Breaking Point: Alternate Beginning

In the earliest draft of Breaking Point, the first third of the book unfolded through alternating viewpoints across the band.

While it worked structurally, it quickly became clear that, paired with the intensity of the later chapters, the story left very little room to breathe. Everything felt relentless, with no pause between emotional hits.

I also knew I wanted Susie, and the band’s collective healing, to be the true heart of the novel. So instead of starting at the beginning of the fracture, I chose to begin closer to the middle and let those early moments surface through flashbacks.

This shift creates more ebb and flow, and it avoids the feeling of starting a story at the point where everyone is already at their breaking point, racing toward collapse.

The result is a book that reads less like a descent and more like a second-chance love story, except the love story isn’t just romantic. It’s about the band itself.

At its core, Breaking Point is about the Hartgrave Tellers as a unit, and how they lose, and slowly, painfully, beautifully, find their way back to each other.

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Chapter 1: Pressure’s Building

Liam

Rome, April 2023: One Year Before the Valois Fashion Collab Show

We had just wrapped our fourth show in Italy. Four nights of sweat, adrenaline, and pouring every ounce of energy we had left into the crowd. After a quick meet-and-greet backstage with fans, celebrities, and high-profile executives, we were being whisked away once again. No rest. No reprieve. The next leg of the tour loomed. Australia, then Asia. Japan, Singapore, Thailand, China. A relentless, unforgiving pace.

I was bloody exhausted. We all were.

The label kept pushing, adding more dates, more stops, more miles. The demand was insane. Every new venue sold out in under an hour, fueling their insistence that we had to keep going. And we did. For the fans. For the music. For the dream we’d fought so hard to build. But at this point, we were running on fumes. The tour had been going for over a year, and it was grinding us down, slowly but surely.

It was our first major tour since the pandemic, a double-album tour, both records created during lockdown, during those long, uncertain months when the world stood still. The music industry had taken a brutal hit. No one was producing. No one was touring. We’d kept the momentum going, using social media, livestreaming concerts, doing whatever we could to stay connected with our fans when everything else had shut down.

And when the world opened up again, we hit the ground running. Hard. But nothing about it had been easy. Hotels were booked solid. Equipment had been left to rot for years. Tour buses broke down constantly. Crew shortages were everywhere. But we fought through, clawed our way forward, and now? Now the label was running us like thoroughbreds. Their top-earning artists. The golden geese.

And we were feeling it.

We barreled out of the SUV into a frenzy. Despite the late hour, the fans were still out in full force, screaming, holding signs, pushing against barriers. No matter where we went, they always found us. The press never left us alone.

I could barely keep my eyes open. The show had wrecked me. My body ached from head to toe, my muscles pulled so tight I felt like a snapped guitar string. My throat was raw, my ears were ringing, and my arms felt heavy, like they were extensions of someone else, too numb and slow to belong to me. It was catching up to all of us. We’d been riding the high for so long, but the crash was inevitable.

Still, we threw on our best fan-ready smiles and climbed the stairs onto the private jet, the one small luxury in this never-ending grind.

The moment we were inside, everyone collapsed into their seats, half-dead.

“Oh my God. I can’t feel my bloody legs,” Dan groaned, slouched so low in his seat he was practically melting off it. He was still wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that it was night and indoors.

“I can only feel my throbbing head,” Max muttered, rubbing his temples. “Pretty sure I’m still hungover from last night.”

“My whole body hurts.” I let my head fall back against the seat, already regretting the movement. Then I frowned. Something was off.

“Em—” I turned to where Emma usually sat across from me.

She wasn’t there.

I blinked.

“Where the hell is Emma?”

“She’s outside signing autographs,” Wade answered from behind his newspaper, flipping a page like he hadn’t just dropped that information casually.

I turned to stare at him. “Are you kidding me?”

Sal groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh my God, she’s relentless.” Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, “Emma! Woman! Get in here!”

The cabin erupted into tired chuckles. Sal was the only person who could get away with calling Emma ‘woman’ and live to tell the tale. She used it sparingly—usually when she was annoyed. And Emma? She always got in line pretty damn quick when Sal pulled it out.

Dan let out a cracked, exhausted laugh. “How the hell does she still have energy?”

I shook my head, exhaling a slow, tired breath. “I have no fucking idea.”

“She doesn’t,” Susie signed, her movements sharp and precise. “She’s just in one of her self-destructive cycles again. The perfectionist thing where she pushes herself until she cracks. Classic behavior from our mother’s school of ‘perfection over slow progress.’ And honestly? Probably ballet too. That shit is toxic.”

Andy, who had been silent until now, finally cut in. “Exactly. From what I can tell, she’s in worse shape than the rest of you, but she refuses to stop. She booked in for three photoshoots while we’re in Singapore.”

That got my attention.

“The label insisted, and she didn’t push back,” he continued. “Ashley’s worried too, but she’s trying to keep up with her.”

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “She’s going to be running the entire time we’re there. She’s going to pass out during rehearsals again.”

“Oh God,” Max groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t handle another Heartbreakers-level meltdown.”

“None of us can,” Salima added grimly. Then she turned to me, fixing me with a knowing stare. “Liam, talk to her.”

I frowned. “Me? She’s impossible to get to right now. Not even I can break through to her.”

The truth was, Emma wasn’t just exhausting herself. She was avoiding me. We hadn’t been alone together in months. Sure, we were together constantly, but never just the two of us. It was always the band, the press, interviewers, fans, photographers. She was a marketing machine right now, bouncing from one obligation to the next like she was on autopilot.

And I knew why.

She was dodging it. Dodging us.

“Try,” Susie signed, her expression unreadable.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration curling in my gut. I couldn’t blame Emma for avoiding the elephant in the room. I’d been doing it too. But where she threw herself into PR and press obligations, I had buried myself in logistics. I was practically acting like our tour manager at this point.

Trevor, our actual tour manager, was great, but I was working just as hard as he was, pushing back on anything that didn’t make sense for the tour schedule. I was fighting the label on logistics, setlists, creative control. But Emma? She took everything they threw at her. If they asked, she said yes.

She was on every cover of every magazine in every country. Doing every interview, shaking hands with every exec, taking every photo, spending hours at meet-and-greets. She was stretching herself so thin I didn’t know how she was still standing.

“This is mental,” Max said, shaking his head.

“I know. That’s what I said.” Wade exhaled heavily. “But she’s like a woman possessed right now. She won’t stop.”

I clenched my jaw. “I’ll talk to her. But I might need to go straight to the label and get them to back off.”

“We tried,” Andy said. “We’ve pushed back... hard.”

I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest. “Then I’ll talk to Greg.”

That earned me a look.

Wade exchanged a glance with Andy, something unspoken passing between them.

“If you think it will help,” Wade said carefully.

“It will,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Because Greg owed me. And I was about to cash in every bit of leverage I had to make sure Emma didn’t run herself into the ground.

Chapter 2: Drowning in the Noise

Susie

Sydney, Australia, April 2023

We were at an after‑party at the Marriott in Sydney. The Heart Lines tour was in full, brutal swing. Europe was behind us, Australia was nearly done, and Asia loomed ahead, followed by the U.S., Canada, and whispers of yet another round of Europe after that.

Everything was loud. Flashing lights, drunk laughter, music pounding through the walls. Another night, another hotel, another city blurring into the next.

The hotel was the usual, luxury, polished, expensive, but they all blurred together after a while. One city bleeding into the next. Screaming fans, bright lights, high notes, sweat, and giving everything we had night after night. Then the after‑parties, fans throwing themselves at us, wanting a piece of us, offering anything to get it.

“What are you doing?” I signed, flopping down on the couch beside Sal.

I pulled the hood on my sweater lower, trying to shield myself from the chaos, and turned to Sal.

Sal was leaning back on the couch in a silver sequined and fringed, low cut, one‑piece, looking impossibly gorgeous as always. Her long black hair fell in loose waves, her eyes dark and smoky. She was gripping a tiny bottle of wine like it was a lifeline.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Susie‑Q.”

“I mean with Lee. With… whatever this is. The partying. The many, many people coming in and out of your hotel room.”

Sal exhaled, sounding completely wrung out. “I don’t know anymore,” she said quietly. “I just don’t think I’m made for steady. For monogamy. Maybe people aren’t, in general.”

“That’s bleak,” I signed. “And don’t you think that warrants a conversation before you act on that whole complex line of thinking?”

She shook her head.

