Coachella with HGT: Chaos in Bloom, Part 2 Excerpts

In honour of Coachella, I’m sharing the Hartgrave Tellers’ Coachella moment from Chaos in Bloom: Part Two (Chapters 22–25). A pivotal turning point at the start of Emma and Liam’s relationship. Fun, flirty, and just a little bit dangerous.

Chapter 22

This is Our Moment

Liam

We were on our way to Coachella. The band buzzed with anticipation. This was our biggest festival yet—up to 125,000 people screaming, dancing, and hearing our music for the first time. Forty minutes to blow minds and make the crowd obsessed. We were ready.

We'd spent what felt like hours hashing out the setlist with Wade, Andy, and Greg.

“You guys need to make ‘Ravage’ the song you launch yourselves off of,” Maya said. “It’s fire in musical form.”

“I agree,” Greg nodded. “Make it either the opener or the closer. The last song’s what sticks with them.”

“True, but I think it’s gotta be ‘Blazing Hearts’ or another anthem,” Wade said, brows furrowed as he stroked his beard.

“I agree with that,” I said.

“Same,” Emma added. “If we end on the slutty track, we’ll be that band. I want to be the one who lit the stage on fire, with riffs and rage. Not just sex on a stick.”

I pointed at her. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“I hear you,” Greg replied. “But this is Coachella. Half the crowd’s high, half-naked, and looking to hook up. They want heat. All of it.”

Emma furrowed her brows. “Greg, no offense, but most of them are closer to our age. And even half-naked, high, and horny—we still want good music.”

“Preach!” Max called out from behind the kit, holding up a fist.

“Yeah, I’m with Emma,” Sal said. “We can play ‘Ravage’, but not as the closer. ‘Hurricane’ would hit harder.”

“You just want those mad violin riffs in the spotlight,” Susie signed, grinning.

“Let’s anthem the opener and closer,” Dan said. “Let ‘Ravage’ ride the middle. It’s got serious heat—it’ll land wherever we put it.”

“The band has spoken,” Andy said. “We start with ‘Hurricane’, close with ‘Blazing Hearts’, and drop ‘Ravage’ mid-set. Hit 'em hard out the gate, cool it down, and close with a firebomb.”

“That, my man, is a solid plan.” Wade smacked Andy on the back.

Across the aisle, Emma tapped her foot, already gearing up to torch the stage. I could feel it in her posture, she was building fire.

We arrived at the Empire Polo Club in Indio, California. The crowd waiting to greet us was already huge, cheering, waving signs, screaming like we were gods.

“Alright, people,” Dan said, flipping on his sunglasses. “Let’s fucking goooo.” He strutted off the bus like he’d been born for this moment.

Max shook his head and followed. “This is gonna be a wild ride. I can feel it.”

“This is nuts,” Sal said.

Susie signed with a smirk, “This is just the beginning. All the way, baby.”

“All the way, baby,” Sal echoed.

“You ready?” I asked Emma. She was staring out the window like it was the starting line of the biggest race of her life. Maybe it was. We all knew this could be the show, the one that launched us.

She took a breath. Nodded.

Emma got deadly serious before shows. She didn’t talk much. Stored her energy like lightning before the strike.

It was the calm before her storm.

“Yes,” she finally said. “Let’s do it.”

********

We prepped backstage. Dan and Max worked the room, chatting with artists and crew. Susie watched Emma, who was deep in vocal warm-ups. I tuned my guitar, chords steadying my hands, nerves humming in my chest.

Sal caught up with some old band friends, laughing like we weren’t minutes away from the biggest performance of our lives.

And then Maya and Ashley showed up.

“Hey, guys,” Maya said, glancing around. “Where is everyone?”

“Milling about,” I replied.

“Okay. After some deliberation, we’re changing the set,” Maya said briskly. “Play ‘Ravage’ last. Make it the closer.”

Andy and Wade exchanged sharp glances. They knew that wasn’t the plan, and exactly why.

“What?!” Emma snapped. “We’re ending with ‘Blazing Hearts’.”

Maya didn’t flinch. “Put that second-to-last. This is from the top. The bigwigs are here…impress them.”

“You can’t flip the set ten minutes before showtime,” Andy said, voice sharp. “That’s not how this works.”

“It’s hardly a change. The song’s already in the lineup,” Maya replied.

“Let’s make it work. It’s a huge gig,” Ashley added.

“We will, with the set we planned to play,” I said.

“Liam, please,” Maya said. “Ravage is the next single. It’s going to blow up. This is what we do at Titan. We know what sells.”

Emma narrowed her eyes.

Susie signed something to her. I only caught pieces of it, my ASL was getting better, but I was still lagging. Roughly: “Tell them—no fucking way. Are they serious right now?”

“Fine!” Emma snapped. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

I turned toward her, ready to protest. But the way she smiled, that sharp, deliberate curve of her lips? It wasn’t defeat. It was the fuse being lit.

She had no intention of changing a damn thing.

“Good,” Maya said, oblivious, and walked out.

Ashley caught up to Emma. They whispered, an urgent, hissed conversation. Ashley was trying to talk her down.

Too late.

The stage manager interrupted. “You guys are on in ten.”

Emma flashed Ashley a smile and strutted past her.

I followed, Susie on my heels. We moved through the backstage maze toward the main stage.

The sun was brutal overhead. The crowd was massive, sun-drenched, electric, roaring.

The pop act before us finished. Applause thundered.

Now it was our turn.

Emma wore skintight leather pants and a glittering top held together by threads, defiance, and the sheer audacity of existing like that. Flowy scarves billowed from her biceps, and her strappy heels made her already-tall frame downright statuesque.

I was in my signature leather pants, a cutoff tee, and my bandana.

Everyone else? Some version of the same, leather, glitter, tattoos, skin, and sweat.

I came up behind Emma, resting my chin lightly on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. She leaned back into me, forehead brushing mine. A jolt went through me like a live wire at the contact, but it also grounded me. Centred me.

She gave my cheek a quick pat-pat. Light. Intimate.

“You’re not gonna change the set, are you, Hartgrave?”

“Nope,” she said, her grin teasing the edge of trouble.

“Trouble.”

“I am. But it’ll play in your favour. Trust me.” That grin turned wicked, and I was done for.

We weren’t talking about the set anymore.

“Well,” I murmured, “let’s bring the heat.”

“Oh, I plan on it,” she said, voice low enough only I could hear. “By the time I’m done, you won’t remember your own damn name.”

Dear God.

