"I already told you, I can't let you in with a cat."

I clench my jaw tighter, covering the kitten's ears with my free hand as if that might somehow shield it from the absurdity the ticket attendant is spouting.

I want to punch this guy in the face. No—grab him by the shoulders and drive my knee into his gut. And if it weren't for the fact that he's double my weight and almost a foot taller—and I'm pretty tall—maybe I would. I just want this guy to stop being an obstacle and let me into the stadium to see Maisie.

"Do you have any idea who this is?" Clara snaps, grabbing my arm and shaking it roughly to make her point. "This is Maisie Rhodes' boyfriend."

The ticket attendant, unimpressed, narrows his eyes at Clara's scowl and folds his arms. "Last I heard, Maisie Rhodes doesn't have a boyfriend anymore."

Clara scoffs dramatically, letting my arm go with a flourish.

It turns out my sister was right. I'd awakened a beast—a beast I didn't even know existed until we got to the airport. Maisie's fans—her Rhodies—are fiercely protective of her. And I was their public enemy number one.

Every girl under the age of thirty-five seemed hell-bent on making my life a living nightmare: the fourteen-year-old in a Maisie Rhodes concert T-shirt who purposely stuck her foot out to trip me on my way into the airport, the TSA officer who singled me out at security, making me wait an extra forty minutes for an unnecessary screening, only to confiscate the poster Lucy and Clara had made for me for the concert, declaring it a dangerous object—along with the cupcakes Lucy made for Maisie, after which she glared at me for the entirety of the flight. And then the ticket agent who flashed me a snide smile when our flight was delayed by two hours, and we tried to switch to another one, only to inform me there was nothing available, even though I knew for a fact there were multiple flights listed online.

"I didn't cheat on her," I blurted out to the ticket agent in desperation, my voice loud enough to catch a few side-eyes from nearby travelers. She just narrowed her eyes at me before Lucy tugged on my arm and whispered, "It's fine, Gus. We'll just wait."

Lucy and Clara, who had originally planned to get ready at the hotel before the concert, made do with the two-hour delay by transforming in the airport bathroom. They emerged wearing Maisie-themed outfits—glitter, feathers, and pink and purple dresses that sparkled under the fluorescent light. Meanwhile, I paced the terminal with the kitten nestled in the oversized pocket of my tan jacket, her tiny head peeking out as she slept peacefully. I fought to keep my calm, my fingers tightly wrapped around my phone, resisting the urge to just call Maisie instead of showing up to surprise her like my sisters had been planning.

"You can't just text her, Gus," Lucy had said, pulling a small tub of glitter from one of the closets at her house as Clara traced the letters on the poster that read I Love You, Maisie Rhodes. "Don't you work in fiction? You have to make a grand gesture. It'll be way more romantic if you show up at her concert with a sign telling her you love her."

She had a point, but I had my doubts. It sounded ridiculously cheesy, and honestly, I didn't care. I wasn't interested in grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What I'm interested in is Maisie, and I just want to see her. I just want to tell her how I feel. And I need to hear it from her—straight from her lips—that she feels this way, too.

Because if what Maisie implied in that interview on The Tonight Show is true—if she's had these feelings, or feelings strong enough to write songs about me—it means she's felt this way for at least five years. Maybe longer.

And if that's true, then we've just been circling each other this whole time, liking each other without even realizing it.

My stomach sinks. How could I have been so blind? I thought she didn't feel the same, and now I'm forced to replay every single moment I talked to Maisie about Gwen—every time I went back to her. How much that must have crushed Maisie.

Fuck. I've messed this up worse than I even realized.

"God, August," Clara says, twisting to face me, hands planted on her glitter-clad hips. "Just ditch the cat. We'll find you a new one later."

"I'm not ditching the cat," I grind out, clutching the tiny bundle of fur closer to my chest, safely out of my sister's reach. "Maisie would lose her mind if she found out I just... left it."

And the truth is, I like the kitten. She sleeps tucked into the crook of my neck, her tiny face pressed against my cheek, and it's cute as fuck. She also has the brightest blue eyes, just like Maisie's.

"Oh my god," Lucy groans, stopping in the tight circle she's been pacing behind us. She's never been good with confrontations, especially like this. It always makes her anxious. She nervously chews on one of her rainbow glitter-colored nails—nails just like Maisie said hers were going to look for the tour. "You guys, it's starting. I can hear the countdown from here."

