Crypto Arena
 

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The arena was too big without the noise.

That was the first thing Lennon noticed.

Not the lights rigged high above her, not the cables still snaking across the stage floor, not even the massive screens waiting to come alive. It was the quiet. The kind that swallowed sound whole and gave it back as an echo.

She stood dead center on the Staples Center stage, hands tucked loosely into the sleeves of her hoodie, staring out at rows and rows of empty seats that would be full in a matter of hours.

Full of people who never stopped waiting.

Her chest rose slowly, steady—but not untouched.

Because she remembered.

She remembered the fear that had lived in her bones the first time someone asked her to come back. The way her throat had closed at the thought of stepping under lights again. The way her body had learned to associate stages with pressure, with expectations, with everything that had almost taken her out.

Bulimia.
Hospitals.
Silence.
That night she almost didn’t wake up.

She swallowed, eyes flicking up to the rafters.

And somehow—

She was here.

Not just here.

Back.

Her fingers curled slightly, like she needed to ground herself in something real.

The Mercer boys’ 20th anniversary show had been the turning point. She could still remember standing side stage that night, heart pounding so hard she thought it might give her away. Remember how Kai had found her in the chaos—calm, steady, like he always had been.

He hadn’t pushed.
He hadn’t asked for anything.

Just stood there and said, “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

And somehow… that had been the thing that made her step forward.

She let out a quiet breath now, a small smile pulling at her lips.

Because after that?

Everything shifted.

They stayed in touch.
Careful at first. Light.

Then not so light.

Fifteen years of distance didn’t matter the way she thought it would. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced.

It was easy.

Like nothing important had ever really left.

Her eyes softened.

And then there was Wren.

Lennon let out a soft huff of a laugh, shaking her head.

Wren, with her endless energy and her opinions on absolutely everything.

Wren, who had listened to early demos sprawled out on the floor and very seriously declared:

“It should be called Welcome Back.”

Simple.
Blunt.
Perfect.

And Lennon had just stared at her for a second before laughing—really laughing—and realizing the kid was right.

The album.
The tour.

Welcome Back.

Not just for her.

For everyone.

Her gaze drifted across the empty arena again, slower this time, more grounded.

“I’m back,” she murmured under her breath, testing it.

It didn’t feel like pressure anymore.

It felt like truth.

A beat of quiet settled over the stage—

Then—

“LENNY!”

The sound bounced.

Echoed.

Filled the entire arena like it had been waiting for it.

Lennon’s head snapped toward side stage, and before she even fully turned, she could hear it—

Fast little footsteps.
Light.
Uncoordinated in that way kids didn’t bother fixing.

There she was.

Curls bouncing, running full speed like the arena belonged to her.

Lennon didn’t hesitate.

She dropped down to her knees right there in the middle of the stage, arms opening wide, a grin breaking across her face before she could stop it.

“Hey, baby—”

Wren crashed into her like she always did, all momentum and trust, and Lennon caught her easily, laughing as she pulled her close.

“Hi, baby,” she said softer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “You have a good time with Mama and Julian?”

And just like that—

The arena didn’t feel so big anymore.

Wren didn’t just hug her—she latched on, arms tight around Lennon’s neck like she had something important to report and no time to waste.

“YEAH,” she said immediately, breathless and loud in the empty arena, her voice bouncing back at them. “We had pancakes and I only spilled a little and Mama said that was okay ‘cause I tried—and Julian let me pick the music and I picked the loud one—”

She pulled back just enough to look at Lennon, eyes wide, curls falling into her face.

“—and I told them you were here,” she added, suddenly serious, like that mattered most. “I said Lenny’s at the BIG STAGE. Like… the biggest one.”

Lennon laughed softly, brushing a curl back behind her ear.

“The biggest, huh?”

Wren nodded hard. “Uh-huh. Bigger than the mall stage. And the TV stage. And Daddy’s stage. This is the super stage.”

“The super stage,” Lennon repeated, like that made perfect sense.

“It means you win,” Wren said, very matter-of-fact, settling back into her arms. “Like when you beat the level.”

Something in Lennon’s chest tightened—but not the bad kind. The kind that felt earned.

“Did I?” she murmured, more to herself than anything.

“Yeah,” Wren said instantly. “’Cause you came back.”

Simple.

Of course it was.

Lennon exhaled through a small smile, holding her a little closer for a second before shifting so Wren could sit against her hip, still grounded there in the middle of the stage.

Behind them, there was the quiet sound of a door closing.

Not loud.

Not interrupting.

Just there.

Lennon didn’t turn right away.

She didn’t have to.

She felt it—the shift in the air, the familiar weight of someone stepping into her space without demanding it.

Wren noticed first.

Her head popped up, curls bouncing again as she twisted around in Lennon’s arms.

“DADDY!”

Her voice echoed even louder this time, delighted.

Lennon finally looked up.

Kai stood just off to the side where the stage met the wings, one hand still resting on the edge of the doorway like he hadn’t meant to make an entrance out of it. He looked exactly like himself—jeans, worn-in tee, that slightly undone look like he’d been moving all day and hadn’t stopped to think about it.

But his eyes—

His eyes were locked on them.

Soft.
Steady.
Taking it in like he didn’t want to miss a second of it.

Wren wriggled immediately, reaching for him.

“Come here!” she demanded, like he’d been late to something important. “We’re on the super stage.”

Kai’s mouth curved—slow, quiet, familiar—and he stepped forward without hesitation.

Lennon stayed where she was, still kneeling, still holding onto Wren as she leaned out toward him, that easy pull forming between all three of them without anyone naming it.

The stage didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt… full.

And Lennon, still grounded right there under all those lights that hadn’t even turned on yet, realized she wasn’t standing alone in it this time.

Lennon shifted Wren a little higher on her hip, steadying her with one arm as the girl leaned half-out toward Kai like gravity didn’t apply to her.

“Hey—careful, superhero,” Lennon murmured, smiling as she tucked Wren back in closer.

Wren huffed like she had very important places to be, but settled anyway, still craning her neck between them.

Lennon glanced up at Kai for a second—just a flicker, something warm and quiet passing between them—before her attention dropped right back to Wren.

“Okay,” she said, lowering her voice like she was about to reveal classified information. “I have to show you something after this.”

Wren’s entire body went still.

“What,” she whispered, immediately invested.

Lennon leaned in, brushing her nose lightly against Wren’s temple.

“There’s a whole room backstage,” she said. “Just for you.”

Wren blinked. Once.

Then twice.

“…Just me?”

“Just you,” Lennon nodded. “No grown-ups allowed unless you say so.”

That did it.

Wren gasped so loud it echoed.

“WHAT IS IN IT?!”

Lennon laughed softly, shifting so she could point vaguely toward the wings.

“Okay, so—there’s a giant pink couch. Like… bubblegum pink.”

Wren’s mouth dropped open.

“And pillows,” Lennon continued, counting them off with her fingers. “Soft ones, sparkly ones, ones shaped like stars—”

“STARS?!” Wren practically bounced out of her arms.

“Stars,” Lennon confirmed. “And there’s fairy lights everywhere. Like a little castle. And—” she paused for effect, eyes narrowing playfully, “—a dress-up rack.”

Wren froze again.

“…Princess dresses?”

“Princess dresses,” Lennon said, nodding slowly. “And crowns. And—” she tilted her head, grinning now, “—a tiny leather jacket.”

There was a beat.

A full, stunned silence.

“LIKE YOU?!” Wren shouted.

Lennon laughed, full and bright.

“Maybe a little like me.”

Wren immediately grabbed her face with both hands, squishing her cheeks together like this was the most serious moment of her life.

“I NEED TO SEE IT RIGHT NOW.”

“I know, I know,” Lennon said, catching her wrists gently. “But—there’s more.”

Wren went completely still again, eyes huge.

“There’s headphones so you can hear everything,” Lennon added softly. “And a little screen so you can watch the stage if you want. Or you can just… hang out and make it your place.”

Wren’s expression shifted—less chaos now, more wonder.

“My place?” she repeated quietly.

“Your place,” Lennon nodded. “While I’m out here.”

