My eyes sting.
I blink hard, refusing to let anything fall.
“This isn’t keeping,” I manage. “This is…curating. Containing.”
He huffs a breath. “I’m not good at soft verbs, Luna,” he says. “I know empires and enemies. I know contracts and leverage. With you, I only ever had two gears—let go or hold on too tight.”
“You never tried just…being there,” I say. “Without strings. Without contracts. Without drawers full of evidence.”
“Would you have let me?” he asks, voice raw.
I open my mouth.
Think of that girl in the basement studio who wanted him and fame and escape all at once. Think of the woman on that stage, signing away her future because she didn’t read the fine print. Think of the years I spent telling myself I was over him while writing him into every chorus.
“I don’t know,” I a
