Chapter 12
WRECKAGE
JESSE
Euclid by Sleep Token
Joey’s fingers curl gently against my chest, and my pulse jumps, like she’s pressed a live wire to my skin.
She’s been asleep against me for hours, but I haven’t.
Can’t. Every time I close my eyes, the moment replays—her hand reaching for my mask, the quiet acceptance in her eyes when the barrier between us finally shattered.
What a fucking mess I’ve made.
For years, I built walls to keep her safe from the wreckage of loving someone like me.
But last night, when she walked into this studio and saw right through me, I knew I couldn’t hide from her any longer. She wouldn’t let me, and I wasn’t strong enough to let her go. I’m not that noble. I’m not that selfless.
She’s mine now. The thought should terrify me, but my hands tighten around her instead, pulling her closer, holding on like she might dissolve if I loosen my grip. Even if I’m protecting her from myself. There’s no going back now.
Joey stirs against me, her breath shifting from the steady rhythm of sleep to the soft awareness of waking. My pulse pounds in my throat as her lashes lift, still hazy with sleep, unguarded and warm. When she sees me, her whole face transforms—radiant enough to light up the whole city.
“How long was I out?” she asks, her voice rough with sleep.
The studio is dark, no windows for the light to tell time. “A few hours at least.” I brush a stray hair from her cheek. Something behind my ribs aches at the sight of her, a pressure I couldn’t name if I tried. I could stay in this moment for the rest of my life and still want more.
“Shit. What time is it?” She reaches for her phone, and the color drains from her face. “Oh God. It’s almost five AM.”
She sits up and begins gathering her scattered clothes frantically.
“Joey, breathe.” I sit up, reaching for her. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She yanks her tank top over her head, not bothering with her bra. “My parents are going to know I never came home last night.”
“They’re not gonna ground you, you’re an adult.” I let out a small laugh.
Joey sits on the edge of the couch, and I forget how to breathe.
Her hair tumbles in waves down her back.
The tank top clings to curves that were made to wreck a man like me.
Her jeans hang unbuttoned and low on her hips, and there’s something about seeing her like this, rumpled from sleep, marked by our night together, completely unaware of the damage she’s doing, that makes my chest tight with something dangerously close to worship. She’s leveling me without trying.
“It’s not that. It’s just…” she pauses, holding her boot. “I’ve never stayed out all night. I’m always up at sunrise. I don’t do things like this.” She sounds panicked.
“Hey.” I reach for her hand, stilling her frantic movements. “I get it. I’m sorry if I… if being with me is making your life complicated.”
She drops her boot and closes the space between us. She gathers me in her arms and her closeness is devastating in a way I could never imagine.
“Don’t do that,” she says quickly. “I told you last night, don’t regret this. I don’t. Not one bit.” She gives me a devastating smile that makes my body heavy and my heart pound.
I nod, holding her close and not wanting to let go, but she stands, grabbing her boot.
“I just need to figure out how to… navigate this,” she says, hopping on one foot to pull on her boot. “Will I see you later?”
“Are you afraid I’ll disappear?” I tilt my head.
She stops and stares at me. “Maybe.”
I pull my brows together at the vulnerability in her expression. It’s honest in a way that feels almost too tender, like she’s already weighing what it would cost if I disappeared.
“I have rehearsal this afternoon, but I can cancel.” Because I’d miss just about anything to see her again.
“No, no don’t do that. I have a bunch of stuff to do at the ranch. After?” She bends over to put her other boot on and a waterfall of blonde hair cascades over her shoulder.
“After,” I say, and try to even my breathing.
“I have to go.” She reaches for her keys.
I don’t want you to.
“Okay.” I catch her hand before she can pull away, bringing it to my lips, and we fall back onto the couch as she straddles my lap. I might just fucking die with the weight of her pressed against me.
I sink my fingers into her hair and angle her head so I can kiss her, but she pulls away and looks at me. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep your secret. I hope you know that,” she says, holding my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” I say. “Especially Maggie, but for the sake of the band, no one can know it’s me.”
“I don’t want to tell Maggie,” she says.
“You tell Maggs everything.”
“Not this time. I just…” she hesitates. “I want to keep this one thing to myself. For now.”
If that’s what she wants, I can’t argue with that.
The minute her lips touch mine, fuck, I can’t think straight, especially with her settled against me like this.
She tastes like sunshine and salty waves, and when her lips part beneath mine my brain short-circuits completely.
Don’t leave, I want to tell her, but instead I kiss her deeper, my hands sliding up her back to tangle in her hair.
She makes this soft sound against my mouth that shoots straight through me, her fingers gripping the sides of my neck like she needs an anchor.
The way she fits against me, the heat of her skin, the way she tilts her head to give me better access, it’s too much and not nearly enough all at once.
“I really have to go,” she breathes, as she stands, grabbing the rest of her things—and then the weight of her is gone, leaving me with a hole.
She walks away like she had countless times before, but this time was different. Because this time she was mine.
She looks back and smiles right before the door closes behind her with a soft click, and the studio swallows me whole. I lean forward, placing my face in my hands, and then yank at my hair as I count the number of tiles from the couch to the door.
I’m so fucked.
By the time I arrive at the rehearsal space that afternoon, the tension hits before I cross the threshold. Conversations die mid-sentence. Movements become deliberately casual. Every pair of eyes in the room tracks my steps.
