Chapter 12 Ellie
TWELVE
Ellie
I stepped into my dressing room and finally let myself breathe, a real breath for the first time in hours.
After a month-long hiatus, my first show back went off without a hitch—no forgotten lyrics and no wardrobe malfunctions.
The lights, the music, the roar of the crowd, it all hit me at once, overwhelming and exhilarating.
Ben, my new head of security, dove into the chaos at full speed, keeping everything under control. By the end, I was completely drained.
My body ached from head to toe, but it wasn’t the physical kind. It was the pain of holding it all together and pretending to be the version of myself everyone expected—the bright, sparkly, endlessly resilient Ellie Miles.
Putting on that face was like slipping into a familiar costume, one that no longer quite fit. This life was a privilege, and I knew that. Being Ellie Miles meant something to people, which still blew my mind. But it didn’t make it any less exhausting.
The last month had been about recovery, both body and mind, the latter more wrecked in a way I didn’t want to admit, especially after Harold. I’d made a promise—to myself, to my fans—and after postponing more shows than I wanted to count. I owed it to them to show up.
And they did. Loud and wild, feeding me adrenaline until my bones forgot how tired they were—the energy in that stadium was electric, like a welcome home party with thousands of strangers.
The high was already fading. The adrenaline was wearing off and the crash was coming. It always did.
The last couple of weeks between rehearsals, travel, Sawyer, and that journal…I hadn’t had room to unravel.
I’d been chasing shadows ever since we left that house, reading and re-reading the same five articles, as if they might say something new if I stared long enough.
It felt like chasing the last thread of a true crime case—one where the podcast cuts off before the last episode, and you’re left digging through forums like some armchair detective who can’t let go.
I couldn’t let go.
If I were being honest, it was more than the mystery pulling me back to Woodstone. It was Sawyer too.
Which made no fucking sense. This thing we were doing, whatever the hell it was, was supposed to be fake—a publicity stunt to get the media off my back about my ex and everything bad that happened in San Francisco.
Keep the focus on something new, positive, and fun, especially with Harold trying to come in and spin the narrative wherever he could.
After only a few times together and all the texts and calls, I was craving him in ways that had nothing to do with cameras or headlines.
I didn't expect that, not from someone who admitted he used to crush on me from the outside looking in—drawn to a face on a magazine cover, a voice on the radio. I figured he'd be like the rest: curious, infatuated, and a little starstruck. I figured it would fade the second he saw the real me.
So far, that hadn't happened. If anything, I found myself memorizing the way his hands moved when he talked and wondering what they'd feel like on me.
When he laughed at something I said, I caught myself staring at his mouth longer than I should have.
When he'd catch me looking, instead of glancing away embarrassed, he'd hold my gaze until I was the one who had to break first—flustered and craving things I had no business wanting from a fake relationship.
A knock broke on my dressing room door, tearing through my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called.
Rachel pushed the door open, smiling. “Another amazing show in the books. You crushed it.”
I offered a tired smile. “Thanks.”
“You ready for next week? Two shows in three days, some time off for the holidays, then back at it for a month.”
“Yeah. I think it’ll be fun.”
I even wondered if I could convince Sawyer to come back to Woodstone for a few days over our two-week break.
“I’ll let you get in your comfy clothes. Just wanted to say you killed it. When you’re ready, we can go back to the hotel and get some room service?”
“Sounds like a dream. Thanks.”
She gave me a smile and then stepped out, closing the door behind her. I pulled out my phone to check the final score from Sawyer’s game. I hadn’t caught the end, since I was getting zipped into a glitter jumpsuit and given last-minute reminders about choreography.
20–17.
They’d won. A grin tugged at my lips, and I tapped out a quick message.
Congrats on the win. I’ll have to watch some recaps tonight.
Did I understand football? Not really, but I had zero complaints about watching him kill it on the field. His reply came almost instantly.
Thanks :) I’ll have to see if I can find some footage of your show and get a good look at that pretty face, I miss already.
Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself tonight.
You should see me without a shirt then. For fake research purposes, obviously.
I’ll take that under advisement.
Please do.
I smirked and hearted the message. Warmth bloomed low in my stomach before I could talk myself out of it.
Fake, fake, fake.
I chanted in my head over and over. He was flirting to make it easier to pretend in public.
I peeled off my stage outfit, and I was halfway through swapping it for sweats when another text buzzed in.
Since you’re playing in Vegas next week, why don’t we get together? I’ll be close by.
Did you look up my schedule?
Gotta know where my girl’s at.
