Chapter 27
Gage
I stepped off the stage, still grinning, still high on the rush we’d just given everyone. My chest buzzed with leftover adrenaline, the sound of the crowd echoing in my ears like waves that hadn’t quite settled. Laughter, clapping, whistles-little bursts of approval that swirled together into a blur of noise. But none of it mattered. Not a single bit of it registered once my gaze found her.
Her smile was still there, small but impossibly sweet, curving her lips in that way that made my whole chest ache. Her cheeks glowed pink, like she wasn’t used to being caught in the middle of attention, like she didn’t want anyone to notice she’d been enjoying herself. And God, the way she looked when she blushed-it was lethal. My grin widened instantly, unbidden, like it belonged only to her. That tiny flicker of color, that hint of softness-yeah, that was all the invitation I needed.
f**k being friends. f**k pretending I was fine with just morning runs and teasing banter. We’d been circling each other for too long, both of us pretending not to feel the spark that practically burned through the air whenever we were close. I was done pretending. I didn’t care if it was reckless, if it was too soon, if I crashed and burned because of it. I wanted her. Plain and simple.
I started moving, weaving through the crowd, my eyes locked on hers, every step a silent promise. But before I could get there-before I could close the gap-someone grabbed my arm.
“Gage, hey-”
I clenched my jaw, biting back the curse that clawed its way up my throat. Wrong f*****g time. My whole body thrummed with impatience, every muscle coiled with the need to break free, but I forced myself still. That was me-too polite, too careful. I didn’t blow people off, no matter how badly I wanted to.
So I stayed, plastering on a thin smile as my chest burned with the effort of holding myself back.
“Man, I haven’t seen you since last summer,” he said, already launching into a ramble about
football, training schedules, and how much he admired my form on the field.
“Yeah, man. Thanks. Appreciate it,” I muttered, words automatic. I couldn’t even hear myself over
the shrill voice that suddenly cracked from the speakers. Someone had grabbed the mic and was
absolutely murdering whatever song they’d picked.
Not that it mattered. I couldn’t have cared less. Every second here was wasted, sand slipping too fast through an hourglass. Bree was slipping further away, and all I could do was stand there,
pretending to give a s**t about drills and scrimmages.
The guy kept talking, pulling another person into the circle, and then a girl appeared-batting her lashes, grinning like I was some prize she’d just won. My stomach turned. I’d seen that look too
many times. It was shallow, empty.
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“I gotta go talk to someone,” I cut in, hiking a thumb over my shoulder. My tone was sharp, clipped, but I didn’t care if it sounded rude. “Great catching up, man.”
He tossed back something cheerful, probably expecting me to circle back later, but I was already gone. Turning, shoving through the crowd, scanning every head and shoulder until my heart finally stopped clawing at my ribs.
There-blonde hair catching the low light, weaving toward the drinks table. Relief crashed through me, loosening something tight inside my chest.
And then I moved. Bolted.
She had to hear it. She had to know that song wasn’t just some stupid karaoke stunt, wasn’t some half-assed show for the crowd. Those words had been for her. Every single one of them. And now I needed her to hear it without a microphone, without the noise-just me and her.
I was halfway there, steps quick, heart pounding, when Rachel’s voice rang out, too loud, too clear.
“Now, I know this one has a hard time standing on stage, and I know she will hate me for this. But I just need you to come up here and belt out your heart! So everyone, please help me invite Bree up to the stage!”
The whole hut erupted before I even processed the words. Cheers, whistles, clapping, stomping.
And then Miguel’s voice, loud and booming, cutting through it all.
“Bree! Bree! Bree!”
The chant spread like fire until the entire room had picked it up.
“Bree! Bree! Bree!”
I froze. My eyes snapped to her.
She stood frozen by the drinks table, her red cup clutched so tightly in her hand her knuckles had
gone white. Her eyes were wide, her face a storm of shock and embarrassment, her cheeks
flaming as every set of eyes turned toward her. I knew that look-like a deer caught in headlights,
desperate for a way out, desperate to disappear.
But Rachel was relentless. Miguel wouldn’t stop. And the crowd was merciless in their insistence.
Her blush deepened, spreading like wildfire across her skin, until finally-finally-she set her cup
down with trembling fingers. A tiny laugh slipped out, awkward, helpless, like she couldn’t believe
this was happening. Then she shook her head once, soft strands of hair sliding around her face, and moved toward the stage.
Rachel caught her halfway up, looping an arm around her shoulders, whispering something that made Bree roll her eyes but smile all the same. And then she was there, under the lights, standing in the glow like she didn’t belong, looking so damn unsure of herself it made me want to fight off
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every pair of eyes in the room. The way she hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, tugging slightly at her sleeves as if they were holding her back-it made her seem delicate, fragile, like she could break under the weight of all of us watching. And yet, even like that, even trembling, there was something feral in her presence. Something magnetic.
