4. Unruly Hearts
Unruly Hearts
Evan
The cameras are already outside when Evan pours his second cup of coffee.
Evan mutters, "I hate people."
"You say that every morning now," Sarah says behind him, soft but amused.
He turns to see her padding into the kitchen barefoot, wearing a slouchy sweater that falls off one shoulder. Shes holding Piper, whos giggling and still in her princess pajamas, tiara and all.
Evans heart does something it absolutely should not do.
She looks like she belongs here. Like this isnt a performance.
"Is there a camera out there with my good side?" she asks.
"I think one of them tried to Photoshop you into a wedding dress last night."
Sarah gasps. "Ugh, please tell me it wasnt strapless."
Piper looks between them. "Whats strapless?"
"A mistake," Sarah says cheerfully, nuzzling her cheek.
Evan watches the two of them, arms crossed. Theres a warmth in his chest he cant shake. Its not just the domestic vibe or the adorable chaos; its the fact that Sarah makes all of it feel natural.
Dangerously natural.
Later that afternoon, they all pile onto the oversized couch to watch a movie Pipers picked, obviously. Evan tries to focus, but Sarah is curled on the opposite end of the sofa, one leg tucked under her, laughing at all the right moments. Piper is nestled between them like a content puppy.
Evans fingers flex against the cushion. Sarahs laughter winds through the room, tightening something in his chest. When she reaches for popcorn, and her fingers brush his, its like a live wire sparking beneath his skin.
Piper falls asleep halfway through.
"Shes out cold," she murmurs, brushing curls from Pipers forehead. "I think the tiara wore her out."
"Youre good with her."
She looks up at him, surprised. "Thanks. That means more than you think."
He watches her then, really watches her the way she holds Piper like she was born to do it, the softness in her eyes, the curve of her smile.
Something breaks loose in his chest.
"Sarah..."
She looks at him again. "Yeah?"
The air shifts. The space between them isnt really space anymore.
He leans in before he can stop himself. Slowly. Cautiously. Her eyes flutter closed. Her breath catches.
Their lips almost touch. Her breath fans across his cheek. His fingers hover near her knee, the tension crackling between them.
Her hand grazes his jaw. Thats all it takes.
His mouth slants over hers, and the kiss is sudden, hungry, a spark turned wildfire.
For a heartbeat, she freezes, eyes wide, breath caught like shes debating whether to pull away or dive in.
Then she responds, her fingers threading into his hair, her body arching into his like shes been waiting for this just as long.
He deepens the kiss, lips sliding to her jaw, then her throat. She gasps softly, and the sound sends fire rushing through his veins. Her sweater slips lower, revealing the smooth line of her shoulder. His hands grip her waist, dragging her closer until shes in his lap, straddling him.
Its intoxicating the way she tastes, the way she melts against him, the way she whispers his name like a secret shes never said out loud.
And then, like a bucket of ice water, Piper stirs in her sleep beside them, mumbling something incoherent.
Evan jerks back. "Shit."
Sarah blinks, wide-eyed, lips flushed, breath ragged. "That was..."
"A mistake," he says hoarsely, standing too fast. "I cant."
She looks like he slapped her. She gathers Piper into her arms and stands slowly. "Right. Of course."
"Sarah"
"Its fine, Evan. Really. Were just keeping up appearances."
Her voice is steady, but her hands shake as she carries Piper down the hall. Evan sinks onto the couch, cursing under his breath.
He should be relieved. He didnt cross a line. He didnt make a mess.
So why does it feel like he just lost something?
His studio is supposed to be a sanctuary.
Tonight, its a cage.
Evan slams the door behind him and leans against it, breathing hard. He still tastes her. Still feels her weight in his lap. Still hears the quiet little sound she made when his mouth met her throat.
He presses his palms to his eyes, as if he can erase the memory.
But his body is still buzzing, and his brain wont cooperate.
He throws himself at the piano, pounding the keys, trying to distract himself, trying to drown in something other than her.
He plays until his fingers ache. Starts a melody. Rips it apart. Builds it again.
Nothing fits.
He switches to guitar, tries a darker riff. Still wrong.
His phone rings. He grabs it, relieved for the interruption, until he sees the name.
"Hey, Evan," says a chipper voice on the other end. His label rep. Perfect.
"Is this a good time?"
"Not really."
"Ill be quick. Corporates thrilled about the buzz around the engagement. Social engagements through the roof. They want a formal interview photo spread, maybe even a docuseries teaser if youre in."
"Absolutely not."
The voice tightens. "Then you should know, legal is reviewing your contract. If youre not willing to lean into this rebrand fully, they may cut ties. Youre high risk. Too many headlines, not enough hits."
Evan stares at the silent piano. "Youre threatening to drop me because I wont sell out my personal life?"
