34. Thirty-Four
Thirty-Four
Nate
The road stretches endlessly before me, headlights cutting through the darkness, but I barely register any of it. I’ve been driving all night, trying to outrun the weight of my own thoughts. It hasn’t worked.
By the time I pull into the driveway, exhaustion clings to me like a second skin. My body aches, and my hands are stiff from gripping the wheel, but I don’t hesitate as I step out of the car. I need to see Lacey.
The house is dark and quiet as I unlock the door and punch in the security code. For a split second, I think maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she needed space, too, and went to her parents’ place for the night. That thought steadies me—until I step inside and feel the shift.
Something’s wrong.
The air feels still, too still.
A nagging unease tightens in my gut as I head to the bedroom. The second I flick on the light, the truth slams into me like a wrecking ball.
Her side of the closet is empty. Her clothes, her shoes—gone. The small touches of her presence, the little things she left scattered around—her hairbrush on the dresser, her robe on the back of the door—vanished.
She’s gone—she left. A cold rush of disbelief sweeps through me, freezing me in place. My mind fights against the reality of it, searching for any sign that I’m wrong. That she’ll walk through the door any second, rolling her eyes at me for being so dramatic. But the house is empty. My chest tightens with a sharp pang of regret, the kind that settles deep in the bones. I told her I needed space—but I never meant for her to disappear from my life completely.
I move through the house in a daze, taking in every missing piece of her. The bathroom counter looks sterile without her skincare bottles taking up room on the counter.
The silence is deafening.
When I told her I needed space, I didn’t mean this. I didn’t mean for her to leave. I call her name, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep. No answer. I check the living room and the kitchen. No sign of her.
As I turn to leave, I notice her pink princess coffee mug is gone; she took it with her, and my blood runs cold.
I trudge wearily back upstairs and sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the space where she slept, where she curled up beside me. The sheets are still faintly rumpled, the only proof that she was ever here at all.
I lie down and hug her pillow, pressing my face into it, my heart pounding in my chest. Her scent lingers—light, familiar, devastating. My throat tightens, and for the first time in years, I feel something dangerously close to breaking.
A memory flashes—her laughter ringing through the house as she raced barefoot up the stairs, teasing me about my terrible taste in clothing. Yet she’d steal my shirts and wear them like they were her favorites. This house, once a quiet refuge, had become something warmer, something alive with her in it. And now, without her, it feels empty, like a shell of what it once was.
Sleep drags me under before I can stop it, but even in my dreams, she’s gone, and I’m all alone with nothing but my anger and arrogant pride.
Tonight’s venue is packed—some arena in Chicago, or maybe it’s Detroit. They all blur together now. The crowd roars as I take my place behind my drums, but my eyes still scan the wings of the stage, searching for a flash of dark-colored hair, a glimpse of that smile that lights up everything.
But she’s not here. Of course, she’s not. She’s back in L.A., hard at work, living her dream.
The stage lights blind me. The crowd’s roar drowns out every thought in my head. My sticks crash against the drums, each beat a sharp, precise explosion. The music pulses through my veins, through every muscle, every nerve—But it doesn’t reach me. Not like it usually does.
Not like it does when I know she’s there, watching.
I grit my teeth and force it out of my mind, throwing myself into the music. If nothing else, I can control this. The band is tight tonight—Cass’s voice is raw, emotional, and perfect. Luke and Vince are locked in, Sam’s bass vibrating through the stadium like a heartbeat.
And me?
I beat the hell out of my kit like it owes me something.
Channeling everything into my playing, I let the rhythm consume me. Each hit of the drums is her name. Each crash of the cymbals is the echo of her laugh.
Luke shoots me a look—half concern, half admiration. He knows. They all do.
I twirl my sticks, muscle memory taking over as we launch into the next song. My body knows the rhythm, even if my mind is a month in the past, remembering the last night I had her in my bed.
The way she’d traced the tattoos on my chest, her fingers following the patterns until I couldn’t take it anymore. How she’d gasped when I rolled her beneath me, her skin flushed and perfect in the moonlight. The way she’d whispered my name like a prayer when I...*
“Yo, Nate!”
Luke’s voice snaps me back to reality. I’ve missed my cue. Fuck.
I jump back in, but the damage is done. Sam shoots me a look over his shoulder, his fingers never missing a note on his bass. Vince covers smoothly with a guitar riff, but I can feel their concern radiating across the stage.
The rest of the set passes in a blur. I focus on the drums, on the physical act of playing, trying to drown out the memories with pure percussion. But she’s there in every beat, in every rest, in every moment of silence between songs.
