Page 61 of Every Shattered Note
Her lips twitch.“Tomorrow’s my only day off.”
I frown.“Nope.Jules said Monday is your day off,” I clarify.“Luckily, tomorrow you don’t have any events.The point is that ...what if we push the return to Tuesday night?”
Her eyes widen as if I just suggested that she cancel her career.
I try to soften it.“I’ll find people to help you.Whatever you need.Assistants, interns, clones—say the word.Just give me one more day.”
But her face changes.I tense because what if I offended her?This is probably what Eddie means when he says I need to learn some social skills.Either I give too much or I don’t give a shit.There’s no halfsies with me and people don’t love that.
Aly sighs and sits back a little, folding her arms across her chest.“I can’t afford to hire extra help right now.”
Her voice isn’t embarrassed.It’s more like firm.
“In fact, I have to be careful with expenses.We’re not sure what the future of our company looks like,” she adds.“The Whittmore gala was supposed to be our moment—you know, the thing that put us on the map.But I think it kind of ...fizzled.And now there’s new ownership, which makes me believe that they won’t hire us again.”
There’s a knot in my chest.Because I want to fix this for her.Because I can.But I also know what it sounds like when someone’s tired of not being heard.
“I could help,” I say gently.“Not take over.Just ...help.”
She looks at me.Not with suspicion—caution.The quiet, measured kind that builds after too many promises go unmet.The sort of guardedness people wear after learning how quickly something good can turn into regret.
“Dex, I know you mean well.And I’m grateful, really.But I’ve worked too hard to build something that’s mine.I don’t want to hand it over just because things are hard.”
“I wouldn’t take anything from you,” I say quietly.“Just stand behind you if you want it.That’s all.”
How do I explain to her that I have enough to give to those I love?Giving makes me happier than just accumulating riches that I’ll never use.My grandfather created an empire, and when he died, he left everything behind.Sure, there’s a legacy, but he didn’t take anything with him.
She nods once, then looks away like she needs to hold onto that independence for a second longer before she breaks it apart and lets me in.
I respect the hell out of that.
We sit in silence for a beat, but it’s not cold.It’s thinking space.Breathing space.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says after a while, voice low, almost embarrassed.“It probably has to do with something like running a business, managing growth.Mostly, pretending like I’m not absolutely terrified of failing.”
I nod slowly.“I don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing.We’re all just ...guessing.Hoping we don’t fuck it up too badly.”
Then I laugh, a little self-deprecating.“I’m getting close to forty and I’m still between ...ideas?I can’t even commit to what city I want to live in, let alone a one-year plan.”
She lets out a laugh.Like I surprised her.“You?You own one of the biggest labels in the country.You’re a literal rock star.I thought you had it all figured out before you turned twenty.”
I shake my head.“I was born into it.That’s not the same thing.I had handlers, managers, a PR team, accountants—people cleaning up after me, smoothing out every disaster before and after it hit the papers.”
I glance at her.“But you ...you’ve been building something from scratch.Out of instinct, out of late nights, and spreadsheets and a million tiny decisions no one ever sees.You’re doing it without backup.Without safety nets.Just your gut and your grit.And I admire the hell out of you for it.”
She doesn’t say anything right away.Just sits there, absorbing it.
But her shoulders ease, just slightly.
“I still don’t know how this works,” she says.“Us.If there even is an us.Adding you help makes things more complicated.”
“Then let’s not rush it,” I say.“Let’s just ...stay in this.For now.One more day.No pressure.Just you and me.”
I reach for her hand again. She lets me.Her fingers find mine and hold on with the quiet conviction of someone tired of pretending they don’t need comfort.
Her palm presses into mine like we’ve done this a thousand times in another life.Her thumb brushes against mine, and something in my chest fucking splinters.It’s not just our hands fitting together.It’s everything that fits within that space.The tenderness.The fear.The possibility.The ache that maybe—just maybe—this could be real if we let it.
The cabin is dim around us.We’re still midair, still untethered from the world below.But inside this capsule of time, this quiet nowhere between takeoff and landing, it feels like we’ve carved out something that doesn’t answer to clocks or consequences.