Wren looked out at the massive empty arena, then back at Lennon, like she was trying to connect the two.

Then, very seriously:

“I will protect it.”

Lennon pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.

“I believe you will.”

Wren nodded once, firm.

“And I will wear the jacket,” she added, equally important.

“Obviously,” Lennon said.

From just beside them, Kai let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, and Lennon felt it more than she heard it—the warmth of him, close enough to matter.

She glanced up again, just for a second.

Then back to Wren.

“After I get through soundcheck,” Lennon said gently, brushing a curl back from Wren’s face, “I’ll take you back there myself. Deal?”

Wren stuck her pinky out immediately.

“Deal.”

Lennon hooked hers with it, sealing it like it meant everything.

Because it did.

Kai watched the pinky promise like it was something holy.

Maybe that was ridiculous.

Maybe it was just a kid in sparkly sneakers making a deal in the middle of an empty arena with a woman in an oversized hoodie and sleeves pulled over her hands.

But it didn’t feel small.

Not the way Lennon did it.

She didn’t rush Wren through it. Didn’t smile like she was indulging her. Didn’t make it cute and move on.

She met her there completely—hooking her finger with the same care she might’ve given anything else that mattered.

And that was the part that always got him.

Not the obvious things.

Not just the softness in Lennon’s face or the way Wren lit up around her or the quiet miracle of seeing the two of them fit together like this with no strain and no awkwardness and no trying too hard.

It was the care.

The automatic, unannounced, deeply real care.

Kai stayed where he was for a second longer, saying nothing, letting himself have the sight of them.

Lennon on her knees at center stage, hair a little mussed from Wren’s hands, a laugh still lingering at the corners of her mouth.

Wren tucked into her side, all wild delight and complete trust.

The whole empty arena stretching around them, huge and waiting and echoing—and somehow none of it felt intimidating with them in the middle of it. Somehow it just felt… full.

Warmer.

Like the room had finally found its center.

Something in his chest tightened and eased all at once.

Then Wren’s excitement broke loose exactly the way it always did—without warning and with absolutely no regard for balance, gravity, or venue safety.

The second the deal was sealed, she let out a sound that was half gasp, half squeal, then scrambled out of Lennon’s arms and started spinning in a loose, delighted circle right there on the stage.

“I HAVE A ROOM!” she shouted to no one and everyone, curls flying. “MY ROOM! MY OWN ROOM!”

Her little boots squeaked against the stage as she danced around in a dizzy, messy orbit, hands flung wide, joy pouring off her in waves.

Kai laughed under his breath, pushing off from where he stood near the wings and finally moving closer.

“Easy, bug,” he called, warm but instinctively careful. “Don’t eat it before soundcheck.”

Wren ignored that completely for another spin, then another half-spin, then nearly tripped over her own foot and corrected with the wild confidence of a kid who assumed the ground would sort itself out.

Kai winced automatically. “Wren.”

That got her to stop—sort of.

She bounced in place instead, still too excited to qualify as standing still, then pointed toward the wings like she was unveiling a national landmark.

“There’s a pink couch!”

“I heard,” Kai said, reaching her at last.

“And stars!”

“Also heard that.”

“And a jacket.”

He put a hand to his chest. “You led with the most important detail. I respect that.”

Wren beamed, satisfied, then darted past him again in another burst of movement before deciding the news was too big to hold alone. She spun back toward Lennon, all grin and flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Kai, though—

Kai slowed.

Because Lennon had looked up at him.

Still kneeling for just a second longer in the middle of the stage, her expression soft and open in that way he knew better than to take for granted. She looked like the moment had gotten under her skin. Like Wren had. Like the room had. Like maybe being here, in all this space and all this history and all this risk, didn’t feel quite so sharp with something smaller and sweeter threaded through it.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

Not when she looked like that.

Not when she’d just built something gentle in the middle of a night that could have so easily been all pressure and logistics and fear.

Not when she kept doing things for his daughter that made his chest hurt in the best and worst possible way.

Wren launched herself back in his direction and grabbed his hand.

“Daddy, isn’t it the best?”

Kai tore his eyes away just enough to look down at her. “It’s definitely the coolest backstage setup I’ve ever heard of.”

“The coolest ever,” Wren corrected.

He nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. Historic, really.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She squeezed his fingers once, hard, then let go and skipped a few feet away again, still buzzing with the kind of joy that had nowhere orderly to go.

Kai’s gaze lifted back to Lennon.

There was no point pretending he wasn’t affected.

Not with her. Not anymore.

He crossed the last few feet between them and stopped right in front of her. Up close, he could see every small trace of the moment still on her face—the soft color in her cheeks, the warmth in her eyes, the way her mouth still looked like it wanted to smile.

He offered her a hand.

Lennon looked at it, then at him, and took it.

Kai pulled her to her feet slowly, steadying her as she rose. But when she was standing, he didn’t let go. His other hand came up instinctively, finding her waist, and then he just… pulled her in.

No performance. No hesitation.

Just a quiet, full-bodied hug in the middle of the empty arena.

She fit against him with a softness that felt almost unfair.

He closed his arms around her and held on, one hand broad at her back, the other sliding higher between her shoulder blades. For one second he just breathed her in—shampoo, hoodie fabric, the lingering sweetness of the moment—and let himself feel the full force of how proud he was, how relieved, how moved, how absolutely wrecked by her in ways he was long past being able to dismiss.

When he leaned back, it was only far enough to look at her.

His hands stayed where they were.

Then he bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead first—slow, deliberate, lingering just a beat longer than friendly.

After that, because he clearly had no interest in pretending otherwise, he tipped her face up just slightly and kissed her softly.

Not rushed. Not hungry. Not for anyone else.

Just warm and sure and full of everything he wasn’t going to say too fast.

When he pulled back, his forehead nearly brushed hers.

“Congratulations,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “You’re here.”

It sounded too simple for what he meant.

Her eyes stayed on his.

Kai’s mouth tugged faintly, full of something too tender to hide. “And I’m really damn proud of you.”

That landed.

He saw it in the slightest shift in her expression, the way feeling moved across her face before she tucked it back into quiet.

His thumb brushed once, absent and gentle, against her side.

“You’ve worked too hard for this,” he said. “You fought too hard for this.”

He glanced briefly out at the empty seats behind her, then back. “And I know that room’s not full yet, but—” He gave the smallest shake of his head. “You already won, Len.”

There was too much in his chest now to leave the rest unsaid.

His gaze flicked toward Wren, who was still doing little excited hops a few feet away and whisper-singing to herself about her own room.

When he looked back at Lennon, his expression softened even more.

“And thank you,” he said.

No joke in it. No cover.

“Not just for the room. For all of it.”

Her brows moved faintly, like she knew exactly what he meant and still wasn’t going to make him work less hard for saying it.

Kai did anyway.

“For seeing her the way you do,” he said quietly. “For making space for her in this. For making her feel like she belongs everywhere you are.”

His throat tightened a little on that last part, but he kept going.

“She adores you,” he murmured. “And watching you with her…”

He exhaled through a small, helpless smile.

“It means more to me than I probably know how to explain without sounding like an idiot.”

That got the faintest change in her face—a softer one this time, almost amused through the emotion.

Kai smiled properly then, brief and crooked and real.

“I’m serious,” he said. “What you do for her matters. A lot.”

Wren came hopping back toward them at exactly the moment that kind of sentence needed saving, mercifully unaware that she’d interrupted anything significant.

“Daddy!” she shouted. “Can I tell Mama there’s also probably snacks?”

Kai huffed out a laugh and glanced toward her. “Probably snacks?”

Wren nodded very seriously. “I can feel it.”

He looked back at Lennon, still close enough to feel her warmth in front of him, and one of his hands slid from her back to catch her fingers for half a second before letting go.

“Well,” he said to Wren, “if your instincts are right, this really is the greatest tour in history.”

“It is,” Wren said, already certain. Then she pointed between them. “You were hugging.”

Kai lifted a brow. “Very observant.”

“I know.”

He laughed again, because of course he did.

Then he looked at Lennon one more time—really looked at her, standing there under the dim work lights in the middle of the super stage, quiet and shining and back.

