Page 228 of Hymns of the Broken
Some nights, all three of us end up tangled on Jasper’s bus—me sandwiched between them, their hands everywhere, the rest of the world forgotten. One night, Riot had dragged me onstage to “check the acoustics,” bent me over the drum kit…and tour security caught us mid-thrust with a flashlight. The guard said, “Not on the kit.” A cymbal did this slow, shameful wobble. I’d whispered, “Told you we should’ve moved the cymbals first.” Riot, panting, muttered, “Noted. New rule—relocate crash before smashing.” We got marched off like delinquent teens while the guard grumbled, “It’s always the drummers.”
Ash and Jace compete to see who can make Macee laugh harder. She’s warming up to those two, but keeps track of where Silas usually is. Sometimes, on rare off-days, we all pile into a greasy diner and pretend we’re normal—except my thighsare coveredin Riot’s handwriting, and Jasper’s hand never leaves my knee.
There are nights when Jasper can’t sleep and I find him scribbling lyrics in a notebook, Riot’s head in my lap, both of them humming. And when the nightmares come, I wake in some city I don’t remember, pressed between two bodies I trust, their arms around me, keeping me whole.
We fight, we fuck, we make up—sometimes all in the same night.
The fans watch, hungry for gossip, but what we have isn’t for them.
Jasper’s band finishes their last set after Riot’s, and he pulls me into his arms before I can even put my camera down. Riot drags us both onto the bus and we celebrate the last show together, all of us—beer, pizza, music too loud, all of us singing off-key. I take pictures, promising myself I’ll remember every second.
And when it’s all over, when the busesparkfor the last time, I find myself in the same place I started—camera in hand, scars and ink on my skin, but this time with a future I chose and am in control of.
For the first time, there’s nowhere to be, no show to shoot, nothing chasing us but morning.
Jasper and Riot find me by the fence, both looking too good for men who haven’t slept in three days.
Riot grins, slings an arm around my shoulders. Jasper stands in front of me, arms crossed, his stare all heat and intent. “So,” Riot says, “what’s next, Hellcat? Where are we going?” Jasper joins in, “Yeah, are you coming home with me willingly or will I be dragging you the whole way?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “You’re both insane. I’m going home. To my place. I have laundry, bills, and plants I probably killed.”
They exchange a look—one of those silent, male conversations where you know you’re about to lose.
Jasper’s voice is flat, certain. “No, you’re not.”
Riot shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
Jasper steps closer, expression dark and stubborn. “You’re not leaving me, Sawyer. Move in with me.”
I gape at him. “It’s only been a few months. You don’t even like sharing closet space.”
“You’re not going back to that tiny apartment alone. Not after everything. I want you with me. Every night. Every morning. I’m not asking.”
Riot leans in, lips at my ear, his voice a sinful promise. “Or you could move in with me. I’ll even give you the big bedroom.”
Jasper scowls. “She’s not going with you, Riot.”
“Maybe she wants to go with me. Have you ever thought about that?” Riot smirks, clearly enjoying play-fighting over this again way too much.
I shake my head, biting back a smile. “Oh my God, you two—don’t even start that shit again.”
Jasper grabs my hand, lacing our fingers tight. “I don’t care if it’s been weeks or years. You’re not walking out of my life, Sawyer.”
I look up at them, letting all the chaos and exhaustion fall away. It’s just us—me and the two men who refused to let me break. I have never trusted two people more in my life. They’ve proven to me in just the past few months that I am wanted. I am deserving of love. And I already want to be with them every second anyway.
I breathe out and say, “Fine. But I’m picking the place. And I want a cat.”
RIOT
I haul the last box through Jasper’s front door. Still feels weird being here, but for Sawyer? I’ll keep hauling shit all damn day.
I lug itup the stairs, grumbling to myself, and kick open the door to Jasper’s room, where most of Sawyer’s things are already scattered—her perfume on his dresser, a pile of black clothes on the armchair.
I set the box on the edge of the bed and open it. Inside—oh hell yes—Sawyer’s toy collection. Vibrators, dildos, a little flogger, andsome cuffs. I crack up, holding up a slim purple dildo between two fingers. Compared to what she gets now? This thing’s a joke.
Sawyer pokes her head in, hair a mess, cheeks flushed from unpacking. “What’s so funny?”
