Chapter Six
EFFA
Mercs cracks his neck, his jaw tight, eyes flicking away from me and then back again like he’s weighing up how much to say. He draws in a sharp breath and decides to rip the bandage off.
“Luke agreed to pay them out for the remainder of the tour and cancel their contract without legal blowback, even though technically, with Jett in jail, they’d be in breach.
There’s a clause about him not filing assault charges against me.
I know Luminous is going to hemorrhage money to Swift Division for basically nothing because I beat the crap out of that fuckhead, but Effa…
he could have raped you. He could have killed you. ”
I hold his gaze and give him a calm nod. “Okay.”
His brows pull together. “Okay?”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me.
“Yes, okay. It’s a lot of money, sure. But if it gets them away from us without a drawn-out legal circus, I’m all for it.
And if Luke managed to keep you out of jail, then I’m definitely all for that as well.
This sounds like the cleanest way out, Kaden. You and Luke handled it well.”
He studies me like he’s waiting for the explosion that isn’t coming. “I thought you’d be pissed.”
“Nope.” I squeeze his hand gently. “I’m proud of you. You protected me. Luke cleaned up the mess with money rather than causing more damage. That’s not a loss, that’s a strategic win.”
His mouth curves into that sly smirk I adore. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I love you. Have I mentioned that?”
Warmth blooms through me so fast it makes me lightheaded. “I love you too.”
The smirk fades, and something more vulnerable replaces it. His grip tightens slightly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t wake up.”
I smile at him, even though my ribs protest the movement. “You wouldn’t have had a choice. I would’ve haunted you. Very inconveniently.”
He huffs a breath that might be a laugh, but his eyes are still too serious to be one.
This man makes me feel alive in a way no machine ever could.
Even now, weak, stitched and bruised inside, my body finds its rhythm when he leans close.
I close my eyes as his mouth meets mine again, softer this time, more careful.
The door swings open.
Mercs pulls back instantly.
Damn.
I look toward the doorway and see Alana hovering there, trying to smile and failing just a little. “Sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just… I just needed to see you.” Her voice is thin, stretched too tight.
Seeing her like that hurts more than the broken ribs.
“Alana,” I say gently, forcing brightness into my tone. “I’m okay. Come in. We’re just discussing Luke sacking Swift Division.”
She steps inside and closes the door behind her, moving closer to the bed. “Oh? You were?”
Mercs nods.
Alana’s mouth twitches. “Honestly, I think it’s for the best. I never told anyone, not even Luke, but Trent, the bassist? The way he looked at me half the time was more than creepy… and Jett was an arrogant son of a bitch.”
I blink at her. Alana rarely speaks badly about anyone. So for her to say that out loud means she’s been holding onto it for a while.
Mercs shakes his head. “That whole band was trouble. I’ve had my own run-ins with them. I’m glad they’re gone. If it means you’re safer, Effa, then it’s worth every cent.” His hand tightens around mine again, protective without being overbearing.
“I’m glad I’ll never see Jett Jones again,” I say quietly. “Hopefully, I won’t be stuck in here too long. Once I’m stronger, we can reschedule the tour and find a new opener without too much chaos. Luke put out a press release?”
“Yeah,” Mercs replies. “Something about personal issues within the band. With Jett’s arrest, there’ll be plenty of fallout for them to eat up and not be too worried about Luminous. But let’s face it, Swift Division might already be yesterday’s news.”
Alana steps closer, her expression softening. “Eff, I love how committed you are to the tour and the fans, but you just came out of a coma. Your heart stopped. You stopped breathing. Take a minute… please.”
I exhale slowly and glance at Mercs. He gives me a firm nod, the kind that says he agrees completely. His face looks drawn, like he hasn’t slept properly in days, and I hate that I put that look there.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll rest… properly… but not forever. I don’t want the fans thinking we’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
Alana snorts. “They’re not turning on us. They’re flooding our socials with support. E Channel ran a six-hour special last night with concerts, interviews, the works. We’re trending worldwide. If anything, this has amplified everything. Just… maybe don’t nearly die again for publicity.”
I laugh, the sound still fragile. “Noted.”
Her fingers slide into mine and squeeze. “I love you. I’m just glad you’re here.”
My chest tightens at the thought of not being here. Of leaving all of them behind. I tighten my hold on both their hands and look between them.
I’m so lucky.
“So,” I say, turning to Mercs. “How did you go meeting Dad?”
His grin spreads slowly. “Oh, that was a hoot. Let me tell you.”
One Week Later
Over the last week, since waking from my coma, I’ve been deep in rehabilitation mode. Physio, breathing exercises, cognitive checks—every day has felt like a test I’m determined to ace.