And softer now, just for her, he added, “You’ve got this.”

Lennon didn’t answer him right away.

She stayed there for a second, still close, still held in the quiet space he’d created around her—like everything loud about this place had stepped back just enough to let her breathe.

You’re here.

Her lips pressed together softly, something flickering behind her eyes. She let out a small breath, almost a laugh—but not quite.

“I know,” she said gently. “It just… doesn’t feel real yet.”

Not dismissing it. Just honest about it.

When he said he was proud of her, that landed deeper.

Her gaze shifted—just slightly—like she didn’t quite know where to put that without it meaning too much. But she didn’t deflect it either.

“Thank you,” she murmured, quieter this time. Real.

Her hand lifted without thinking, resting lightly against his chest—grounding herself there for a second before she let her fingers curl just slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“You always say it like it’s simple,” she added, softer. “Like I didn’t almost burn myself out getting here.”

But there was no bite in it. Just truth.

And then—

You already won.

That made her shake her head, a faint smile breaking through despite herself.

“I don’t know about that,” she said under her breath. “I think I still have to actually walk out here and… not pass out.”

It was half a joke.

Half not.

Then his thank you came.

And that—God, that hit differently.

Lennon’s expression shifted, softened in a way she didn’t try to hide this time. She glanced over at Wren—still bouncing that ball like the entire world existed just for her—and something warm settled in her chest.

When she looked back at him, her voice dropped.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving her,” she said quietly. “That part’s… easy.”

A small breath.

“She makes it easy.”

Her mouth curved faintly, softer now, more certain.

“She’s kind of incredible, Kai. Like—scary smart, and funny, and just… completely herself in a way most people never figure out.”

Her eyes flicked back to Wren again, watching her chase the ball with total commitment.

“And she trusts so hard,” Lennon added, almost to herself. “That’s not something I take lightly.”

Then she looked back at him, steadier now.

“I don’t make space for her,” she said gently. “I just… don’t close any doors. She walks in on her own.”

That was the truth of it.

Wren’s interruption pulled a quiet laugh out of her, the tension easing just a little.

“There are definitely snacks,” Lennon called over, playing along easily. “I made sure of it.”

When Wren pointed out the hug, Lennon huffed a soft laugh under her breath, shaking her head slightly.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at Kai, a small smile tugging at her mouth, “we were.”

Then—

You’ve got this.

This time, she didn’t let it pass.

She stepped in just a fraction closer again, close enough that her voice wouldn’t carry—close enough that it stayed between them.

Her hand came up, fingers brushing along his jaw before her thumb settled gently against his cheek.

“I didn’t feel like I had it last night,” she whispered.

No drama. No performance.

Just quiet honesty.

“I thought I was going to have a panic attack,” she admitted, her voice barely there. “Couldn’t slow my breathing down, couldn’t stop thinking about everything going wrong the second I walked out here.”

Her thumb moved slowly against his cheek, grounding both of them.

“I almost called someone to cancel,” she added softly. “That’s how bad it got.”

A small exhale.

Then her eyes lifted back to his, clearer now.

“But then I walk in here and—” she shook her head faintly, a softer smile breaking through, “—you’re here. And she’s here.”

A subtle tilt of her head toward Wren, who had now fully turned the bouncing ball into a solo performance, narrating it under her breath like a sportscaster.

Lennon let out the quietest laugh.

“You make it better,” she said, voice still low.

Then, softer—

“But she makes it impossible to stay scared.”

Her thumb brushed once more along his cheek before she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t rushed.
Wasn’t hesitant.

Just warm. Steady. Certain.

The kind that grounded instead of overwhelmed.

When she pulled back, she stayed close—forehead nearly touching his, her voice softer now, more settled.

“I needed that,” she admitted.

Then, a faint smile tugged at her mouth as she glanced past him again—

“Also, if she takes out something expensive with that ball, I’m absolutely blaming you.”

Because some things didn’t need to get heavier than they already were.

And she wasn’t stepping away yet.

Lennon didn’t step away.

Not after the kiss.
Not after the words.

Instead, she moved closer.

It wasn’t dramatic—wasn’t something anyone across the arena would notice. Just a quiet shift, a small closing of space until there wasn’t any left between them at all.

Her hand stayed where it was for a second longer against his cheek before it slipped down, fingers catching lightly at the front of his shirt as she leaned in.

And then she tucked her face into the curve of his neck.

Soft. Instinctive.

Like her body made the decision before her brain could overthink it.

She exhaled there, slow, steady—letting the tension she hadn’t fully shaken loose yet finally drop out of her shoulders. The fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his skin, the familiar grounding of him—it all hit at once in a way that made her close her eyes for just a second.

Breathing him in like she needed it.

Like it helped.

Her grip on his shirt tightened just slightly, not enough to pull, just enough to anchor.

“Don’t move,” she murmured quietly against him, voice low, softened at the edges.

It wasn’t a demand.

More like a quiet admission.

A beat passed.

Then another.

The arena was still massive, still echoing, still full of everything that had overwhelmed her the night before—but right here, tucked into him, it didn’t feel so sharp anymore.

“I’m okay,” she added under her breath, more to convince herself than anything else.

And then, softer—

“I just needed a second.”

Her fingers shifted lightly where they rested against him, smoothing once over the fabric like she was grounding herself in something real, something steady.

Across the stage, Wren’s ball bounced again—loud, echoing, followed by a triumphant little laugh as she chased after it.

Lennon huffed the smallest breath of amusement against his neck, a hint of a smile breaking through.

“She’s gonna wear herself out before I even get to rehearsal,” she murmured.

But she didn’t move yet.

Not quite.

Just stayed there another second longer—letting herself have the quiet, the warmth, the steadiness—

before she’d go back to being the person who could stand in the middle of all of this and not fall apart.

Kai didn’t move.

Not even a little.

The second Lennon tucked herself into him and told him not to, something in him went still on instinct—as if his body understood before his brain did that this wasn’t a moment to fix or redirect or fill with too many words. This was a moment to hold.

So he held.

One arm tightened around her waist, the other sliding up her back slow and steady, palm spreading between her shoulder blades in a touch meant to say exactly what he didn’t say out loud yet.

I’ve got you. Take the second. Take all of it.

Her cheek was warm against his neck. Her breath moved through the collar of his shirt in a slow, uneven exhale that made his own chest ache in that terrible, soft way she’d become so good at pulling out of him. He could feel the small catch in her grip where her fingers curled into his shirt. Could feel the leftover tremor under her calm now that she’d finally let herself lean.

And Jesus.

That did something to him.

Not because she was fragile—she wasn’t. He knew better than anyone how much steel she had in her. Not because she needed saving. Not because he thought this changed her into something breakable.

But because she trusted him enough to do this.

To stop pretending for a second. To come to him instead of away. To let him see the part of her that had almost called and canceled the whole damn thing.

Kai closed his eyes for half a beat and pressed a kiss into her hair.

Slow. Warm. No rush.

Then another against her temple, because he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Okay,” he murmured, voice low against her hair. “I’m not moving.”

He meant it in the immediate sense.

He meant it in a few other ways too.

His hand kept moving over her back in a quiet, absent rhythm—once, twice, slow enough to calm rather than soothe, because Lennon didn’t need to be handled like something delicate. She needed something solid. Something measured. A place to put the adrenaline until it stopped climbing her spine.

When she said she was okay, he didn’t contradict her.

Didn’t give her the kind of false comfort that tried to name the feeling for her. He just turned his head enough to brush his mouth to her temple again and said, “I know.”

A beat.

“And needing a second doesn’t mean you’re not okay.”

That one he let sit.

Because he had a feeling she needed to hear it more than she needed anything louder.

Across the stage, Wren’s ball bounced again—sharp and echoing in the empty arena—followed by her little running commentary to absolutely no one. Kai cracked one eye open and looked past Lennon’s shoulder in time to see his daughter nearly lose the thing off her own foot and recover with the blind arrogance of a child who had never once considered consequences might apply to her.

He huffed a soft laugh.

“She gets that from me,” he said quietly, answering Lennon’s joke even though she’d buried it under the rest of what she’d said.