I glance up at the towering sign above the stadium that reads Maisie Rhodes: It's Always Been You Tour. From inside, I hear it too—the ticking clock echoing through the stadium speakers, each tick amplifying the crowd's cheers.

I blow out a sharp breath, forcing myself to focus instead of panicking. I pivot back to the ticket attendant. "Can't you just, I don't know, call someone on your little radio? I promise, I know people."

The guy raises an eyebrow. "If you know people, why don't you call them?"

"I tried that," I grind out, my jaw tightening. Andrea isn't answering. I don't have Rachel's number. And Maisie? I tried calling her a minute ago, but the roar of fans screaming in the background tells me everything I need to know—she's busy.

"Fuck," I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair just as Clara blurs past me, her unruly curly brown hair bouncing as she strides straight toward the ticket attendant.

"Now listen to me, you giant wall of creatine," Clara seethes, grabbing the guy's jacket with both fists. The man barely flinches, glancing down at the tiny stars, dots, and petal-like tattoos covering her hands. "I swear to god, if you don't let me in to hear my future sister-in-law sing her fucking ass off right now, I'll follow you home and train every pigeon in the State of New Jersey to treat your—"

"August?"

I'm about to pry Clara off the security guard before she gets us all arrested, when I hear my name from somewhere past her tirade. I glance over her shoulder, my eyes landing on Rachel, standing a few yards away, squinting at me as if she's trying to figure out if she's really seeing me.

She's standing beneath one of those massive posters of Maisie, right by a souvenir shop, mid-conversation with a stadium staff member.

"Rachel!" I call, waving frantically to get her attention. "Rachel, can you tell them to let me in? Please!"

Recognition flickers across her face as she says something quickly to the staff member beside her. They nod and scurry off to handle whatever task she's just assigned before she strides toward us. With a curt nod at the security guard, she waves us through.

"Told you he knows people," Clara says to the ticket attendant, sticking her tongue out at him as we pass. He rolls his eyes, flicking his hand dismissively as if to say, Go on, then.

"You're here," Rachel says, her tone flat, the corners of her mouth pulling into a stiff, forced smile. She looks me over with an expression that suggests she isn't entirely thrilled about my arrival. Clearly, she's not happy with me either. Her gaze drops to the kitten cradled in my arms, and her face melts into confusion. "And... you brought a cat?"

"I need to talk to Maisie," I rush out.

"That's not possible," she says, shaking her head. Her fingers find the spot between the kitten's ears, gently petting it, and the little thing closes its eyes with a blissful purr. She barely looks at me, her attention flickering toward the stadium as she gestures with a tilt of her chin. "She just started. You'll have to wait until after."

I glance past Rachel, catching the sound of Maisie's voice echoing through the stadium. She sounds so fucking good. Better than good. Breathtaking. And I know she's not lip-syncing either because, according to her, it's cheating. Hearing her live is proof she doesn't need to. She sounds just like she does on the radio—if not better.

I can't believe I was willing to miss this just a few hours ago.

"Is there any way you can tell her I'm here?" I ask, returning my attention to Rachel.

She looks up at me from the kitten, her lips pressing into a thin line as she shakes her head. "Maisie asked not to be disturbed during the concert. Specifically, not to be disturbed if it had to do with you."

A lead weight sinks in my chest, heavy and cold. Doubt creeps in, gnawing at the edges. I hurt Maisie, and now I'm paying for it. She doesn't even want to know if I'm here, if I even showed up. I've ruined things, and she doesn't trust me anymore—not after how I left to talk to Gwen, after telling her I didn't want to be her friend, after ignoring her texts. How could I blame her? I've shattered every piece of what we had, left it in shards that I don't even know if I can pick up.

"No, don't you dare start overthinking this, August," Clara interjects, her arms crossing over her chest. Both Rachel and I glance her way. Lucy is busy craning her neck, trying to get a better view of the concert through the slim opening of the tunnel we're standing by. "I've endured way too many salty Rhodies today for it to end like this. Maisie loves you just as much as you love her."

Heat crawls up the back of my neck, settling in the tips of my ears. Clara's words hang in the air, and I catch the shift in Rachel's expression. Her lips twitch into a small, winsome smile, and she lifts her clipboard half-heartedly, trying to hide it. It doesn't work.

"You're in love with Maisie?" she squeaks out, her voice muffled slightly by the clipboard she's still hiding behind. But I see her eyes light up with the kind of look I've seen on women finishing the last chapter of a romance novel—hopeful, dreamy, and a little wistful.

"I..." I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. I'd really prefer Maisie to hear it first, not everyone else knowing before she does.