“You know I’ve tried. I have tried. Lee doesn’t want to come out or join us on tour. They’ve got clients, friends, family, a whole life in L.A. One they’re not willing, or maybe not able, to put on hold. I’m trying to make it work.”

“Are you? Because you could’ve fooled me, Sal.”

She looked down, refusing to meet my eyes, her jaw tight.

“I feel like I need a cigarette.”

“I get that tours are rough, and being in a relationship on top of that is even harder,” I signed. “But this… this isn’t you.”

She let out a long, heavy sigh. The kind of breath that carried the weight of weeks, maybe months, of emotional exhaustion.

“Maybe it is,” she said quietly.

“It’s not. Maybe this relationship isn’t the right fit anymore—and you don’t want to admit that, because it’s good, but also, not.”

“That’d be the mature, respectful, self‑aware thing to do,” she scoffed. “Guess I’m a disappointment to you, too. Add that to the list. Parents—check. Partner—check. Best friend—check.”

“Wow. Guess you’re hell‑bent on turning this into a full‑blown pity party,” I signed, shaking my head.

I’d never seen Sal like this. She was the canary in the mine, and she was suffocating.

“Maybe.” She stared straight ahead, voice low and frayed. “Maybe, there’s something wrong with me. You think you know me, Susie, but you don’t. I’m just a mess. As broken and fucked up as everyone else. I’m just… not built for living in boxes. Relationship constructs. Any of it.”

“You sound like Emma now,” I signed.

Because that’s all Emma had been saying lately, and Liam kept pretending she wasn’t. But I could see right through her, just like him. It was pain talking. Trauma. That belief she was too broken to be loved. She’d told me outright: Liam deserves better than me. I’m too broken.

She wasn’t. She was healing, and scared.

Sal… Sal had been through her own storms. And this was her way of proving to herself she didn’t deserve love either.

What is it with strong women thinking they're too hard, too much, too everything to be loved?

“Well, after Henry Mac, who wouldn’t be a mess? Honestly, I’m still fucked up over it,” Sal said. “The situation we’re stuck in. I am not built for this level of ownership, corrupt corporate mind fucks. And maybe love is just a nice fucking sentiment meant for normal people who don’t have to survive this bullshit.”

“Sal,” I signed. “I know this is hard, but—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t think those thoughts too.”

“Of course I do,” I signed back. “But the solution can’t be to self‑destruct. You should really talk to Emma. You two are right there together in ‘self‑destruction is safer than trying to deal.’”

Sal took a long swig of the white wine. I grabbed the bottle and took one too.

“Ouch,” she said, taking it back, shifting deeper into the couch. “If you ever see Emma in the wild, not on a stage or magazine cover, see if she’ll pencil me in.”

“Haha.”

“We’re all doing it. Collectively. Parallel self‑destruction,” Sal said, motioning to Dan and Max.

I looked over.

Dan’s eyes were red-rimmed, and he was holding court like a drunken Dionysus—loud, slurring, surrounded by chaos.

Max was nearby but distracted, swallowed by an entourage that never seemed to leave him now. Rappers, models, other artists, actresses hung no his every word, drawn to his light, even as it dimmed by the day.

Emma was nowhere to be found. She barely came to after-parties anymore. She lived by a ruthless regimen, shows, scheduled rest, workouts, interviews, photoshoots, brand deals. Fan events. She was chronically online. She was a branded machine with a pulse.

Liam was probably off with Wade and Andy. Handling logistics, fighting executives, securing bonuses for the crew, making damn sure Greg Masterson stayed on his side of the hemisphere. Shouldering everything. Burning himself out. Trying to do everything so we didn’t feel exactly how Sal felt. Trapped by our circumstances with Titan.

“Yeah,” I signed, my shoulders slumping. “I guess we are.”

And suddenly I wondered where that left me.

Drifting just like Sal.

We used to anchor each other. But this tour… it was unlike anything we’d ever survived. The pressure was crushing, the crowds relentless, the dates stacked back-to-back like they’d never end. The press, the fans, the expectations. It was like the label was running us into the ground on purpose as payback for Henry Mac and the Heartbreakers album.

God, that tour had been hell. PTSD for all of us.

I shuddered.

When would we get a break?

“We’re not gonna survive this tour if we keep going like this,” I signed.

Sal rubbed her forehead and nodded. “Yeah.”

She was thinking it too. I could see it. Maybe that’s why she kept giving in to the freefall. Everything around us was collapsing, and it was hard not to follow it down. Maybe a part of her thought we should let it all crumble.

She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. Her eyes were tired, her face wearing that impassive, guarded look I’d come to recognize as Sal holding something back.

“And what if that did happen?” she said quietly. “Where would that leave us?”

“Us?” I signed, looking at her.

There it was again. That look.

Heavy. Loaded. Something I didn’t have the bandwidth to unpack.

“Yes,” she said, holding my gaze. “Us.”

I held it, my stomach buzzing with something I didn’t want to acknowledge. What did she mean? What could she mean? She was still technically with Lee. And she’d been knee-deep in chaos. New strangers every night, whatever numbness she could grab.

“Us” could only mean the band. That had to be it.

“I mean any of us,” she finally said, looking away, breaking the tension like it had scorched her.

“It would mean we’d owe the label everything,” I signed, forcing myself to focus. “Lost profits for the next four albums. Five tours. They’d own every HGT track we’ve ever written unless Emma went after them for all of it. And she won’t right now.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, tipping back the last of the wine. “You know what, Susie-Q? Just… hold on to something. Anything. Whatever you can. Just keep yourself from drowning with the rest of us.”

And then she stood, walked straight into the crowd, and disappeared—like she had been doing night after night.

So yeah. I gave her shit.

Because it was a mess.

All of it.

She and I had been inseparable since Heartbreakers, when I moved into her apartment. Emma had been spiralling during the Henry Mac era, and I needed space. I couldn’t keep trying to hold her up and survive at the same time. I needed something stable. That was Sal. She became my lifeline. My safe place. My dearest friend. My person.

Then she met Lee during the pandemic, and they moved in with us. It got a little weird for a while, but we worked around it. Lee became a good friend, too. But during the Heart Lines tour, everything went sideways.

The world opened up, and with it, old wounds.

Everyone was in free fall.

​Chapter 3: So Much

Susie

The next morning, I woke with a hollow ache in my chest. A kind of loneliness I hadn’t felt in months. My mind kept circling back to the days before Sal met Lee. Back when it was just the two of us in that tiny apartment. Late-night teas. Wine on the balcony, talking about everything and nothing. Movie marathons with popcorn. Recording sessions for Heart Lines at Liam’s place.

God, those days felt like magic, like we were creating from a higher place, with clarity and purpose before everything got so damn complicated.

I made my way to Emma’s room, hoping she was up. She was just walking in from a workout, flushed and glowing. Ashley trailed behind her, clipboard in hand, rattling off the day's schedule. Emma’s assistant followed close, scrolling through her phone, already deep in discussion about content drops for the Dame magazine shoot Emma had done a few months ago. The feature was going live this week.

They were a well-oiled machine. Efficient. Focused. And somehow, in the middle of all that motion, Emma still caught my eye and smiled, just for a moment.

When they finally wrapped, Emma turned to me.

“What’s up, Susie?” she said, overly sweet, overly polished, still stuck in full PR mode.

“Can you, like, deflate for a minute? I’m not a fan,” I signed.

She raised her eyebrows, then let out a long breath.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m having trouble switching gears these days.” She rummaged through her closet, pulled out a designer dress, and laid it carefully on the bed.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed. We’ve all noticed,” I signed.

Emma looked at me through her lashes, long, artificial ones smudged slightly with black. She adjusted the dress, smoothing out every wrinkle until it lay perfectly pristine.

Sometimes, it was hard not to see Evelyn in her now. More and more, Emma was becoming rigid, routined, shut off. Cold, even. Like something inside her had chosen survival over softness, and the weapon it chose was everything our mother ever taught her.

I wanted to break through that shell. I wanted my sister back. But all I could see in that moment was the image: the queen of rock, Emma Hartgrave. Not Emma, my sister.

I’d come here hoping to get her help with... well, everything. The band. The way we were all slowly drowning.

“Em,” I signed. “Something has to give.”

“I’m doing everything I can.”

“No, you’re doing what you think is the right thing. What you think proves we weren’t made by Henry Mac. But the rest of us? We’re drowning in the chaos, in the spotlight, in this circus you made with the wolves. How are we supposed to exist in this?”

