Julian
THIRTY-FOUR
I’ve learned a lot of things about Willow Jameson over the last few weeks.
She hums when she’s distracted. She rubs the back of her neck when she’s anxious. She pretends she’s tougher than she is when she feels cornered.
And right now, she’s pacing, which means her brain’s chewing through itself at approximately a thousand miles an hour.
I watch her from the kitchen window.
Outside, the compound gardens shine under the evening lights, the fountain burbling somewhere near the hedges while Daisy tears across the lawn with the kind of joy only dogs and children seem capable of.
Willow’s moving in circles near the garden, arms folded tightly over herself. Distracted, tense, miles away.
She hasn’t relaxed since she got here.
The internet’s been going after her for three straight days while the rest of us try to pretend we know how to contain a wildfire with expensive security systems and carefully worded PR meetings.
Spoiler alert: We don’t.
Behind me, Gabe’s voice drifts faintly from his office upstairs, calm and controlled in that terrifying way he gets when things are actively imploding. Xander’s down in Studio A trying to work frustration out through music loud enough to rattle the walls.
I grab two beers from the fridge and head outside before I can overthink it.
The second the patio door slides open, Willow glances over. “Uh-oh,” she says. “You’ve got that look.”
I hand her a beer. “What look?”
“The one that says you’re about to interfere.”
“Wow.” I crack mine open. “And people say romance is dead.”
A tiny smile flickers at the corner of her mouth.
I fall into step beside her as she resumes pacing. “You know,” I say casually, “most people just buy weighted blankets.”
She snorts softly. “I’m not anxious.”
“Willow, you’ve walked the same path so many times the grass is considering legal action.”
“That’s over the top.”
“It’s definitely an issue. I read about it online.”
“Ah, yes. The internet. Historically trustworthy.”
I glance sideways at her. “You eat anything today?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Chips.”
Daisy barrels between us at full speed, nearly taking out my knees before skidding dramatically through the flower beds.
“Your dog is a menace,” I tell her.
“She’s thriving.”
“She stole one of Gabe’s socks earlier and buried it near the koi pond.”
Willow actually grins now. “Good for her.”
For the last few days, she’s looked so overwhelmed. She’s carrying around a weight too heavy for someone who never asked to be part of this world in the first place, so seeing her smile is oxygen.
Dangerous thought.
I take a sip of my beer, and we walk quietly for a minute after that.
The compound stretches around us, warm lights beaming through the windows, music faint in the distance from the studio wing.
Usually, this place feels alive to me. Safe.
Now it feels… tense. Everyone’s bracing for impact.
Willow slows beside the fountain, leaning against the stone edge. “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I lean beside her. “The internet?”
She nods.
“I keep telling myself not to care.” She stares down at the water. “But then I remember what people said and it’s like…” She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”
I know.
Better than she realizes.
I spin the guitar pick in my pocket between my fingers.
“When I was twenty-four,” I say lightly, “someone hid inside a laundry cart outside our hotel room for six hours.”
Willow blinks at me. “What?”
“Yep.”
“That cannot be real.”
“Oh, fame is deeply unhinged.”
She stares at me in horror while I grin.
“It gets worse,” I continue. “One time a woman mailed me her own tooth.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Fan mail was a weird era.”
A horrified laugh escapes her. “Julian.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s the most upsetting thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I didn’t know what to do with it,” I admit. “So I gave it to Gabe.”
That breaks her. She doubles over laughing, one hand clutching the fountain edge. “Oh, wow.”
“He was furious.”
“You’re horrible.”
“Correct.”
Her laughter softens gradually, becoming smaller after that. But she’s still smiling, and I realize, with a kind of terrifying clarity, that I’d do pretty much anything to keep her looking that way.
The truth about people assuming I’m carefree is that eventually it becomes easier to let them. Funny guy, easy guy, no real depth beneath the surface.
It keeps things uncomplicated.
No one expects much from someone who jokes their way through everything.
But Willow sees too much. Even now I can feel her studying me.
“You’re doing it again,” she says softly.
I blink. “Doing what?”
“Deflecting.”
I point at her accusingly. “You’re becoming perceptive. I liked you better when you just insulted me.”
“I still insult you.”
“That’s true.”
The alarm explodes through the compound.
Willow jumps hard beside me.
Every muscle in my body locks instantly.
Red lights flash along the exterior walls of the house as the security system activates.
“What the hell?” Willow gasps.
And just like that, I’m twenty-six again.
Hotel hallways. Cameras. Security shoving people back behind barricades while strangers scream our names all the time.
No privacy. No quiet. No space to breathe.
I hated it.
People always assume I handled fame the best out of all of us because I smiled through it.
Because I joked, flirted, played the charming rockstar. But that was survival. If I pretended it didn’t bother me, then maybe, it wouldn’t.
Except, it always did.
The alarm keeps blaring, and movement erupts inside the compound. Lights snapping on, voices, footsteps.
Willow grabs my arm instinctively. The contact jolts straight through me.
“Julian?”
Her voice shakes, and my panic disappears beneath something else entirely. Protectiveness.
I turn toward her.
“Hey,” I say, keeping calm even though my pulse is pounding. “It’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“No,” I admit. “But we’ve got security everywhere.”
The patio doors slam open behind us.
Xander appears first, all jagged edges and fury, followed closely by Gabe already on his phone.
“What happened?” Willow asks.
“Motion alert near the west fence,” Gabe says tightly. “Security caught someone trying to climb through.”
Willow goes pale, and fuck. That expression, that fear. I know it too well.
The moment you realize strangers might stop respecting boundaries entirely.
Xander’s jaw flexes dangerously as he scans the dark tree line beyond the gardens. “Press?”
“Probably,” Gabe replies grimly.
My stomach twists hard, because this is exactly how it starts.
One person sneaks close. Then another. Then, suddenly, nowhere belongs to you anymore.
Willow’s grip tightens unconsciously on my arm. I cover her hand with mine.
“It’s okay,” I murmur again, softer this time.
Even though I’m not completely sure I believe it myself anymore.