27. Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
"This," I said, stepping closer because anger made me brave, "is me refusing to be your tour souvenir."
His expression snapped sharp. "You think that's what I'm doing?"
"You make everything public when you knew that was the one thing I didn't want. You turned my song into a headline. You made me walk out there and play the part of your tortured duet partner while your fans screamed and filmed and decided who I am."
"I didn't make you."
"You knew what would happen," I said. "You knew it would explode. You wanted it to."
His eyes flared. "I wanted you to stop hiding."
"That's not your call."
"You deserve the stage."
The words hit me so hard I went still. My chest pulsed hot with rage.
"Don't."
He blinked, then looked angry at himself, like he hadn't meant to say it, like he didn't want me to know he'd written the note.
"You're in my head," I said.
His gaze held mine. "You're in mine."
"Stop making that romantic."
"It is," he said, brutal honesty again. "I don't know how to make it anything else."
I turned my head, trying to find air. The corner was too small. He was too close. The heat of him was a constant push against my skin.
"Evan," I said, more controlled now, because if I stayed angry I might do something reckless. "You're onstage. You can't have this conversation in a concrete hallway while your band is covering for you."
He flinched, eyes flicking toward the sound, like he had forced himself to ignore it until now.
A voice came through the hallway, muffled but urgent. "Evan! Thirty seconds!"
His shoulders tightened. He looked back at me. "Come out with me."
My stomach dropped. "No."
"You're already part of it," he said, words coming faster. "They're screaming for you. Give them one more song. Then we talk after."
"And if I don't?"
His jaw flexed. "Then you walk away again."
"I'm allowed to walk away. I'm allowed to choose myself."
His eyes flashed. "I'm asking you to choose us."
Us. He said it like it existed. Like it was already real.
My body wanted to say yes. My brain saw a trap.
"There is no us," I said, and hated how it sounded even as I said it.
Evan went still. The hurt on his face was immediate and sharp. Then anger rushed back in.
"You can't keep doing that," he said. "You can't come onstage with me, kiss me, let me touch you, then turn around and act like we're strangers."
"Maybe you shouldn't have cornered me with a song."
"I didn't corner you."
"You made it impossible to say no without looking like the villain."
His mouth opened, then shut. The accusation landed.
I pushed harder because the words were already out, because stopping meant admitting the bruise underneath.
"You keep doing these big gestures and pretending they're for me. They're for you. Your guilt. Your need to feel wanted."
His face tightened. "You think I did that duet to fix my ego?"
"Yes," I said. "I think you did it because you can't stand that you don't own the narrative."
"I don't want to own you."
"You want to be the reason I stay."
He took a hard breath, eyes blazing. "I want to be with you."
"And I want to be my own person," I shot back. "I want to stand on a stage and have it mean something without you attached."
His face went tight. "So I'm poison."
"That's not what I said."
"It is. You're saying I ruin you."
I opened my mouth, then hesitated. Because the truth was worse. I didn't think he ruined me. I thought he could swallow me whole.
The hallway voice came again, louder. "Evan, now!"
The crowd roared as if they sensed him returning. The band hit a louder section, buying time. It sounded chaotic, like they were stretching a bridge that was never meant to stretch.
Evan's gaze stayed locked on mine.
"Come out if you want to," he said. "Stay if you don't. But don't tell me this means nothing and then bleed all over the song."
My stomach twisted. "You can't dare me into loving you."
"I'm not daring you. I'm telling you I can't do this halfway."
I stared at him. My hands trembled around my in-ears.
His eyes burned. "You want me to sleep with whoever? You want me to stop wanting you? Say it again. Look me in the eye and say it again."
I couldn't. My silence made his face harden.
He turned toward the stage, then reached for my wrist. Not rough, not painful. Desperate and firm and too much.
My whole body jolted at the contact.
"Evan," I snapped, yanking back. "Let go."
His grip loosened instantly, fingers falling away as if he'd touched flame. Consent, even now. The fact that he stopped made my anger wobble into something tender and furious.
"I'm not your prop," I said.
"I'm not treating you like one."
"In front of them," I hissed. "In front of cameras."
His jaw worked. "I'm tired of hiding."
"I'm tired of being exposed."
The words froze between us. There it was. The whole ugly thing. Two sentences, a thousand miles apart.
His eyes narrowed. "Then don't come out. Walk away."
The words hit because he meant them.
I took a step back. "You're being unfair."
His laugh was bitter. "You're being safe."
The stagehand shifted at the end of the hall, panicked. "Evan, they're waiting."
Evan's eyes didn't move from mine. "Go," he snapped without looking. "Buy me thirty seconds."
The stagehand hesitated, then bolted.
The hallway quieted again. The show's roar was still there, but the space between us was louder.
Evan leaned closer, voice tight and raw. "I can't keep wanting you while you decide when I'm allowed to matter."
My chest tightened. "I'm not deciding that."
"You are," he snapped. "You come close when you're angry. You come close when you want to prove something. You come close when it feels good. Then you slam the door."
"I have to protect myself."
"From what? From me loving you?"
My eyes stung. I forced a laugh because tears were dangerous. "You don't even know what love is. You know obsession. You know adrenaline."
His face hardened. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't rewrite it to make yourself feel better. You can call it whatever you want. It still feels the same."
My chest tightened. I hated him for being right. I hated myself for wanting to agree.
Then the band onstage started a new song. A familiar intro. One I knew. My cue.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. Evan heard it too. For one second, he looked startled, like he had forgotten the show could keep moving without him.
"You're supposed to be out there," I said.
"So are you," he shot back.
Then his expression tightened, regret and anger fighting for space on his face. "Go out. Sing. Then we finish this after."
The word finish made my skin prickle.
"I don't want to finish this," I whispered.
His eyes held mine. "I do."
He turned sharply and stalked toward the stage.
I stood frozen for one beat, body buzzing, hands locked around my in-ears. Then I followed, because my cue was in my bones and the crowd was hungry and I had built my life around never missing a moment, even when it was tearing me apart.