"Were offering you a lifeline. Show the world youve changed. Play the part."
The line goes dead.
Evan tosses the phone onto the bench and runs both hands through his hair.
Hes not sure what scares him more, losing his career or losing Sarah.
Because one way or another, hes not going to be able to keep both.
The silence in the studio thickens. Evan sits there in the dim light, phone dark on the bench beside him, mind unraveling.
He grips the guitar again, absently plucking a few chords. Not the edgy stuff hes known for, this is softer. Melancholy. Bare. A slow, haunting progression that settles deep in his chest.
The melody flows like its been waiting for him, aching to exist.
And then the words start to come:
She doesnt know Im drowning / but shes the breath I steal.
Feels like home when Im around her / and nothing else feels real.
He scribbles them down in a notebook, heart hammering. More lines spill out. He doesnt fight them.
Its not for the label.
Its not even for the public.
Its for her.
Evan exhales slowly, setting the guitar down like its something sacred. He stares at the lyrics, realization tightening in his gut.
This wasnt just a kiss.
This was him falling.
And that terrifies him more than anything else.
He unlocks his phone, thumb hovering over Sarahs contact. He could text her. Apologize. Explain. But what would he say?
Instead, his finger drifts to the voice recorder. He hesitates, then hits record.
Silence.
Then: "I didnt mean for it to happen like that. But I did mean it. And thats the part that scares me. Because if I mean it, then everything changes. And I dont know if Im ready for that but I think I want to be."
He plays it back once, jaw clenched.
Then he deletes it.
He tosses the phone on the bench again and buries his head in his hands.
Outside, flashbulbs still flicker beyond the blinds. A war waits for him tomorrow with his label, with the press, maybe with Sarah.
But tonight, its just him, the silence, and a song hes too afraid to finish.
He doesnt sleep.
Not really.
Sometime after midnight, Evan dozes off in the studio chair, the neck of his guitar balanced against his leg, fingers twitching like theyre still chasing chords.
And thats when it happens.
In the dream, hes on stage again. Blinding lights. Thunderous crowd. Hes playing the new songthe one he hasnt finished. But when he looks into the front row, its not fans.
Its Sarah.
Shes holding Pipers hand. Both of them are looking at him with eyes full of something between disappointment and loss.
Then, the lights shift. The stage tilts. The music dies.
They turn and walk away.
He wakes up with a start, chest heaving, the strings of the guitar buzzing under his arm. Sweat beads at the back of his neck. His heart wont slow down.
Its a dream. Just a dream.
But the ache in his chest feels real enough to fracture bone.
He stands and paces, needing air, needing distance. His thoughts wont settle.
What if this wasnt fake?
What if breakfast every morning with Sarah, Pipers giggles echoing through the apartment, late-night popcorn, and stupid princess movies, what if that was his life?
What if he didnt have to pretend?
And worse, what if hed already ruined it?
He walks to the window and presses his forehead to the cool glass. The city is quiet, humming below like it doesnt care that his entire world is tilting.
He drifts back to the bench. Picks up the guitar again.
And this time, the song finishes itself.
Each chord lands with aching precision. The lyrics come unfiltered:
Shes wildfire in my bloodstream/calm in the chaos I crave.
Id burn for her in silence / if it meant shed feel safe.
Its too honest. Too raw.
He records it. Listen once. Then hides it in a locked folder on his laptop labeled Not Ready.
He exhales shakily.
Thats what Sarah is to him now.
Not ready.
Not safe.
But absolutely everything.
He glances at the phone again, thumb hovering over the icon.
His heart thuds. A breath catches in his throat a whisper of fear, of hope.
He sees her face in his mind, the way she looked after their kiss, and something inside him clicks into place.
He opens the voice recorder. No second thoughts this time.
He re-records the message.
"I meant it. Im not sorry I kissed you. Im sorry I stopped. Because I wanted more. I want all of it, and that scares the hell out of me. But I dont think I can pretend anymore. Not with you."
He stares at the screen.
Then he hits send.
Silence. Then the confirmation tone.
Message sent.
His stomach flips.
Theres no taking it back now.
The apartment is still and dim as he finally steps out of the studio. The hallway stretches ahead, soft with shadows.
Hes not even sure where hes going. Maybe to check on Piper.
But then he sees Sarah.
Shes asleep on the couch, curled up in a nest of pillows, a book splayed open on her chest. The glow of the city lights softens her features.
She looks peaceful. Completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.
He steps closer, slow, quiet.
Kneels beside the couch.
Just watches her breathe for a moment.
He reaches for the throw blanket draped over the chair and gently tucks it around her. His hand lingers on the fabric just above her shoulder.
"You wreck me," he whispers, barely audible.
Then, before he does something reckless again, he walks away.