Page 73 of Second to None

He wasn’t wrong. I glanced at the two guards, part of me still stubbornly tempted to reject this olive branch. It didn’t fix a thing. I didn’t need Cass’s charity, didn’twantit.

“Please?” Frank said gently, as if this actually mattered to him.

I exhaled. “Yeah, all right.”

* * *

Cass’s guitarwas still in the living room.

I noticed it when I came back inside from the pool, splashing about with Emily because I’d cancelled the horse-riding excursion we’d originally planned. Accidentally left behind, perhaps? Maybe Frank had only been tasked with the suitcases and forgotten to sweep the place for scattered remnants of Cass’s presence. Either way, the guitar was leaning against the sofa—so fuckingnormal,as if Cass had just stepped out to fetch a glass of water when he must be on his way home by now. Back to LA, where he belonged and I no longer did.

I picked it up, careful, as though it might disintegrate in my fingers. It looked no different from when we’d tinkered with that warm, hopeful melody in the garden, but now I noticed the worn edges and slight scuff marks on the headstock. I turned it over—a faded sticker, half-peeled away, its residue clinging to the underside.Thatguitar.

Sydney, some fancy hotel room with plush carpets and white orchids, the window cracked open to let in warm air and the rise and fall of fans chanting outside the building. I’d walked in after a shower, rubbing a towel over my damp hair, and found Cass sitting on the bed. There was nothing special about it, nothing special about what he was doing—not even playing, just lost in thought, his face soft and unguarded. But I’d stopped on the threshold and said, “I love you, you know?”

He’d snapped back to reality, staring at me for a wide-eyed moment before he sent me the most beautiful smile—not the megawatt one that was all for the cameras, histrademark, but something quiet and real that sat mostly around the eyes. Happy.

‘Cass said he got really scared last time, but now he’s brave.’

I shook away the echo of Emily’s words and sat down, pulling the guitar into my lap. The strings felt alive when I pressed down on them, letting my fingers catch on gentle notes.

Eight years. Eight years, and he still travelled with this guitar instead of getting some extravagant rockstar model custom-made for him. I inhaled, exhaled, and told myself it didn’t mean anything.

Just a guitar.

* * *

I keptbusy throughout the day—dealt with some emails, started packing for tomorrow’s departure, had a call with Cosma to discuss the recording schedule of her debut album, and worked out for a bit. But now, with a couple of hours left until dinner, my parents gone for a last swim in the sea, and Emily bundled up with a movie I’d seen a dozen times too many, I was alone with my thoughts.

Like wondering why Cass had chosen to run with a public statement that undid all the groundwork we’d tried to lay: some rubbish about how it was just friends catching up, nothing to see here, please move along. Second thoughts after all? He’d seemed so sure about wanting to come out.

‘But now he’s brave.’

In spite of the movie’s excited chatter, the house felt too quiet. Each moment stretched thin, tension itching under my skin as though my body still expected Cass to walk back in and smile, eyes like candles.‘Told you, didn’t I? Told you I’m still in love with you. Even if you sent me away.’

Not gonna happen.

I set about making tomato sauce from scratch, the smell of sizzling garlic and onions thick in the kitchen. I usually loved it; now it turned my stomach. When Mason called, I wedged the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I could keep dicing tomatoes—Princess Emily was particular about bigger pieces of tomato skin in her sauce.

“Hey, mate,” I said.

“Shit, man.” His voice sounded a tad scratchy with sleep, and I had no idea what time zone he was in. I remembered when that had been our normal—waking up in hotel rooms or a bunk bed on the bus, unsure whether we were in Denmark, Canada, or Japan. “Just saw. How ya holding up?”

“I’m…”I’mfine. The lie wouldn’t quite form. “I’m handling it.”

Mason puffed out a sigh. “That’s real shit, some asshole selling footage with a kid in it. It’s one thing if it’s us, you know, but Emily? Fuck. I take it Cass set his lawyers on it?”

“Probably.” I focused on what my hands were doing, the movement of the knife. Steady. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Mason’s confusion came through clear as day.

“He isn’t here.”

“He’s not with you?” Mason paused. “Did the story hit when he was on his way back already? Whatever he’s got lined up, I’m sure he’ll cancel?—”

“I told him to get the fuck out,” I interrupted, chest tight with something dark and sick. Christ, I loved Mason, but I needed this conversation to be over.

“Youwhat?” He sounded incredulous. “Levi?—”

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