Lucky

Chapter 15

Lucky

I wake up with Ethan still in my head.

Not in a dreamy, romantic way — more like he’s lodged there, refusing to vacate the premises.

Every time I try to think about something else, my mind drifts straight back to him on my porch steps.

His voice. His eyes. The way he looked at me was like he was trying not to want something he already did.

It’s infuriating.

And intoxicating.

And completely ruining my morning.

I make coffee. I drink half before realizing I’ve just been staring into space, replaying last night. I try distracting myself — laundry, cleaning the kitchen, reorganizing my songwriting notebooks — but nothing sticks. My hands keep drifting to the page where I left off months ago.

Fine. Music.

That usually helps.

I grab my guitar and sit cross-legged on the living room floor, sunlight dusting the rug in soft gold. My fingers pick at strings, finding an old melody, something smooth and aching. It feels promising for about twelve seconds.

Then the ache in my chest catches up.

The memories.

The loneliness.

The mess of whatever’s happening with Ethan.

I stop playing and press the heel of my palm to my eyes. “Nope. Not doing this today.”

I set the guitar aside and flop backwards onto the floor like a defeated Victorian heroine. Staring at the ceiling doesn’t help either — because now I’m just imagining Ethan leaning over me, telling me to breathe, steady and calm, like he did in the dark yesterday.

“Ugh.” I roll over and bury my face in the carpet. “What is wrong with me?”

A knock hits the front door.

I jolt up, heart immediately sprinting. For one terrifying second, I think it might be Ethan — which makes my stomach somersault in ways I am not ready to unpack.

But then a familiar voice calls, “Open up, Lucky girl. I brought reinforcements.”

Banks.

Relief. Then excitement. Actual, genuine excitement — something I haven’t felt in a while, and wow, does it feel good.

I swing open the door and grin. “You’re here!”

Banks lifts one brow. “Judging by the gremlin face you were probably making before I knocked, yeah… You needed me.”

He pulls me into a tight, grounding hug. He smells like aftershave, sunshine, and a little bit of trouble. Everything I’ve missed.

“Come on,” he says, holding up a paper bag. “I brought pastries that are absolutely not gluten-free. Let’s ruin our bodies together.”

I laugh, the first real laugh today. “God, yes.”

We take everything out to the back patio — coffee, pastries, his endless commentary — and the second I step outside, I pause.

The lake is glittering.

The sun is warm, bright, a complete betrayal of yesterday’s storm. Birds are loud. The breeze is soft. It looks like the world has reset overnight and forgotten to tell me.

Banks throws himself onto a patio chair, kicking his boots up on the railing. “Now this,” he says, soaking in the view, “is the kind of place you’re supposed to heal in. Not brood like some tragic poet.”

I snort and sit beside him. “I wasn’t brooding.”

“You were absolutely brooding,” he says, handing me a pastry. “Your hair even has ‘brooding heroine’ volume right now. Mousey brown suits you.”

I take the pastry and try not to smile too much.

Because he’s right.

And because, for the first time today, Ethan isn’t the only thing in my head.

The sun warms my legs, the lake sparkles, and for a moment — just one — I remember what it feels like not to drown.

Banks lounges back, sipping his coffee while I nibble the pastry, pretending everything in my head is totally normal. It isn’t. So I reach for the notebook I abandoned earlier and hold it out.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “I… started something.”

Banks lifts his brows. “Music?”

“Yeah. It’s not finished. It’s barely anything. But—”

I swallow. Hard. “I want to show Jett. Maybe he can help me shape it. In the studio.”

The shift in Banks is instant. His shoulders drop. His expression tightens.

He sighs like he’s been holding this breath for months.

“Lucky.”

Just my name — but it lands heavy as stone.

“I know what you’re gonna say—”

He cuts in, voice gentle but firm. “Working with Jett Langford is what broke you. The control he had. The pressure he put on you. That’s what brought you here.” He gestures around the bright, perfect lakeside like it’s a recovery ward. “How many more crashes until you can’t get back up?”

I stiffen. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he says softly. “It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.”

“It’s not,” I snap, voice rising before I can stop it.

“You act like Jett is some villain who kept me chained in a basement. Without him, I’d still be some kid shuttled between foster homes.