I push harder, hitting the drums with a force that vibrates through my bones, but it still doesn’t drown out the ache in my chest. I keep my head down, avoiding my bandmates’ glances, knowing they can sense it—the missing piece. The weight dragging me down.
By the time the set ends, sweat is dripping down my back, my breath coming fast as I grip my sticks like they’re the only things tethering me to reality.
The final song crescendos into chaos as Luke finishes—lights flashing, the crowd screaming, hands raised in the air. And still, my chest is too tight, my pulse too erratic, my head somewhere else… somewhere with her.
I slam my sticks down on the snare one last time, panting as the sound reverberates through the arena. Cass steps up to the mic, tossing a sweaty grin at the audience.
“Thank you, Detroit!” Cass’s voice booms through the arena as the song ends. The crowd screams back, a wall of sound that used to fill me up. Instead, it just feels hollow. Empty.
Like everything else since she left.
The roar of the crowd swells around us as we exit the stage, but the moment we’re out of sight of the fans, the guys close in.
“That’s it,” Emily announces, stepping toward us. “We need a Band meeting. Now.”
“I’m fine,” I growl, but they’re already herding me toward the green room.
“Yeah, you’re totally fine,” Luke snorts. “That’s why you’ve been walking around like a zombie for weeks.”
“And butchering songs you could play in your sleep,” Vince adds.
Cass closes the door behind us with a frown. “You need to call her.”
“There’s nothing to say.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.
“Bullshit.” Sam drops onto the couch across from me.
Emily steps forward. “You’re both miserable,” she states sternly, crossing her arms.
“Emily, you need to mind your own business.”
“She’s worried about you. We all are.” Sam explains, defending his wife as he sits on the end of the couch. “Look, man, we get why you’re angry. But is it worth throwing away everything you had with Lacey?”
I grip my sticks tighter, focusing on the worn wood grain. “She betrayed my trust.”
“She made a mistake,” Luke counters. “One mistake. And she puts up with more PR bullshit than anyone should have to handle.”
“You didn’t see her face when she left,” Emily says quietly. “She was devastated.”
The memory of her tear-stained cheeks hits me like a physical blow. I stand abruptly, needing to move, to escape their concern.
“It’s been over a month,” Cass points out. “How much longer are you going to punish both of you?”
Vince suddenly snorts. “You’ve got it bad for her. Why don’t you just admit it?”
I scowl. “Shut up.”
But I can’t shut out the memories. They creep in uninvited, slamming into me at the worst moments—like now.
The way she fit against me in bed, her breath warm against my neck, her nails dragging down my back as she moaned my name. The way her lips parted, her body arching beneath me, her dark eyes heavy with heat and something else—something that scared me as much as it made me crave her more.
I force myself to shake it off, swallowing hard. But my silence only fuels their concern and their amusement at my stubbornness.
“You know,” Cass muses, propping his feet up on the coffee table, “you could just call her.”
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I should have. I should have called her the second she left. Should have told her that even though I was pissed, even though I needed space, I never wanted her to actually go.
But now, every day that passes makes it harder to pick up the phone.
Instead of answering Cass, I grab another bottle of water and take a long drink, letting the cold liquid cool the fire burning inside me.
I know I should call her. I want to call her. But what the hell would I say? That I miss her? That every song I play reminds me of her? That I keep reaching for my phone, only to put it down again like a goddamn coward? I sit down on the couch again, feeling defeated.
Cass nudges my boot with his own. “You know, man, pride’s a bitch. You keep waiting for the perfect moment, and you’ll wake up one day realizing you missed your chance.”
Luke leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She loves you, Nate. We all saw it. And I don’t think she wanted to leave.”
I drag a hand through my hair, frustration curling in my gut. “She did leave.”
Kendrick speaks up quietly, glancing from Emily to me. “Because you let her.”
The truth of it slams into me like a fist. I look away, jaw tight, because I hate that she’s right—they’re all right.
Vince sighs, shaking his head. “Look, I get it. You’re stubborn as hell, and you don’t like dealing with emotions. But you need to figure out what you want, Nate. And if it’s her? You better do something before someone else does.”
His words twist something deep inside me, something raw and possessive that I don’t want to admit.
Before I can respond, a knock sounds at the door, followed by the venue manager popping his head in. “Press is waiting.”
Cass claps me on the back as he stands. “Think about it, man. Don’t let this be another regret.”
They all exit, forced to let the topic drop—for now—but I know it’s only a matter of time before they bring it up again. I lean back against the couch, rubbing a hand down my face as the adrenaline from the performance fades, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
I sit there for a moment, my heart pounding harder than it did onstage. I pull out my phone but just sit there staring at it. I think of my mom and how I let years go by before Lacey convinced me to reach out. Am I destined to repeat the same mistake with Lacey?