Emma shut her eyes tight. Like she was trying to keep the memories from rushing in. I understood that. God, I did. But I couldn’t let her shut down. Not again. Not now.

“We can’t just keep surviving, Em. That’s all we’ve been doing. Surviving the tour, the industry, our own fucking lives.”

“We have to,” she said. Her voice hardened. “Because if we crack, they win. Do you understand? That’s what they’ve always wanted. They either own us or break us. And I will allow neither.”

It was cold. Sharp. Practiced.

I shook my head. I wasn’t talking to Emma anymore. I was talking to the mask she wore to hold herself together.

“Emma, we need you. Not Emma the brand. Not the face of the movement. We need you here, not off on some promo circuit trying to make us legends. You can’t build a legacy on a foundation that’s already cracked. And you know that.”

She didn’t say anything.

So I kept going. “Dan’s a breath away from rehab. Max is chasing fame like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, his image, his ego, just like you. Sal’s lost. She’s not even acting like herself. She’s been cheating on Lee and tearing herself apart over it. And Liam—”

“I know what Liam’s doing,” she cut in sharply. “I don’t need the update. He’s been on my back nonstop saying the same damn thing.”

She rolled her shoulders, exhaling. The tension deflated slightly. “I didn’t know about Sal, though,” she added, softer now. She rubbed at her forehead. “Shit. That’s... shit.”

Then she looked at me, really looked, and something shifted in her expression. I shifted where I stood, rubbing my arms, uncertain whether she was finally letting the truth in… or still trying to bury it.

“I know it’s getting bad,” she said finally. “This tour is… too much. I see it now. I’ll talk to Liam. Maybe we cap it after the Asia leg. Take a break. Something.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t convinced. “Emma? A break? Is that what we need?” I asked. “We’re supposed to be a family. And lately, it feels like everyone’s just drifting off, doing their own thing. Max is always surrounded by rappers, models, and artists. He’s got a full-on entourage now. Dan’s gone rogue, sex, booze, chaos. And Sal is—”

“Maybe it’s not the worst thing,” Emma cut in. “Maybe we’re not the kind of family that survives this level of pressure. Maybe it’s good Max is branching out. Him and Dan were chaos together.”

“And Sal?” I challenged.

Emma shrugged. “You two are close. Maybe she needs space. Maybe she has her own reasons for creating distance.”

“Like what?”

Emma let out a breath, her shoulders slumping. “Look, I’ll talk to Liam. We’ll come up with a plan.”

Chapter 4: Fighting a Battle

Emma

I stalked into the large, full apartment suite, complete with a dining room, a small kitchen, and a living room. Liam was seated at the dining table, a massive glass thing surrounded by plush, upholstered chairs.

He was deep in conversation with Wade, Andy, Ashley, Maya, and the PR and social media teams. Tour dates. Studio dates. A whirlwind of planning.

Liam looked wrecked. Worn down, ragged, and utterly exhausted.

Greg was there. And so was the new guy, Connor.

I froze for half a second, then forced myself to move.

“Emma, what are you doing here?” Liam asked, voice tight. His eyes cut into me like lasers.

Greg gave me a once-over with that same smug, predatory glare I’d come to loathe. “Emma,” he said, curt.

I wondered how Liam could stand to be in the same room as him after Heartbreakers. After everything. But judging by the sharp angle of his jaw and the tension across his shoulders, he wasn’t. And I felt a twist of guilt in my stomach, knowing he was still taking the hits so the rest of us didn’t have to. So I didn’t have to.

“Masters,” I said coolly. “Congrats on the promotion.”

“Thank you,” he replied, clipped.

“You remember Connor,” he added, motioning to the tall, dark-haired guy with the long, crooked nose in a sharp blue suit, seated across from Liam. 

I nodded. He gave a friendly wave. “Hey, Emma.”

Liam stood, arms crossed. Then, without a word, he stepped around the table and walked toward me.

“Come,” he said, sharp. “We’ll be right back.”

He turned and led me out, his hand hovering just above the small of my back. I could feel the heat radiating from it. The restraint in it. He flexed it once, then let it  drop.

Once we were out in the hallway, he turned to face me, his arms folding tightly across his chest.

“What the hell are you doing walking into a meeting like that?” he snapped. “You know better. I don’t want you within ten feet of Greg. Ever again.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the band, Liam,” I said. “About all of us.”

“You need to be more specific.”

He wasn’t daft. He knew exactly what I meant. He was just being difficult. Closed off. Maybe I deserved that, but it still annoyed the hell out of me.

“Liam, your brother is drowning. Max is spiralling. Sal’s completely lost. And Susie’s reaching out like she’s desperate for someone to catch her.”

“You think I don’t know Dan’s sinking?” he snapped. “I’m aware, Emma. And if you think I haven’t been doing everything in my power to keep him afloat, then you don’t know me half as well as you think you do.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Now I don’t know you? I’ve been doing press, Liam. Not forgetting who you are. Stop being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? That’s rich coming from you, Hartgrave.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with you, Liam.”

“No? Just to accuse me of abandoning the band?” He stepped closer. “I haven’t abandoned them, Emma. I’m doing all the damn work, sticking to the plan, holding the whole damn thing together, while trying to keep Dan, Max, and Sal from completely falling apart.”

“So you do know,” I said quietly.

“Of course I know.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you, Emma,” Liam snapped. “They’re right there. In the same room. Across the hall. On stage beside you. But you’re too busy avoiding everything. Because you’ve got to perform, rest, and film commercials for So-Cal Donuts. Because it’s easier than facing us. Facing me.”

“That’s not—” I stopped myself, jaw tightening. “Liam, I didn’t come here to talk about us. We need a solution.”

“I agree. So? Do you have one? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“That’s bullshit,” I shot back, voice sharp.

I stopped, took a breath. Tried to stay level. Let it out slow.

“You are just being difficult,” I said, biting the words even as I tried not to.

“I’m not being difficult,” he said. “I just don’t like pretending.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, voice like gravel. “You’re pretending you’re not drowning, just like the rest of us.”

I stared at him. My chest tight.

“So you admit it?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “I’ve been drowning since the day my dad showed up in L.A. Since Michael’s wedding in Manchester. Since I went to Scotland. Since this bloody tour started.”

“Liam—”

But that’s when someone walked past.

Lee.

“Son of a bitch,” I said slowly, eyes narrowing.

“What?” Liam asked, alarm rising as he studied my face.

“Lee,” I repeated.

“Lee?” he echoed, turning, and then he saw them, too.

They looked pissed. Anger, worry, and pain etched into every inch of their face.

“Message Sal,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I just talked to Susie this morning, and she didn’t say anything about them coming on the tour at any point.”

“I’m texting her now,” Liam muttered, his eyes wide. “She’s not responding. I’ll call her.” 

I looked at him, voice flat. “So you knew about it... all of it.”

Liam nodded, jaw tight.

“And you said nothing.”

“What was I supposed to say, Emma? She's a grown up. It’s not our business.”

“It is our business,” I snapped. “This band is always our business, and you know it.”

He shook his head. So did I.

“She’s not answering.”

This was what we’d become. Avoidance. Silence. Distance. Liam was angry at me. I was pushing him away. He was pushing back. We were oceans apart, even when we were standing side by side. And Susie’s words from this morning echoed in my head.

You can’t build a legacy on a cracked foundation.

We weren’t going to make it.

We had to.

Then I saw Susie, bolting out of her room and sprinting down the hallway. At the same time, Lee was pounding on a nearby door.

I took off. Liam followed right behind me.

Susie signed frantically, “Lee, what are you doing here?”

Lee’s voice was sharp, furious. “Have you been covering for her? Is that what this is?”

I picked up speed, skidding to a stop beside them. “Hey, Lee! So good to see you,” I said with a tight smile and a voice pitched too high.

Lee looked at me, assessing, angry, brows drawn tight. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “If she’s not in her room, she might be out shopping, or resting with Dan and Max.”

They didn’t buy it. And to be fair, I wouldn’t have either. 

Lee’s gaze swept over all three of us. Their jaw clenched.

“Lee, why don’t we go down to the lobby, grab a drink?” Susie signed calmly.

“No. Not until I speak to Sal,” Lee snapped. “And deal with her bullshit.”

Liam exhaled. “Lee… Sal’s going through a lot.”

