Page 102 of Unlocking Melodies

The smirk he gave Moretti was decidedly un-Clark-like - less 'would you like whipped cream with that?' and more 'I bench press buildings for fun.' Something about the way he moved as he advanced on Moretti seemed almost... otherworldly. Like gravity had suddenly become more of a suggestion than a law.

What happened next was pure chaos - Clark taking down guards with moves that definitely weren't covered in basic self-defense classes, Jake and Dawn bursting in with backup like they'd been waiting for the perfect dramatic moment. Mrs. Henderson had probably coordinated the timing, complete with color-coded operation schedules.

I dropped to my knees beside Ethan, my hands shaking as I pressed against his wound. His perfectly tailored shirt was ruined - the dry cleaning bill alone would probably cost more than my monthly rent. “If you die on me,” I managed through tears I couldn't seem to stop, “I'm telling everyone you got taken out by Martha the Attack Chicken.”

His eyes fluttered open, that familiar green catching the light. Even bleeding and disheveled, he somehow looked unfairly gorgeous. “You're safe,” he murmured, reaching up to touch my face. “That's all that matters.”

“I remember,” I whispered, the words carrying eight years of history between us. “Everything. Practice Room C. The showcase. The letter...” My voice cracked. “Why you left. Why you came back.”

His tears matched mine as he pulled me closer, his grip surprisingly strong for someone losing designer-suit amounts ofblood. “I thought... when you disappeared... I couldn't lose you again.”

“Hey.” I cupped his face, thumbs brushing away tears. “You're stuck with me now. Memory intact and everything. Though I have to say, getting shot is a bit dramatic, even for you. What happened to just sending expensive gifts?”

His laugh turned into a pained grimace. “Next time I'll stick to cat accessories.”

“There better not be a next time.” I pressed my forehead to his, breathing him in - expensive cologne mixed with hospital antiseptic, but underneath still perfectly Ethan. “I love you. All of you. The CEO who terrorizes board rooms and the guy who gets bullied by waterfowl. Past, present, future - all of it.”

“Even with the bullet wound?” His attempt at humor was somewhat undermined by how pale he'd gone.

“Especially with the bullet wound. Very heroic. Mrs. Henderson will probably write epic poems about it.”

“Already working on it!” Her voice carried from somewhere outside, because of course the town's surveillance squad was monitoring this moment.

“I love you too,” Ethan whispered, his fingers tangling in my shirt. “Every version of you. The one who couldn't remember me and the one who wrote music at midnight and the one who still can't cook without setting off smoke alarms.”

Around us, the chaos settled - Moretti being led away in handcuffs, Clark doing something suspiciously superhuman with the remaining guards, Jake coordinating with backup while definitely pretending not to cry. But in that moment, the world narrowed to just us.

“Though I have to say,” Ethan added weakly, “your dad's timing could use work.”

Speaking of which - I spun around, searching for my dad in the chaos. He lay a few feet away, paramedics working over himwith the kind of urgency that made my stomach clench. Without letting go of Ethan's hand, I stretched toward him.

“Dad?” My voice cracked on the word. “Hey, no checking out on me now. We've still got way too much to fight about.”

His eyes fluttered open, finding mine with surprising clarity despite all the blood. “Little Star,” he whispered, that nickname hitting fresh now that I remembered everything it meant. “You did good, kid.”

“Yeah, well.” I squeezed Ethan's hand while reaching for my dad's. “I had a pretty good example of what not to do.”

His laugh turned into a wet cough, but his grip on my hand stayed strong. “Your mother would be proud. Of who you've become. Who you've chosen to love.”

“She'd also probably ground you for life,” I pointed out, trying to hide how my voice shook. “The whole 'getting our son kidnapped' thing might have been a deal-breaker.”

“Probably.” His smile was faint but real. “Always did say I had terrible judgment. Except about her. And you.”

The paramedics moved with practiced efficiency, prepping both Ethan and my dad for transport. I found myself stretched between them - one hand gripping my past, the other holding my future. Both refusing to let go.

“You know,” I told Gary as they lifted him onto the stretcher, “once you're not actively dying, we're going to have a very long talk about appropriate father-son bonding activities. Hint: kidnapping isn't on the list.”

“Fair enough.” His voice was weak but his eyes were clear as they found mine. “I've missed... so many chances. So many years.”

“Yeah, well.” I glanced at Ethan, then back to my father. “Seems like second chances are kind of my thing lately.”

“Third chances, technically,” Ethan mumbled from his stretcher. “If you count Rosewood.”

“Not helping your case here, CEO.” But I couldn't help smiling, keeping one hand linked with each of them as the paramedics worked. “Though I guess we're all getting pretty good at the whole 'trying again' thing.”

Gary's fingers tightened weakly around mine. “I don't deserve it.”

“Probably not,” I agreed. “But here's the thing about family - sometimes it's not about deserving. Sometimes it's about choosing to show up anyway. Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts.”

---