His hand slid to the back of her neck then, thumb brushing once below her hairline.

“And for the record,” he added, “if she takes out something expensive, I’ll take the blame. You’ve got enough going on without adding property damage to the list.”

His tone was easy, but there was a tenderness under it he didn’t bother hiding.

Because she’d just told him the truth. Because she’d just kissed him like she meant it. Because she was still here, tucked into him in the middle of the biggest room in the building, and he wasn’t about to pretend that didn’t matter in ways that were starting to feel impossible to undo.

Kai let the silence breathe for another second, watching Wren bounce and spin and chatter to herself while holding Lennon close. The empty arena stretched around them, vast and humming and waiting, but right here everything had narrowed down to warmth and fabric and breath and the weight of a woman he had spent years not touching standing against him like she trusted him with the drop after the panic.

That would’ve been enough to wreck him all by itself.

Then his brain, helpful as ever, replayed what she’d said.

You make it better. She makes it impossible to stay scared.

Kai swallowed.

His hand at her back flattened a little more firmly, like his body needed the reminder that she was real and here and not something he’d imagined on too many late nights before this all started becoming possible.

When he finally spoke again, his voice had gone rougher around the edges.

“You should’ve called me.”

Not sharp. Not guilt. Just truth.

He tipped his head slightly, enough that his mouth was near her hair when he added, quieter, “Any hour. Any amount of spiraling. I wouldn’t have cared.”

He exhaled through a faint smile against her temple.

“I probably would’ve made you hate me for being annoyingly calm about it,” he said. “But I’d still rather be the guy on the other end of that call than find out after.”

That felt honest too.

He drew back just enough to look at her.

Not far. Just enough to see her face.

Her hair was a little disordered where it had brushed his neck. Her expression was softer now, but not fully settled yet. Still carrying traces of the fear from last night, layered with the quiet relief of having said it and not been dropped for it.

Kai looked at her like he wanted her to understand what he meant before he said the next part.

“You don’t have to do the worst parts by yourself just because you can.”

That landed where he wanted it to.

He saw it.

Then, because he knew the second he pushed too hard she’d either retreat or make a joke, he softened the moment himself. His thumb brushed once under her jaw, almost a caress.

“And I’m still proud of you,” he said. “Maybe more, actually.”

A corner of his mouth lifted.

“Turns out being scared and doing it anyway is still the impressive version.”

He let that settle, then glanced over her shoulder again.

Wren had now somehow turned her bouncing into what looked like an elaborate solo victory parade. The ball hit the stage, ricocheted, and rolled farther than intended.

“Hey, bug,” Kai called, not taking his other hand off Lennon. “Let the ball live. We need it intact for at least another ten minutes.”

“I AM practicing!” Wren shouted back, diving after it.

Kai snorted quietly and looked back at Lennon. “See? Totally under control.”

His gaze softened again the second it landed on her.

She was still close. Still not moving away. Still letting him hold her.

God, he was in trouble.

The kind of trouble that didn’t look like disaster from the outside. The kind that looked like this—an empty arena, his daughter running loose, Lennon in his arms, and his whole chest going warm and tight because it felt so frighteningly easy to imagine more of it.

He brushed his knuckles lightly along her cheek.

“You know what I saw when I walked in?” he asked softly. “Not the lights. Not the room. You two.”

His eyes flicked toward Wren, then back.

“She was lit up, Len. Completely lit up. And you looked…” He smiled a little, helplessly. “Like you forgot to be afraid for a minute.”

That was maybe the thing he wanted her to keep.

Not the pressure. Not the expectation. Not the version of tonight everybody else would talk about.

That.

The version where Wren ran screaming across the stage and Lennon laughed and somehow the room stopped feeling like something that could swallow her whole.

Kai leaned in and kissed her forehead one more time.

“When it starts feeling too big,” he said quietly, “think of her.”

He didn’t need to explain which her.

“She’s gonna be in that room wearing a tiny leather jacket and treating your entire backstage setup like sovereign territory.” His mouth curved. “There is no universe where that lets this stay scary for long.”

That got a real laugh out of him, low and warm.

He stayed close enough to feel the answer in her before he went on, voice dropping again.

“And look for me.”

No joke under that one.

No easy cover.

“Seriously.” His hand settled at the side of her neck. “If you walk out there and it spikes again, find me. I’ll be right there.”

He held her gaze, making sure she saw that he meant it. Not vague support. Not sentimental noise. Measurable, physical presence.

Right there.

Wren came barreling back just then, clutching the ball in both hands and breathing hard like she’d completed a major athletic event.

“Daddy,” she announced, “I saved it.”

Kai nodded gravely. “I’m incredibly proud of your restraint.”

“I know.”

She looked between them, eyes narrowing with the suspicious brilliance of a child who missed nothing. “Are you still having a moment?”

Kai barked a laugh.

Lennon’s shoulders shifted with the beginnings of one too, and just that—the feeling of her softening against him instead of folding in on herself—made something ease in his chest.

“Yeah, bug,” he said. “A little.”

Wren accepted that without judgment. “Okay. I can wait.” Then she held up the ball. “But only for, like, five more seconds.”

Kai smiled and looked back at Lennon.

Then, quieter, just for her, “That’s your countdown.”

He let his fingers trail once down her arm before he finally loosened his hold enough to give her room to step back if she wanted. But his hand stayed at her waist, steady and warm, because he had a feeling she might need one more point of contact before turning back toward the stage and all the noise that would eventually come with it.

And because he wasn’t ready to let go yet either.

“Five seconds,” he murmured, eyes on hers.

A pause.

Then, softer still—

“Take four more. I’ve got the fifth.”

Lennon didn’t move when he stilled for her.

She felt it immediately—the way everything in him just… settled—and for the first time since the night before, her breathing didn’t feel like something she had to force.

“Okay,” she whispered, softer now. “Okay… I’m here.”

Her cheek stayed pressed to his neck, her hand still fisted lightly in his shirt, but the grip had loosened. Not clinging anymore—just holding.

“My brain doesn’t do quiet very well,” she admitted, voice low, almost like she didn’t want it echoing out into the empty arena. “It does… everything at once. Worst case, loudest version, all of it.”

Behind him, the ball hit the stage again, skidding off in a direction Wren absolutely did not plan.

“I NEVER MISS,” Wren declared.

“You definitely miss,” Lennon said gently.

“NOT ON PURPOSE.”

That pulled something softer out of her, something real.

Her head lifted just enough for her to look at him, her thumb brushing slow along his cheek like she needed the contact to keep her steady.

“And no,” she added quietly, a flicker of something lighter slipping through, “you’re still paying if she takes out something expensive. That was already decided.”

“Daddy has money,” Wren added helpfully.

Lennon huffed a quiet laugh. “Exactly.”

Then her expression shifted again—quieter, more exposed now that she’d already started telling the truth.

“I almost called you,” she admitted. “I had my phone in my hand. I just… stared at it.”

Her gaze dropped for a second before finding his again.

“I didn’t want to hear myself say it out loud,” she said. “Because then it’s not just nerves. It’s real. And if it’s real, then I have to actually face it.”

A breath.

“…and I didn’t know if I could, last night.”

She swallowed, but didn’t look away this time.

“I was scared no one was going to come,” she said, quieter. “Which makes no sense because it sold out in, what—thirty minutes? But my brain didn’t care about that. It just kept saying… what if they don’t show up for you anymore.”

Her thumb kept moving against his cheek, slow, grounding.

“And then it turned into… what if they do come and they don’t like what they see,” she added. “What if they sit there and realize it’s not what they wanted and they leave.”

Her jaw tightened just slightly.

“What if I walk out there and I feel it happen in real time.”

Another breath.

“And it’s not even just that anymore,” she went on, voice still low. “It’s everything else that comes with it now. Back then… if something went wrong, it lived in a magazine two weeks later. Half the time people didn’t even read it.”

A small, humorless exhale.

“Now it’s immediate. One wrong moment and it’s clipped, posted, dissected, turned into something it was never supposed to be. And it doesn’t go away.”

She shook her head faintly.

“I don’t get to just have a bad night anymore. It becomes… a thing.”