“Oh, really, Liam? And I haven’t been? I’ve been sitting at home while she spirals. She's been ignoring my calls, my texts, and when she does respond, she barely sounds like herself. She’s all over the press, in clubs, with fans, with Max and Dan.”

I exhaled sharply. It all sounded bad. Like we’d just let her go, let her fall apart while we turned away.

Liam rubbed his temples. He looked at me. I looked at him. And in that moment, all the fight drained out of us. I saw it in his shoulders. Felt it in my chest.

“What the hell is going on?” a voice said behind us.

Sal.

She looked… wrecked. Her hair was a mess, makeup still smudged from the night before. She wore a dress that clearly hadn’t been taken off, and she reeked of booze. The full rockstar who probably woke up in a pile of naked strangers.

Fuck.

This looked so bad.

So bad.

Chapter 5: Paint Me as the Sin

Sal

I plodded my way down the hotel hallway in last night’s dress, hair a mess, makeup smudged, reeking of booze, and there they were. Emma. Liam. Susie. And Lee. Standing outside my room door while Lee banged on it like I was inside hiding.

“What the hell is going on?” I said, walking straight into the chaos. 

They looked furious. I looked… wrecked. I knew it.

Susie’s eyes were full of a sadness that gutted me. Like she already knew everything.

Fuck. This was bad. So bad.

“Lee? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are they doing here?” Lee snapped. “Besides trying to keep me from figuring out where the hell you were?”

And just like that, everything spilled out.

I had begged Lee to come on tour. Pushed when she didn’t want to leave her life. But I’d handled it all wrong. I knew that now.

Liam, Emma and Susie left us alone. But only after ensuring I would be safe and okay. I opened the door. Lee exploded. Crying. Hurt. Furious.

And all I could do was apologize.

Over and over.

Tell her it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. My brokenness. My mess. I wasn’t built for love, or boxes, or anything that required me to be whole.

Chapter 6: I’m Done

Liam

I needed to talk to Emma. I was at the end of my rope.

I had just come back from Dan’s room, and it was worse than I thought.

He was barely conscious. In nothing but his underwear. Passed out on the bed, surrounded by strangers and half-dressed hangers-on. Booze bottles littered the floor, the nightstand, the window ledge. There was a haze of smoke clinging to the air. Weed, sure, but something sharper too. Acrid. Probably illegal. Probably dangerous.

He looked like every tragic rockstar biopic I'd ever seen.

Sprawled out, slack-jawed, empty. A cautionary tale in real time.

If we didn’t do something soon, Dan was going to self-destruct. He was already halfway there.

And I knew exactly why.

Because our dad left us. Left him. Left me. Two boys, barely out of childhood, wondering what the hell we’d done to make a man walk away like we were nothing. And then, like a final slap, he shows up years later. Once we were rich, once we were famous.

I knew that ache. The slow burn that never goes out. The hollow lived in my chest. It twisted me up until I didn't know how to live with it. So I retreated into myself and pushed everyone away, including Emma. Dan was trying not to feel it all. I could see it. His avoidance was drowning it. Every drink, every hit, every stranger was another failed attempt to make it stop hurting.

I had to smack him awake. Not hard, but enough to jolt him. His eyes fluttered open, red and unfocused. 

He blinked at me like he didn’t know who I was.

God help us, I didn’t know how much more he could take.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could.

I kicked everyone out. No one was happy about it. I didn’t give a shit.

I’d been doing this for weeks now. Dragging strangers out of Dan’s orbit while he spiralled deeper. Every time it cut me a little deeper. Every time it got harder to look at him like this, and then still force him onstage to perform songs we wrote about our pain. Our trauma.

Heart Lines and Cautionary Tales had been cathartic to write. But performing them? Night after night? That was a different beast entirely.

It was torture. A loop of pain we couldn’t escape. Reliving every wound under the spotlight.

I exhaled, raking a hand through my hair. 

That’s when Sal sent me an SOS text.

Plain. Simple. Classic Sal.

* * *

I headed straight to her room. She was on the balcony when I got there, hunched against the railing, looking exactly how I felt. Wrecked, raw, and barely holding it together.

“You okay?” I asked.

Stupid question. I already knew the answer.

“I fucked it all up,” she whispered. Her voice was thin, frayed, like she was holding back a tidal wave and losing.

“I know,” I said quietly. It was the only true thing in that moment.

“What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes, there is.” Her breath hitched. “Anytime something good happens in my life, I sabotage it.”

She sounded like Emma. God, the overlap was striking sometimes. Emma and Sal, two of the strongest people I knew, both abandoned by their families for being exactly who they were. Both brilliant, beautiful misfits who’d clawed their way into the light. And both convinced they were too damaged to be loved the way they deserved.

“You’re not broken, Sal,” I said softly.

She looked up at me with those big, dark eyes, smudged eyeliner ringing the pain she was trying, and failing, to blink away.

“Then why am I such a wrecking ball when it comes to love?” she choked out. “I hurt them. I hurt all of them.”

I exhaled slowly.

“They were so hurt. So angry. Threw things. Told me I’d broken their heart. And I knew it. But seeing it… God, it felt like I was the worst kind of human being.”

“Sal, you’re not a bad person.” I paused. “Do you think maybe the cheating happened because of how disconnected you’ve been feeling from them? Being apart… your lives not lining up anymore since the pandemic?”

“Probably.” She folded her arms tighter, like she was trying to physically keep herself together. “A lot about who I was in the pandemic doesn’t fit in this touring, rock-star version of my life.”

I nodded. A quiet understanding passed between us.

Sal wiped at her eyes. “Is that what’s going on with you and Emma?” she asked, voice small.

The emotion that stirred in me tightened my throat. My words scraped like gravel as they came out.

“Yeah. A lot is happening between Emma and me, mostly trying to figure out how to support each other in this new reality. After everything that’s happened. All the hurt. All the damage. All the… trauma.”

She nodded, waiting.

“You want the label, don’t you?” she asked. “And Emma doesn’t?”

I let the question sit for a beat, then said quietly, “Emma thinks I deserve better. Thinks she’s broken. That she doesn’t deserve love. Because she sees what happened with Henry as a choice she made, and every time I try to remind her it wasn’t a choice… I can feel her cracking. Like I’m splintering this fragile cast she’s barely holding together.”

I hesitated.

“And if I’m being honest, maybe I’m cracking too. Because deep down… I think I’m the reason she felt…”

I couldn’t say it. Not outloud. I could barely stand to think it most nights.

Sal shook her head slowly. “We all were, Teller.”

My chest ached. My limbs felt heavy. Like the weight of that truth was something I might carry forever.

And still, I didn’t move.

“I struggle with it too. That my dreams cost so much to someone I love so deeply. Emma’s like a sister to me,” she said, clearing her throat. “It was easier during the pandemic to pretend what happened was behind us. But this tour? It’s a brutal reminder of how the machine has surrounded us… swallowed us. And now it’s working us into the ground.”

I nodded. Every word hit home.

“I don’t know how to say that to Lee. How to explain that I feel trapped in all of this. That I can’t just walk away. I can’t abandon my people. And they just…don’t understand.” 

“I get that,” I said quietly. 

“But you have needs too, Teller.”

I exhaled, the weight of that truth sinking into my chest.

“How long are you going to wait for Emma to realize that the label... It’s just putting a name to what’s always been between you two, even through the whole pandemic?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Until I crack, probably.”

A shot of frustration surged through me. Anger and something else, thicker, heavier. Resentment.

“I’ve been there,” Sal said quietly. “Waiting for someone I loved to choose me. Not even knowing if they could. Settling for whatever scraps they were willing to give, because I was too afraid to ask for more. Too scared to draw a line or make my intentions clear. I lived in that ambiguity with a lot of women.”

“Yeah, see, I haven’t,” I said, voice low. “Not like this. Not with so many reasons to leave it undefined. But knowing I can’t keep doing that. Can’t keep pretending it’s enough. Because fuck, it’s gutting me.”

“Yeah. It hurts.” 

She looked at me, her eyes soft and knowing.

“It does.”

“You’re not abandoning Emma if you choose yourself. Especially when she can’t choose you. Not at this point in the journey. Yes, she’s been through a lot. But so have you. And you deserve the intimacy you two share… plus everything else a relationship is meant to be. She’s right. You do deserve better, Teller.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.”

Silence fell between us as we stared out at the city lights below. Finally, I spoke again.

