Chapter 13
Rue hadn’t even heard the startled scream echoing behind her. She glanced down at the hospital room number on her phone and picked up her pace, weaving past a group of nurses until she reached the door labeled for Wren’s room.
Inside, Wren was sprawled on her hospital bed with her phone held high above her face, fingers dancing across the screen. She didn’t even look up until Rue gave a little cough from the doorway.
“Rue!” Wren lit up instantly and patted the edge of her bed. “Thank god you’re here. I’m losing my mind. Shane’s being a total tyrant—he even tried to confiscate my phone!”
Rue chuckled and set a fruit basket on the bedside table before peeling a banana and handing it over.
“You literally just had your appendix taken out. Maybe don’t push your luck.”
Wren rolled her eyes and took a bite, grumbling with a mouthful of fruit. “He’s the one pushing it. First it’s no phone, now it’s no sugar, like I’m five years old. Who the hell survives on plain oatmeal for three days straight?”
Before Rue could respond, the door swung open.
Shane, dressed in his white coat and clutching a stack of charts, stepped into the room like a stormcloud. His sharp gaze immediately landed on the banana in Wren’s hand.
“Did someone clear that with her diet?”
Wren flinched, the banana slipping from her fingers and thudding onto the blanket.
“See?! Rue, you’re my witness. This man has zero compassion.”
Shane calmly picked up the banana and tossed it in the trash, then nodded toward Rue, his tone detached. “Her digestive tract’s still recovering. No solids yet.”
Despite his usual cold demeanor, Rue caught the faint flush creeping up his ears and bit back a grin.
“That one’s on me,” Rue said, waving it off. Then, pivoting smoothly, she turned to Wren. “Hey, didn’t you mention something about me singing at your bar?”
Wren’s eyes gleamed. The banana was already forgotten.
“Hell yes! Remember when you came by and sang a couple songs that one night? People have been asking about you ever since.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “No pressure though. Only if you’re down.”
Rue considered it. Her schedule was basically wide open.
“Sure, why not. Just tell me when.”
“How about tonight?” Wren’s voice took on a sing-song tone, tugging at Rue’s sleeve like a child begging for candy. “My stitches are practically healed already—it’ll be a mini pre-release party.”
“You’re pushing it,” Shane interrupted sharply, his brows knitting together.
“Are you my doctor or my brother?”
Wren shot him a look before turning to Rue with exaggerated puppy eyes. “Please?”
Rue hesitated. Before she could answer, Shane’s voice cut in again.
“I’ll go too.”
Wren blinked. “You? You hate bars. Too loud, too messy—your words.”
He adjusted his glasses, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Just in case you get too excited and tear your stitches.”
Rue couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t call him out, but it was obvious—he was worried.
That night, the bar was glowing with warm, amber light. The usual crowd hummed with energy, and the scent of whiskey and fried appetizers filled the air.
As soon as Rue stepped on stage in her white sundress, the room erupted with cheers.
“She’s back!”
“God, finally! Someone get a video!”
In the far booth, Shane nursed a whiskey and kept his gaze locked on Rue. She cradled the mic like it was the only thing tethering her to the world, her voice floating out in a soft, fragile melody that cracked open something in the room. The story she sang wasn’t just lyrics—it was raw, bleeding emotion dressed in silk.
Shane’s hand tightened around his glass. He swallowed hard.
When the last note faded and Rue bowed slightly, she stepped down from the stage—only to find herself face to face with someone waiting at the bottom.
A bouquet of champagne-colored roses was pressed into her arms.
“You were incredible.”
The voice was deep, warm, devastatingly familiar.
She looked up.
Julian Carter stood there, his dark eyes burning with something Rue couldn’t name—but her chest clenched anyway.
She didn’t know him.
But something in her bones did.
