CHAPTER twenty-Eight
The Night Full of Stars
Cedar City, Utah
I’ve spent most of the day buried in analytics and social planning, tabs open like a house of mirrors—clicking through merch data, optimizing campaigns, chasing engagement metrics until the numbers start to blur.
My eyes sting from too much screen time, my neck is stiff from hunching over my laptop on the narrow table.
The guys have been at the studio all day, off creating while I hold down the back end of the circus.
Through the window, I see the guys pour out of an Uber like clowns from a tiny car. Cody leaps onto Elias’s back with a triumphant yell, and to my surprise, he doesn’t shake him off. He just sighs through a faint smile and adjusts Cody’s weight.
I shut my laptop with a satisfying snap and push it aside, a tired but genuine smile tugging at my lips. Cody ruffles my hair in passing, and I swat him hard enough to earn a cackle, while Grady and Jasper toss their gear into the storage nook and collapse into their usual spots.
Elias steps up beside me, calm amid the chaos, and offers his hand. I take it without hesitation, and he helps me stand up, pulling me gently against him. My hand finds its way to his chest, steady and warm beneath my palm.
His gaze holds mine, almost boyish with anticipation.
“Will you come with me somewhere tonight?”
“Yeah,” I reply, a little breathless from how close we are. “Where?”
A small smile curves his lips as he places his hand over mine. “You’ll see. Just pack an overnight bag.”
I arch a brow. “So mysterious,” I tease, slipping out of his grasp and heading toward the back room. I glance over my shoulder just in time to catch his smirk.
Butterflies dance in my stomach. I move fast, a change of clothes, toothbrush, a book, travel essentials, and sling my bag over my shoulder. When I step back out, Elias is waiting with his own backpack slung casually over one shoulder and a small cooler in his other hand.
We step off the bus together toward an awaiting cab.
“Don’t forget to use protection!” Cody shouts from inside, his voice muffled but unmistakable.
The guys erupt into laughter. I laugh too, while Elias gives a long-suffering groan and rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of his head.
The drive is long enough for dusk to start painting the horizon. He bounces his leg, anxious energy humming under his cool exterior. I rest my hand on his thigh, and his fingers brush mine in silent thanks.
Eventually, the car rolls to a slow stop. When I look out the window, my breath catches in my throat.
We’ve arrived at a hidden perch in Zion National Park, the towering red rocks carved by time and wind surround us in jagged majesty.
The last rays of the sun spill gold over everything, and nestled in the clearing is a yurt-style dome, strung with glowing fairy lights.
A small bouquet of orange daisies sits on a picnic table nearby, and two chairs circle a firepit that hasn’t been lit yet.
Elias steps out first, grabs my bag, and walks around to open the door for me. I step out, eyes wide, heart thudding.
“What is this?” I ask. “How did you…?”
“I had some help,” he says simply.
I squint, knowing that means someone on the crew was in on it. “You weren’t at the studio, were you?”
He shrugs, not bothering to deny it.
“Maybe not the whole day.”
“You liar,” I scold playfully, nudging his rib with my shoulder.
He grins, then leans down to kiss me. I wrap my arms around his neck, melting into him as the twilight air cools around us.
“There’s a quilt over here,” he murmurs, tugging my hand toward the grass.
We settle on it together, he stretches out his legs and I nestle between them, my back against his chest, head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me like a blanket, and the two of us sit like that in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink below the red cliffs.
The sky morphs into a breathtaking canvas of soft pinks, purples, and fading gold.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sky look like this before,” I whisper, wonder spilling from every word.
His fingers are slow and gentle, tracing shapes on my arm. “You know what that’s called?” he asks quietly.
I turn my head toward his, my nose brushing his cheek. “What?”
He meets my eyes, amber catching the light.
“A cotton candy sky,” he says softly. “They were my favorite when I was a kid.”
I turn back to the horizon, blinking back sudden emotion I don’t fully understand.
“My mom always used to say that they were the sweetest kind of sunset,” he adds.
“It’s so beautiful.”
His voice is barely a breath behind me.
“Yeah… it really is.”
And I realize that maybe he’s not just talking about the sky.
After a few heartbeats, I shift just enough to catch his profile against the fading light.
“What was your mother like?” I ask gently.