Or worse.” My throat burns. “Who the fuck knows where I’d have ended up?

Maybe sky-high on something cheap, passed out in a parking lot, just like my mom. ”

I jab a finger at my chest. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, remember?”

Banks’s face twists — like I just slapped him.

“Lucky,” he says sharply, “Jett didn’t rescue you. He saw you. And then he shaped you into whatever version earned him money, praise, and control. Don’t rewrite history just because you’re scared. You don’t need him to produce your own music.”

“I’m not scared.”

He lifts his brow. “Then say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you think you can do this without him.”

The words hit me dead center.

My mouth opens… nothing comes out. Because I don’t know. I don’t.

Banks moves closer, voice breaking around the edges. “You know the truth, goddammit. You know he didn’t make you. You made yourself. All he did was take the credit.”

“Maybe.” My voice drops to a whisper. “But I don’t know if I can do it without him.”

Banks exhales hard, shaking his head. “You can. You already are. You just don’t believe it yet.”

Heat spikes beneath my skin — embarrassment, anger, something jagged. I pull the notebook back protectively.

“He’s not the problem,” I mutter.

“He’s always been the problem.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to work!” My voice cracks, too loud, too close to what panic feels like. “I’m sick of hiding like some fragile little—”

“You’re not fragile.” Banks sits forward, eyes warm and steady. “You just refuse to accept what happened to you. And that’s okay. But you can’t keep running back into the same fire expecting not to get burned.”

“Enough.” It comes out sharp. Ugly. “I don’t need therapy from you.”

“And I don’t need you to like what I’m saying,” he shoots back. “I just need you to stay alive.”

The words punch a hole through my chest.

I stand too fast, the chair scraping. “Get out.”

Banks freezes. “Lucky—”

“No.” My voice slices the air. “Don’t you, Lucky me right now.”

He stiffens. “I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to drag me somewhere I’m not ready to go,” I snap back. “You always do this.”

His brows fly up. “Me? Me?” His voice jumps an octave. “Lucky, are you actually comparing me to Jett right now?”

I flinch, but pride keeps my chin up. “He didn’t hurt me the way you think.”

Banks laughs—sharp, incredulous. “Right. He just owned you. That’s all.”

Heat floods my skin. “He discovered me! I was fourteen, Banks. Fourteen. No one gave a shit about me. I had nothing, and he—”

“Gave you a contract instead of a childhood,” he fires back. “He locked your whole damn life behind deadlines and studio walls. He told you what to wear, how to smile, and how to breathe on stage. And you think that’s love? You think that’s care?”

My vision tightens. “I never said he loved me.”

“No,” Banks says, leaning closer, eyes burning. “But you talk like you owe him your whole damn soul.”

“I do!” I shout. “Without him, I’d still be some kid bouncing between foster homes. Or worse. Maybe stoned out of my mind like my mom, maybe dead in a ditch. You don’t know! You don’t get to judge where he pulled me from.”

Banks’s face breaks open — devastation and fury tangled together.

“Lucky,” he says, quieter now, “he didn’t rescue you. He claimed you. There’s a difference.”

I shake my head violently. “Stop. I can’t do this—”

“You can’t do it because you know I’m right,” he pushes, voice climbing again. “He didn’t build you. He built the brand. Everything you created, he took credit for. Every limit you reached, he pushed harder. And every time you broke, he called it a ‘setback’ instead of a person.”

My breath shatters in my throat.

“I said STOP!” I yell, chest heaving. “Just— stop, Banks!”

He goes still, watching me like he’s trying to hold my pieces in place from across the space between us.

“You think I didn’t see what he did to you?” he asks, voice rough. “I was there, Lucky. I saw you lose yourself one deadline at a time. I saw the panic attacks you hid in the bathroom. I heard him tell you you weren’t ‘trying hard enough’ when you were practically shaking apart.”

My eyes sting. My hands won’t stay still.

“Get out,” I whisper.

Banks flinches. “Lu—”

“I said get out,” I choke. “I can’t— I don’t want to hear this anymore.”

He swallows hard. Something inside him caves.

Then—slowly—he stands up and steps toward me and places a warm, steady hand on my shoulder.

