AGAPE

CHAPTER 5

The Lantern smelled like spilled beer, old wood, and the faint sweetness of fairy lights that had been strung up years ago and never taken down.

Hope stood in the back.

Just like always.

But nothing about tonight felt like always.

Her hands were clammy. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She'd checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror three times before leaving the house — smoothed down her wild hair, wiped the shine off her forehead, told herself she was just going to watch a show.

She was lying.

She was going to see him.

The venue was small, maybe fifty people scattered across wooden tables and worn chairs. Fairy lights strung across the ceiling made everything look softer than it was. The stage was just a raised platform in the corner, a worn keyboard already set up, waiting.

Hope found her spot against the wall. Far enough to be invisible. Close enough to see everything.

A man in a flannel shirt adjusted the mic. "Alright, y'all. Tonight we've got someone special. You know him. You love him. Give it up for David Jones."

The crowd clapped. Hope didn't. She couldn't move.

David walked on stage.

He looked different up close. Not taller. Not smaller. Just... real. He wore a simple black t-shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd run his hand through it one too many times. He adjusted the keyboard, sat down, and scanned the crowd.

Looking for someone.

Hope's breath caught.

His eyes swept past her. Then back. Then stopped.

He smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

And then he started to play.

He played her song.

"Love" by Keyshia Cole. The one she'd listened to a hundred times. The one she'd watched him play on her phone late at night when the bills felt too heavy. The one she'd commented on — This made my day.

He played it differently tonight. Slower. Softer. Like he was playing it for someone in particular.

Like he was playing it for her.

Hope stood frozen against the wall. Her fingers trembled at her sides. She wanted to move. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to step closer and never leave.

The song ended. The crowd clapped. David stood up, said something about taking a short break, and walked off stage toward the back.

Hope exhaled.

Then her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Stay there. I'll come to you.

She looked up. He was already walking toward her.

"Hi," he said.

His voice was different off-stage. Lower. Softer. Less like a performer and more like a person.

"Hi," she managed.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I said I would."

"Yeah, but people say a lot of things." He studied her face. "You look nervous."

"I am nervous."

"Why?"

She didn't know how to answer that. Because he was standing in front of her. Because she'd been watching him for months. Because she'd seen photos of him in places he shouldn't be.

Because she didn't know if she was falling in love or falling into a trap.

"Just nervous," she said finally. "That's all."

He nodded. Didn't push. "You want to get out of here? Get some air?"

She should have said no. She should have walked away.

"Yes," she said.

He led her out the back door. They walked down a dark alley. Then through a small gate into a courtyard with a broken fountain and a bench that looked like it had seen better days.

They sat down. Not too close. Not too far.

"How long have you been watching me?" he asked.

She blinked. "What?"

"The shows. You're always in the back. Always watching. I've been trying to figure out if you were a fan or a critic."

"Fan," she said. Then winced. "Definitely a fan."

He laughed. It was a real laugh. Warm.

"Good," he said. "I was hoping that was it."

"Why?"

"Because critics don't ask for autographs. And they definitely don't look at me the way you do."

"How do I look at you?"

He turned to face her. His eyes searched hers.

"Like you're trying to figure something out," he said. "Like you're not sure if I'm real or not."

She couldn't breathe.

"Maybe I am trying to figure something out," she whispered.

"Like what?"

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to say, "I saw photos of you with drug dealers. I know what you're doing. I need to know if it's true."

But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, she said, "Like why you noticed me."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Because you were the only person in the room who didn't want anything from me."

"I don't understand."

He leaned back on the bench. Looked up at the sky.

"When I play, people want things. A picture. A minute of my time. A story they can tell their friends. But you... you just watched. Like you were holding onto something private. Like the music was enough."

"It is enough."

He looked at her again. His expression was hard to read.

"Most people don't think that," he said. "Most people want more."

"What do you want?"

He didn't answer. He just looked at her for a long, quiet moment.

Then he said, "I want to know your name."

She smiled. "Hope."

"Hope," he repeated. Like he was tasting the word. "That's a good name."

"It's a name."

"It's a promise." He leaned closer. "My name's David."

"I know."

"Of course you do."

They both laughed. It broke the tension. Just for a second.

Then he looked at her again. Closer this time.

"Hope," he said. "Why are you really here?"

She opened her mouth to lie.

And then she saw something in his eyes. Something tired. Something lonely. Something that looked like he'd been waiting for someone to ask the hard question so he didn't have to.

"I saw photos," she said quietly. "Of you."

His face didn't change. But something in his eyes dimmed.

"What kind of photos?"

"Photos of you with men. In a storage unit. There were packages. Deals. I know what I saw."

The silence between them stretched.

Then David stood up. He walked to the broken fountain and stared at the dry bowl.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he said.

"You knew?"

"I know people talk. I know half the town already knows." He turned to face her. "I just didn't want it to come from you."

"David—"

"Before you say anything, I need you to hear me out. I'm not going to lie to you. I've been involved in things I shouldn't have been. Drugs. Deals I can't undo. I started because I needed money. I stayed because I didn't know how to leave."

Hope's heart was pounding. But she stayed still.

He walked back to the bench and sat down. Closer this time.

"I'm not a good person, Hope."

"I don't think that's true."

"You don't know me."

"I know you held a door open for me. I know you played a song for me tonight. I know you looked for me in the crowd."

"None of that changes what I've done."

"I know. But it changes how I see you."

He looked at her for a long time.

Then he said, "I'm trying to get out. I have a plan. I just need a few more weeks. Then I'm done. I swear."

She wanted to believe him.

She wanted to say, "I believe you."

But the words got stuck.

Because she'd seen the photos. And she knew that trusting him could cost her everything.

"David," she said. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Do what?"

"Trust you."

He nodded slowly. "I know. That's the part I don't expect you to do."

"Then what do you expect?"

He reached out. Touched her hand. Just barely.

"I expect you to be the reason I become someone worth trusting."

The night air was cold. But his hand was warm.

And for a moment, she forgot about the photos. The storage unit. The men with hard faces and expensive watches. The body on the ground.

She just saw him. Just the man who played her song.

"Come with me," he said.

"Where?"

"Somewhere I can show you. Not the storage unit. Not the deals. Just me."

She should have said no.

"Okay," she said.

He stood up, offered her his hand. She took it.

And as they walked away from The Lantern, Hope knew she was walking into something dangerous.

But she also knew she couldn't walk away.

Because for the first time in four years, she felt alive.

And that terrified her more than any criminal ever could.