Page 23 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

Her words scare the shit out of me. I'm not sure how to handle the idea of seeking him out again, only to risk being rejected. Again.

I glance at the clock, the minutes ticking by like a countdown to something I can’t stop. My entire body is so tense my neck isstarting to ache. I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself in the cool surface. "I wouldn’t even know what to say to him."

"You’ll figure it out," Brooke says, her voice calm, reassuring. "And when you do, I want every detail." She winks, but her gaze is steady, steadying. "You’re stronger than you think, Sienna. You always have been."

I don’t feel strong. I feel raw and unsteady, like I’m about to be sucked up and swallowed. Answers. The word echoes in my mind, and with it, a spark of something I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe it’s anger. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s both.

Brooke leans back in her chair, popping another piece of bread into her mouth. "So? What are you going to do?"

I open my mouth to answer, but the words don’t come. Because I don’t know. Not yet.

All I know is this: Brooke's right. I deserve answers.

EIGHT

Callum

But your ghost keeps tearing them down

Chinatown

7:01 PM

The cool eveningair smells like roasted chestnuts and soy sauce. I imagine this is the lingering aroma of Chinatown every evening at dinnertime.

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, telling myself this is the last time. The last time I’ll walk these streets, hoping for a coincidence I know won’t happen.

Sienna might be at home, curled up on the couch with a book, or out with friends, laughing over cocktails in one of a million bars within a five-mile radius. Wherever she is, it’s not here. I know that. I know how ridiculous it is to think I might just run into her in one of the biggest cities in the United States.

But I have a rare evening with nothing to do or anyone that is expecting me somewhere. With idle time and my brain that won't stop, I can’t seem to help myself.

I pass the familiar glow of the restaurant’s red lanterns and slow down, peering through the window. The old man behind the bar glances up, and I swear I see the faintest twitch of a smirk.

He’s seen me three times this weekend, nursing a single beer for hours before leaving. He probably thinks I’m a weirdo—or worse, an undercover health inspector.

I glance down at my boots, about to keep walking, when the door swings open. I couldn't be more surprised if it was Bruce Springsteen himself walking out.

Sienna.

We nearly collide. She stops short when she sees me. Her face is just inches from mine and her eyes widen as recognition flashes across her features.

"Callum?"

I blink, frozen for half a second, trying to make my brain catch up with the moment. "Sienna. Hey."

Her name feels like glass in my throat—sharp and fragile all at once. She steps back, clutching a tote bag against her chest like a shield, and I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, unsure of what to do with them. Or what to say.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her tone cautious but not cold.

Shit. Don’t blow this. I scramble for an answer that doesn’t make me sound like a stalker. "I was just… walking. Through the neighborhood. It’s a nice night."

Her brow furrows, her eyes narrowing slightly. "In Chinatown?"

"I like Chinatown," I offer lamely, my voice too quick, too defensive. "Good food. Cool vibe."

Her lips press together, and for a second, I think she’s going to call me out. But then her shoulders relax a fraction. "I was just dropping off some work stuff," she says, gesturing to the restaurant behind her. "This is Emma Chen’s family’s place. Do you remember her? From college?"

I nod automatically, even though the name didn’t click until I saw it onInstagram. "Yeah, Emma. Of course."

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