Thankfully, everything is tracking well. My motor function is normal, my speech is clear, and apart from the black hole that is that night, my memory is intact.
The doctors are mildly stunned that I’m already walking the distances I am.
Apparently, I’m meant to be slower, more fragile, more cautious.
Instead, I’ve been pushing, within reason, because that’s just who I am.
I do tire more easily than I’d like, though, and that part frustrates me.
After an hour upright, my body reminds me it recently went through something catastrophic.
These broken ribs are a bitch! But I’m only a week out.
Two months, they say, before I’m back to full strength.
Two months.
Which means the tour delay is longer than I’d hoped.
I was na?vely thinking weeks, but that’s clearly not happening.
Still, the doctors keep calling my progress ‘remarkable,’ and I’m choosing to lean into that.
Positive healing vibes, stubborn determination, and having Dad and Lettie here have helped more than any chart could measure.
Something is grounding about your parents being in the room…
it’s like their energy alone insists you keep going.
Plus the doctors wrote me a script for narcotics for the pain if I need it, so that helps.
Today, I’m being discharged.
We don’t have every detail mapped out yet, but I trust that we’ll figure it out.
Somewhere to recover properly.
Somewhere steady.
The door swings open, and Mercs steps in, carrying a ridiculous bouquet of flowers and a giant rainbow balloon bobbing above him. I burst out laughing as I zip up my bag.
He sets the flowers down and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Happy coming-home day, baby.”
I turn my head and brush my lips against his. His stubble grazes my skin, familiar and comforting. “And where exactly is home?” I ask, grinning. “It’s not like we’ve got a house waiting.”
He clicks his tongue and tilts his head with exaggerated mystery. “Ah, this is where you’re mistaken.”
I plant a hand on my hip. “Are we talking just you and me, or the whole circus?”
He scoops up my bag. “You and I have somewhere special. The others are nearby. Same town, different building.”
“Same town?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Mercs, where are we going?”
He laces his fingers through mine, warmth instantly traveling up my arm. “You’ll see. But let’s go… everyone’s waiting.”
The nurses are gathered in the corridor with a wheelchair ready. I thank each of them sincerely as they wheel me out. These people kept me alive, and that’s not something I’ll ever forget.
At the hospital doors, I pause and glance back. “Thank you,” I call out.
Once outside, I stand on my own. There’s no way I’m letting paparazzi snap photographs of me looking fragile. Mercs slips an arm around my shoulders and walks me toward a stretch Hummer waiting at the curb.
Flashes erupt to the right, where the paparazzi are corralled behind barriers. I lift a small wave and smile so they know I’m okay. The cheering that follows is oddly comforting.
Inside the Hummer, everyone’s here—my band, my parents, Tank, Jay, Luke, Raoul. Mercs slides in beside me, and I lean into him instinctively.
“Welcome back, baby girl,” Dad beams, his grin wide enough to light the entire vehicle.
“Thanks, Dad. I feel more like myself.”
He pulls Lettie close, kissing her temple. “Whole family together again… plus a few stragglers.” He elbows Luke.
Luke looks up from his phone with a sigh. “I was finalizing the Swift Division detachment. It’s done. The contract is void. Financial arrangements are null thanks to Jett’s little knife incident. Now I have to find a replacement band without knowing when we’re relaunching. Easy, right?”
Mercs squeezes my knee gently.
Dad rolls his eyes and slings an arm around Luke. “Lucas, my boy… you’re wound tighter than a drum. Let some of that tension out before your head explodes, and I’m not talking about the one on your cock.”
Laughter ricochets through the car, loud and immediate. Luke groans under the weight of Dad’s arm while Lettie swats him hard in the chest for good measure. Alana however, goes pink beside the window, suddenly fascinated by absolutely nothing outside.
“Always educational, Donny,” Luke mutters, trying and failing to look unimpressed.
Dad just grins as the Hummer eases away from the curb, gliding into traffic like none of us just had our dignity publicly assaulted.
“So,” I say, looking around. “Is anyone going to tell me where we’re going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Andi sings from across the seat.
I glare at Mercs. “And you all know?”
A collective “Yep” answers me.
I fold my arms dramatically. “Rude.”
“Relax,” Mercs murmurs, his eyes dancing. “You’re going to love it. I promise.”
The confidence in his voice settles something inside me. Whatever they’ve planned, it’s meant to protect me, to help me heal. So I lean back against the seat, slide my hand into his, and let the unknown feel exciting instead of terrifying.
For once, I’m not rushing toward the next stage.
I’m just going to enjoy the ride.