Page 51 of Mending Hearts
I nod. “This is incredible,” I add, gesturing vaguely at the room. “You did a hell of a job.”
Eli huffs a laugh, quick and relieved. “My wife did a hell of a job. I just cried into a microphone on the chorus.”
“That was your brand tonight,” Drew murmurs, deadpan.
Eli flips him off without even looking.
The tiny moment of humor loosens the air just enough for me to breathe again. I glance at the tables. “We should probably sitdown,” I say, forcing a smile. “Before people start thinking we’re hoarding the band.”
Miles gives me a look—half amused, half wary—but nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Go eat. Someone’s going to steal the dessert if you don’t.”
I start to turn. My body resists, instinct screaming at me to stay planted in front of Rafe until I’ve said everything I flew here to say.
But I don’t get to do that. Not here. Not like this. I know that now, so I do the next best thing. I pause, just enough to catch Rafe’s eyes again, and I say something that only the people who know the truth will hear the full weight of. “I’m… trying,” I say quietly. “To do things differently.”
Rafe’s gaze sharpens like he understands the subtext, even if he refuses to.
I swallow, heart pounding. “If you have time,” I add, voice careful, “maybe later. Or tomorrow. We could… catch up.”
The termcatch upis laughably small for what I’m asking. It’s also the only way I can ask without breaking open the room.
Rafe’s jaw tenses. His eyes flick away for a split second like he’s bracing, like he’s debating whether to shut it down.
I hold my breath. Then, slowly, he nods. Just once. It’s small, but real.
My vision blurs so hard it’s almost embarrassing. Relief hits my knees like a wave. I’m suddenly aware of how close I was to passing out from sheer adrenaline and fear. “Okay,” I whisper.
Rafe doesn’t say anything. He just watches me like he’s trying to decide if I’m a mirage.
Marco’s hand lands on my elbow, gentle but firm. “Come on,” he murmurs.
I let him lead me away before I do something stupid like reach for Rafe’s hand.
We make it to our table with a few necessary detours—handshakes, quick greetings, the kind of polite small talk that makes my skin crawl when my entire nervous system is on fire. I smile. I nod. I say the right things. The whole time, I’m aware of Rafe the way you’re aware of a storm on the horizon.
Where he is. Who he’s speaking to. Whether he’s looking at me. Because our eyes keep catching across the room. Fleeting and electric. Every time it happens, my heart stutters like it’s forgetting its job.
At the table, my sister leans in. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, voice pitched to sound casual.
I manage a small smile. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push—not yet. Not here.
Marco, bless him, starts talking about literally anything else. The food. The silent auction items. Some hilarious parenting story about Tucker refusing to wear pants in public like it’s a political stance.
I laugh at the right places. I chew without tasting, and I keep breathing through the tension like it’s a workout. Because Rafe is in the same room as me, and he nodded. Also because tomorrow is suddenly a real possibility.
And because I don’t know whether that’s hope or just another way the universe is setting me up to fall.
Dinner stretches long the way gala dinners do—courses arriving with polite efficiency, people getting tipsier, conversations growing louder as the room warms into itself. I should be grateful for the buffer. For the time to steady myself before I try to speak to Rafe again. Instead, every passing minute feels like I’m wading through molasses.
I keep checking the room without meaning to.
A server drifts past the band’s table for the third time, tray balanced high, movements a fraction too deliberate. Heruniform looks right at a glance, but something about her focus is off—eyes lifting too often toward the table, toward Rafe, like she’s waiting for the exact right moment. When Vinny’s gaze snaps briefly in her direction, she pivots away, disappearing into the flow of bodies.
I tell myself I’m imagining it. Tonight has already wired me raw.
Rafe moves like he’s on a different frequency than everyone else—smiling when required, nodding through conversations, but always with that faint tension in his shoulders, like he’s bracing for impact.
