Page 43 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

It’s not fine.

I step onto the train, finding an empty seat near the door. The car is mostly quiet—just a handful of people staring at their phones or out the windows. I lean back, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to push Callum out of my head.

But the memory of him is everywhere—the way his voice sounded in the booth, the way his tattoos flexed when he gripped my waist, the way he made me feel like I washis.

I hate how much I liked it.

I hate how much I wanted it.

I hate feeling like I need it.

We have to talk. I've got to know what it means, or if it means anything at all.

The train jolts forward, the familiar rhythm of the tracks pulling me out of my thoughts. By the time I reach my stop, my resolve is thin, but I remind myself why I left. Why Ihadto leave.

Callum is my past. But now he’s here, tangled up in my present, and I've got to understand if this is a fuck, as Brooke might say, or if things between are too complicated to leave it there.

As I climb the stairs to the street, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I stop, pulling it out, and my heart skips when I see his name.

Hey. You left so fast. You okay?

I stare at the message as my fingers hover over the keyboard. I don’t know how to answer that. Am I okay? A lot to unpack there.

Instead, I lock the screen and slip the phone back into my pocket. It's time to get real, but I'm not ready to go there, yet. Soon, though.

Thursday,March 13

Prospect Park

4:01 PM

The park isalive with the first real signs of spring. Kids are yelling, dogs are chasing tennis balls, parents chatting as they hover near jungle gyms. I'm a Southern girl through and through, but I do love the spring in New York.

I sit on a bench under a blooming cherry tree with my phone in one hand. I keep an eye on Ollie as he tears across the grass after a group of kids. His laugh carries over the noise, bright and carefree, and it pulls a smile from me despite the knot still twisting in my stomach from yesterday.

Callum clearly learned his lesson after not reaching out for over twenty-four hours after our first indiscretion. He's texted me three times since I left the studio yesterday and let me know their schedule is jam-packed trying to finish up the album.

I've been keeping it light. I appreciate the effort on his part, but now that I know I either need to shit or get off the pot, I'm not sure how to respond.

Are we something, or are we not? He seems intent on making something of this, but I could be reading my own wishes into whatever this is.

I swipe idly through my phone, scrolling past emails and calendar reminders until a notification catches my eye.

New Rock Sensation Callum Reid Teams Up with Finley James: Could This Be Their Official Coming Out?

The words hit me like a punch, and before I can stop myself, I tap the link. A photo loads at the top of the article—Callum and Finley walking side by side, mid-laugh. It’s candid and intimate,the kind of shot that screamschemistry.He’s in a leather jacket, she’s in ripped jeans and boots.

I zoom in and study every detail of the photo. Their hands are close, possibly even brushing but they aren't quite touching, at least in the shot. But the headline and the accompanying photo certainly lead me to think they are more than music colleagues.

I skim the article, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Last summer, rumors swirled that Reid and James were more than just collaborators after they were spotted together at several private industry events. Though neither confirmed the relationship, insiders have hinted that their chemistry extends beyond the recording studio. With their upcoming track generating chatter, could this be the moment they go public?

I stare at the screen, the words blurring as my stomach twists into a tight knot.Last summer.He was with her last summer. And now... what? Am I supposed to believe I’m different? That I mean something? When she was right there with us yesterday?

I swipe back to the photo. My jaw tightens as the memory of him introducing me to her yesterday flashes through my mind. "An old friend from Charleston,"he’d said, as if I was just some footnote in his life. Not even worth a mention as anything more.

Was that all I was? A friend? Did I imagine the whole thing?

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