“You’re not a monster for struggling to exist in a relationship that feels one-sided. When you're this disconnected from the person you’re trying to hold on to. And you’re not wrong for needing all of it. Emotional closeness, physical connection. Love that’s mutual and full. You deserve that.”

“We both do,” she said softly. “Talk to her. Be honest. And if she can’t give you what you need… let that be the answer, even if it’s not the one you want. One day, maybe she’ll see what she let go, and hopefully, it won’t be too late.”

I nodded, her words sinking deep. I already knew the truth. I just hadn’t been ready to face it. And when I did, it hit like a wrecking ball. Like something inside my chest was being ripped out by the roots. I held it in. I had to. I couldn’t fall apart in front of Sal, not when she’d just been through her own hell.

“You gonna be okay, Chari?” I asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, eyes glossy but steady. “I haven’t been for a while. I am—” she exhaled, voice low. “You’re not the only one in love with a Hartgrave, Teller. 

Except... I’m more like Emma. I’m the broken, fucked-up mess. And she deserves better.”

The realization hit like a slap. But once it landed, it made perfect sense. Emma had hinted at it back during the Heartbreakers sessions, quietly suggesting something might be happening beneath the surface. And now I saw it. Clearly. Sal loved Susie. She was living in the same painful ambiguity I had been… waiting, hoping, afraid to ask for more because asking meant putting everything at risk. Everything. The band. The dreams. The contract. The legacy. Just like Emma and me.

She looked at me, grief etched across her face, heartache already rooted deep for someone she couldn’t have. Lee was never going to work, and maybe Sal had always known that. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t hold on. Night after night, she stood on stage beside someone she loved, close enough to touch, but never hers in the way she needed. I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair, the weight of it all pressing in.

“I’m here if you need me,” I said, my heart heavy but full of understanding.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Same.”

She leaned in, and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close.

“Always, Chari,” I murmured.

“Always, Teller,” she said back.

And for a moment, held in her arms, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

I left Sal’s room, and I headed straight for Emma’s.

Chapter 7: Mask

Emma

After we pulled ourselves out of the blow-up between Sal and Lee, Liam headed off to find Dan, to make sure he wasn’t in even worse shape than Sal. He looked worried, jaw tight, eyes stormy. Before he left, he told the team he’d meet them later.

I told Susie to go downstairs and that I’d meet her there. She hesitated, she always did when things got like this, but she went.

Once I made sure Sal was okay, I left her and Lee to hash things out in her room. I told them both I was here for whatever they needed, rides, flights, rooms, food, whatever. It was messy, painful, complicated, but the least I could do was make sure they didn’t face it alone. At the very least, Liam and I agreed on that much: we’d give them whatever support we could. The band. Liam. Susie. Me. 

As I walked back toward the suite, I saw him in the hallway.

Greg.

“Emma,” he said, arms crossed, wearing his signature light‑grey suit tailored within an inch of its life. “A word.”

I stopped dead, pulse spiking. “I have places to be, Greg,” I said, giving him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. My phone was already in my hand, my one lifeline. My breath sped up, my heart pounding like it was trying to break free of my chest.

For a split second, I wasn’t in a hotel hallway.

I was back in his car.

On the way to Henry Mac’s house.

Believing he was taking me home.

“This will only take a minute,” he said.

I glanced around.

Everyone was gone.

The hallway was empty.

It was just him and me.

Fuck.

“Greg…” I warned.

“Emma,” he replied, then turned and walked back into the suite, motioning for me to follow.

I exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to freeze. My whole body was in fight-or-flight, buzzing with panic. Breathe in. Breathe out. Move. Just move. I forced my feet forward and followed him inside.

“What do you want, Greg?” I snapped the moment the door shut behind us.

“I wanted to…” He looked around the room as if checking for witnesses. “Remind you of your obligations to us.”

I rubbed my forehead. “You don’t need to remind me. I live with it hanging over my head every fucking day.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he mocked.

“Fuck you, Greg.”

His smile sharpened. “Just remember, Emma, if you or any of your friends slip up, it’s on you. We stop playing ball, and everything you’ve worked for disappears.”

My stomach dropped. My hands balled into fists.

“And if you think Liam is exempt,” he continued, “you’re mistaken. He’s as culpable in all this as you.”

My blood ran cold.

“Liam stays out of this,” I said, voice low and venomous. “That has always been my condition, Greg. Always.”

“Well then,” he said, tone seething, “keep a leash on your camp. Make sure everything stays locked up.”

I shook my head.

“I have and I will,” I said, crossing my arms and looking past him, refusing to meet his eyes. “We done here?”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“Emma, you are so goddamn transparent,” he said, voice like a sneer. “All anyone has to do is threaten your little Liam, and you fold like a cheap suit. Hell of a weakness for a queen. Wonder if he knows he’s the reason you dropped to your knees for Henry.”

I snapped my eyes to his.

“You know, Greg,” I spat, “you’ve got a real cocky mouth for someone who uses it for such illegal fucking activity. How many men have you dropped to your knees for? Bet your wife would love to know.”

He stepped forward, face inches from mine, finger pointed.

“Emma, you say one word—”

“Yeah, I know,” I cut him off. “You’ll destroy me if there’s anything left to destroy. Don’t worry, Greg, I’m not outing you or your pack of wolves. The truce holds.”

His jaw flexed.

“Good,” he said, straightening his suit like we were just wrapping up a business meeting. “I’ll let Henry know.”

The sound of that name, dropped so casually, scattered my thoughts like broken glass.

Greg knew exactly what it did to me.

He smirked, satisfied, and walked out of the suite, leaving me standing there, breath ragged, fists clenched, and rage rising like a tide I could barely hold back. 

I stormed to my suite. 

The second the door clicked shut behind me, I crossed to the table where all the gifted products and liquor were arranged in neat, curated rows. I grabbed a bottle of vodka, twisted off the cap with shaking hands, and took a long, burning swig. Then another.

It hit almost immediately.

Not relief. Never relief.

Panic.

Fear.

The memories surged up like ice tumbling off a collapsing glacier. Sharp, unstoppable, crushing. My breath hitched, then sped into frantic, shallow gasps. I couldn’t slow it down. Couldn’t ground myself.

My chest cinched painfully, and suddenly I was sobbing. Full-body, heaving sobs that tore out of me like something breaking loose inside. I clawed at my ribs like I could pry them open, make more room to breathe, make the pain ease, make anything stop.

But nothing helped.

All I could do was stand there and fall apart.

* * *

I’d had a few more drinks. Just enough to feel that soft, blurry buzz. Numbing myself was the only thing that felt remotely manageable.

The hotel room was dark; I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I sat at the foot of the bed, leaning back against it, a glass of ice and a bottle of vodka at my feet. Staring out at the city. Its lights flickering with life and movement, while I felt overwhelmed, paralyzed, drowning.

After a while, I forced myself to my feet. Shook off the worst of it. Switched on the lights. Pulled on some loungewear and flopped onto the bed. Tried to go through my nightly routine on autopilot. A bath, music humming low, skincare, the light-therapy mask, brushing out and oiling my hair. It helped… marginally.

Self-care. Right. That’s what it’s for.

Then I picked up my guitar, sat cross‑legged on the bed, and let something spill out of me. A picking pattern, light but shadowed, melody threading through me like smoke.

The lyrics followed. 

“Do you remember when I knew the you

that laughed without the weight of the world

on your shoulders?

When I was light and fire

and the world was wide open and free.

Do you miss the kids we were

when life felt like motion,

like living in the blur of a spin

we never wanted to stop?

Do you miss that?”

A knock at the door cut through the moment.

I froze.

I knew that knock.

Liam.

A rush of cold swept through me. There was no way he was here for small talk. It had to be that conversation. The one we’d both been avoiding—the ‘what the hell are we doing’ conversation.

I set the guitar aside.

Could I even do this? Was I sober enough? Stable enough?

Was I ready?

Maybe I was catastrophizing. Maybe it wasn’t that at all.

But my stomach twisted like it absolutely was.

Barefoot, wearing a long silk night-shirt, I padded toward the door.

My hand hovered on the knob far too long.

I inhaled. Exhaled. Then opened it.

Liam stood there leaning against the doorframe, casual in posture, but his eyes… his eyes were still that storm I’d seen this morning. A whole hurricane of emotion, he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.

“Hey,” I said. It came out rough, gravelly. I cleared my throat.

“Hey,” he replied. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

I nodded. 

He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him.

And all I could think was that whatever happened next, whatever this talk was, it was going to change everything between us.

