Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
David
I try not to stare.
And I fail.
Completely.
Hilary is sitting across from me in the limo, angled just enough toward the window that the city lights flicker across her skin as we cross into Manhattan.
Soft gold.
Warm.
Alive.
Bella is practically glued to the glass, hands pressed flat, eyes wide.
“I can’t believe it!” she squeals. “Larry, can you believe it? I’m going to sing on DJ Mars’ new hit song?”
I glance at Hilary.
She smiles at the kid—soft, proud, steady.
“It is something,” she says.
“It’s not a hit yet, kiddo,” I remind her gently, but she just scoffs.
“Yet being the key word! I mean, you’re DJ Mars!”
I grin and shake my head. It’s nice that the kid is a fan, but this business is hard. Hopefully, by introducing her to the right people from the start, she won’t have to learn that.
Because Bella is good. Better than good. She’s got something raw, something real.
With Nathan and me on her side, she’ll go far. I have no doubt. And if I can springboard that, I will.
But that’s not what I’m watching.
It’s Hilary.
Always her.
She doesn’t look at me.
Not really.
Not the way she did before.
Not the way she did that night in the back room—eyes wide, lips parted, like she already knew what I was going to do and didn’t stop me anyway.
Not the way she looked at me when I kissed her like I was starving.
Like I needed it.
Like I needed her.
I wonder what she’d say now if I told her it wasn’t a moment.
That it wasn’t a mistake.
That it wasn’t something I could walk away from.
I wonder what she’d do if I told her it feels like breathing.
Like if I don’t have her, I suffocate.
I drag a hand over my mouth, trying to get a grip.
Yeah. That’s not normal.
I know I fucked up.
I told her we didn’t belong together.
Said it like it was fact.
Like it was something I could control.
I was wrong.
Dead fucking wrong.
Because the more I look at her, the more certain I get.
This isn’t temporary.
This isn’t some passing distraction.
This is something that’s already rooted too deep to pull out.
I want her.
Not just in my bed. Not just for a night.
I want her in my space.
In my life.
In my head the way she already is.
I want her looking at me the way she used to.
I want her hands on me like she doesn’t second guess it.
I want—her.
Mine.
The thought hits hard. Possessive. Immediate.
And instead of pushing it away?
I lean into it.
Because fighting it hasn’t worked so far.
But she’s careful now. Guarded.
Like she’s already decided I’m a risk she can’t afford.
And I get it.
I gave her every reason to think that.
I tried to stay away.
Tried to convince myself she wasn’t for me.
That bringing her into my world would ruin her.
That I’d be the thing that breaks something good and steady.
But none of that matters when she’s this close.
Close enough that I can breathe her in.
Something light. Floral. Sweet. Innocent.
It wraps around me, gets under my skin, and suddenly I’m not thinking about contracts or deadlines or the millions of people waiting on my next move.
I’m thinking about her. Only her.
And it’s driving me out of my damn mind.
Because what I feel around her?
It’s not normal.
It’s not just physical.
Yeah, I want her.
Badly.
But it’s more than that.
It’s deeper.
Quieter. But louder at the same time.
Like something that was dead inside me just woke up and chose violence.
Every time I think about her, I hear it.
Music.
Not the forced shit I’ve been pushing out.
Not the hollow, overproduced noise meant to fill stadiums.
Something real.
Something raw.
Something wicked.
A beat that actually means something.
She did that.
She walked into my life and flipped a switch I didn’t even know was still there.
She makes me remember why I started this in the first place.
Back when I was a kid in the Bronx, crammed into that tiny apartment with my abuela, headphones barely working, dreaming about creating something that made people feel.
Not just move. Feel.
That’s what she does to me without even trying.
And the scariest part? I don’t think I want to stop it.
Not even a little.
Bella’s voice cuts through my thoughts as the limo slows.
“We’re here already?!”
I glance out.
The studio.
Low-key from the outside, but inside?
Power.
Connections.
Possibility.
It’s owned by Balor and Lucy Cruz—two of the smartest players in the game right now. When I contacted my manager and told him to get a hold of them—he did it. He came through.
And they saw the potential in Bella immediately. So, when I pitched the concept?
They didn’t hesitate.
Try For Me.
That’s what I’m calling the song.
A beat that hits hard but doesn’t overwhelm.
A rhythm that builds instead of explodes.
A combination of mine and Bella’s voices and just enough rugby references to make it legit.
I’ll carry the verses—rap, a little melody—but Bella?
She’ll own the hook.
And it’s going to hit.
Because it’s not just about the game.
It’s about the moment before it.
The risk.
The reach.
The wanting.
And yeah.
It’s a love song.
Didn’t plan that either.
But there it is.
Forty-eight hours of non-stop writing.
No sleep.
Just words and rhythms.
And it’s mostly done.
Now I just have to put it together.
The car comes to a stop.
The driver steps out, moving to open the door.
Bella is gone before it’s fully open.
“Wow! Oh my God!” she yells, already halfway to the entrance.
I don’t move.
Not yet.
Hilary shifts beside me, like she’s about to follow.
I lift a hand.
“Hold up.”
She pauses.
Looks at me.
Really looks at me this time.
And everything in my chest tightens.
I step out first, the cool city air hitting me as I straighten.
Then I turn. And offer her my hand.
Simple. Nothing dramatic. But it feels like more.
A choice—that’s what I’m offering her.
She hesitates.
Just for a second.
And in that second, I wonder if I pushed too far.
If she’s going to pull away.
If she’s going to remind me again that I don’t belong in her world.
Then—she places her hand in mine.
And something in me locks in.
Solid.
Certain.
Mine.
I close my fingers around hers, steadying her as she steps out of the limo.
She’s warm. Soft. Real.
And for a brief second, neither of us lets go.
Then Bella’s voice echoes from the door.
“Are you guys coming or what?!”
Hilary pulls her hand back.
Too fast.
Like she felt it too.
I let her go.
For now.
Because I have to.
Because I don’t get to keep her.
Not yet.
But as we walk toward the studio—close, but not touching—I know one thing for sure.
That beat inside me?
The one she woke up?
It’s not going anywhere.
And neither is she.
Not if I have anything to say about it.