Chapter 12
ELLE
I fumble with the zipper on my suitcase, tugging clothes from drawers and shoving them inside with zero regard for wrinkles or organization. The Victorian wallpaper blurs at the edges of my vision. My pulse hammers against my ribs.
I can’t stay here. How can I climb onto a bus with Phoenix and pretend the last twelve hours didn’t obliterate every carefully constructed wall I’ve spent five years building.
I shove my laptop into my messenger bag along with my charger, notebooks, the half-empty bag of gummy bears Melody packed for me.
Her sweet face flashes through my mind—lighting up when she talks about Christmas morning, completely oblivious to the fact that her entire world might implode before New Year’s.
God, I never wanted him to find out this way. It’s such a mess.
And now I have no control over what happens next. Will he demand to meet her today? Tomorrow? Will he show up at my door with lawyers, or worse—decide he doesn’t want to be part of her life at all?
I zip the bag closed. What was I thinking last night?
Reconnecting with the man who broke my heart by choosing a record deal over me—a choice I understand now wasn’t fair to him.
But understanding doesn’t make the morning-after reality any less complicated.
The memory of his hands on my body, the way he whispered my name in the darkness will haunt me while I navigate whatever fresh hell comes next.
The suitcase wheels catch on the ornate rug as I drag it toward the door. First priority: get downstairs without crying. Second priority: find literally any other way home besides a tour bus.
The hallway stretches before me, polished wood and holiday garland wrapped around the railing that seemed charming yesterday but now fills me with heartache and longing. My suitcase thumps down each step behind me, announcing my departure to anyone within earshot.
“Whoa, hey.” Theo appears at the bottom of the staircase, eyebrows climbing toward his messy hair. “Where are you off to?”
“Phoenix is an asshole.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I’m beyond caring about professionalism or maintaining my cool journalist facade because that’s been blow to smithereens.
“What’s new?” Theo’s expression shifts from confusion to something resembling concern, which on a guy who usually maintains careful emotional distance, registers as actual alarm.
“I’m finding my own way home.”
“Elle—”
I yank my suitcase across the lobby toward one of the bay windows, pulling out my phone. “There has to be a rental car place within fifty miles, and if I have to walk, I will.”
I swipe across the screen, pulling up search results, but the service bars flicker weakly. Of course. Because nothing about this trip can be easy.
Through the frost-edged window, movement catches my peripheral vision. Phoenix stands in the snow-dusted parking lot, arms crossed over his chest, while Casey gestures animatedly. Even from here, I can read the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw sets when he’s refusing to budge on something.
Five years apart and I still know his body language better than my own.
The same jaw I traced with my fingers last night. The same shoulders I gripped while he moved inside me.
Stupid. So incredibly stupid.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Theo shakes his head, studying me. “Is this one of those emotional time of the...”
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Finish that sentence. I dare you.”
Theo’s eyes widen. “Poor word choice. Terrible word choice. What I meant was—”
The bus pulls up to the curb, engine rumbling.
Theo, clearly grateful for the interruption, gestures toward the window. “Oh look, the bus is fixed.”
A moment later, the front door bursts open, cold air rushing in along with Mike’s cheerful voice. “Everyone get your asses on the bus!”
Martha emerges from the kitchen, a tray balanced in her hands loaded with travel mugs of hot chocolate and pastries wrapped in wax paper.
“Not before you take some of my famous cheese danishes for the road.” She presses a steaming Styrofoam cup into my hands, the warmth seeping through my gloves.
“Safe travels, dear. May the roads be clear and the journey swift.”
“Thank you, Martha.” The kindness in her weathered face nearly undoes me. In the corner, the Christmas tree twinkles with handmade ornaments—a reminder of everything waiting for me at home, everything I’m about to risk losing.
Theo accepts a cup and a pastry with a soft smile. “You remind me of my grandma,” he says.
“Oh, how sweet dear.”
I guess even a tattooed guitar player who fills arenas isn’t immune to Martha’s hospitable charms.
“She’s dead.” Theo takes a bite of pastry and walks toward the door, leaving me frozen mid-step.
Martha’s eyes crinkle as she tilts her head. She smiles and then heads back through the kitchen door.
I groan. This is what I have to put up with for the rest of the ride home.
Mike spots my suitcase, crosses the lobby in three strides, and scoops it up before I can protest. “Let me help you with it.”
“Wait—um—” I reach for the handle, but he’s already heading toward the door. “Shit.”
I chase after him, boots slipping slightly on the snowy steps as I emerge into the cold morning air. The bus idles at the curb, engine rumbling, exhaust puffing white clouds. I stand there staring at it like it might transform into something less claustrophobic if I glare hard enough.
Theo turns from where he’s leaning against the doorframe with his hot chocolate and half a Danish hanging out of his mouth. “If you want to get home for Christmas Eve, you gotta get on the bus.”