I was going to need divine intervention to survive Coachella with Emma Hartgrave on stage. If I made it through, I’d be the strongest, most self-controlled man alive.

Not exactly the title I wanted.

I raised a brow. “Bring it on, Hartgrave.”

She chuckled, slow and sultry. “Let’s see if you can handle it, Teller.”

I stepped back, throat dry, trying to remember how to breathe. The rest of the band was filing in. Susie caught my eye. She was watching us like a hawk, arms crossed, expression flat.

She shook her head at me, disapproving, eyes rolling. 

I smirked back, trying for innocence and failing. Yep. Guilty as charged. I absolutely wanted to bang your sister, sideways, forwards, backwards. Until either of us could walk straight. Go ahead. Shake your damn head.

Dan breezed past, oblivious. Max and Sal followed behind, amped and ready.

“Alright, you lot,” Dan called. “Hands in.”

We stacked our hands in the middle.

“Through the glory—” Dan began.

“—and the mess!” we shouted together.

“To the motherfucking top!” Max roared.

The MC’s voice rang out, loud and electric over the roar of the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen…The Hartgrave Tellers!”

The sound that met us was seismic. Deafening.

We walked onto the stage.

Took our places. Emma came out last. Took her place ahead of me. And to my right.

She gave me that look, the one that said she was about to burn the whole place to the fucking ground.

I nodded. One breath. One beat.

Then we launched into Hurricane.

The crowd surged like a tidal wave, and Emma met them head-on, mic raised like a weapon.

And she didn’t just perform.

She detonated.

__________

Chapter 23

The Risk I Take

Emma

The last notes of Hurricane rang out, echoing through the desert air like a war cry. My whole body buzzed, my chest vibrating from the kick of the drums and Liam’s guitar still humming through the massive speakers. The sound surged through the crowd, through my earpiece, through me.

They erupted, cheering, screaming, practically vibrating with adrenaline. The kind of roar that hits you in the bones.

I stepped forward, hand outstretched, feeding off the fire.

“How you doing, Coachella?” I shouted into the mic.

The answer was deafening.

“Yes, that’s what we like to hear!” I turned back toward the band, already grinning. “Alright—you guys ready?”

“Born ready,” Liam replied into his mic, cool as ever.

“Ohhh,” I said, pacing the edge of the stage, teasing it out, “I think you’re in for it tonight. Teller’s cooking up something you’re not gonna forget. I can feel it in my bones.”

The crowd howled.

“You ready to hear it?”

Another wave of cheers.

“Yeah?! Let me hear it!”

They roared back, and it hit me again—how alive this all was.

We weren’t just here to play bangers. I wanted them to feel it. To connect. To walk away knowing they'd just lived through something rare. This wasn’t just a show—it was a memory in the making.

“This next one,” I said into the mic, pacing the edge of the stage, my voice dropping, intimate now, “we wrote after a night out in the desert. No crowd. No lights. Just the band, a fire, and a lot of dreams.”

The crowd quieted, leaning in.

“And this—this right here—this was one of those dreams come true.”

Cheers erupted again.

“You’re in the desert too,” I said, voice rising, energy pulsing back through me. “You’ve got your crew, your best friends, the stars will be overhead soon, and the rest of your life ahead of you. Love. Life. Chaos. Magic. It starts here. So let’s make a memory you’ll never forget.”

The roar swelled as we launched into ‘City Lights’.

The crowd moved with us—bodies swaying, fists in the air, dancing like the night would never end. The desert air crackled with heat, with sound, with something bigger than all of us.

We hit the bridge and started building toward the solo. The stage lights dimmed, spotlight flaring on Liam.

I turned toward him with a grin.

“Alright, Teller. I wanna feel it. Give it to us.”

And he did.

Liam ripped into the solo like he was playing for his life. The notes soared—hot, high, and achingly perfect. He made that guitar sing. It was fire—feral and beautiful. Bending, then breaking. Screaming. It undid me. Undid everyone.

The crowd exploded.

The final chords faded out. For a second, it felt like the whole desert exhaled.

“Jesus bloody Christ, Liam,” Dan said into his mic. “What the hell was that?” He mock-rubbed his bass against himself. “Think I need to adjust my instrument after that.”

The crowd lost it.

Liam shook his head. “That was not for you, mate. Not even a little.”

“You hear that, ladies?” Dan grinned. “That was all for you.”

“We love it!” someone screamed from the crowd.

“See?” Dan pointed toward them, grinning like a madman.

“They get it,” I said, still breathless. “Alright, we’ve got another one coming your way. This one’s called ‘Electric Lovers’. It’s fast. It’s dirty. It’s rough.”

“Emma, you sound like you’re giving the opening monologue to ‘Proud Mary’,” Liam said, smirking.

“Oh, Emma would crush ‘Proud Mary’,” Dan added.

I held up a hand. “No. No one touches Tina. She’s untouchable. She’s an icon. I’m not worthy.”

“That’s facts,” Sal chimed in.

“But,” I added, grinning now, “it does have that vibe. So let’s give it a little Tina fire.”

“Let’s go!” Dan shouted.

We launched into ‘Electric Lovers’.

Fast. Fiery. Raw.

And the desert burned with us.

*********

The set was going so well. I was dancing hard—dropping to my knees, hitting the long notes like I wanted the angels above to hear me and raise an eyebrow. Belting those anthems like my life depended on it.

I was about to launch us into Firestarter when I felt it—the straps on the back of my top snapped loose.

Oh. Shit.

This is why girls with D-cups can’t wear strappy tops—especially not ones picked by a label stylist who swore it was the “look” for Coachella.

Nah, sweetheart. Not unless I wanted to flash the entire desert.

“Fuck me!” I blurted—right into the mic.

Liam’s head snapped up.

I bolted across the stage and ducked behind him, shielding myself with his body.

Some guy in the crowd yelled, “I volunteer!”

“She would eat you alive, bruv,” Max chuckled.

“You’d never survive it,” Dan added.

The crowd broke out into laughter and cheers.

“I still volunteer!” the guy shouted back.

“That’s the spirit, mate!” Dan smirked.

“Oh, he’s willing to die for it,” Sal said with a nod of approval. “There’s hope for the male sex after all.”

The crowd kept laughing.

Liam turned his head slightly toward me, voice low, not into the mic. “What is happening?”

“My top broke.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Teller?”

He turned toward Dan, silently asking for help. Dan’s expression was pure confusion.

“I need a solution—fast. Preferably one that covers nipples.”

I scanned the crowd. Honestly considered asking that guy to throw me his shirt.

“I need a shirt, Liam. Now.”