The dread in my chest felt like something tearing.

God, why did that make me feel like I was about to fall apart?

Chapter 8: Shattering Chains

Emma

I was stuck in New York, shooting a commercial for Go-Go Coffee—some tongue-in-cheek, hyper-caffeinated bit of nonsense.

I was spinning out. Spiralling over everything that had happened. A few days ago, Liam came to my room, and we had that gut-wrenching fight.

I was scheduled to fly out tomorrow to meet the band in Vancouver, then we’d push through a few more North American dates. I’d already convinced Liam to push back on the label’s pressure to extend the tour... again. They’d already stretched it a full year past what any of us could reasonably handle. The band was running on fumes. I was running on fumes. So once we hit the States for round two… that was it. No more extensions. The tour would finally be over.

And right now, I had no idea what to do about Liam and me.

He’d told me he couldn’t live in the ambiguity anymore. He’d been waiting for me. After Heart Breakers, he’d wanted us to make it official. Back then, I told him I needed time to heal, and he said he would wait. Two years later, he brought it up again, and I said the same damn thing. 

I’d shoved him hard (emotionally), straight in the opposite direction for so many reasons. 

One was that I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was asking because he was hurting in a thousand different ways, because of his dad, Dan, the label, the tour, Henry Mac, and the distance the tour had created between us. I wasn’t sure he was actually prepared to deal with everything that being together meant, the consequences, the chaos it would create. It wasn’t a small ask. 

I felt like he was trying to prove something to himself. 

I felt he wanted me right then, but only as a distraction.

And while I understood that.

God, did I understand it.

I didn’t like it. I wanted it to be anything but a conscious, open-hearted choice between the two of us. Made at the right time, together. 

But if I was being honest with myself, I hadn’t been playing fair. It wasn’t fair to expect him to stay in this undefined space between us. No label, no clear terms, just the constant crossing and blurring of emotional lines, and sometimes physical ones.

Christ, we’d slept in the same bed at his cousin’s wedding.

We didn’t have sex, but it was intimate. Touching, holding each other. 

Of course, he’d feel confused. I was sending mixed signals. 

Of course, he’d feel used. 

And of course, he’d want clarity.

He deserved it.

We both did.

And it was a loaded topic for me at the time. One, I wasn’t prepared or ready to unpack. I had shut that entire part of myself off after Henry. Desire. Want. Physical intimacy. It all vanished into this cold, unreachable place. I was finding my way back to it. Slowly. The closeness to Liam was helping. But it was still tangled with pain and trauma and memory. 

It was part of the reason I pushed him away so hard. I was terrified. 

That Henry had fucked me up so badly that no matter who stood in front of me, all I’d ever see was him?

At the time, that thought made my whole body go cold.

So I told Liam to move on.

To find someone who deserved him.

Someone who wasn’t the broken mess I was.

And he told me I was just afraid to try, that I was letting Henry win. 

He wasn’t wrong.

I was worried. Worried I’d pushed him so far that he would never come back.

Or worse, he’d actually do what I told him to. Go off and find someone else. Someone better for him. Someone whole. Someone who deserved him. And I’d have to watch him fall in love with her… and out of love with me.

That thought felt like a knife straight through my chest.

I didn’t want that at all.

He was right. I was just terrified.

We’d lived in ambiguity for so long.

I was scared of what would happen if we made it official.

That everything would implode.

All that I don’t deserve love and I’m not built for relationships crap. It wasn’t the truth.

It was fear.

Pain talking.

Trauma talking.

I didn’t know how to be in a relationship that wasn’t built on imbalance, control, or ownership.

Henry had twisted that part of me, poisoned it.

And Liam was none of those things, which only made my terror louder.

What if I ruined him?

What if choosing him broke us both?

The stylists had worked around me, while my thoughts raged, dismantling me piece by piece. Extensions off, makeup wiped away, lashes discarded.

I had sat there, staring blankly at my phone, scrolling without seeing anything.

I knew in that moment I needed to apologize. To tell him I was scared. To tell him I didn’t want the ambiguity any more than he did. To be straight with him. 

I rubbed both hands over my face, and one of the makeup artists had scolded gently.

“Emma.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, back, letting her tilt my chin so she could clean the last of the eyeliner off. Like she was taking off the mask I had been wearing for years now. 

I exhaled, trying to calm the jittering panic under my skin, but it only got worse.

I felt like I could crawl out of myself.

I wrestled with texting him.

But what did I say? Sorry, I reacted badly. I want you. God, I want you. I’m just scared. Emotionally, physically. And Henry… Henry has me terrified.

It wasn’t something that should be a text conversation.

So, I sent one message:

Can we talk when I get to Vancouver?

He didn’t respond.

It wasn’t unusual.

But it made my stomach twist.

I reasoned, I’d talk to him as soon as I reached the hotel in Vancouver.

Face to face.

Where all of this was finally going to crack open.

* * *

I got to Vancouver earlier than expected. Surprisingly, everything had gone smoothly. The airport, the car... easy. Flying private helped. Faster than usual. Too easy.

I took the stairs up to the band’s hotel floor, planning to stop by my room to freshen up before tracking down Liam for breakfast.

But halfway down the hall, I saw her.

Delilah.

The pop star headlining the Canadian shows.

She was stepping out of Liam’s room.

My entire body locked up. I froze.

She strutted out like she’d won something. Unmistakable. Mascara smudged. Laughter still echoing off the hallway walls. Liam’s door stood open behind her.

My stomach twisted violently.

Not because he’d moved on. 

But because I’d shoved him there.

I was furious. Shaking. The emotion was primal, sharp, ugly. He’s mine, bitch. The thought slammed into me before I could stop it. My head pounded. My gut churned. I wanted to scream. Rage. At both of them.

But I didn’t.

Because I had no right.

We weren’t together. And that was my doing.

Knowing that didn’t make the pain hurt any less.

Because I still wanted him.

God, I still wanted him.

But I had to face the sad truth: it didn’t matter anymore. Not to him.

I swallowed hard.

“Oh... hey, Emma.”

I cleared my throat and slipped into that place in my head—the one I’d perfected in studios with Henry Mac. Controlled. Blank.

“Hi Delilah,” I said, flat, distant.

I stared just past her.

She smiled like this was normal. Like this was just another morning. Then she walked on.

It was the most violent morning I’d had in a long time.

“Emma—”

Liam stepped into the hallway. His voice was cautious. Wary. Like he knew he’d been caught.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” he said slowly, glancing down at his phone. “I just got your text. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Oh, you know. Just the giant mistake I made the other night.

But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Because you fucked the most recent opening act.

I shook my head. Opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

I couldn’t even look at him. My gaze fixed on the window at the end of the hall, light streaming in too bright, too cruel.

“Emma?” he said. 

I cleared my throat as it tightened, emotion pooling dangerously, threatening to unravel me right here in the hallway. I tried to speak again, then stopped.

Because if I said anything, it would come out wrong.

Mean and furious.

Or tearful and pitiful.

“Give me something here, Hartgrave,” he said in a quiet voice. 

I needed to get to my room. 

I didn’t want him to see me cry.

“I’m just... tired, Liam.”

My voice was low, flat.

I still couldn’t look at him.

“I need to—” I gestured vaguely toward my room, my hand trembling just enough to give me away.

I caught his gaze for a split second. And felt everything all at once. It all came to the surface. All of it. Every last bit of emotion. And so many tears.

I brushed past him, quickly and walked as fast as I could to my room. It was two doors down, so it was close. Close enough to get behind that door and fall apart. Unravel. Alone.

“Emma—”

He followed. Kept talking.

“You can’t honestly be mad right now." 

I barely heard him. Couldn’t respond.

“What do you expect from me here? I tried, Emma. You shut me out... you just keep shutting me out.”

Yeah, because you did first, I thought to myself.

The tears started as I reached for my room key and fumbled with the handle.

Part of me knew I wasn’t being fair. Or rational. Or mature.

The other part wanted to tear into him for everything he’d done that made me feel this way. Like there was no way this was ever going to happen.

But none of it mattered.

Because Greg was right.

If anyone slipped, if anyone ever said anything about Henry and Greg and their side gigs, they would come for Liam and me. And I couldn’t have that.

Maybe this was fate. The universe telling me what I’d been too afraid to do on my own.

For his own sake.

Even though I knew it would hurt like this.

Liam kept talking behind me until he was right beside me. I could feel his warmth, catch his scent, and it made something ugly rise in my chest.

