up?”
London folds his arms across his chest and a lazy smile floats to his face. “Got an offer for you.”
I brace myself, wondering what the hell that could be. “Yeah?”
“Noah, the club owner, wants you back next weekend. Encore shows. Friday and Saturday. You up for it?”
I blink.
Another weekend.
My stomach twists, but before I can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out.
Matt.
My manager.
London lifts a brow. “Everything okay?”
I hesitate. “Yeah, just my manager.”
I swipe to answer. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
“Hey, Joel. Ready for the last show?”
“Yeah, feeling good,” I lie, my gaze flitting to London.
“Good, good.” Matt pauses for a second. Longer than normal. Too long.
That’s my first clue.
“Joel,” he says finally, his tone measured. Testing. Like he’s not sure how I’m gonna react to whatever he’s about to say.
I frown, shifting my grip on the phone. “Yeah?”
Matt exhales. “Listen, before I say anything, just know I wouldn’t bring this to you unless it was serious.”
I straighten, feeling my heart plummet into my stomach. Is he about to let me go or something? “What the hell does that mean?”
Another beat of silence.
Then, carefully—“I’ve secured the tour, man.”
My stomach dips. We’ve been working on this tour potential for the past six and half months and I honestly didn’t think it would ever happen. They were just too flighty.
Matt keeps talking, voice even. “I got the call today. They want you.”
I exhale through my nose. “For what, exactly? How long?”
Matt draws it out. “Opening act. Europe. Two months.”
The words should light me up.
A European tour.
The kind of break I’ve been waiting for. This could really open things up.
But instead of excitement, all I feel is panic.
It starts in my gut—a slow, twisting knot of dread, coiling tighter and tighter. My fingers grip the phone, but they don’t feel like mine. My chest is too tight, my breath coming too fast. The room feels like it’s pressing in around me.
This is what I wanted.
Isn’t it?
Matt’s still talking, his voice tinny through the receiver, but I can’t make out the words. All I can hear is Anna. The way she whispered I don’t know how to do this. The way she looked at me before I left, like she was afraid of what happens next.
If I take this tour, I know what happens next.
I leave.
And something tells me, if I go now…
I won’t get another chance with her.
Matt must hear something off in my silence because he adds, “This is it, Joel. Everything we’ve been working toward.”
Everything I’ve been working toward.
Everything I thought I wanted.
I don’t respond right away.
Because my head isn’t here. It’s still back in Anna’s kitchen. Still stuck in that moment where she couldn’t even bring herself to talk about the kiss.
London watches me, arms still crossed, reading every single shift in my body language.
“You still there?” Matt asks, his tone dipping slightly into concern.
I blink, running a hand over my face. “Yeah. I’m here.”
But I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.
Matt exhales. “Look, I know it’s fast. I know you thought you had more time. But, Joel—this is huge. You say yes, and we lock it in. Your career goes exactly where it’s supposed to. But we need an answer soon. They have two other bands waiting to get the offer if you say no.”
I rub my thumb against my temple. “How soon do they need an answer?”
London lets out a breath through his nose. Like he knows something big is coming.
Matt doesn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”
“Tonight?” The word feels foreign in my mouth. My mouth goes dry and my stomach drops.
The walls of the greenroom feel thinner than usual. Beyond them, the pulse of the club is a living thing—bass rattling through the floor, the distant hum of the crowd, the sharp burst of laughter from someone near the bar.
This is what I wanted.
This is what I built my life around.
A year ago—hell, even six months ago—I would’ve given anything for a tour like this. A chance to finally break out of the indie circuit. To play for thousands instead of a couple hundred.
I close my eyes.
The crowd outside is still waiting for me.
I stare at the wall, my pulse hammering.
Two choices.
One where I leave—God only knows how soon.
One where I stay—and get more time with Anna. More time to figure out what this is between us..
Matt is still talking, something about how “they won’t hold the slot forever,” but I barely hear him.
Because all I can hear is Anna’s voice.
This whole day has been too much.
I swallow hard.
“Joel?” Matt presses. “What do you say?”
For a split second, I imagine it—packing up, flying out, stepping onto a new stage every night in a different city.
The adrenaline. The crowds. The kind of high that only music can bring.
And then I see it—
A hotel room across the world.
A phone that doesn’t light up with her name.
A life without her in it.
The thought is so sharp, so sudden, that I swear I feel my chest cave in.
I don’t even realize my grip on the phone has tightened.
Because I have no fucking idea what to do.
For the past thirteen years, I’ve been working toward this. I thought I knew what I wanted—where I was going.
But now?
I’m not even sure if want it anymore.