“What?” he said, like I’d asked him to solve quantum physics.

“I need something to cover my boobs.”

“Emma, please do not say things like that while we’re on stage.”

“I’m not trying to be overt. I’m seriously one bouncy move away from going topless.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered, looking around wildly.

Dan’s voice cut in. “Emma, what’s going on back there?”

“Yeah, why are you hiding behind Liam?” Max added.

“She’s not stage fright,” Susie signed. “So either she’s up to something, or something went horribly wrong.”

Sal translated with a grin.

Liam finally spoke into the mic. “Emma’s top has come loose.”

The crowd lost it.

“She was dancing so hard the straps couldn’t take it,” Sal said, laughing.

“Seems that’s the case,” Liam added, trying to keep it professional and failing.

I sighed. “I need a shirt.”

“Well, give her a shirt, Liam,” Dan said.

“I don’t have a shirt!”

The crowd roared.

“Liam, give her—your shirt!” Dan grinned, eyes gleaming.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Total shit-stirrer.

“I am not taking my shirt off,” Liam said flatly.

Dan turned to the crowd. “Do you guys wanna see Liam give Emma his shirt?!”

The eruption was deafening.

The whole band jumped in.

“Come on, Liam,” Max said. “We’ve only got forty minutes. Emma needs a shirt.”

“Emma can’t sing topless!” Sal added.

The chant started—Take it off! Take it off!

Liam groaned, shaking his head. I was still pressed to his back, clutching what remained of my dignity—and my top.

This was so beyond.

Of course, it had to happen at Coachella.

“Ack! Fine!” he said, yanking off his shirt.

The crowd exploded.

Abs. Tattoos. Leather pants. Bandana.

Liam Teller looked like he had been carved by horny gods and dropped straight into a rock ‘n roll fever dream—even the straight men gasped.

He passed his shirt back to me, one hand casually reaching behind him without turning around.

The crowd lost their minds.

Liam stood like a wall while I dropped the busted top and pulled his shirt over my head, tying it tight in the back so it hit right at the midriff. Still stage-ready. Still fierce.

My hands shook. Only a little. But enough to notice.

“That’s better,” I said into the mic, breathless.

The crowd wouldn’t calm down—screams, laughter, whistles, absolute chaos.

Liam stood there trying not to laugh, but his ears were turning bright red.

“That top couldn’t handle me. Or the girls. They’re too powerful.”

“Emma,” Sal said dryly, “no one can handle you or your girls. They’re like deadly weapons.”

“Sal is the only person on this stage who could say that and get away with it,” Dan chimed in.

“That’s exactly why I said it, my good friend,” Sal fired back.

“She does use them like weapons,” Susie signed, grinning.

“Well, they are a handful,” I added. 

Max gave a perfectly timed ba-dum-tss on the drums.

Liam shook his head, groaned dramatically, and pretended to collapse in slow motion.

“I think we killed Teller,” Susie signed.

“Was it the corny jokes… or the boob monologue?” I asked.

“Both,” Liam said, popping back up.

“Alright, let’s put him out of his misery. Can one of you get Teller a shirt?” I called backstage. One of the crew gave me a thumbs-up. “Okay, Teller—shirt’s on the way.”

“Well, thank bloody Christ,” he muttered, still shirtless.

I gave him a slow once-over. The tattoos, the abs, the leather pants, the smug little smirk.

“I mean… the girls are really loving this look, Teller…”

“I’m pretty fond of it too,” I added with a wink.

He raised a brow, all mock-casual. “One song. That’s all you get.”

Pause.

“Your wish. My command, apparently.”

The crowd howled.

“Ladies and gentlemen—Liam Teller!” I shouted. “Ultimate boyfriend material. Plays guitar like it’s his religion, sings love songs, gives you the shirt off his damn back—and quotes Princess Bride.”

Screams.

I adjusted his shirt on me, hands at my hips. “Alright then—let’s play ‘Gravity’s Pull’.”

We skipped ‘Firestarter’. The whole show was off-script now—we’d lost a song, a few minutes, and just a little of my dignity. But the crowd was locked in.

I had a finale planned that no one saw coming.

They were with us. Hanging on every word.

Eating it up—our banter, the chaos, the impromptu costume change.

We weren’t just playing the set anymore.

We were owning it.

*

After ‘Gravity’s Pull’, we launched straight into ‘Never Enough’.

Liam pulled on a fresh Coachella-branded shirt the crew had brought him. The second he tugged it over his head, the crowd booed and cheered all at once—equal parts disappointment and adoration. Clearly, they preferred him shirtless.

“You guys,” he said, chuckling into the mic. “I need a shirt. I can’t do this half-naked.”

“I don’t think they care, Liam,” Sal called. “They’re horny now.”

“We wouldn’t want it any other way,” Dan added with a smirk.

“You guys are on fire,” I laughed. “Let’s keep it going.”

I had my Les Paul strapped on now, backing Liam on rhythm while he tore into lead. I harmonized with him on the vocals, letting my voice rise under his like a current.

Liam shook his head at me with that same damn smile as I shot him a devious look. I’d threatened to undo him tonight—but the truth was, I was the one coming undone. I poured every bit of it into each chord, each lyric. It was all bleeding out of me.

He adjusted his shirt again. “That’s better.”

The crowd groaned in disappointment.

“I get it,” I said with a wink. “Alright. This next one’s ‘Wild Nights, Broken Dreams’—our first single off the new album Chaos in Bloom. You can stream it now, so hit up Songify and burn it out.”

Deafening applause broke out.

“It’s about being out there—meeting someone who makes your heart race. That moment where you're torn between chasing a reckless night or risking something real.”

I glanced at Liam.

That spark—it was there.

We launched into the song.

Cheers erupted like a bomb.

They knew the lyrics. They sang along—loud. It was like hearing our heartbeat reflected back at us in thousands of voices.

That rush—knowing a song that meant everything to us meant just as much to them—was unreal.

“Yeah, go!” I said. 

“Keep going!” Liam called into the mic, grinning.

I sang with them, pulling back in spots, letting the crowd take over, my fingers strumming as their voices filled the space around me.

We banged them out, one after another. Every song. Every beat. We had them in the palm of our hands.

Even with the wardrobe snafu, it was a brilliant set.

********

We were down to the second-to-last song—and I had a plan.

We hadn’t played Ravage. I knew people wanted it. It was going to be popular. The label wanted to push it. But I wanted to try something different. We were closing with ‘Blazing Hearts’ either way.

“Alright, Coachella,” I said into the mic, stepping to centre stage. “This next song is your choice.”