“You can throw me out,” he says softly. “You can scream at me. You can hate every word I said today. But I’m your friend first. And I’m not going to stand here and watch you give your power back to the man who spent years taking it.”

His thumb brushes once—gentle, grounding—then he drops his hand.

The words hit something tender in me — and I react the only way I know how when something feels too close.

I bare my teeth.

“Friend?” I scoff. “You’re on my payroll, Banks. Just like everyone else. Maybe watch how far you step.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, regret slams into me so hard I sway.

His face goes blank — not cold, not angry. Worse.

Hurt. Deep, stunned hurt that he tries to swallow down.

“Wow,” he breathes, more to himself than me. “Okay.”

“I didn’t—” The apology catches in my throat, strangled. I can’t force it out. I can’t let it out.

He shakes his head gently. “No. It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it.”

But the way he says it?

Yeah. It’s not fine. And we both know it.

I can’t look at him — not with the burn crawling up my throat. So I turn away, stepping toward the railing, gripping the wood so tight my knuckles go white. The lake glimmers in front of me, sun warm, water calm — everything inside me is the exact opposite.

My eyes sting. I blink hard, letting my hair fall forward like a curtain. If I stay still, if I breathe slow, maybe he won’t hear how close I am to breaking.

Behind me, Banks exhales — long, tired, full of things I’ve made heavier.

“I’m not your employee, Lucky,” he says quietly. “I’m the idiot who stayed when everyone else left because I care about you more than my own sanity.”

I don’t answer.

Can’t.

Silence stretches — sharp, fragile, dangerous.

“I’ll give you space,” he murmurs. “But don’t punish the people who love you because you’re scared Jett took your voice. He didn’t. You’re still right here.”

I close my eyes. Hard.

“Call me when you’re ready to admit you’re scared because this time… It’s all you. And that’s not a bad thing.”

He turns and walks away, jaw clenched tight, leaving the air trembling with everything neither of us wants to face.

“I’ll always love you,” he murmurs. “As your friend first. Even when you’re angry. Even when you’re hurting. Even when you think it’s a weakness.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I look away.

He hesitates, like he wants to say more.

I don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll fall apart. So I stand there gripping the railing until the world steadies, until my breathing stops shaking, until my eyes stop burning.

And when I finally look up?

The lake is blindingly bright.

Too bright for how dark I feel.

And that’s when I hear footsteps on the deck stairs.

Ethan.

He freezes mid-step, one hand holding a bundle of flashlights, like he’s not sure if he walked into a fight or a funeral.

Banks recovers first. “Well,” he says lightly, “this is awkward. You must be the lumberjack.”

Ethan blinks. “Uh… what?”

Banks waves a hand. “Never mind. Bad timing. I was just leaving.”

He offers Ethan a tight smile. “Wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

And then he’s gone — down the steps, across the yard, disappearing into the bright afternoon like he didn’t just crack me open.

Ethan hesitates, jaw working, obviously trying to decide whether to ask anything. He chooses not to.

“I… uh… brought these.” He holds out the flashlights. “In case another storm rolls in.”

My throat tightens. “Thank you.”

He nods once — respectful, careful — and backs away like he’s giving me space to breathe.

“See you later, Lucky.”

When he’s far enough down the path, I finally exhale.

The silence settles heavily. My eyes sting. My chest aches. I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here in the same place. I suddenly, desperately want anything that feels soft.

“Lucky?” a small voice calls.

I turn around.

Lily stands at the edge of the porch, hair in two messy buns, holding her tablet like it’s treasure. “I, um… I made something. For you.”

She shuffles closer and hands me the screen.

It’s a song.

A simple, sweet melody with shaky chords and a title written in huge block letters:

FOR LUCKY — BECAUSE YOU’RE brAVE EVEN WHEN YOU DON’T FEEL IT

My throat closes instantly.

Lily’s smile is small but proud. “I know you’ve been sad. So I made you music. You make music for other people… so someone should make some for you too.”

I sit down on the porch step and pull her into a hug so tight she squeaks.

And for the first time today — the first time in a long time — something inside me lifts.

Not healed.

But lighter.

Like maybe I’m not drowning after all.