“Fine.” The word comes out in a huff.
The image of Melody’s face propels me forward.
Phoenix stands near the rear of the bus, deliberately not meeting my gaze.
Perfect. We can play this game.
I climb the steps, my boots echoing on the metal floor, deliberately keeping my eyes forward. The cramped space offers limited options so I claim the kitchenette, my laptop bag a silent warning to stay away.
Casey claims one of the bunks across from me, settling in with his phone. Theo drops onto the couch, stretching his long legs out into the aisle.
Phoenix boards last, his presence sucking the oxygen from the already-tight quarters.
Our eyes lock for a heartbeat—his expression unreadable, mine probably screaming everything I’m trying to hide.
Last night he looked at me like I was his entire world.
Now I can’t read him at all, and that terrifies me more than anything.
The bus lurches forward, and he drops onto the couch near the driver as far from me as physically possible in this cramped space.
I flip my laptop open, the screen the only barrier between us with any chance of holding.
Last night, there was no distance. Last night, there was nothing between us but skin and heat and promises neither of us should have made.
The bus tires crunch over snow as we pull onto the highway.
The Victorian bed and breakfast shrinks in the rearview, taking with it the magic that caused me to let my guard down.
It was as if he had transformed back into the guy I knew all those years ago before everything got too complicated, before he became the rockstar that graced magazine covers and filled stadiums.
The way he fed me saltwater taffy at the festival, laughing when I got it stuck to my teeth.
The snowball fight leaving us breathless and pink-cheeked.
Dancing in the town square under Christmas lights, his hand warm against my lower spine, his eyes holding mine like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
Those moments built something between us. Something real and terrifying and impossible to sustain.
Silence settles over the bus without the usual banter, thick and uncomfortable. Casey scrolls on his phone. Casey pretends to sleep.
My mind spirals through possibilities I don’t want to entertain. Will Phoenix demand a paternity test? Insist on meeting Melody before I’ve had a chance to prepare her?
Both options make me want to throw up.
Theo breaks first. “Jesus, you’d think Elle was hiding a secret baby or something.”
The words land like a grenade. The air punches out of my lungs.
Every head swivels toward him. Casey’s phone clatters to the floor. Mike glances in the rearview mirror, the bus swerving slightly before he corrects.
Theo blinks, clearly registering the sudden attention. “What?” His gaze darts around the bus, landing on each frozen face. “Wait—. I was joking. Is there a secret baby?”
Phoenix’s hand flies out, smacking Theo upside the head with a solid thwack.
“Ow!” Theo rubs his head, wincing. “What was—”
Casey sits up straight on his bunk, alarm crossing his face. “Theo, man, shut up.”
“There’s a baby?” Mike’s voice rises an octave from the driver’s seat. “Like an actual baby?”
Casey mutters, “More like a toddler-sized Phoenix.”
“God help us,” Mike mutters from up front.
Phoenix smacks the phone from Casey’s hand—the one he’d just picked up off the floor.
“Bad vibes on this bus.” Casey shakes his head, swiping his phone back before settling deeper into his bunk.
Phoenix opens his mouth, his gaze shifting to me.
My eyes hold his, daring him to push this conversation into the open with an audience.
His jaw tightens, muscle ticking beneath the stubble. He says nothing.
The silence somehow gets worse.
I plant my fingers on the keyboard. My cursor blinks in the document, mocking me. Phoenix’s stupid, perfect face stares up from my notes section—the feature I’m supposed to be writing.
Words. I need words. How can I write when my entire life has become a spectator sport on this godforsaken bus? I’m supposed to write an unbiased feature about the man who’s simultaneously the father of my child and the frontman for one of the hottest bands in the country. I’m fucked.
Phoenix sits perfectly still near the driver, staring at his hands. Even without seeing his face, the rigid set of his shoulder’s broadcasts devastation. The way his fingers curl into loose fists, knuckles white against his jeans. The muscle ticking in his jaw.
Something in my chest cracks. He’s breaking. And I’m the one who broke him.
I almost feel sorry for him—almost want to cross this cramped bus and tell him we’ll figure this out together—
A loud belch shatters the silence.
I wrinkle my nose, shooting Casey a look. “Really, Casey?”
“Sorry.” Casey grins sheepishly from his bunk. “Martha’s pastries were incredible, though. She reminded me of your nana,” he adds, nodding at Theo. “May she rest in peace.” He makes the sign of the cross.
“She was a saint,” Theo says solemnly.
I shake my head, equal parts annoyed and grateful for the interruption.
Six hours. I can do six hours.
Even if every mile stretches like six years, and every minute brings me closer to the moment Phoenix decides whether he wants to be Melody’s father—or just walks away.