Behind them, Wren dropped the ball again and crouched down like she was negotiating with it.

“YOU HAVE TO LISTEN,” she told it seriously.

Lennon’s mouth softened despite everything.

Then her voice dropped even quieter.

“And I’m scared of what happens if all of that stacks up again,” she admitted. “The pressure. The noise. The expectations. I’ve been pushing myself hard—gym every day, watching everything I eat, making sure I look like I’m supposed to look stepping back into this.”

Her hand stilled for a second against his cheek.

A small breath.

Her eyes flicked down, then back up.

“And I don’t know if that’s control or if it’s me slipping into something I’ve done before.”

That part sat heavier.

“But I don’t want to lose it again,” she added quietly. “I don’t want to lose myself in it.”

The honesty of that stayed between them, unpolished and real.

Behind him, Wren popped back up.

“I SAVED IT AGAIN.”

“I saw,” Lennon said gently, her voice warming for her without effort.

Wren looked between them. “Are you still doing a moment?”

“A little,” Lennon answered softly.

“OKAY,” Wren said, nodding. “I CAN WAIT. BUT NOT FOREVER.”

“That’s fair,” Lennon said, a faint smile returning.

Then her gaze lifted back to him, steadier now—not because the fear was gone, but because she wasn’t holding it alone anymore.

“I know I shouldn’t depend on people like this,” she said quietly. “I know that. I’ve been told that a hundred times.”

A beat.

“But you… and her—” her eyes flicked toward Wren for a second, softer, “you’re the only things that actually quiet it.”

She didn’t dress that up.

“You make it manageable,” she added. “She makes it disappear for a second.”

“BECAUSE I’M FUN,” Wren inserted.

“You are,” Lennon said, a real smile touching her mouth.

Then she looked back at him, closer again.

“You gave me a reason to come back to this,” she said softly. “Both of you did. I didn’t have that before.”

A breath.

“I lost a lot of that when I stepped away. The confidence. The want to do it again.” Her thumb brushed once more along his cheek. “You helped me find it again.”

She leaned in then, kissing him—soft, steady, not rushed, not hidden.

When she pulled back, she stayed close, her forehead almost brushing his.

“So yeah,” she murmured. “I’m still scared.”

Honest. Simple.

“But I’m here.”

Behind them—

“FIVE SECONDS,” Wren shouted, holding up her hand.

That pulled a quiet laugh out of Lennon.

“Okay,” she said, exhaling once, steady now.

Her hand lingered against him for a second longer before she eased back just enough to stand on her own.

“Go make sure she doesn’t recruit that ball into the show,” she added softly.

“I ALREADY DID,” Wren informed them proudly.

Lennon shook her head, smiling.

Then she looked back at him one more time, something steadier sitting in her chest now.

“Don’t go far,” she said quietly.

And this time—

she meant that just as much as everything else.

Lennon lingered for half a second longer—just enough to press one last, quiet steadiness into him—before she finally let herself step back.

Not all at once.

Slowly.

Like she was testing her footing without the anchor of him, even though she knew he was still right there.

Her hand slipped from his chest, her fingers dragging lightly for a second before letting go completely.

She took a breath.

It held.

That was new.

“Stay where I can find you,” she said softly, a small, knowing look passing between them before she turned.

Wren was a few feet away, crouched low again, whispering something very serious to the ball like it had just betrayed her mid-performance.

Lennon watched her for a second—really watched her—and something in her chest shifted in a way that had nothing to do with fear anymore.

It was lighter.

Cleaner.

“Hey,” Lennon called gently as she walked over, her voice slipping into something warmer without even trying. “You still in charge over here?”

Wren popped up immediately. “I’M ALWAYS IN CHARGE.”

“That checks out,” Lennon said, nodding like this was official.

Then, without hesitation, she bent and scooped her up—easy, natural, like she’d done it a hundred times before. Wren let out a surprised little laugh, immediately wrapping her arms around Lennon’s shoulders, the ball still clutched in one hand.

“I got you,” Lennon murmured, steadying her on her hip.

Wren bounced a little in her arms. “I SAVED IT.”

“You did,” Lennon said, smiling. “Very heroic.”

Wren beamed, then leaned in conspiratorially. “It listens to me.”

“I believe that,” Lennon said.

A beat.

Then, softer—gentle, but with a spark of something playful underneath:

“You wanna see your room now?” she asked.

Wren’s eyes went wide instantly. “MY ROOM?”

“Your room,” Lennon confirmed, shifting her slightly higher on her hip. “Pink couch. Stars. The whole situation.”

Wren gasped like she’d just been handed the keys to a kingdom.

“RIGHT NOW??”

Lennon glanced back over her shoulder briefly—just enough to find him again, that quiet thread still there, still grounding—before looking back at Wren.

“Yeah,” she said, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Soundcheck can wait a minute.”

Wren threw one arm up in victory, the ball nearly flying out of her hand.

“I KNEW THIS WAS THE BEST PLACE EVER.”

“Careful,” Lennon laughed softly, catching the ball before it hit the stage again. “We’re keeping that alive, remember?”

“I SAVED IT TWICE,” Wren reminded her very seriously.

“Three times, actually,” Lennon corrected gently, shifting the ball into her other hand before adjusting Wren more securely against her.

Wren leaned into her, completely content, already talking a mile a minute about what she thought might be inside the room.

Lennon just listened—really listened—as she turned and started toward the wings, her steps steady now, her breathing even.

And for the first time since last night—

the noise stayed quiet.

Lennon lingered for half a second longer—just enough to press one last, quiet steadiness into him—before she finally let herself step back.

Not all at once.

Slowly.

Like she was testing her footing without the anchor of him, even though she knew he was still right there.

Her hand slipped from his chest, her fingers dragging lightly for a second before letting go completely.

She took a breath.

It held.

That was new.

“Stay where I can find you,” she said softly, a small, knowing look passing between them before she turned.

Wren was a few feet away, crouched low again, whispering something very serious to the ball like it had just betrayed her mid-performance.

Lennon watched her for a second—really watched her—and something in her chest shifted in a way that had nothing to do with fear anymore.

It was lighter.

Cleaner.

“Hey,” Lennon called gently as she walked over, her voice slipping into something warmer without even trying. “You still in charge over here?”

Wren popped up immediately. “I’M ALWAYS IN CHARGE.”

“That checks out,” Lennon said, nodding like this was official.

Then, without hesitation, she bent and scooped her up—easy, natural, like she’d done it a hundred times before. Wren let out a surprised little laugh, immediately wrapping her arms around Lennon’s shoulders, the ball still clutched in one hand.

“I got you,” Lennon murmured, steadying her on her hip.

Wren bounced a little in her arms. “I SAVED IT.”

“You did,” Lennon said, smiling. “Very heroic.”

Wren beamed, then leaned in conspiratorially. “It listens to me.”

“I believe that,” Lennon said.

A beat.

Then, softer—gentle, but with a spark of something playful underneath:

“You wanna see your room now?” she asked.

Wren’s eyes went wide instantly. “MY ROOM?”

“Your room,” Lennon confirmed, shifting her slightly higher on her hip. “Pink couch. Stars. The whole situation.”

Wren gasped like she’d just been handed the keys to a kingdom.

“RIGHT NOW??”

Lennon glanced back over her shoulder briefly—just enough to find him again, that quiet thread still there, still grounding—before looking back at Wren.

“Yeah,” she said, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Soundcheck can wait a minute.”

Wren threw one arm up in victory, the ball nearly flying out of her hand.

“I KNEW THIS WAS THE BEST PLACE EVER.”

“Careful,” Lennon laughed softly, catching the ball before it hit the stage again. “We’re keeping that alive, remember?”

“I SAVED IT TWICE,” Wren reminded her very seriously.

“Three times, actually,” Lennon corrected gently, shifting the ball into her other hand before adjusting Wren more securely against her.

Wren leaned into her, completely content, already talking a mile a minute about what she thought might be inside the room.

Lennon just listened—really listened—as she turned and started toward the wings, her steps steady now, her breathing even.

And for the first time since last night—

the noise stayed quiet.

Kai felt every word she gave him like it landed somewhere under bone.

Not because he hadn’t known she was scared.

