Chapter Five
Annie
The last four years have flown by, and the band has been practicing nonstop.
We even recorded a demo album with fourteen original tracks, which still feels a little surreal when I think about it.
Dad is ridiculously proud of us, so much so that he’s been talking with Rob Luxley, his agent, about getting us into live shows.
We haven’t done any yet, but there’s already a decent amount of hype around Staked.
People know we exist, know who we’re connected to, and because of that, the expectations are sitting somewhere in the stratosphere.
No pressure or anything.
Dad’s so excited that he decided to throw a massive party to celebrate. Apparently, my seventeenth birthday was the perfect excuse, which means I’ve somehow ended up at a swanky hotel surrounded by what feels like half the country—or at least half the entertainment industry.
Hundreds of people are here, all supposedly for me, yet the only ones I actually know are my family and the band.
Everyone else is familiar in that distant, unreal way, like faces from a screen or voices from the radio.
And even though this is technically my party, and there’s a mountain of gifts somewhere with my name on them, no one is really talking to me.
Not that I need the spotlight glued to me every second, but it’s a bit ironic to be the reason for the party and still feel like background noise.
Honestly, I would’ve been perfectly happy staying home with my family and Aston.
A few movies, guitars scattered around the living room, junk food piled high—nothing fancy, just us.
Instead, I’m picking at bite-sized food that looks impressive but barely tastes like anything, and wondering how something so tiny can still manage to miss the mark completely.
Stuff the fancy crap.
I should have ordered pizza.
The thought makes me smile as I glance back over the room.
The party is in full swing now, everyone slipping easily into their roles.
Ella is across the room chatting to some pop starlet, while Mum and Dad are deep in conversation with a famous actor and his equally famous wife.
At the same time, their six kids run wild, as if they own the place.
Caleb is working his charm on an heiress who made a name for herself with a makeup line that crashed and burned after an animal-testing scandal.
Which is ironic, considering she now claims to be an animal activist. Go figure!
That doesn’t seem to bother Caleb in the slightest. He’s twenty-three and fully convinced he’s God’s gift to women. I just shake my head, fighting a laugh.
On the other side of the room, Chad and his dad, Dingo, are going head-to-head on Guitar Hero, drums blazing across the big screen for everyone to see.
They’re both completely in their own world, a little chaotic, a little clueless, but exceptionally talented.
Chad’s just like his dad, spinning sticks and pulling off ridiculous tricks without missing one single beat.
I’m really glad he’s in the band.
A familiar tingle runs up my spine, subtle at first, then stronger, raising the hairs along my arms. Before I can turn, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I smile automatically, spinning around just as Aston ducks out of the way, forcing me to glance over my other shoulder.
He laughs at himself, then hops over the back of the red leather seat and drops down beside me.
“Having fun, Lennox?” he asks, flashing that easy grin that could probably light the entire room on its own.
“Not really,” I admit, and his brows pull together.
“What? Why not? This party’s awesome. Look at all these people. They came here for you.”
I let out a quiet scoff before I can stop myself. “They didn’t come for me. They don’t even know me. They’re here because Dad invited them, and because being seen here matters. Half of them probably couldn’t even tell you my name.”
He tilts his head slightly, considering that. “Okay… fair. But they’re still decent people. You could at least go say hi.”
“Nah, not my thing.” I lean back into the seat, glancing at him. “I’d rather be at home with you, watching a rerun of School of Rock.”
Aston huffs a laugh. “You have a weird obsession with that movie.”
“Don’t judge me.”
“Too late.” He reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers loosely through mine before lifting it and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.
My eyes widen instantly.
The sensation hits hard and fast, a sharp, electric rush that shoots from my hand, up my arm, and into my chest. It’s like the usual awareness I have around him has been cranked up to a hundred, buzzing through me, making my heart slam against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
What the hell was that?
I yank my hand back before I can stop myself, folding my arms tightly across my chest, tucking my hands out of reach.
“What’s wrong?” Aston asks, his voice softer now, his brow creasing. “You okay?”
I swallow, forcing my breathing to steady. “I just… don’t want to be here,” I say, exhaling slowly. “Too many people I don’t know, all trying to outdo each other.”