Liam’s brows knit together. Dan glanced at Max. Sal shook her head with a smile, already catching on. Susie signed of course, at me—she was used to me pulling this kind of thing mid-set.

“We’ve got two options,” I continued. “One’s a sexy track—all me, vocals, heat, full fire. Turn up the temperature on a night that really doesn’t need it.”

The crowd howled.

“Or,” I said, pacing a little, “we can slow it down. Strip it back. Play something from the heart. Just me and Liam, two guitars, one mic. A duet.”

Liam smiled and shook his head, already resigned. He had seen this move coming, I had no doubt. Dan smirked. Max’s eyes widened. 

“Alright—cheer for spice with no heart?”

Clapping broke through the air.

“Now cheer for all heart—me and Liam, stripped-down, real?”

The crowd surged. More volume than before—and I leaned into it.

“What?! I can’t hear you!” I teased, hand to my ear.

They caught on quick. Screamed louder.

“So… you want the acoustic track?” I grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

They roared.

Liam pulled on his acoustic guitar, already smiling like he was in on the joke. I walked to center stage and turned to him.

“C’mon, Teller. One mic. One love. Let’s do this.”

Cheers exploded from the crowd.

He hesitated for a breath—just a flicker. Most people wouldn’t catch it. But I did.

“This one’s called The Storm,” I said into the mic. “It’s about loving someone—and not knowing if letting it out will wreck everything… or finally make it real.”

A few soft whistles and “awws” from the crowd.

“If you love someone,” I added, “film this song, post it, tag them—and tag us. Let ‘em know.”

I turned to Liam. He was already looking at me. That look. The spark. The something neither of us ever talked about but always hung between us like static.

“You are diabolical, Hartgrave,” he said, grinning—real, genuine. The kind of smile that cracked something open in me.

It made my breath catch.

I recovered, played it cool. “Who, me?” I said, soft and sly.

His fingers started the intricate picking, delicate and precise. I joined him with the rhythm, strumming slow, steady chords.

Then I started singing.

Then he did.

The crowd fell silent. Hanging on our every word.

By the end, when the last chord faded, it felt like the whole desert held its breath.

We didn’t need to play the slutty track to keep them hooked.

We needed to show them the heart of it. The soul. What made us, us. Why they should care. Why it all mattered.

And they got it.

They really got it.

A pause. Then I stepped up to the mic again.

“Okay,” I said, my voice a little rough with emotion, “now we bring the fucking house down.”

I turned to Liam. “You ready, Teller?”

He looked at me like there was no one else on that stage.

“Always, Hartgrave.”

“Let’s blaze some hearts.”

Mine wasn’t just burning.

It was already ashes.

_________

Chapter 24

This Fever’s Too Hot

Liam

We were on the bus, heading back to L.A.

Coachella had detonated. In every way that mattered.

My shirtless moment was everywhere—and people were already calling me the internet’s new boyfriend.

It felt... weird. Intense. A little unhinged.

The clip was racking up millions of views and shares. My face—and abs—were all over my feed.

‘The Storm’ was blowing up, too. 

Emma’s move—asking people to post the song and tag someone they loved—had turned it into an emotional wildfire.

Ashley was over the moon. Maya had mixed feelings. Slightly miffed we hadn’t played ‘Ravage’. But Emma played it off, claiming the shirt incident had thrown off the timing and knocked two songs out of rotation. Maya didn’t buy it entirely, but the crowd reaction—and the numbers—spoke for themselves.

I had to hand it to Emma. She knew how to roll with anything. Broken top and all, she somehow worked it into the set, bent the chaos into something planned. I wasn’t convinced the wardrobe malfunction was entirely spontaneous. Maybe the strap really did snap—but the banter afterward? The stall, the timing, the way she lined it all up? That was deliberate.

She was smart like that.

Push her, and she pushed right back—hard. Even if it was a label doing the pushing.

And I respected the hell out of it.

Everyone was piled into the back lounge of the bus—half-asleep or half-distracted, lost in their own worlds. I sat on the long bench at the back, lazily strumming a few chords on my guitar.

Emma was curled up next to me under a blanket, dozing. Her bare feet were tucked into my lap—soft, warm—like they belonged there. Her toes were dangerously close to the inseam of my jeans.

Christ, she was trouble.

I kept strumming the same three chords, pretending to be lost in the rhythm, but I wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all myself. My attention was laser-locked on the one millimetre of air between her toes and my very strained self-control. Every time she shifted, it sent a full-body buzz through me.

There was that tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, even as she dozed.

Across from us, Max and Dan were deep into a poker game. Dan, of course, was being ridiculous—hamming it up so much no one could tell if he was bluffing or just being his usual chaotic self.

Sal and Susie were near the front, quietly signing back and forth. Casual. Fluid. Their bond always felt like a secret language, even though I was finally starting to catch more of it.

Eventually, Max and Dan gave up their game and turned in. It was late—we’d stayed for the afterparty, and press junkets and promo events were waiting for us back in L.A.

One by one, the band crashed out.

Except me.

I wasn’t sleeping.

Not with Emma pressed into my side like this.

Not with her bare feet in my lap and that look playing at the corner of her mouth.

She shifted again, toes brushing the seam of my jeans—just enough to make my breath catch.

My voice came out low, strained. “Your feet, Hartgrave, they’re—”

She turned her head, still smirking, eyes half-lidded. “Are they bugging you, Teller?”

I glanced down at the blanket. Pale pink polish. Smooth skin. Everything about her was maddening—and apparently that extended to her feet as well.

Two could play this game.

“Not bugging, per se…” I said casually, “Just... they look like they could use some attention.”

She raised a brow. “And by that you mean…?”

I pulled the blanket back and took one of her feet in my hands, slow and intentional.

Game. On.

Her breath hitched immediately. “Oh my God, Teller…”

I started massaging—slow, firm pressure with my thumbs, working from her heel to her arch.

She melted. A full-body sigh, the kind that made my pulse stutter.

Got you, Hartgrave.

She lifted her other foot, offering it up without a word.

The corners of my mouth tugged up as I worked her over. “Apparently, you need more foot massages in your life.”

“Yes. Heels are deadly torture devices,” she murmured. “Dancing around in stilettos for hours... my feet are always wrecked after. Worth the pain, though.”

Yeah, I thought. I know the feeling.

Everything between Emma and me was worth the pain. Every tangled glance, every touch-too-long, every word that meant more than it should. Worth every ache.

She moaned again. “Holy hell, Teller. That hurts so good.”

