Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
Lila
I’m in the wings, half-shadow, half light. The kind of place that’s supposed to feel safe because no one is looking here.
Except I feel the shift anyway.
The attention swinging. The air changing temperature.
I glance at Manny, but he’s not watching me. He’s staring out toward the stage, posture gone rigid in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
The announcer’s voice booms over the stadium, smooth and practiced, but I barely register the words. I feel them more than I understand them, like distant thunder.
“Tonight, Lila wanted to give you something unexpected.”
My skin prickles.
The voice continues. “In her world, truth matters. Sometimes that means letting someone else speak.”
My brain trips over itself.
“Please welcome Camden Drake.”
And then I see Cam.
On the stage.
A microphone in his hand like it belongs there. Like he’s done this a hundred times. Like he isn’t the reason my chest has been tight for days.
A wave of flashes bursts from the crowd. Phone screens rising like a field of little moons.
The huge screens above the stage catch him, zooming in, making him bigger than life.
And still, somehow, he feels closer than that.
My heart slams against my ribs. Painful. A sharp reminder I’m made of muscle and mistakes.
He turns his head.
Not to the crowd. Not to the cameras. Not to the producers losing their minds behind the rigs.
To me.
Straight to me, tucked in the wings like a secret.
The whole world drops away.
For one stupid, terrifying second, it’s just us again.
I shouldn’t be this affected.
But I no longer care about shoulds.
It cares about him.
The stadium erupts.
Not polite applause. Not the usual roar for an opener or a beat drop.
This is forty thousand people realizing they’ve wandered into a moment they’ll talk about forever.
I press my free hand against the road case beside me to steady myself. Metal bites cold through my palm.
He’s wearing dark clothes, simple, no team logos, no flashy anything. Just him. Broad shoulders. Familiar stance.
He lifts the mic.
My pulse roars in my ears. So loud it nearly drowns him out.
Has he seen the interview?
Of course he’s seen it.
The whole world has seen it. That’s the problem with words when you’re famous. They don’t stay in your mouth. They turn into clips. Headlines. Reaction videos.
I told the truth anyway.
I said it with my hands shaking under the table and my therapist’s voice in my head telling me to breathe.
And then I came here to do what I always do.
Sing.
Smile.
Pretend on the stage.
Cam is here now, and my brain tries to make sense of it in a dozen different directions at once.
Did he come to correct me?
To tell me we made a mistake?
The thought makes my stomach drop. A cold, sickly swoop.
Or—
Hope flutters.
Did he come for me?
The idea is ridiculous. It’s dangerous. It’s the kind of thought that gets me in trouble because I want it and wanting has never been safe.
Cam’s gaze stays on me.
Not once does it flick toward the cameras.
Not once does he glance at the crowd like he’s feeding off their energy.
It's like he’s standing in my kitchen with a mug in his hand. Like I’m wearing his hoodie and he’s about to tease me for stealing it again.
Like I’m real.
My breath catches.
Fear pulls hard in one direction. Hope pulls hard in the other.
A producer appears near the edge of the wings, wild-eyed, gesturing frantically at Manny.
Manny’s face doesn’t change. He’s stone.
Someone in a headset mouths, “This wasn’t approved.”
No kidding.
Cam raises the mic closer.
His voice comes through the speakers, low and steady, and the sound does something to me.
Anchors me in place.
My knees feel weak.
I can’t tell if it’s my body preparing to run or my heart preparing to leap.
Cam shifts his weight. Steps closer to the front of the stage.
He finally turns his head.
Not away from me completely, but enough that the cameras can catch his profile. Enough that the crowd feels included.
My stomach twists at the audacity of it.
His voice rings out, steady as a hand on my spine.
“There’s something I need to say,” he says.
The stadium buzzes, alive and sharp.
He pauses.
And even though he’s looking toward the cameras now, I feel it when his eyes flick back to me. Like a tether snapping tight. Like he can’t say the next part unless he makes sure I’m still there.
His expression softens. Just barely.
“…about Lila,” he says.
My heartbeat stutters.
“My wife.”
The crowd explodes.
He’s choosing my world and me at the same time.
Sound crashes over the stadium like a wave. Screams. Shouts. Names being chanted. People losing their minds because this is better than any song, any encore, any planned moment with confetti.
It’s real.
It’s public.
It’s irreversible.
The stage wings suddenly feel too small, like my life is happening ten feet away under lights while I’m still in the dark.
The crowd is roaring. Recording. Feeding on this.
Cam looks back at me, fully now.
Just asking—
Are you with me?