He had.

He’d seen enough of her by now—enough of the careful breathing, the moments her gaze went just a little too far away, the way she could hold herself together so beautifully it almost hid how hard she was working to do it. But hearing it from her mouth was different. Hearing her say she’d almost called. Hearing her say she was scared no one would come, then scared they would. Hearing the old machinery in her head still trying to dress itself up like control—

that made something in him go sharp and protective and heartbreakingly soft all at once.

He let her say all of it.

Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t fix. Didn’t rush in with some polished line about how she was going to be amazing and the crowd would lose its mind and none of her fears were rational.

He knew better than that.

Fear like that was never interested in being argued with.

So he just held her through it, let her thumb move against his cheek, let her tell the truth without being forced to make it prettier than it was.

And when she kissed him—soft, steady, grounding—he kissed her back like he understood exactly what it was.

Not a distraction. Not a performance.

A choice.

An anchor.

By the time she drew back and told him not to go far, something in his expression had changed so much there wasn’t any point hiding it.

He brushed his thumb once along her jaw and gave the smallest nod. “Not going anywhere.”

Low. Certain. No room in it for doubt.

Then, because she’d trusted him with the ugliest parts of the spiral and he wasn’t about to leave those hanging in the air between them, he kept his voice quiet and said, “And next time you get that far into your head, you call me anyway.”

Her eyes stayed on his.

Kai held them.

“I don’t care if it’s midnight. I don’t care if you don’t even know what you’re trying to say yet. You call.”

No edge. No command. Just unwavering truth.

His hand slid from her jaw to the side of her neck, warm and steady.

“And for the rest of it?” he said. “The sold-out room. The clips. The bad-night fear. All of that.” He shook his head once, small. “You don’t owe anybody perfection, Lennon. You just owe them you.”

That landed.

He saw it.

So he kept going, softer now.

“And if all the gym and the food and the control starts feeling familiar in the wrong way…” His mouth tightened for half a second, not from discomfort, but from how much he meant what came next. “You tell me that too.”

The air between them shifted.

Not heavier. Just more honest.

Kai let his thumb brush her skin once, then let it fall away before he turned what she’d given him into something she had to comfort him for.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he said simply.

That was the sentence.

The one underneath all the rest.

Before he could say anything else, Wren shouted about five seconds, and the moment cracked just enough to let them both breathe again. Lennon laughed softly. The sound moved through him like relief.

Then she stepped away.

Slowly.

And Kai let her.

Not because he wanted to. Because he understood what it cost her to do it on her own two feet.

He watched her hand leave his shirt, watched her take that breath and keep it, watched the steadiness come back into her in small, visible pieces. And when she told him to stay where she could find him, something warm and dangerous pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He tipped his head once. “Always.”

He meant that too.

Then he let her go to Wren.

And God.

He could’ve stood there all day just watching the two of them.

Lennon crossed the space between them with her shoulders looser than they’d been a minute ago, something cleaner in her face now. Wren popped up the second she was addressed, all self-important chaos and bright little authority, and when Lennon scooped her up without hesitation, Kai’s whole chest went tight in a way he was getting less and less equipped to defend himself against.

Because it looked easy.

Because with Lennon and Wren, everything that should have felt complicated kept insisting on being simple instead.

He stayed back a step and let the scene have itself.

Wren on Lennon’s hip, still clinging to that ball like it was state property. Lennon listening to every mile-a-minute word she threw out. The way she adjusted her weight automatically. The way Wren melted right into her like she’d been picked up that way forever.

Kai huffed out a breath through his nose and dragged a hand over his mouth, buying himself half a second to get a grip.

A stage manager appeared at the edge of the wings just then, hesitant and headset-clad, clearly about to ask how much longer they had.

Kai lifted a hand before the guy could speak.

“Give her ten,” he said quietly.

The guy blinked once, glanced toward Lennon and Wren, then nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Kai thanked him with a look more than words and turned back just in time to see Lennon glance over her shoulder and find him.

That quiet thread was still there.

Unbroken.

He gave her the smallest nod.

Go. I’m here.

Then he followed them at an easy pace toward the wings, not crowding, just close enough to stay in her line of sight like he’d promised.

Wren was narrating at full volume by the time they hit the corridor.

“Is there a mirror?” “Are there snacks?” “Can I wear the jacket with a crown?” “Can I sit on the couch with shoes if they’re princess shoes?” “Can I have two snacks if I’m protecting the room?”

Kai snorted under his breath. “That last one sounds like a contract negotiation.”

Wren twisted in Lennon’s arms to look back at him. “It is.”

“Then I assume you want legal representation.”

“No. I’m the boss.”

“That checks out.”

Lennon’s shoulders moved with a quiet laugh, and Kai felt it like a reward.

By the time they reached the door, Wren was vibrating so hard it was a miracle she stayed in Lennon’s arms at all. Lennon shifted the ball under one arm and reached for the handle, and Kai found himself unexpectedly stilled again—because he realized she’d done all this without needing anyone to watch her do it.

She’d thought it through. Built it out. Made it real.

Not for show. For Wren.

The door opened.

And Wren lost her mind.

The sound that came out of her was part gasp, part delighted shriek, loud enough to bounce off the hallway walls. Lennon set her down just in time for the kid to tear into the room like she’d been handed a kingdom.

The bubblegum-pink couch sat against one wall under warm fairy lights. Star-shaped pillows were scattered everywhere. A little dress-up rack actually held tiny dresses and sparkly skirts and a ridiculous little leather jacket that made Kai bark a laugh the second he saw it. Headphones were neatly coiled beside a monitor set up to watch the stage feed. A snack basket sat on the side table like it had been curated by someone who understood both children and tour life.

Wren spun once in the middle of it all, hands to her cheeks.

“This,” she whispered, awed, “is my house now.”

Kai leaned against the doorframe and looked at Lennon.

Really looked.

She was watching Wren, and all the fear that had been riding her face minutes ago had eased under the softer weight of this. Not gone. But quieter. Like the room in her head had been forced to make space for something brighter.

He stepped fully inside.

Wren had already thrown the ball onto the pink couch and was dragging the tiny jacket off the rack with both hands.

“Daddy!” she shouted. “Look!”

“Oh, I’m looking,” Kai said. “I’m also realizing I’ve never had a setup this good in my life.”

Wren thrust the jacket at him. “Help.”

He took it from her and crouched as she jammed one arm in, then the other. When he zipped it halfway and leaned back, Wren planted her little boots wide and threw both hands onto her hips.

Kai put a hand to his chest. “Yeah. Okay. This is a dictatorship now.”

Wren beamed. “I know.”

That got him laughing again.

Then he looked up at Lennon, still by the door, and the laugh softened into something quieter.

Something fuller.

He stood and crossed to her, stopping close enough that the rest of the room fell back a little.

Wren was too busy climbing onto her pink throne to care.

Kai’s gaze held Lennon’s for a second, then dropped briefly as if he were steadying himself before saying what he meant.

“I’m gonna say thank you one more time,” he murmured. “And you’re gonna let me.”

That got the smallest lift at the corner of her mouth.

He smiled back, softer.

“You didn’t just make her happy,” he said. “You gave her somewhere to put all this. A way to be part of it instead of waiting around the edges.” His eyes moved over her face slowly. “You do that better than anyone I know.”

The feeling in his chest thickened when he glanced at Wren again—already curled on the couch, tiny jacket on, crown in her lap, happily lost inside the world Lennon had made for her.

When he looked back, his voice was rougher.

“She’ll remember this,” he said quietly. “Maybe not every detail. But she’ll remember how you made her feel.”

A beat.

“So will I.”

There it was.

Plain. Unhidden.

Kai let the silence hold for one second, then reached up and brushed his knuckles lightly along Lennon’s cheek.

And because he could see the steadiness in her now, because he could feel it returning, because he knew she was almost ready to go be the version of herself the whole building was waiting on—

he leaned in and kissed her forehead one more time.

Then, lower, just for her, “Stay brave for one more room, superstar.”

Wren popped up from the couch at exactly the wrong—or maybe perfect—second and shouted, “I FOUND THE SNACKS.”

