Chapter Two
1401 Words
Drake didn’t touch me.
He didn’t reach for my hand or wrap an arm around me or do any of the things Charles used to do to remind the world that I was his property. But he stood beside me like a wall of resolve. Solid. Unyielding. Silent in a way that somehow made the noise around me fade.
Charles’s eyes narrowed, his tailored suit already beading with rain, though he didn’t seem to notice. The silence between the three of us stretched tight, crackling with old power and new defiance.
“I see,” Charles said, voice cool. “So this is about another man.”
“It’s not about him,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “It’s about me.”
Drake tilted his head slightly, almost like he was surprised. Maybe impressed. Maybe just assessing the way I stood my ground, even as my hands trembled at my sides. Charles always made me feel like I was on trial. Drake made me feel like I was finally allowed to speak.
“You’ll regret this,” Charles muttered. He turned his eyes to Drake. “And you—”
Drake didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His voice was a low growl.
“Leave.”
The word sliced through the space between us like a blade.
Charles studied him. Then me. His jaw tensed, a small tic appearing near his temple. I knew that look. The calculation. The decision to step back now so he could strike harder later.
He turned without another word and slid into the back of the car. The tires hissed against the wet asphalt as he vanished into the storm.
My knees nearly buckled.
“You okay?” Drake asked, the quiet gravity of his voice anchoring me.
I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
I almost laughed. “You always this observant?”
“Only when it matters.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The silence between us felt different now. Not heavy, not awkward. Just... present. Like the quiet was something we shared instead of something we had to fill.
“You shouldn’t have stepped in,” I said, finally.
“I didn’t do it for you.”
I looked up, startled.
“I did it because men like him think they own everything they touch,” he continued, gaze steady. “Sometimes it’s good to remind them they don’t.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that either.
So I said the only thing I could think of.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. Just once. Like that was enough.
We stood there for another moment, rain soaking through our clothes. My guitar case was at my feet, and for the first time, I noticed how ruined it looked. Like it had carried the weight of all the choices I’d made. My duffel bag’s strap was fraying. My shoes were scuffed. My hair was probably a mess.
And still, Drake Thorne looked at me like I wasn’t small. Like I wasn’t stupid or naïve or some broken thing left behind.
He looked at me like I was fire.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied.
He stared at me. Didn’t challenge it. Just said, “Then I’ll walk you.”
I hesitated. “You don’t even know me.”
He half-smiled, barely more than a twitch of his lips. “I know enough.”
We didn’t talk much as we walked. I told him I was staying with a “friend” in a nearby apartment — vague enough to dodge the truth without inviting more lies. He didn’t press. Just matched my pace, occasionally glancing over as if to make sure I was still breathing.
He moved like someone who had trained his body to be invisible but failed because he was too solid to disappear. Even in silence, he felt present. I hated how much I noticed.
When we reached the edge of the block, I pointed to a random building.
“That’s me.”
He didn’t call me out. Just nodded.
“You play again tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Eastside Lounge. Nine.”
“I’ll be there.”
I don’t know what possessed me to ask, but I did.
“Why?”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Because when you sing, it’s like watching someone rip off their skin and show the world what’s underneath.”
I swallowed hard.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It’s the only kind I give.”
After he left, I doubled back to the hostel, heart racing. My room smelled like mildew and broken dreams, but it was mine. My world had shrunk to four walls, a mattress, and a city that didn’t know my name. But that night, it felt like something else had begun.
Something raw.
Unwritten.
Unstoppable.
I got the pregnancy test two days later.
I didn’t cry when I saw the plus sign. Didn’t scream. Didn’t break. I just stared at the little window until my fingers went numb and my chest forgot how to rise.
It had been six weeks since Charles. Six weeks since the last time I let him touch me out of obligation and fear and because I hadn’t yet remembered I was allowed to say no.
The memory made my stomach churn.
I buried the test in the trash beneath crumpled napkins and an empty ramen cup.
Then I sat on the floor and tried to breathe.
The next few days passed in a blur of numbness and motion. I played three gigs, wrote four new songs, and turned down two offers to “collab” from greasy-haired producers who liked my legs more than my lyrics.
I didn’t tell anyone.
Not even Drake.
Especially not Drake.
He kept showing up, always at the edge of the room, always alone. Watching me with that storm-colored gaze that made my spine straighten and my heart misbehave.
I told myself he was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
Then he offered me a ride home.
It was late, and the rain had returned. I’d just finished a set where my voice cracked on the high note, and someone in the crowd called me a “sellout in heels.” Drake met me outside, silent as usual.
“I can walk,” I said.
“I didn’t ask.”
I should have said no.
But I got into the car.
It smelled like leather and cedar and something else I couldn’t name.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t make small talk. Just drove like he had somewhere better to be and was choosing not to go.
I gave him the right address this time.
When we pulled up, he finally looked at me.
“You’re not okay,” he said.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re pretending too well. Most people miss it. I don’t.”
I wanted to lie. Tell him I was just tired. That it was a bad night. That the city was wearing on me.
But the words caught in my throat.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.
The silence after that was sharp. Not stunned. Not disgusted. Just... still.
“Is it his?”
I nodded.
Drake didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“I’m not asking what you plan to do,” he said. “That’s not my business. But you need to know something.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Tears threatened, but I blinked them away.
“Why do you care?”
“Because I’ve seen what happens when people who’ve been silenced finally speak. And I don’t want you to stop.”
That night, I lay awake for hours.
I thought about Charles. About my family. About the future I’d fled and the one I hadn’t planned.
And then I thought about Drake.
Not as a billionaire. Not as some mysterious savior.
But as a man who listened.
Really listened.
For the first time in my life, I let myself imagine what it would be like to trust someone with the truth.
Even the ugly parts.
Especially those.
And deep in my chest, where fear and music lived side by side, something began to shift.
Not peace. Not yet.
But the possibility of it.
- Writer