Then another—longer, deeper. Her head tipped back, eyes closed, lips parted.

And that’s when I realized—I had just inadvertently backed myself into a corner. 

Because while I had control of her feet... she had no idea the kind of power she held over me right now.

I was fully hard. Trapped beneath her. With nowhere to go.

I shifted subtly, biting the inside of my cheek, summoning every last ounce of willpower I had. Trying not to lose it completely.

“You okay down there?” she asked, voice breathy, blissed out.

“Yeah,” I said through gritted teeth. “You know, just over here—barely hanging on to my last thread of self-restraint.”

She chuckled—low, husky.

Then her foot grazed my inseam—with pressure. Intentionally. Pleasure shot through me—a wild heat, unbearably overwhelming. I felt like I was back in that loft the morning we tried to write Ravage. A hair’s breadth from ruining everything.

“Emma,” I said, sucking in a breath. I meant it as a warning.

“Teller.” Her voice was all innocence, her head still tilted back.

God help me.

“Don’t—” I froze in place.

She glanced at the band—still asleep, blissfully unaware—then sat up and climbed into my lap.

It took a second for my brain to catch up to my body.

Then her lips crashed into mine.

The scent of her hit me hard—lavender, orange blossoms, and something spiced. Something undeniably her. Something I could never get enough of.

Emma kissed me—her tongue finding mine. It was hot. Unapologetic. Exactly how I’d always imagined she would kiss me, if she ever chose to initiate. And I was powerless against it. She moved against me without hesitation, flooding me with lust, heat, hunger. Our mouths crashed together. Tongues tangled. Teeth scraped. It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate.

I moaned into her mouth.

She moaned right back.

Then she bit my bottom lip.

I nearly lost it right then and there.

“Fuck, Emma,” I breathed, a plea buried in the word.

Someone had to stop this—before we crossed a line with the entire band mere feet away. I didn’t trust myself to be quiet. I wouldn’t be quiet. I couldn’t. I would go absolutely feral if this continued.

So I shifted, gently guiding her down onto the bench, her body curling into the cushions. She looked up at me like a challenge.

She was so beautiful it stole the breath from my lungs—so I kissed her again. Harder this time. I settled between her thighs, exactly where I’d always wanted to be. My hands roamed—everywhere I could reach, everywhere I could claim. She pulled the blanket over us like it would make us invisible.

Like that would stop me.

It was the longest we’d ever kissed. A real, full-on make-out session. No joking. No half-moves. Just need. My body wasn’t my own anymore. I had no control. I knew we should stop—we had to—but my body refused to listen. It was screaming at me, every nerve lit, as wave after wave of heat and electric charge tore through me wherever her body touched mine.

I wanted to tear into her. To make her breathless. To feel her shake beneath me as I unravelled her in every way I could.

And the worst part?

She knew.

She pushed her breasts into my hands as they slid up her sides and around—and I squeezed.

She moaned her approval. 

God, she was so fucking perfect.

I was doomed.

**********

Emma

What the hell was happening to me? I was like a woman unhinged. Feral. Wild. Out of control. 

Liam and I were making out in the back of the bus.

With the entire band maybe ten feet away. 

And I had instigated it.

I didn’t even remember moving—and suddenly, I was against him, under him, completely lost in the way his weight felt between my thighs. 

And it felt so goddamn right. 

His hands moved across my breast, and I gasped into his mouth. His hands. God, his hands. They were everywhere—grabbing, groping, exploring with those strong, capable fingers. They pressed into my skin with the perfect amount of pressure, leaving behind a trail of fire with every touch.

Moments ago, he’d been massaging my feet, and I had lost control. I’d stroked him with my foot—felt the thick length of him straining against his jeans—and I just snapped. Because all I could think about, watching him work my feet with his thumb and forefinger, was what else those hands could do to me—what else I desperately wanted them to do to me.

Every night, I watched him with that damn guitar, my chest tight with this utterly irrational jealousy… of wood and strings. That Gibson was the luckiest bitch on stage, singing for him as he unleashed the kind of finger work I’d wanted to experience.

Now I was underneath him, his full weight pressed against me, holding me down in the best possible way. He was so hard. I wanted to reach into his jeans, wrap my hand around him, and drive him over the edge. Make him feral. Unravel him until he was breathless, hoarse, screaming my name into the ceiling of this goddamn tour bus.

The scent of him filled my lungs. His taste was all over my tongue. Each kiss was claiming. Deep. Head-spinning. It was everything I wanted—everything I’d been craving since I met him. He kissed me like I was the only woman in the world that mattered—like I was air, and water, and gravity itself.

It was intoxicating. Heady. Enough to make me forget anything but the small fraction of space between us and this blanket over our heads. Like nothing else existed. 

I whimpered into Liam’s mouth.

A tiny sound—soft and raw—but it did something to him.

I felt it in the way his body locked against mine, like his restraint was a thread about to snap. 

His body trembled as he growled into my ear, breath hot and ragged, “Hartgrave, do not do that—again.”

I ran my hands through his hair and dragged him down into another kiss. He moaned like I’d undone him with that move alone.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his lips moving along my jawline now, down to the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder met, then to my collarbone.

I whimpered again. 

He groaned. 

I grabbed his belt. Pulled him closer. Ground my hips up against him. 

Liam’s turn to whimper. The sound was more than a little encouraging. So I did it again. 

God, it felt so good. So amazing. 

Liam put his hand over my mouth and rolled his hips into me—harder this time—moaning softly as he moved. The feeling of him sent a fierce shot of adrenaline and lust-filled want straight through me. I took his fingers into my mouth and sucked. The deep vibrations of his groan, low and raw, filled my chest as he kissed my neck and kept grinding into me. It was too much and not enough all at once. 

His belt buckle clinked. 

My hands slid down, threading through the light dusting of hair along his lower abs, stopping just before the waistband of his briefs.

And I knew—deep in my bones—this was it.

The point of no return. No more teasing. No more pretending. No more half-measures.

Just want. Just us. Just need.

Because the universe loves irony, just as I was seconds away from third base, I heard the one sound I never wanted to hear, the unmistakable clearing of a throat.

And it wasn’t Liam.

________

Chapter 25

The Tears In My Eyes

Emma

Liam and I both froze.

He rose slightly and we stared at each other, eyes wide.

“Fuck,” Liam muttered through clenched teeth.

We were so busted. 

He peeled the blanket back—slowly. 

And there stood Max. Eyebrows raised. Arms crossed. Looking at us like a dad who just caught his teenage daughter making out with the leather-jacketed bad boy in his living room. 