That part, at least, is true.
What I don’t say is that I want him to touch me again, and that thought alone sends my head spinning.
Because I don’t see Aston like that.
I can’t.
I’m seventeen. Boys aren’t even on my radar. Music is. Always has been. It’s the only thing that matters.
And Aston? He’s my best friend.
That’s all this is.
It has to be.
We’ve known each other forever, grown up side by side. Of course, there are going to be moments that feel… different, somehow stronger. That’s just what happens when you’re this close to someone for this long.
Right?
“Okay, c’mon. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air,” Aston says, taking my hand and pulling me up from the leather seat before I can protest.
I follow, trying to match his pace, but he’s all long strides and solid build now.
Somewhere over the last few years, he’s filled out even more, with broad shoulders and muscle layered over muscle thanks to those daily gym sessions with his dad.
Apparently, it’s ‘bonding,’ though it mostly just means he’s become impossible to keep up with.
We reach the open doorway, and the cool night air hits me like a wave, washing over my overheated skin.
I breathe it in instantly, relief settling through me as the noise from inside dulls behind us.
Out here, it’s quieter and calmer. There are only a couple of people scattered around the beer garden, and for the first time all night, I feel like I can actually think.
Aston slows, guiding me over to an old wooden bench tucked into the corner, away from everyone else. I sink beside him, tension easing from my shoulders.
This is better. Much better.
“So, Lennox,” he says, shifting slightly as we settle in. “What’s your birthday wish?”
His leg brushes against mine, and the contact sends a sharp spark shooting through me, racing up my thigh and settling low in my stomach.
What the hell?
I press my thighs together, trying to shut the sensation down, focusing on breathing evenly, even as my pulse kicks up. This… whatever this is… has been building for a while now, creeping in over the last few years, but tonight it feels stronger, like it’s demanding attention.
And I hate it.
Because it doesn’t make sense.
“Annie?” he prompts gently.
I blink, dragged back to the moment, and look at him. The moonlight catches in his eyes, turning them a soft, striking blue, and for a second, I forget how to breathe entirely.
“Sorry, what?” I shake my head, trying to clear it.
“Your birthday wish,” he repeats, watching me carefully.
I let out a small laugh, more out of habit than anything else. “A car… which clearly didn’t happen, so that worked out well.”
He chuckles under his breath, but then something shifts in his expression, his smile fading just slightly.
“What?” I ask, studying him.
He glances away for a second before looking back at me, his gaze steadier now. “Nothing. Just thinking about something that’s been on my mind for a long, long time.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds ominous. Want to share?”
There’s a pause, and then something changes between us. I feel it before I fully understand it. His eyes lock on mine, and suddenly I’m aware of every inch of space between us… or lack of it.
His hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. It’s such a small gesture, something he’s probably done a hundred times before, but this time it feels different, slower, and more intentional.
His fingers linger.
His thumb grazes my cheek.
My breath catches.
Reality slams back into place, sharp and sudden.
I jerk back, eyes wide. “Why did you do that?”
He frowns slightly, like he’s unsure why I’m reacting this way. “I’ve wanted to for a long time—”
“What? Why?” I shift along the bench, putting space between us, my heart racing far too fast.
He exhales, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. I must’ve read it wrong.”
I stand abruptly, wrapping my arms around myself as everything inside me feels too big, too much, like I’m about to split open—my skin prickles, my chest tight. “Damn right you read it wrong,” I snap. “We’re best friends, Aston. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
He stands too, stepping toward me, but I move back instantly.
He stops, lifting his hands slightly in surrender. “Okay. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Relief hits first.
Then something else follows right behind it, sharp and confusing, twisting in my chest.
“Good,” I say quickly, turning away before I can even begin to unpack that. I barely make it a step before his hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me back. I stumble, and suddenly I’m against him, his arms coming around me to steady me, holding me there.
And for a split second, I freeze.
“Aston, don’t—”
I see it then. The way his gaze drops to my mouth, the way his focus narrows as if the rest of the world has disappeared.
He leans in.
My breath stutters.
And then something inside me snaps.