Anger.

Grief. 

Pain. 

“Emma, don’t shut the—”

I opened the door and slammed it in his face.

I collapsed just inside the room and burst into tears.

“Open the door,” he said through the wood. “Emma. Please. Just talk to me.”

Big, heaving sobs escaped me.

I knew this was my fault. I knew I’d done this. All of it. From Heartbreakers right up until this very moment.

The ache in my chest was unbearable.

I felt like I was going to die.

I had made my choices.

Now I had to live with the consequences.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I swallowed it down and let the tears fall.

My phone buzzed.

Again.

And again.

It was him.

I grabbed it and hurled it across the room.

More tears.

More hurt.

More pain.

M​ore grief. 

I slumped against the bed and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, shoulders shaking

Sobbing.

Feeling everything I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

Feeling the weight of every decision I ever made.

Chapter 9: Closing

Susie

Vancouver, Canada, June 2023

We were sitting at breakfast at the restaurant in the hotel. Finally, a moment of peace with most of the band. It was just before noon. Liam was nowhere to be found, and Emma was in New York shooting a commercial. She was supposed to be back this morning.

We’d arrived in Vancouver the night before. The city greeted us with screaming fans and enough camera flashes to make it feel like the sun had come out. Then we did what rockstars do. We partied. Liam had been a mess. Like he’d been through a blender.

Sal sat with him most of the night. They talked and drank together, looking like they were consoling each other. And the pang of jealousy I felt was overwhelming. I couldn’t help but remember when I used to be that person for her. I felt the sting of her distance and I didn’t fully understand it. I still didn’t. 

It felt… sudden. Abrupt, maybe.

I left the party early and went to bed. 

“Oi! Daniel, seriously. Stop snaking my hash browns and eat your sausage-chorizo-cast-iron-whatever-the-hell,” Max muttered. “Where’s Liam at?”

“Max,” Dan warned. “Shush.”

“Why?” Max threw his hands out in frustration.

“What is with you two?” I sighed, narrowing my eyes at both of them.

“Liam,” Sal said, rolling her eyes, “may have had a rough night lasy night.” 

“Yeah, if by rough night you mean he slept with that pop star,” Max blurted out. 

“Mate,” Dan said, palming his face. 

“What? Susie already knows,” he said. 

I shifted in my seat.

I did know, and I hated that.

The waitress came by and set down my food—eggs, toast, and a fruit cup. I stared at it.

Sal looked at me. 

“This is so goddamn complicated,” I signed. 

“It’s about to get even more so,” Dan sighed.

“Yeah,” Sal said, chewing on her toast and working her jaw. “I think we’re heading into a rough patch. Emma and Liam had it out before she went to New York. He drew a line in the sand…”

“And she didn’t cross it.” I glanced at Max and Dan, both looking down at their plates. Then Dan met my eyes, and his look said everything. Guilt. 

We helped create this mess. 

“So let me get this straight. Things are about to get weird and tense and awkward between all of us, not because Liam and Emma got together and screwed it up, like we all feared... but because they didn’t?”

“It would seem that way… yes,” Dan said, his hands laced in front of him, his cast-iron skillet of eggs and sausage mostly untouched.

“So we prevented nothing,” I muttered. “We made them go through all of this for nothing.”

Max let out a heavy breath, dropping his toast back onto his plate and rubbing his temples.

Sal nodded her head slowly.

“They didn’t technically break up,” Dan said. “Because they were technically never together.”

I gave him a look.

“This next leg’s gonna be worse than the last,” Max said.

That’s when Liam came downstairs looking like absolute shit.

“You okay, mate?” Max asked him.

“No.” Liam slumped into his seat, staring off like he’d left his soul somewhere upstairs.

“What happened?” Sal asked.

“Emma sent me a text from New York last night, said she wanted to talk. I didn’t see it until this morning.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Max asked, glancing around the table for backup.

“I thought so… but she came back earlier than I expected and she…”

He cleared his throat and grimaced.

“She caught Delilah leaving my room.”

“Ooooh,” Max winced, dragging the sound out.

“What did she say?” Sal asked. “What did she want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Liam said. “She looked so upset. More upset than I’ve ever seen her. Hurt. Like I’d gutted her.”

“Did she say why she was so cut up?” Dan asked.

Liam didn’t respond.

“Look,” Dan continued, “You two are not in a bloody relationship. She made that perfectly clear, the other night, and through the entire pandemic. She couldn’t handle it after the whole… Henry Mac thing.”

He paused. Even saying the name made the whole table go still like we were all holding our breath to keep from spiralling.

“I mean, she literally told you to move on, mate. She can’t come back now and crucify you for sleeping with some random pop tart.”

“She’s the opener for the rest of the tour, mate,” Max reminded him.

“Ooof, fuuuuuck.” Dan winced. Massaging his forehead with one hand while looking down at the table.

“Jesus, Liam. Way to pick ’em.”

Liam groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It was more like just… not disallowing.”

“Alright. Alright. Complication, yes. Condemnation? Not entirely,” Dan tried to argue, but none of us agreed.

“Yeah… but maybe after some time away, she changed her mind,” I sighed. “Maybe she realized she fucked up.”

Liam dropped his head into his hands. Clearly, he’d been thinking the same thing.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned. “I don’t know because she wouldn’t speak to me. She looked right past Delilah, then me.”

“Like she does when she’s in the same room as Greg?” I asked.

Liam nodded.

“Then she bloody stormed off. I went after her. She went into her room, locked the door, and wouldn’t come out.”

“That’s not good,” Max said.

“I tried to coax her out for half an hour. Nothing. She wouldn’t answer my texts or my calls. I was yelling at the door like a bloody lunatic. And I could hear her in there. I just sat against her door for an hour listening for anything. I swear I heard her crying in there. ” 

Liam’s voice broke. His lower lip quivered as he rubbed his face. His eyes were glassy.

We all sat there, looking at him… at each other.

Silence filled the booth, heavy and suffocating. While the rest of the dining room buzzed with ordinary life. Coffee cups clinking. Forks scraping plates. People laughing like the universe wasn’t collapsing in front of us.

“Did… did I,” he cleared his throat. “Did I just fuck this up beyond repair? Did I mess up so badly she hates me now?” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe he was saying it. Then louder—“Did I just destroy the realest thing I never actually got to have?”

It was jarring to hear him say it out loud. That unspoken thing between them. The thing etched into every song, every note, every album, every music video, every performance. The chemistry and connection that built us might be the very thing that broke us.

We all knew it had the potential to do so. That’s why we warned them. Why the label gave us an eight-album deal with a breakup-and-scandal clause so ironclad that our future kids, if we chose to have them, would be paying off the lost-revenue penalties until they were middle-aged, and they’d never see a dime from our music.

“I…” Sal started. “I don’t know…”

She looked at me.

I didn’t have an answer.

Because whatever happened, Emma wasn’t answering my texts.

Chapter 10: Walls

Susie

New Orleans, Louisiana, US, July 2023

We were on the plane, a flight from New Orleans to New York. Everyone welcomed the stillness and quiet, even if it was only for a few hours. Well, everyone except Dan, who was already one and a half drinks deep before we even took off.

Liam was in his usual routine: headphones, hoodie, setting up his gear. But the second Emma spoke, his head snapped up so fast I thought he might give himself whiplash.

“I think we need to take a break. A big one,” Emma said, her voice quiet.

She was swirling a ring around her finger, loose, teetering near the tip.

The one Liam had given her for Christmas.

It felt like a lifetime ago. Six years.

He’d said it was an album gift. For going multi-platinum.

She never used to take it off. But lately, she’d been doing that a lot. Swirling it. Letting it dangle at the edge of her finger.

Liam clocked it. His eyes dropped to her hand, to the way her fingers fidgeted with the ring.

“A break? Where’s this coming from, Em?” he asked, glancing down as he reached into his bag for something.

“Don’t do that.” Her tone was tight, guarded. She leaned back in her seat, eyes hidden behind oversized sunglasses. 

She’d started dressing differently. Always in black blazers and wide-leg trousers or mom jeans, stilettos clicking wherever she walked. Hair blonder than usual, styled in sleek waves or bone-straight. Red lips. Perfect skin. She used to be casual-cool—vintage tees, jeans, boots. Now she looked like the CEO of a luxury beauty brand.

Liam lifted his hands. “Do what?”

Emma cleared her throat. 

“Make this about something other than the band.”