Liam didn’t move off me, but he spoke—slow, measured. “Max, mate.”

“Do not ‘Max, mate’ me,” he said, his voice sharp and unimpressed.

The bus slowed, lurching slightly. We must’ve been stopping for gas, or snacks, or something.

Liam and I rolled with the motion.

Max shook his head—betrayal written all over his face. 

The bus jerked to a full stop, and he stormed off. Gone—disappearing into the gas station parking lot, like it was a battlefield.

Liam looked at me, asking silent permission.

“Go,” I said. “Go.”

He nodded, tumbled off me, and hit the floor, landing hard on his knees—with his pants still open.

Oh man. This looked bad. So bad.

Liam climbed to his feet, doing up his pants as he followed Max out of the bus.

Shit.

I sat up fast, heart hammering, breath caught in my throat. I fixed my hair and tugged down my shirt, which was hiked up and askew, the front clasp of my bra completely undone.

Wow. Well done, Teller.

I had no idea what was going to happen next.

Max had looked so pissed.

I had to trust Liam would handle it.

******

Liam

I followed Max off the bus—and yeah, he was pissed. Understandably.

Also? I still wasn’t entirely sure how my pants had come undone. If that was Emma… well, I was more than a little impressed.

But that was not the most helpful thought while preparing to get my ass chewed out for breaking the sacred BCOE.

I quickly did them back up, then jogged after Max as he stalked around the side of the petrol station.

“Max,” I called. I also wasn’t about to let Max walk off without talking this through. If he told the rest of the band… that would be a nightmare.

He spun on me fast.

“Liam, what the bloody hell?” he snapped, running a hand along his dark hair. “Do you even know what you’re doing anymore?”

I stammered—because no. Not really, if I was being completely honest.

“What about the band code of ethics? What about everything we’re building here?” he went on. “We just went viral at fucking Coachella. Coachella, mate. That’s huge.”

“I know that. It was just a kiss—”

I instantly regretted how defensive that sounded. That wasn’t even the point. Not really.

“Some bloody kiss, Liam,” he said, giving me a pointed look.

“Fair,” I muttered, clearing my throat.

“I don’t get you. You’ve always been so focused. So locked in. And now, finally, when everything we’ve ever dreamed about is within our grasp, you’re risking it all to shag the bloody lead singer. The whole damn thing is still unfolding. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. But I didn’t shag her, mate!”

It was the only thing I could think to say.

I didn’t want him believing I’d actually gone all the way with her in the back of the bus.

Though, honestly… it was close.

I wasn’t proud of that.

I’d lost control. My restraint had all but vanished, and if he hadn’t intervened, something probably would’ve happened that neither of us could take back.

And I didn’t want it to happen like that.

Not in a cramped bus, half-hidden under a blanket, like a couple of teenagers sneaking around in the dark.

She deserved more. So did I.

“Your bloody pants were open!” he shot back. “You can not expect me to believe nothing happened after what I just witnessed?”

I glanced around. Dan and Sal had just stepped off the bus to stretch.

Bollocks. I did not need them joining in on this conversation.

“Where the bloody hell did those two take off to?” Dan asked, looking around, arms in the air.

“Who knows? You guys and your Brit boy bromance dealings are not something I will ever understand,” Sal chuckled.

“What’s to understand, my harpist queen?” Dan said with a grin. “We’re brothers.”

I let out a sharp exhale. That one line—we’re brothers—cut me so bloody deep, I grabbed my chest like I’d been physically wounded in battle.

Max narrowed his eyes at me but kept quiet as their voices faded and they disappeared into the overly lit service station.

“You’re insufferable, Junior Teller.”

“What, you didn’t like that one? Harpist Queen—I thought that was gold. Had you doing a double take.”

“It was skirting the edge,” Sal laughed.

And then I noticed Emma and Susie were still inside the bus.

Bloody perfect.

I could only imagine what Susie was saying to Emma if she suspected anything had happened.

“Look, nothing happened,” I said, turning back to Max. “I’m not trying to jeopardize this—any of it. Neither is Emma. The last thing either of us wants is to blow up the whole bloody band.”

“Really?” Max barked, eyes flashing. “Because that looked like exactly what you were doing!”

“Max, I can’t...I don’t know how to explain it to you in a way that’ll help you get it,” I said, hating how weak it sounded even as the words left my mouth.

“Me, get it?” he echoed, slapping a hand to his chest. “It’s not me who needs to get it, Liam—it’s you! Because you don’t.”

Anger twisted across his usually easy features. He looked like he was barely holding back from shouting.

“I gave up slightly more than a girl I just met for this, Liam.”

He paused, his eyes clouded. 

“I gave up the girl I thought I was going to marry.”

And there it was.

The exact reason he was so angry with me.

I knew what Max had sacrificed. When we left Manchester, he lost everything stable in his life. He tried to make it work with Ali long-distance. Gave it six solid months.

But it wrecked them.

Wrecked him.

When it finally ended, he was a shell of himself.

He kept going.

“I left everything to jump across the ocean and chase this thing with you and Dan. Because we were committed. All in. Bros before hoes, remember, mate?”

“Don’t call Emma a hoe, Max,” I said sharply. “That’s not what this is.”

He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s an expression.”

“Still.”

“Fine! Fair.” He nodded once, then let the truth out.

“Ali wasn’t one either, Liam. Not to me.”

I nodded. “I know. I was there, Max. I remember.”

“Do you?” he asked, his voice rough now. “We left everything behind. I left my mum. My dad. My gran. My whole life. All for this.” 

“I did too, Max. So did Dan,” I said.

“Yes, and we’ve all stayed on track, Liam. We’ve slept in shitty hotels, in vans, on buses. In shite green rooms. With no money and barely any food—just our gear and enough quid for gas. Hanging out with girls high out of their minds and blokes who were downright scary, in bars just as sketchy and terrifying—in Texas, Ohio, Florida, and wherever the bloody hell else we had to go to get here.”

I nodded again, exhaling, rubbing the back of my neck.

The weight of it all sat in my gut like a stone.

“You’re the bloody leader, Liam. You’ve got to keep it in check—because if you fall apart, what chance do the rest of us have?”

“I am trying,” I said through gritted teeth. 

“This shouldn’t be that hard,” Max shot back.

I was struggling to explain to him why I couldn’t stay away from Emma. Why it wasn’t just some reckless fling. Why it felt... real. More real than anything I’d ever felt. 

And I hated even thinking it—because I would never compare what I had with Emma to what Max had with Ali.

They were two different worlds. 