You’ll be in Arizona. That’s a long drive for only a few hours together.
Oh, did you look up my schedule?
And I’ve done worse things for a good cheeseburger. This would be for PR. We haven’t exactly given the public much to chew on yet.
He wasn’t wrong. The fake dating thing only worked if people actually, you know… saw us together.
We can grab dinner or something? Something casual?
Deal. Casual. Totally casual. Just you, me, and a few dozen paparazzi.
You’re really selling the romance here.
You haven’t seen anything yet, baby girl.
I rolled my eyes, smiling like an idiot. My thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary.
Can’t wait.
A few hours later, I was holed up in the hotel room, with Rachel sprawled on the bed beside mine, both of us knee-deep in room service and halfway through a classic true crime doc.
“What a week,” she said, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth.
“I don’t think I’ve actually sat down since Monday.”
She gave me a look. “How was everything with Sawyer’s family? Weren’t you in…what was it? Woodchuck Falls?”
“Woodstone Falls,” I said, laughing. “Surprisingly, it was really nice. I thought I’d be anxious, but it was…oddly peaceful.”
The family dinner wasn’t anything I could have expected.
No flashing cameras, no prying eyes, just a house full of people who treated me like I belonged.
Dotty’s bluntness somehow felt like a secret handshake, and Noah’s kindness was the kind that settled into your chest and made you breathe easier.
Lilah and I found ourselves quietly swapping glances over the chaos, both of us newcomers trying to figure out where we fit.
His brothers joked and laughed like this was just another Sunday night, and his dad’s warmth—equal parts teasing and tender—was the glue of it all.
But it was Sawyer’s niece, with her unstoppable energy and wide-eyed awe, who reminded me why this felt less like a performance and more like home.
I’d always been used to just my parents and me. Seeing a whole family come together like that was new for me, but it felt surprisingly nice, like watching pieces click into place in a way I hadn’t expected.
Then, there was Sawyer.
Whenever I was around him, I felt safe in a way that defied explanation. I could say anything, and he wouldn’t just listen. He’d somehow sense exactly what I needed, whether it was silence, advice, or validation. With him, I could finally let my guard down and be myself.
Rachel tilted her head. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
I shook my head. “No, not him. His family…and how the visit went.”
“You enjoying big, cozy family vibes? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
I grinned. “I know. Growth, right? But seriously, it was easy. I kept waiting for something to feel off, and it never did. Everyone actually seemed happy to be together.”
She reached for a fry. “So, when are you going back?”
“No clue. Schedule’s insane now that the tour’s back on, but he wants to meet up after one of the shows next week.”
Her eyes lit up. “Wait, he’s coming to you?”
“Apparently.”
“Ellie, that man definitely likes you.”
“No, he doesn’t. It’s fake. We’re fake, remember?”
But fake isn’t calling me Ellie baby in that voice that could melt steel.
Or winking like he invented the gesture.
Or opening my door when no one’s watching.
“Bullshit,” she said. “A man doesn’t fake date a pop star and bring her to a family dinner in the middle of nowhere for good press.”
I tried to roll my eyes, but a smile tugged at my mouth anyway. “It was to convince his family.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. “You like him too.”
“I don’t know.” My voice betrayed me. “I mean…I barely know the guy. I like being around him. He’s kind—and not pretend kind, actual kind. And with him, I don’t feel that weird, icky static, like someone’s only talking to me because of who I am. I feel…stupid giddy. Like a teenager with a crush.”
My voice dropped. “But after Harold…I don’t know if I can ever fully love someone again.”
“That’s fair. You thought he was your forever.”
She was right. I wrote songs that practically signed a blood oath to that belief, but Harold loved the Ellie everyone else saw, the version of me with perfect hair and a million-dollar smile.
In reality, I was quieter, goofier, and a little chaotic at times.
He never cared to see the me who burned dinner wearing old sweatpants or stayed up way too late writing lyrics.
“It just…sucks,” I whispered, leaning my head back against the pillows. “Maybe I’m meant to be the girl with the guitar and a broken heart, destined to sing about love but never actually get the real thing.”
She peered over at me. “You’re so much more than that, El. I believe with everything in me that someone’s out there who would move mountains just to see you smile.”
And I was afraid I already knew who that someone might be.
“But maybe the real question isn’t whether Sawyer likes you. Maybe it’s whether you’re ready to let someone in again.”
Her words landed like a stone to my chest.
“Yeah…maybe.”
I was pretty sure no one could ever want the person I was once the curtain closed—not even someone as ridiculous and big-hearted as Sawyer.