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay on the horizon, sunset bleeding lilac across the edges of his face.
“She was beautiful.”
I thread my fingers through his, an unspoken promise that I’m here.
“She had the loveliest voice,” he continues, thumb brushing absently over my knuckles. “Used to sing to me and my brother Jensen every night. Songs I can barely remember now, but…” He exhales sharply, shoulders tensing.
“It was the only time that we felt safe.”
The steadiness in his voice doesn’t match the grief etched into his features, the kind of grief that’s lived in him so long it’s become part of who he is.
“But she… she had her own demons,” he says, jaw tightening. “She was an addict, too. I think it was the only way she knew how to survive my father.”
His grip on my hand hardens, his knuckles paling.
“That man spent his whole life trying to snuff out every bit of light we had. Every smile, every laugh. Especially Jensen’s.
He hated him for reasons I’ll never understand.
He’d find any excuse to…” Elias swallows hard, voice breaking for the first time.
“Beat him until he couldn’t stand. And if I tried to stop him…
” He doesn’t finish the thought, but I don’t need him to.
My heart clenches at every confession.
“Jensen is the only reason that I survived that night.”
I gently rub my thumb along his knuckles as he continues.
“He crawled to me, literally laid his body over mine to protect me from the fire. He was more than just my brother, he was my best friend, my protector… even at the end.” His eyes are still fixed somewhere in front of him.
“The way you said that Ashton is your favorite person… that was Jensen for me. I knew as long as I had him, I would be okay.”
His head dips slightly. It’s in this moment that I realize the significance of the ‘J’ tattooed at the center of his chest.
“When things got really bad between my parents, he would put headphones over my ears and play music for me. We only had a few old CDs, but it was just another way he tried to shield me from things…to make me feel safe.”
I lay my head against his shoulder, never releasing my hands from his.
“My mom always swore we’d leave my father,” he says, fighting the lump in his throat. “Promised we’d start over somewhere better. But she never did. He always pulled her back, and… I don’t think I ever forgave her for that.”
The shame in his tone guts me like he’s ashamed for resenting her, ashamed for surviving it when they didn’t.
“Is that why you moved in with Cody’s family?”
His gaze drops, and his shoulders curve inward slightly. He tries to loosen his grip on my hand, but I hold it steady.
“You don’t have to…” I reassure, feeling his unease.
“No, it’s okay,” he says.
He pulls in a deep breath, eyes fixed on something in the distance.
“After my mother and brother died, I went into foster care,” he says finally, voice low and careful. “I was ten.”
I watch him closely. He still won’t meet my eyes.
“Those first few years were rough. I was passed around a lot… every house just as bad as the last.” His jaw flexes, but he keeps going.
“I met Cody in middle school. I was quiet back then, if you can imagine that.” His mouth ticks up slightly.
“I barely spoke to anyone. I think that’s what pulled him in.
He just kept trying to get me to talk, and one day, I finally did.
After that, he never left me alone. He became the only person who really saw me. ”
He pauses, then swallows hard.
“I wasn’t exactly the kind of kid people lined up to befriend.”
A faint smile ghosts across his lips, more pain than humor.
“When Cody’s parents found out what I was going through, they applied to become my foster parents. Just so I could move in with them.”
His voice cracks slightly, the weight of the memory hanging thick in the air.
He stops, but I can tell that there’s more to the story that he just can’t tell.
The way that Cody referred to Elias as his brother tells me everything I need to know about the role they played in his life, but it also makes the distance between them now feel heavier, like something that used to be whole but isn’t anymore.
From the way Elias speaks about them—or doesn’t—I can tell their relationship is strained.
There’s a weight to it, something brittle beneath the surface, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s tied to his years of addiction.
I know from experience how complicated it is for a parent, or someone who steps into that role.
You want so badly to help, to rescue them, but it’s a fine line between loving and enabling.
And when someone you care about is sick or lost in their pain, they don’t always lash out at the world.
Sometimes, they lash out at the people trying hardest to pull them back in.
People can be cruel when they’re hurting. Especially when they’re scared.
I rise to my knees and cup his face in both hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. His expression is haunted, years of pain carved into the flecks of his irises.
“I’m so sorry the world has been so cruel to you,” I whisper.