The tension in the cabin was thick. We could’ve cut it and served it on a silver platter.

Wade and Andy exchanged a look. Ashley glanced up from her tablet, the ever-present granola bar still hanging from her mouth as she typed furiously. She barely had time to eat these days, let alone keep up with the constant chaos.

“What else is it about, besides your new boyfriend wanting to whisk you away on holiday? Please, enlighten me,” Liam said, his voice like steel. 

Emma rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She said tone clipped. 

“That’s not what the media thinks. You’ve been all over Muamua. Pap walks. Coffee dates. Looks like something.” 

Emma shifted in her seat. The ring swirling faster now. 

“It’s... never mind. You know we won’t survive the next album cycle if we don’t do something, and we all need space.”

That made him flinch.

“We can’t keep going like this,” She added. 

Everyone on the plane shifted.

“So your plan is to leave? Run?” 

“I’m not running.” 

“You are. Running from facing realities you’re too cowardly to confront,” Liam said simply. There was no edge in his voice, just knowing. 

She looked out the window. For a while. I swear I heard her take in a sharp, trembling breath. 

“My plan is to live outside of this for a while. Get some distance,” Emma replied, her tone clipped. “That’s not running.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, sounds familiar to me.”

Emma shot him a glare.

Liam groaned and rubbed his face. “Emma, we’re not taking an extended break. You get three weeks. Tell your boyfriend and deal with it.”

She shook her head, lips pressed tight.

“Besides,” he continued, voice sharper now, “that’s not what we agreed on. We agreed to grind out the last four albums, finish the tours, and get out from under Titan as fast as we bloody could. You might’ve forgotten... but I haven’t.”

“I remember,” she snapped. “Believe me. No one lets me forget what I have to carry.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” 

Liam flinched. just barely. Then wordlessly put on his headphones, shutting her out.

Emma shook her head and opened her book.

Sal and I exchanged a look.

“This must be what kids feel like watching their parents get divorced,” Max muttered.

I looked over at him and signed, “Pretty much. At least they’re still arguing. When that stops, we are well and truly fucked.” 

He grimaced.

Dan just drained the rest of his second drink without a word. Held up his hand for the flight attendants to grab him another. 

I let out a sigh as the twist in my guts worsened. 

We weren’t making it past L.A., and we all knew it. 

* * *

L.A., California, US, August 2023

We were back in L.A., finally done. A year and a half of shows, sweat, and survival. and Emma was leaving. Leaving-leaving. Jetting off on some elaborate vacation with Rick, sailing around on a yacht off the coast of Africa. She was forcing us all into a six-month break, whether we wanted it or not.

Liam had tried to stop her.

His final attempt came after that last show, and it exploded into the biggest, most brutal blowout any of us had ever witnessed.

They were in the hallway, but we could hear every word from the dressing room. We could see them too. Standing there, raw and exposed, every heartbreak-laced shout echoing off the walls.

“Emma, stop running,” Liam said, his voice low but shaking with emotion.

“Me? What about you?” she snapped back.

“Me?” He stepped closer, fury and desperation clashing in his eyes. “What the bloody hell am I running from, Emma, huh?”

“The fact that you can’t keep using distractions to bury the grief your father left behind,” she said, her voice steady. “You need to feel the hurt—for you. Not your mom. Not Dan. You. And then let the people who love you love you through it. You just needed patience, with yourself. With me.”

“Oh, that’s—” he scoffed.

“What? The truth?”

“Incredulous. Coming from you.”

“Incredulous?”

“Yes! You want to see me hurt?” He threw his arms wide. “This is me, hurt—after I went to you, asked you to stop running, to finally see what’s right in front of you—waiting for you.”

“No, you asked me to be your distraction because you were drowning. Liam, I’ve known you a long time. If you think I don’t recognize when you’re using something to numb the pain… you’re wrong.”

"I waited for you, Emma. Two years. That’s why I was in pain."

"That’s deeply unfair. For one of those years, you were drowning in everything with your dad. I was there for you through all of it. And I waited for you, for three years, before Heartbreakers ever happened."

He dragged both hands down his face, frustration etched into every line. Breaking.

"That’s not bloody fair. We agreed to stow it. Both of us," he said, voice cracking. "One night. That was it." 

"I’m aware," she replied, her voice trembling now. "But I—"

"I’m sorry, Em. I am."

"For what, Liam?" Her voice sharpened. "For those three years? For fucking Chelsea, the back up dancer? Or was it Delilah, the pop star princess, the night before I came to apologize for everything?"

Liam’s face crumpled.

She turned to go, but he reached out, grabbing her arm. Not rough, just desperate.

"Emma, don’t leave with him," he pleaded. "Please. Not like this. I know I messed up. I’ll fix it."

"Fix it?" she repeated, laughing bitterly. "Liam, it’s done."

"It can’t be. Not for us."

"Well, it is. Because you chose to sleep with someone else, and now here we are."

His eyes darkened. "So your solution was to sleep with someone else? Rick Bradley? And now you’re in a full-on relationship with the bloody sod? You think I’m just supposed to accept that? Live with it?"

Her voice went cold. Steady. Detached.

"Yes. That’s how this works. You moved on. So I did too."

“That is not what Delilah was. She was…” He lowered his voice. “...a distraction.” 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said softly. “There’s just… too much damage. And maybe this is how it was always going to end. We were just delaying the inevitable. Making it harder for everyone. For ourselves.”

“You don’t mean that,” Liam said, his voice low, shaken. 

She swallowed hard, the silence between them stretching like a wound.

“It’s funny,” she went on. “Everyone was so afraid we’d blow up the band if we ever got together. But no one thought about what would happen if we didn’t. What it would do to us, watching the other person from afar. God, Liam... I’ve watched you sleep with so many people since the Break the Chains tour. And every single one of them felt like a dagger to the heart. I can’t keep doing it. Don’t ask me to.”

His face twisted, pain rising to the surface.

“You think this has been easy for me?” he snapped. “You think I didn’t feel it? Watching you with other men. Watching them touch you. Have you. I got every part of you but that part. The part they had so bloody freely. And I never once let myself believe I wouldn’t have it again. Letting it happen nearly fucking killed me, Emma.”

He took a breath, voice low and shaking now.

“And I want to do unspeakably cruel things to Henry Mac. For what he did to you. For every time he hurt you. For touching you. For trying to break you.”

She blinked, tears brimming. Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“This is my fault, really. All of it. I’m sorry I wasn’t better... or stronger. Less of a fucking mess. I’m sorry, Liam. I’m so sorry.”

Liam didn’t move. He just stood there, shattered. His eyes glassed over like he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“But I can’t keep doing this,” she said. Her voice had dropped to something softer, almost fragile. “We’ll figure out the albums. But I need space. Time. Distance.”

He stepped forward, desperation bleeding through every word.

“You’re running, Emma. From me. From us. From your family. And straight into the arms of another asshole who’s going to treat you like you don’t matter.”

His voice cracked. “This is your pattern. You run. You pick the pain. Because deep down, you still think you deserve it. But I’m telling you, you don’t. Break the cycle, Em. Or you’ll keep bleeding.”

Her hand was already on the door.

“So I’m the only one with a pattern?” she said, her eyes narrowing. “What about yours, Liam? What about your distractions, your silences, your inability to say what you feel until it’s too fucking late?”

He didn’t flinch. Just stared.

“Let me fix it,” he whispered.

She looked at him, long, hard, full of ache.

Then she shook her head.

“I... I have to go. I’m already late.”

She pulled in a breath, opened the door, and walked out.

And you could see it, Liam’s heart broke in real time.

He stood there for a long time in the silence then turned and stalked down the hallway. A few seconds later, the crash of bottles and furniture erupted from his change room. 

Then came the worst kind of silence I’ve ever felt.

Heavy. Final.

Fame built them. Silence broke them. Love might be the only thing that saves them.

Set during the break and before Through the Glory and the Mess find out what happened in the aftermath of the Heart Lines tour while the band is fractured.

Emma is clawing her way out of a toxic relationship and back into the group she nearly destroyed.

Susie is in Korea, trying to reclaim her roots.

Liam is churning out collab songs like a man possessed.

And the rest of the band. Let's just say "model-gate" is threatening to implode everything. Until the mothers show up.

This is a story of redemption, of finding your way back to the people who chose you, who love you, even when you can't see a way through. It’s messy. Heart-wrenching. Raw, romantic, and laced with razor-edge tension.

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