But I couldn’t deny how strong this thing between Emma and me felt.

How alive I was with her.

How hard it was not to be pulled in by her, like she was air and I was suffocating. 

“You have to put professional distance between you and Emma, mate.”

He stepped closer, voice firm again. “This band has the potential to make us legends. You saw that tonight. We all did. So why complicate the hell out of it now?”

I dropped my hands to my hips, unable to meet his eyes.

“Liam, mate,” he said, more gently this time, “everyone’s given you two a lot of leeway. We get it—you’re fire when you create together. But the next leg is the tour. And if you don’t put up some boundaries between you and Emma, this whole thing is going to explode spectacularly. We’ll be a one-album band. And I know you couldn’t live with yourself if you let that happen.”

I leaned back, hands on my neck, nodding slowly. I felt gutted. Absolutely gutted.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

But there was this gnawing part of me that whispered—what if he was?

What if this wasn’t some ticking bomb waiting to go off?

What if it was the beginning of something real?

Something that lasted?

What if Emma, for me, was—I couldn’t even think it.

I knew it, somewhere deep down. But I didn’t want to admit it. Not yet.

All I knew was the idea of losing Emma—even if it meant doing the “right thing” right now, like Ron had advised, like the band was asking me to, like Max was—it made my chest tighten like I couldn’t breathe.

And that terrified me to my bloody core.

*******

Emma

Susie was signing at me furiously the moment I turned around.

She’d caught Max storming off, Liam chasing after him, pants wide open, and she only needed one look at my dishevelled state and guilt-stricken face to know exactly what had just happened.

Her hands flew—sharp, precise, and scolding.

“We talked about this! What were you thinking?”

Her fingers jabbed the air like they might hit me if she pushed hard enough.

“Liam is a no-go zone. You two just can’t stop touching the flames—and it’s going to burn us all. You do not get to blow up this band. I won’t let you. I disallow it.”

I stood there and took it.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

This was the most stable we’d been in years. We had momentum. Money. Fans. Our dreams were finally taking shape, becoming real. Tangible.

And I knew I was putting it all in jeopardy. I was the fuse, burning too close to the dynamite.

I felt the shame crawling over my skin like a rash. I didn’t want to make Susie feel like she was about to lose everything we’d built together. But the truth?

I was the one losing control.

Losing myself.

I nodded, throat tight. 

“I know,” I said quietly. “But I can’t just turn it off. I know there’s a line—and I know we keep getting too close. But you have to trust we won’t cross it.”

Susie’s hands flew, sharp and frustrated. “Forgive me if I have trouble trusting you both—after this. Making out in the back of the bus like a couple of teenagers.”

Okay.

Fair.

“We didn’t bang. We just kissed,” I said, instantly regretting how defensive that sounded.

Yeah. Guilty.

I wouldn’t trust me either.

“You have to figure out how to be near him,” she signed. “Play with him. Create with him. Do what you two do—without burning us all to the ground.”

How? I signed back, shoulders tight.

“I don’t know, Emma. But it can’t be him. Anyone but him. You keep pushing this, and it’ll sabotage everything. You’ll hurt him. Yourself. All of us.”

“You don’t know that,” I said, too fast.

She gave me a look—one of those looks that could cut right through bone.

“Really?” she signed, slow and deliberate, like it was the dumbest thing I’d ever said.

And honestly?

It probably was.

*******

I left the bus.

I needed air. A lot of it.

Preferably from an entirely different bus.

This night had devolved into something I was not prepared to face—but here I was, facing it anyway. That quiet ache in my chest had ripped open into a screaming tear that felt like a wound. I rubbed at my chest. Breathed in. Breathed out. Steadied myself as I wandered around the side of the gas station. I found Liam. He was sitting on top of a picnic table by an old oak tree, a children’s park was off in the distance. He looked as wrecked as I felt, shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, his hands loosely laced. 

I walked over and sat beside him on the edge of the table.

“So, not exactly the conversation I wanted to have after... whatever that was,” I said, aiming for cheeky honesty. But, it didn’t quite land. It shouldn’t have. We’d almost banged on a bus. 

Liam gave me a quick once-over with those emerald eyes, then nodded tightly, biting his lower lip.

“Susie figured out what happened,” I added. “She just tore a strip off me.”

He groaned softly, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

I let out a long breath. “Guess we didn’t slow the burn enough.”

He didn’t say anything. Just shook his head again, eyes on the ground, hiding his face.

“Why was Max so pissed?”

“History,” Liam said quietly, finally looking up. “Long and sad.”

I frowned. I could feel him shutting down—like a switch had flipped inside him. He was pulling away, withdrawing. And after everything... it felt like being left out in the cold.

“Teller,” I said—sharper than I meant to. “What are you doing?”

He paused, placing his hand over his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was raw. Wrecked in a way I’d never heard before.

“Everyone keeps asking me that, Em.”

He let out a defeated breath.

“And the only answer I have to give is... I have no fucking clue anymore.”

“Well... me either, really,” I said.

He didn’t respond. Just looked down, then back up at nothing. Let out a sharp breath. Locked up tight.

“Teller, is this your solution?” I asked, voice rising. “Slam the door on me when things get messy?”

He shrugged.

“What are you gonna do? Act like nothing happened when we plug in again and write?”

Still nothing.

“That’s not professional distance, Liam. That’s just being… emotionally stunted.”

More silence.

“Ugh! You’re being such an asshole about this,” I snapped. “And it’s infuriating. Stop being so... so... male.”

“I am male, Emma. A human one,” he muttered.

The words human and male sounded awkward in his British accent—like they didn’t quite belong in his mouth.

“That’s all I know how to be. However shitty I may be at it. And I know I’m fucking this up, but that doesn’t mean I bloody know how to stop it.”

“Talk to me, for starters,” I said. “We’re supposed to be a team.”

“How? How are we a team, Emma? We are...” He shook his head, cutting himself off.

“Liam, no one said you had to be perfect at this. No one said you had to have all the answers,” I said.

“Really? Then why the fuck would anybody stay? I just disappoint everyone. All the time. Max. Dan. And now you. Everyone just leaves. Eventually.”

That cut deep. I got it. I really did. That need to be perfect. To do right by everyone around you out of fear they’ll leave. Even if it killed you. Even if you fumbled your way through, knowing you couldn’t do any better. I’d been there. God, I was still there.

“I won’t pretend this doesn’t hurt, Liam. I can’t,” I said quietly. “And we can’t pretend what happened back there didn’t feel like—”

“Like what, Emma?” His voice rose with frustration. “Like an unravelling? Because it did.”

