“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight,” I say.“But don’t let fear be the thing that makes the choice for you.”
She blinks fast.
I swear, for a second, I see something break in her expression.
But then—she looks away.“Have a good show, Joel.”
It’s not a no.
But it’s definitely not a yes.
And as much as it kills me to walk away from this conversation unfinished, I do.
Because pushing her right now won’t help.
And tomorrow?
I don’t know if I’ll still be here.
I pause in the doorway, hand gripping the frame.I don’t turn around—if I do, I won’t leave—but I wait.Just for a second.Just to see if she says something.
A long breath.A shift of weight.The quiet sound of her exhale.
But she doesn’t move.
She doesn’t call me back.
And that?
That fucking kills me.
* * *
The club is already packed when I step inside, the bass vibrating through the floors, the smell of whiskey and sweat thick in the air.
I should be getting in the zone.
Last show.
Last night at Nocté.
Last reason to stay.
But my head is still back in Anna’s kitchen.
With the way she wouldn’t look at me when she said she couldn’t come tonight.
With the way she didn’t tell me to leave, either.
With the way she’s scared shitless of what happens next.
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair as I head toward the bar.
Myles is behind it, pouring a drink from a cocktail shaker into a glass with the same smooth precision she always has.
She clocks me the second I step up, eyes narrowing.
“Jesus, Price,” she says, setting the glass down.“You look like you just got hit by a truck.”