She shifted the mic in her hands, looking down on it, definitely not wanting to meet our gazes. Her fingers trembled, tight around the shaft as if she were holding onto it for dear life. I could see the faint quiver in her shoulders, the tiny catch in her breath, and it made the ache in my chest hit harder. Rachel beamed from behind the computer, nodding like she was sending Bree a little lifeline of confidence, a silent “you’ve got this.” Then the soft tones began running through the speakers, slow, deliberate, carrying a weight that seemed to fill the entire hut.
She lifted the mic with trembling fingers. But the second she sang that first line, the world around me seemed to vanish. “Love’s my religion, but he was my faith. Something so sacred, so hard to replace. Falling for him was like falling from grace.”
My mouth went dry.
Her voice… f**k. It wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t shy, wasn’t small. It was steady. Pure. Sweet,
with this raw edge that cut straight through me, like it knew exactly where to hit, how to twist
inside me. Every note wrapped around me like a fist to the chest, like someone had poured
sunlight into sound and let her cradle it, letting me bathe in it whether I wanted to or not. I couldn’t
look away. I didn’t want to.
“All wrapped in one he was so many sins, would have done anything, everything for him. And if you
ask me I would do it again.”
Every lyric felt like a confession, like she was baring something she didn’t want anyone to know but
couldn’t stop herself from giving away. And I swore she wasn’t singing to the crowd. She was
singing to me. Only me. I could feel it in the heat pooling low in my stomach, the tension in my fists, the way my pulse spiked like I was a live wire.
“No need to imagine,” she sang, her eyes closing as she gave herself over completely, every inch of
her drenched in emotion. “Cause I know it’s true. They say all good boys go to heaven, but bad
boys bring heaven to you. It’s automatic, it’s just what they do.” She opened her eyes and found me
in the crowd so easily it made me shiver. “They say all good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring
heaven to you.”
My hands curled into fists. Heat surged under my skin, crawling through me like wildfire, untamed and hungry. I wanted to tear through the crowd, rip the mic from her hand, pull her against me and claim her, right there, in front of everyone. Caveman instincts clawed their way up, raw and demanding, making it clear this was mine. Mine, mine, mine.
Because how the f**k could anyone hear her like this and not want her? Not need her?
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The song built, her voice soaring higher, stronger, every note a strike against the armor I’d built around myself. I felt it in my chest, like a slow burn that refused to cool, like my ribs were straining to contain it. Every crescendo, every gentle whisper of a note, made my body tense, made me
ache to reach her, to touch her, to own her.
If that was what she wanted, if that was how she truly felt, then f**k everything. If she wanted me,
really wanted me, I’d take her. Over and over. I’d show her the heavens she so desperately wanted, every note, until the words became flesh, until desire wasn’t just a song but reality.
Everyone stayed quiet, no one spoke, no one dared breathe as she sang. Her tones streamed through the speakers, long and winding, delicate and sharp, cutting through the air. She hit every single note perfectly, every beat resonating, and I felt it in my bones. My chest tightened, my stomach roiled, my teeth clenched with the need to pull her into my arms and never let go.
As the song ended, she dropped the mic to her side, her chest heaving, her pink cheeks glowing under the lights. Her eyes searched the crowd, searching for a reaction, for affirmation, for a flicker
of something, anything, to show her this was enough.
And then everything collided at once. Applause, whistles, cheers. Kenneth’s loud whistling pierced the air, someone yelled praises. The sound washed over her like a wave, and she shrank slightly into herself, shy, uncertain, as if all of this attention were too much. Rachel was immediately there,
wrapping her arms around Bree’s shoulders, giving her a firm, grounding squeeze.
She gently took the mic from Bree before beaming out at us. “Wasn’t that just amazing? Huh?”
“Be my wife, chica!” Miguel yelled over everyone, making people laugh.
Rachel laughed as well, giving Bree one last squeeze before turning back into the emcee. “Now,
who wants to follow that performance?”
Bree moved slightly, trying to get away, trying to go undected. I saw the way she moved, the way she tried to disappear into the applause, the way her body still hummed with the echoes of the song. She made a beeline for the door, probably wanting to escape all of it.
But there was no escaping me. No way she’d slip past without me noticing, without me claiming what was already mine. I followed her, each step deliberate, my gaze locked on her retreating form, my mind running wild with how I’d touch her, kiss her, pull her close until the world disappeared. Soon, very f*****g soon, Bree would be mine. Mine to hold. Mine to claim. Mine to
never let go.
f**k, our kids would be adorable.
I grinned as I let the door close behind us, following her hurried steps out into the darkness, and my heartbeat slammed in my ears, relentless, demanding, and completely hers.
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