"He is," Clara answers for me, cutting through my silence with zero patience. "Now, can you take us to her?"

"Please," Lucy chimes in, trying to soften Clara's demand. "And thank you."

"Come on, I can take you to the VIP tent," Rachel says, gesturing toward one of the tunnels leading into the concert's entrance. "I can't tell Maisie you're here, but maybe she'll spot you from the tent. It's pretty dark in there, though."

"Thank you," I say earnestly, following her.

"Here, I can take the kitten to her dressing room," she offers, holding out her hands. I don't hesitate, passing the little kitten over to her. "I think I can get Anna to keep an eye on it for you."

Before I can thank her again, one of the VIP attendants appears in the tunnel. Rachel leans in, quickly giving instructions about where to take us, and the attendant gestures for us to follow. We slip inside just as the stage plunges into darkness, Maisie's song ending with a swell swallowed by the deafening roar of the crowd.

There are so many people here. When Maisie talked about it before the tour, I don't think I fully understood—what it really meant to have this many people in one place, all here for her. But standing here now, seeing it firsthand, it's overwhelming. It's insane.

And she's sold out every stadium on her tour for an entire year, performing every weekend, three shows back to back.

"Oh my god, there are so many celebrities here," Lucy whisper-yells to Clara and me as we slip into the tent, her eyes darting around. I glance around, too, quickly scanning the faces—Maisie's stepsister, I think, among them—though most seem to be glaring at me.

My eyes quickly shift back to the stage, straining through the inky darkness to catch a glimpse of Maisie.

Suddenly, a kaleidoscope of lights bursts to life, spinning and refracting like shards of a rainbow, and the first beat of a familiar song thunders through the stadium.

And there she is.

Maisie stands in the center of the stage, the crowd erupting the moment they see her. She's in the same bodysuit I saw during her fitting at her apartment— purple with slits on either side, teasing just the slightest hint of her waist, the fringe and tassels catching the light with every tiny movement. And those fucking fishnet stockings. Christ. My chest tightens, and the possessive part of me wants to sprint around the stadium and block every single person's view of her. I want her all to myself.

She's holding her guitar, fingers strumming the opening chords of her biggest hit—the one everyone knows, the one she apparently wrote about me.

The smile on her face looks real at first, her eyes sweeping across the sea of fans. But as she steps up to the mic, I see it falter, slipping into something more fragile. That smile turns forced as the first words leave her lips.

"'Cause it's always been you,
But I'm too scared to say the things I feel for you,
I said I'd be fine, thought I'd be better alone,
But I can't shake this feeling down in my bones.
I don't know why I keep wanting more,
But I don't think I could love you more—"

Her voice cracks halfway through the verse. She takes a shaky step back from the mic, her eyes squeezing shut, and for a moment, and the crowd keeps singing, blissfully unaware. To them, it probably looks like she's overwhelmed by the moment, swept up by how much she loves her fans. But I know better.

I know that look—the tight press of her lips, that smile she somehow manages to pull off with her lips tilting downward. The slight wobble in her chin, the way her blue eyes squint, glossy and brimming. She's about to cry. It's the same look she gave everyone after her mom died.

The crowd keeps singing for her. It's not until the first tear slides down her cheek, catching the glow of the stage lights, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth that they realize—she's crying.

"Is she..." Lucy yells over the music, squinting at the stage. "Is she crying?"

"Oh my god, she's crying," Clara shouts, leaning across Lucy to jab a finger in my shoulder. "Look what you've done, August!"

"I'm sorry," Maisie whispers into the mic, her voice breaking before she turns her back to the audience. Her hand comes up to cover her face, her shoulders trembling. My feet feel like they're cemented to the floor, the air punched from my lungs as I watch her struggle to hold herself together.

This is all my fault.

She stays like that through the entire chorus; the audience picks up the lyrics where she left off, their voices creating a wave of support that carries her through.

Finally, she turns back to the crowd, her eyes glassy but her chin lifted with determination. She grips the mic tighter and exhales shakily. "I think I'm going to need your help finishing this song."

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, my heart thundering in my chest as I start to push past Clara and Lucy. "I need to get back there."

—————————

Don't ask me if I'm crying right now.

Sorry for the delay in posting—this chapter was really, really tough to write. Honestly, most of August's POVs are hard for me, and this one especially had me struggling.

Just one more chapter to go! It's nearly finished, and I'm almost done with the epilogue, too. See you either on Sunday or Monday!

Xx, Viv