Kai laughed, stepping back just enough to breathe again.

“See?” he said, eyes still on Lennon. “Your security detail’s already thriving.”

And this time, when he smiled at her, it wasn’t only warm.

It was proud. It was certain. It was there for as long as she needed to reach for it.

Lennon didn’t answer him right away when he said he wasn’t going anywhere.

She felt it first.

The steadiness of it. The way it didn’t ask anything back from her, didn’t try to dress itself up into something bigger or softer than it was. Just there. Solid enough to lean on without worrying it might shift.

Her fingers stayed lightly curled into the fabric of his shirt for a second longer than they needed to, like she was testing the weight of it, like she was letting that certainty settle somewhere deeper than her ribs.

Then her gaze lifted fully to his, and something in her expression eased—not gone, not fixed, but… quieter.

“Okay,” she said, barely above a breath.

Not dismissive. Not brushing it off.

Accepting it.

When he told her to call him anyway next time, no matter how late, no matter how little sense it made—her mouth pressed together, just slightly. Not resistance. Not exactly.

It was recognition.

The kind that landed a little too close to something she’d spent years managing on her own.

Her thumb slowed where it rested against his cheek.

“You’re gonna regret saying that when I call you at, like, two in the morning and can’t form a full sentence,” she murmured, soft but real, her eyes not leaving his. “I’m serious.”

There was a faint edge of vulnerability under it, like she wasn’t entirely sure she knew how to do what he was asking—but she wasn’t pushing it away either.

She was… considering it.

Letting it exist.

Then he said she didn’t owe anyone perfection.

That she just owed them her.

That one—

That one hit clean.

Lennon’s breath caught, almost imperceptibly, and her gaze flickered for half a second before it came back to him, sharper now, like something inside her had been called out by name.

Her voice, when it came, was quieter.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

But it wasn’t defensive.

It was the kind of know that meant she was still learning how to believe it.

And when he mentioned the gym. The food. The control.

That old, familiar machinery.

Her body stilled.

Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone else in the room would clock.

But he would.

Her shoulders didn’t tense—they just… held. Her breathing went a fraction more measured, like she’d instinctively reached for something to steady herself before she even realized she needed to.

Her eyes dropped from his for a second.

Not avoidance.

More like… recalibration.

Then she looked back up.

There was something more exposed there now. Not fragile—but honest in a way she didn’t always let people see.

“I will,” she said, softer than anything she’d given him yet.

No joke this time. No deflection.

Just a quiet, deliberate promise.

When he said she wasn’t doing this alone, Lennon’s lips parted like she might respond—but nothing came out.

Because that sentence didn’t need anything added to it.

It just… stayed.

And she let it.

By the time they reached the dressing room, she’d found enough of herself again to move easily—to carry Wren, to laugh under her breath, to let the rhythm of the moment carry her forward.

But it wasn’t the same as before.

It was steadier.

More grounded.

When the door opened and Wren exploded into the room, Lennon’s face softened immediately, the last remnants of that earlier tightness easing under the weight of something warmer.

She leaned back against the door for a second, just watching.

Letting it land.

Then Wren started spinning and claiming ownership of the entire space, and Lennon huffed out a quiet, fond breath before stepping further in.

But when Wren grabbed the jacket and Kai crouched to help her into it, Lennon didn’t stay standing.

She moved.

Crossed the room slowly, deliberately, and then lowered herself down—knees bending until she was at Wren’s level, steady and present, eye-to-eye like it mattered.

Because it did.

Her hand came up, brushing a piece of hair back from Wren’s face, gentle and grounding even through all that chaos.

“Hey,” she said softly, waiting until Wren actually looked at her.

“Yeah?” Wren said, still buzzing.

Lennon smiled—small, but real.

“So,” she said, voice warm, steady. “Whenever you’re with your dad and he comes to visit on the road…”

She gestured lightly around the room.

“There’s always gonna be a place for you, okay? Like this.”

Wren blinked at her, absorbing.

Lennon’s expression softened further.

“Even if it means half of my dressing room gets taken over by princess couches and jackets and snacks,” she added, a hint of humor threading through it. “That just means you belong here.”

Wren’s face lit up in a way that made something in Lennon’s chest pull tight—in a good way this time.

“And when the tour’s over,” Lennon continued, brushing her thumb lightly along Wren’s cheek, “you get to take it home. All of it.”

Wren gasped like she’d just been handed the keys to something enormous.

“ALL of it?”

“All of it,” Lennon confirmed, smiling.

That did it.

Wren launched forward, arms wrapping around Lennon’s neck in a sudden, fierce hug, and Lennon laughed softly, catching her without hesitation, holding her close for a second longer than she probably needed to.

Because she wanted to.

When Wren pulled back and ran off again to reclaim her “house,” Lennon stayed there for a beat, still crouched, still grounded.

Then she stood.

Turned.

And found Kai already looking at her.

When he said he was going to thank her again—and that she was going to let him—Lennon’s mouth curved just slightly, a quiet exhale leaving her like she already knew she wasn’t going to win that argument.

“Fine,” she said softly. “But just this once.”

There was no real resistance in it.

When he told her what it meant—that she hadn’t just made Wren happy, that she’d given her a place inside all of this—Lennon’s expression shifted again.

Less guarded.

More… affected.

Her arms folded loosely across herself, not defensive—just something to hold onto while she let the weight of what he was saying settle.

“You give me a lot of credit,” she murmured, glancing toward Wren for a second before looking back at him. “She makes it pretty easy.”

But her voice softened at the edges.

Because she knew it wasn’t just that.

When he said Wren would remember how she made her feel—

Lennon’s throat tightened.

Just slightly.

Enough that she had to take a breath before she answered.

“I hope so,” she said quietly.

Not fishing. Not uncertain.

Just… honest.

And when he added that he would remember too—

That one lingered.

Her eyes held his, something deeper moving through them now, something that didn’t try to hide.

She didn’t deflect it.

Didn’t make a joke.

She just… took it.

Let it sit between them, real and unpolished.

“Yeah,” she said, softer now. “You will.”

When his knuckles brushed her cheek, she leaned into it without thinking—just a fraction, just enough to meet him halfway.

And when he kissed her forehead, her eyes closed for a second, letting herself feel it fully before she opened them again.

His words—stay brave for one more room—pulled the smallest, breath-laced smile from her.

“I can do one more room,” she murmured.

Not trying to sound stronger than she was.

Just… enough.

Then Wren shouted about the snacks, and Lennon huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she glanced over.

“Of course you did,” she called lightly.

But when she looked back at Kai—

That steadiness was still there.

And this time, when she met his eyes, there wasn’t the same question underneath it.

Just something quieter.

Something that trusted he’d still be there when she came back.

Lennon held his gaze for a second longer than she meant to.

It wasn’t deliberate at first.

Just… a pause that stretched.

Because something in her had settled into place in a way she didn’t quite know how to step away from yet. The room, the noise, Wren’s running commentary behind them—it all softened at the edges, like it had taken a step back to give her a moment she hadn’t planned for.

Her fingers shifted at her sides, then lifted—almost absentmindedly at first—until they found the front of his shirt again.

Grounding.

Familiar.

She exhaled a quiet breath, steadying herself on it.

Then she moved.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t uncertain.

Just… chosen.

Her hand tightened slightly in the fabric as she gave the smallest pull, enough to turn him toward her fully, enough to close the last bit of distance between them. Her other hand came up to his jaw, fingers warm against his skin, anchoring him there with her.

For a split second, she just looked at him.

Really looked.

Like she was making sure he was still exactly where he said he’d be.

Then she leaned in and kissed him.

Soft—but not tentative.

There was something deeper in it now. Not just grounding this time. Not just steadying.

Something that held.

Something that meant.

Her fingers curled slightly at his jaw, her thumb brushing just under his cheekbone as she stayed there for a breath longer than she had before, like she didn’t need to rush out of it.

When she pulled back, it wasn’t far.

Barely an inch.

Her forehead almost brushed his, her breath still caught somewhere between them, her eyes not quite opening all the way at first like she was still halfway inside the moment.

Then she spoke.

So quiet it was almost just for him.

“I love you.”

