Page 48 of Louder Than Words

Wait… what is this award even for?

I glance over at Allie just as she flicks her gaze between the stage and Ana. Her eyes are already filled with so much pride it hits me right in the chest. She squeezes Ana’s hand again, and they both turn to face the stage as the applause dies down.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the first annualDebut Breakthrough Award, hosted by Lily & Raine Press,” the woman says through the mic, her gaze sweeping across every table. “I’m Camille Beltran, Editorial Director here at L&R, and I am beyond thrilled to be here tonight to present this award.”

She pauses just long enough to let the silence settle around her before continuing.

“This award was created to celebrate the magic of firsts. Debut novels are a special kind of brave. They’re raw, honest, and often written without any guarantee that anyone will ever read them—let alone love them. Sometimes, they take a little time to settle in,” she adds, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“But tonight, we’re not just honoring a book,” Camille continues, voice softening. “We’re honoring a voice that broke through—headfirst. A story that connected with so many readers, it quickly became clear who the winner would be. At least to us.”

Silence falls over the room as Camille slips her hand into an envelope behind the podium. After a moment, she looks up from the slip of paper, tucking it beneath something on the podium ledge.

She takes a deep breath, bites back a grin, then leans into the mic. “And the winner of this year’sDebut Breakthrough Award—and fifteen thousand dollars—is… Ana Padilla!”

My mouth falls open as the entire room explodes in cheers. Screaming. Applause. Even tears—though, let’s be honest, most of that is coming fromourtable.

Ana’s eyes go wide as she looks between her three screaming best friends, completely stunned. And, funny enough,Jamesis the loudest one. He’s already on his feet, face turning crimson as he pulls her into a hug so tight it nearly knocks her over.

And Allie? God, she looks especially proud. Her eyes shimmer with tears as she drapes an arm over James’s shoulder. The two of them watch like two proud parents as Ana climbs the few steps to the stage.

Ana accepts the small, glass, book-shaped plaque with trembling hands. Her sniffles echo through the venue as she steps up to the mic and takes a steadying breath. For a second, she just stands there. Like two and two haven’t quite clicked and she still can’t believe it.

“Wow,” she says softly. “I… can’t believe it.”

Called it.

She shakes her head and holds the plaque out in front of her, reading it over as a shaky laugh slips free.

“This book… I wrote it because I didn’t know how else to get through what I was going through at the time. I didn’t expect anyone toreadit. I didn’t evenwantanyone to read it at first.” She pauses, her eyes flicking to our table. “But then my best friend, Allie, read it. And she didn’t laugh. She didn’t make me feel as broken as I thought I was.”

Her voice wavers as she blows out a long, steadying breath.

“She made me believe in myself. That maybe this could be something I’d actually be good at. That my words could mean something to someone. Someone who needed them even more than I did. That everyone deserves to be loved. No matter what anyone else believes.” She lifts the plaque, showing it off with a small, tearful smile. “So, thank you, Allie. And thank you, L&R. For seeing me. For believing in me.” She laughs. “And for the fifteen thousand dollars.”

Everyone else joins her as laughter boomerangs around the room.

Then her eyes find mine.

“And Jax,” she says, one brow raised. “If you break her heart, I will break your kneecaps. With love, obviously.”

I dip my head and raise my glass, a quiet promise that says,Trust me. I know.

The second she leaves the stage, the group wraps her in a hug, jumping wildly. My hands even find the table edge, making sure they don’t knock over the bloody thing.

James lets go first, his eyes wet with tears, cheeks still red before he yells—

“Shots!”

I still want to smack him.

Screaming for shots. In aballroom. With an actual orchestra playing in the bloody corner. This is exactly why rock stars get a bad rap.

Did I want shots the second he said it? Hell yeah. Now, if he yelled ithere—at an actual restaurant, where alcohol is within arm’s reach? Well. I’d probably still want to smack him. Just not as hard.

Everyone’s deep in conversation, their voices overlapping, when I clear my throat. They each turn my way slowly.

“All right,” I say, loud enough to cut through the noise. “You guys order whatever you want tonight. It’s on me.”