“Yeah. It did.”

I softened, the fight bleeding out of my voice.

He didn’t say anything for a long time.

“You’re not an asshole, Liam. Don’t fake being one just to protect yourself from getting hurt, again.”

“I am an asshole, actually,” he said at last, frustration still sharp. “I’ve been a fucking right prick to every girl I’ve ever been with. I just haven’t done it with you. Yet. So congratulations—you finally get to see it firsthand.”

“Stop it, Liam. You are not this guy,” I shot back. “I refuse to let you be this guy.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?” he asked bitterly.

I raised my brows. 

“Because…” I prompted. “This—whatever this is—it’s different. And you know it. And I know it.”

“I don’t know anything right now,” he muttered, shifting like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. “My head is a fucking mess.” 

And there it was. The shutdown. Again. 

“What are you gonna do then, huh?” I asked. “Prove what an asshole you really are just to push me away? All so you can avoid having an actual conversation? That’s not how this is going to work.”

He wouldn’t look at me.

I stood, frustration bubbling in my chest like a pot about to boil over. I faced him head-on. Waited—arms crossed, hip cocked. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was determined to wait him out.

He broke, eventually.

“Hartgrave, stop! Okay. Just stop!” he barked at me. 

I had no intention of backing down. 

“No. Why should I?” I shouted right back. “You and I, Liam, have never been anything but honest with each other, and I’m not going to stop now. Especially not when we’re finally talking about real shit.”

I stepped closer, my voice hardening.

“And if you don’t like me calling you out on your fuckboy behavior? Then don’t act like one.”

I stared him down, unflinching.

“You are better than this.”

He finally met my eyes.

One beat.

Two.

Too long.

“What do you suggest then?” he asked finally, voice low and hoarse. “Because I don’t know what to do anymore—other than make you hate me… so I can hate me too. Because that’s what I do when I feel—”

His hand went to his chest like it hurt. But the words never came.

He couldn’t say it.

“What? Pain? Hurt? The hard stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Welcome to the club. You’re sabotaging because you’re afraid. I do it all the time,” I threw my hands out. “But, I’m not your dad. I’m not your ex-girlfriend. I’m the woman who’s trying to build something unbreakable with you.”

He stilled. 

I took a breath, steadier now. 

“You don’t get to play small and broken alone—not when you held me in my pain and didn’t shy away. I’m not going anywhere, either.”

“I fucked up, Emma,” he said, voice cracking. “Max is so bloody pissed at me. And he has every right to be. I feel like shit. Like my chest is going to cave in—”

He took in a breath. Pulling back. 

“From guilt. Yeah. I get it. Mine too,” I said gently. “But I’m here. Right here with you. In it with you.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be. And you can’t be. Not anymore.” He shook his head, eyes bright. “Because I can’t hurt Dan and Max. They’re all I’ve ever had. And this. This is everything to them. Everything we worked for.”

“I get it, Liam,” I said. “This is the first time my sister and I have been in a stable position since we lived with Evelyn. But that was suffocating. I get it.”

He finally looked at me. Really looked at me.

“You told me I didn’t have to go through my pain alone,” I said softly. “And I’m sitting here telling you the same.”

I stepped even closer, grounding my voice.

“If we have to set boundaries, fine. If we have to draw a line in the sand, fine. But don’t push me away and expect me to come back when you need me to cut the next record. That’s not fair. Not to me. Not to you. And not to what’s between us.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sniffed, then nodded.

“Emma, it’s too bloody hard to be around you and not…”

God, I knew it. Felt it. And fuck it. I wasn’t going to let him shut down again—and I couldn’t let myself, either.

I sat back down on the picnic table beside him.

“Yeah,” I said, steady. “I know. I feel the same.”

I was drowning in it.

In him.

In all of it.

“We have to figure out a way to exist around each other and not feel... all of it. All the time.”

“We can’t keep fucking doing this, Emma.”

He gestured between us, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“I know.”

“We can’t give in to it again,” he said.

That was the reality of it. The brutal, impossible truth neither of us wanted to face.

“Okay. But if we don’t, Liam... how the hell are we supposed to recreate it? Again and again?” I asked.

I saw that land in the way he exhaled—defeated, frustrated.

“Because when we write and play together, it’s—”

“I know,” Liam said, almost bitter.

He let out another breath, heavy, and glanced sideways at me.

“I don’t know how else to say it, Liam.” I inhaled slowly, deeply. “But I feel very strongly that we are meant to do this. With each other.”

He nodded.

“So…we just keep it professional,” he said. The words sounded like acid on his tongue.

They ripped through me like ice—cold and cutting.

“I don’t think…” I hesitated. “We’re more than that, Liam. I mean—not just friends. Best friends, maybe. I don’t know. We’re too close. Too connected. But we can’t cross the line… so we hold it.”

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my voice from cracking, emotion rising fast in my chest.

“Best friends don’t…”

I paused.

“They know each other deeply. They see each other—fully.”

He turned to me sharply, eyes flashing.

Quiet for a long, aching beat.

“I don’t want to be best friends with you, Emma,” he said finally.

And I knew exactly what he meant.

Because I felt that way, too.

“I don’t either,” I said, my voice catching. “But I don’t want you to shut me out. Or be an asshole to create space if you need some. And I really don’t want to hate you, Liam, so don’t make me because I don’t think I could. Not really. Really, really mad? Yes. Hate? never.”

He looked down, cleared his throat and then looked at me. 

“Same. But I’d hate myself for hurting you.”

My heart ached at the words.

“I don’t think I’d survive losing you completely, Liam.” 

That was a lie. I know I couldn’t take it.

Those piercing green eyes locked onto mine.

“Me neither, Em.”

I slid closer to him on the bench.

“Then let’s do what it takes not to let that happen,” I said softly. “To hold onto each other just enough that it doesn’t bleed... but not so much that we can’t breathe.”

He nodded, just once, and I wrapped my arms around him—because I couldn’t not.

He took my arm, grounding himself in it as I leaned my head on his shoulder.

He rested his head on mine.

“Those sound like song lyrics, Hartgrave,” he said, voice softer now.

“I’m not writing them down,” I said. “You can keep those for yourself.” 

He nodded.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t a victory.

It wasn’t even a compromise.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

Gentle.

Final.

And somehow, that soft kiss felt like a punch to the gut, like a goodbye wrapped in tenderness.

---

Chaos in Bloom, Part 2

One unforgettable night. One Hotel room. The first tour that changed everything.Dive into the wild ride that made the Hartgrave Tellers the voice of a generation.​

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