I tap the familiar rhythm against my thigh: pointer, middle, ring, pinkie, reverse.
“I guess he didn’t forget he had a band,” Tommy starts in and I roll my eyes at his dramatics.
“I sent the car back for you,” I say, setting my guitar case down with more force than necessary. I know I fucked up when I just left last night, but they don’t understand. And I don’t intend to explain everything to them.
“That’s not the fucking point, Jesse,” Luke chimes in. “You disappeared.”
Stella straightens, pushing off from the couch. “Does she know?”
We all know who she’s talking about.
“Yes.”
Tommy’s sticks clatter to the floor. Luke pushes off from his keyboard, running both hands through his hair.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tommy groans, dropping his head back. “Our entire carefully constructed anonymity, blown because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”
My jaw clenches so hard I hear my teeth grind. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Or what?” Tommy stands, all pretense of calm evaporating. His chest rises and falls rapidly. “You’ll replace me? Find someone who doesn’t mind that the frontman gets to break every rule while the rest of us stay locked behind our masks?”
Fuck. I hate when Tommy makes sense.
“That’s not…”
“This is bullshit and you know it.” Tommy points at me, taking a step closer, and I match it. “You’re pissed too,” Tommy waves a hand at Stella, and her face flushes pink. “Why don’t you tell him?”
Stella gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m getting testosterone poisoning in here.” She slumps onto the couch, but her knowing eyes stay locked on mine.
Luke steps out from behind his keyboard. “You fucked us last night. It could have blown everything.”
My throat tightens. “But I didn’t.” I lose my head when it comes to Joey, another reason this whole thing is dangerous territory.
“And this was your idea to begin with!” Tommy makes another pass across the room, his boots heavy against the concrete.
I blow out a frustrated breath, my shoulders sagging. “Look, I’m sorry I took off at the show but…”
“But nothing,” Tommy cuts me off. “I didn’t like the mask idea. Still don’t. But I committed because you sold it and it’s working.” He stops pacing, fixing me with a stare.
“You think I’m not committed?” I raise my voice as I gesture around the rehearsal space with its shitty couch, leaky pipes, and God only knows what kind of stains on the concrete floor. I push forward, pointing a finger to Tommy’s chest. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Stella springs up from the couch, stepping between us, her palm pressing against my chest. “Let’s all just calm down.”
The pressure of her hand slows the adrenaline coursing through me enough to unclench my fists.
“Nobody’s questioning your commitment,” she says, her gaze cutting between me and Tommy. “But you can’t pull shit like last night and expect us to shrug it off.”
She’s right. I drag a hand through my hair, turning away from Tommy to put some distance between us.
“Joey won’t say anything.” My voice scrapes raw, rougher than I intend. “She understands what’s at stake.”
“Does she really?” Stella asks quietly, and I shake my head, casting my eyes at anything but her. She’s kept my secrets from her own brother without complaint, and right now she’s the only person in this building who understands exactly what unmasking would cost me.
Luke raises both palms in surrender, but the skepticism doesn’t leave his face. He lets the silence sit for a beat, then shifts direction in that quiet, deliberate way of his.
“Have you considered that maybe the masks have run their course?” The question lands softly.
“Think about it,” Luke continues. “We’re outgrowing the underground venues.
Dylan’s been fielding calls from promoters who want to book us at real clubs, but they need faces.
Names. Something they can put on a marquee.
” He shrugs one shoulder. “If people found out who was fronting this band, we wouldn’t be playing basements anymore. We’d be headlining.”
Tommy’s chin lifts. “He’s got a point.”
“No.” The word is a wall. Absolute. “That’s not happening.”
“Why the hell not?” Tommy spreads his arms wide. “Your old man packs arenas. One press release and we’d—”
“And we’d be Jack O’Donnell’s kid’s vanity project.” The bitterness scalds the back of my throat. “Every review, every headline, every comment section—none of it would be about our music. It’d be about my last name.”
It’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth either.
The rest of it sits behind my ribs. If the masks come off, the media starts digging, they always do when a famous name is involved, and they won’t stop at my parentage.
They’ll pull threads until my entire life unravels in public.
The parts of me I can barely hold together in private, dissected and debated by strangers who’ve never met me.
“The masks stay.” I meet Luke’s stare, then Tommy’s. “That’s not up for discussion.”
Tommy scoffs, his jaw working, but Stella cuts in before he can reload.
“We can revisit the venue issue without showing our faces.” She crosses to her bass and lifts it by the neck, slinging the strap over her shoulder with casual authority. “There are ways to build a bigger following without stripping everything down.”
Luke studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, slow and measured, and steps behind his keyboard without another word.
Something about the ease of his concession unsettles me.
Tommy drops onto his drum throne with a huff, snatching his sticks off the floor. “For the record, I still think this is bullshit.” He points a stick at me. “But I’m here. So let’s play.”
I pick up my guitar, the neck smooth and familiar against my palm.
The tension hasn’t dissolved, it’s compressed, packed tight into the corners of the room where none of us are willing to shine a light.
I dig the pick in hard enough to feel the resistance of the strings bite back, downstrokes sharp and percussive, letting the low E ring out with a snarl.
My left hand clamps around the fretboard, fingers pressing until the tips burn, bending notes past pitch just to hear them cry.
I rake across the strings, muted and violent, palm heavy against the bridge so each chord punches instead of sings.
The frustration doesn’t leave me, I channel it.