Page 72 of Steal My Breath Away

He released the bar and turned away. “I have to leave, Haley. I can’t give you what you need. You’ll be safer with someone else.”

“Ace!” I called out as he pushed open the door, terrified that I would lose him to the darkness or worse, that I would lose him forever. “Ace. Please don’t go.”

I wanted to tell him I loved him, that I’d always loved him, that he had my heart, but the words didn’t come, and then I was alone in the dark, with a black hole in my chest that went through to my very soul.

CHAPTER 30Haley

Good morning, Chicago. This isHidden Trackson WJPK, coming to you from Havencrest University. I’m Haley Chapman, and I’m back after a week that turned my life upside down. Today’s show is about songs that speak to the silence after the storm, when the echoes of what could have been are almost deafening. We’re exploring music that gives voice to those moments when words fail us and we are struggling under the weight of everything left unsaid. Whether you’re hurting or you’re healing, you are not alone. Our playlist is for anyone who’s ever found themselves at a crossroads, afraid to move forward, but unable to go back. Usually, I like to highlight lesser-known artists, but today we’re kicking off with an artist who truly understands the power of silence. Stay with us, and remember—even in the darkest moments, music has the power to tell the story of our hearts. Here’s Coldplay with “The Scientist.”

Three notes into the song, I knew I’d made a mistake. The lyrics resonated too deeply with the emotions I’d been trying to hold back. No one could get into my heart like Coldplay.

Breathe. Breathe. You’re fine. Lock it away.

But I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t really been okay since my father died.

I took off my headphones to block out the music and tried to ground myself in the familiarity of the studio—the tile floor, the glass window, the mic and the soundboard. I glanced at the door, half expecting to see Ace standing outside, but the hallway was empty. I’d gotten so used to having him around, I had to keepreminding myself that he was gone. Unlike with Matt and my dad, I couldn’t contain the memories in my mental black box. Ace was everywhere. In the studio. Sitting at the kitchen table. Standing at the back of my class. In my bed. And in my heart.

Maybe it was just too soon. Or maybe that black box inside me was finally full.

I managed to get through the show, focusing on some new bands I’d discovered. Still unsettled by the threats I’d received over the station email, I didn’t take any call-ins or requests, and by the time the show was done, I was totally drained.

Dante called me into his office as I made my way out of the studio. His new gig had been delayed because of technical issues, and he was back in town. “Good show. I was surprised you made it in.”

“I was going crazy at home. I’m not a rest-and-relax kind of person.”

“No one would blame you after what happened,” he said. “Skye filled me in on all the details, and her thoughts about the details, and what I should think about the details, and then she allowed me a few hours’ sleep before she wanted to discuss it all over again. I’d be pretty coldhearted not to give you a break.”

“It was nice to be back,” I said. “I missed being here.”

“How’s the wrist?”

“Healing quickly. Almost done with the splint. It was just a sprain so I don’t have a cast for you to sign. It’s a shame because in twenty years, your signature might buy me a house.”

Dante laughed. “Maybe you’ll be buying your own house. Skye told me about the record executive you met at Bin 46.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work out,” I said. “He thinks I’m full of repressed emotion, and I need to let it out to become a truly good singer.”

“How about testing out that theory?” Dante leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “A buddy of mine is looking for a last-minute band this weekend and he asked about Dante’s Inferno. I wouldn’t mind doing one last gig before I haveto leave again. Are you interested? We need a singer, but I totally understand if you—”

“Are you kidding me?” I interjected, feeling lighter in that moment than I had been since Ace left. “I’m in. I haven’t had a gig in what feels like forever. It’s too cold to go back to busking, and I can’t do any open mics until my arm is healed enough to play my guitar. It would be perfect.”

“I’ll check with the others and send you the set list if I get the green light.” His lips quivered at the corners. “Coldplay was a bold choice for your show. Was it for Ace?”

“He doesn’t really listen to music,” I said. “Even if it was for him, I doubt he’d be listening, and if he was, he wouldn’t understand.”

“I’ve only met him briefly, but I think he understands you pretty well.”

I wasn’t so sure. He’d left me. Just like my dad and my brother. Just like my mom. Just like he did before. If he truly understood me, he wouldn’t have done the one thing he knew would hurt me the most.

Skye wasn’t happy to see me when I showed up for my shift at Buttercup. She glared at me and told me I was supposed to be home resting, and what was I thinking coming to work with a broken arm.

“I couldn’t sit around the house anymore,” I told her. “I can’t write music. I can’t take notes. I can’t type. I just sit there and scroll through social media until my brain goes numb.”

“Why don’t you review your psych course material, analyze yourself, and tell yourself what to do.” She poured me a double espresso and added a thin layer of foam.

“I’m not the best person to give myself advice. I can’t be objective. I’m too close.”

“Isn’t that why Ace left?” she asked gently, handing me the cup. “He thought he was too close?”

---