It slipped out without performance. Without buildup.

Like it had already been true and she’d just finally said it out loud.

Her gaze lifted fully to his then, searching for half a second—not doubt, not fear, just… letting him have it.

Then, before the moment could get too still, too heavy in a way that might pull her back into her own head—

she leaned in again.

Kissed him a second time.

Quicker this time, but just as sure.

Like she was sealing it in place.

When she pulled back, there was the smallest, almost disbelieving smile at the corner of her mouth, breath soft as she shook her head just once.

“Okay,” she murmured, more to herself than anything, like she’d surprised even herself a little.

Then her hand slid from his jaw, fingers brushing his shirt once more before letting go—not because she wanted to, but because she could.

Because she knew he’d still be right there when she turned back.

Wren’s voice cut through the moment again from across the room—

“I HAVE THREE SNACKS. IS THAT TOO MANY OR IS THAT STRATEGIC?”

Lennon let out a quiet laugh, finally stepping back fully, glancing over her shoulder.

“Strategic,” she called back easily.

But when she looked at Kai one more time—

there was nothing unsure in her expression now.

Just something steady.

And entirely his.

Lennon let the moment with Kai settle where it needed to—warm, steady, real—before she turned back toward the room.

Toward Wren.

Toward the part of this that mattered just as much.

She crossed the space slowly, watching Wren perched on the pink couch, surrounded by snacks like she’d already claimed full ownership of the place. There was something about the sight of her—tiny boots, oversized jacket, complete confidence—that softened Lennon all over again.

So she didn’t call out this time.

She stepped closer and lowered herself down, knees bending until she was right there at Wren’s level again. Eye-to-eye. Present.

“Hey,” she said gently.

Wren looked up immediately, cheeks already a little full. “What?”

Lennon smiled, brushing a crumb lightly off the front of her jacket with her thumb.

“How would you feel,” she started, voice warm and just a little conspiratorial, “about taking those snacks on a field trip?”

Wren’s eyes widened. “Where?”

Lennon leaned in slightly, like she was letting her in on something important.

“To soundcheck.”

That did it.

Wren gasped like it was the best idea she’d ever heard.

“Wait—really?!”

“Really,” Lennon nodded, her smile growing. “Front row seats. Just for you and your dad.”

She tilted her head just slightly toward where Kai stood, like he was already part of the plan—because he was.

“No waiting around. No guessing what’s happening. You get to see all of it.”

Wren’s mouth dropped open, already halfway to bouncing.

“Can I bring all the snacks?”

Lennon huffed out a quiet laugh. “Within reason.”

Wren immediately grabbed another handful anyway.

Lennon shook her head softly, reaching out to steady her as she nearly tipped off the couch in her excitement.

“Careful,” she murmured, her hand resting briefly at Wren’s shoulder—grounding, instinctive.

Then she glanced up, finding Kai again.

There was a different kind of steadiness in her now.

Less fragile. More… lived-in.

“You good with that?” she asked him, easy but still checking—because it mattered.

Even though she already knew the answer.

Then her gaze dropped back to Wren, softening all over again.

“C’mon,” she said, standing and offering her hand. “Let’s go see what your kingdom looks like from the front.”

For a second, Kai forgot how to breathe.

Not when she kissed him the first time.

Not even when she pulled him closer by the front of his shirt like she had every right to.

It was the words.

Three of them. Quiet enough to belong only to him. Soft enough that anyone else might’ve missed the weight of them.

He didn’t.

He felt them hit somewhere deep and immediate, like they bypassed thought entirely and went straight for the center of him.

I love you.

Kai just looked at her.

Really looked at her.

At the steadiness in her face. At the slight catch of surprise still lingering in the corner of her mouth, like she had maybe startled herself too. At the way she didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften it. Didn’t rush in to explain it into something safer.

She just gave it to him.

Whole.

And God, he had been in loud rooms his whole life. Rooms built for impact. For spectacle. For the kind of moments people talked about afterward like they’d witnessed something massive.

None of that had ever felt as big as this.

When she kissed him the second time, quicker but just as sure, he let one hand come up to her waist on instinct, grounding himself as much as her. And when she stepped back, when she turned toward Wren and the snacks and the next necessary thing—

Kai was still there for a beat, standing in the middle of the little pink kingdom she’d made, trying to get his pulse back under control.

He loved her.

That part had been true for longer than he wanted to measure.

But hearing her say it—

Hearing Lennon say it like she was finally done pretending it was anything else—

that did something to him he was not prepared to handle gracefully.

Wren’s voice, thankfully, cut through before he could fully short-circuit.

“I HAVE THREE SNACKS. IS THAT TOO MANY OR IS THAT STRATEGIC?”

Kai huffed out a breath that turned into a helpless laugh, one hand dragging over his mouth as he watched Lennon answer her with that easy warmth that seemed to come so naturally now.

Strategic.

Of course.

Of course she’d call it strategic.

And then she was crossing the room, softening all over again for Wren, crouching down, offering soundcheck like it was the most obvious next step in the world.

Kai leaned back against the wall for half a second and let himself have the sight of it.

The woman he loved. The little girl he loved most in the world. The ridiculous bubblegum-pink dressing room somehow holding both of them like it had been built for exactly this.

He was in trouble.

The good kind. The permanent kind.

By the time Lennon glanced up and asked if he was good with taking Wren to soundcheck, Kai had recovered enough to straighten and push off the wall.

His eyes found hers first.

They held there for a second too long to count as casual.

And whatever she saw on his face made something in her expression quiet even further—less question now, more recognition.

Kai’s mouth curved, slow and full of too much feeling to pass for anything light.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower than usual. “I’m very good with that.”

His gaze flicked to Wren then, who was already attempting to gather snacks into the pockets of her tiny leather jacket like this was a completely reasonable use of couture.

“Although I’d like the record to show I’m not responsible for whatever she smuggles into the front row.”

“I NEED OPTIONS,” Wren said immediately, as if that settled the matter.

Kai nodded solemnly. “Of course you do. I was out of line.”

That got a bright grin out of her and a soft laugh from Lennon, and that sound nearly undid him all over again.

Because now he heard everything differently.

Now every glance from her felt threaded with it. Every small smile. Every easy breath.

I love you.

Kai crossed the room then, stopping near the couch where Wren was still organizing her snack situation with the ruthless focus of a tiny tyrant.

He crouched in front of her first, because if he looked at Lennon too long before he dealt with this, he was going to say something that would take all the air out of the room.

“Okay, security detail,” he said, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Front row soundcheck comes with responsibilities.”

Wren’s eyes widened. “What responsibilities?”

“No launching the ball at anyone’s head.”

She thought about that. “Even by accident?”

“Especially by accident.”

“Okay.”

“No screaming directly into the mic if you somehow get near one.”

“I won’t,” she promised, which meant absolutely nothing.

“And”—Kai reached over and plucked one of the snack bags from her hand—“we pace ourselves. You cannot eat all the snacks before the first song.”

Wren frowned. “Why?”

“Because then you’ll crash halfway through and blame us.”

“I would never.”

Kai just stared at her.

Wren stared back for exactly two seconds before her grin broke loose. “Maybe a little.”

“Thought so.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then lowered his voice like they were discussing classified information. “Also? That jacket is very intimidating.”

Wren immediately sat up straighter. “I know.”

“Good. That’s important.”

Then he stood.

And finally—

finally—he looked at Lennon again with no one else in the way.

Wren was busy. The room was warm and bright and ridiculous. Outside, the distant movement of crew and carts and headsets kept the tour humming along. But in here, for one held breath of time, it was just her and that look she kept giving him now—steady, open, no longer asking if he’d still be there.

He moved closer.

Not rushed. Not uncertain.

Just drawn.

His hand came up to the back of her neck, thumb brushing below her ear, and when he spoke his voice was quiet enough that Wren couldn’t possibly hear it over the crinkle of snack wrappers and her own self-narration.

“I love you too.”

No hesitation. No flourish. No holding back because the room was too small or the timing was too strange or there was a child in a leather jacket six feet away building a snack fortress.

Just truth.

It passed through him steady and full and exactly right.

His gaze moved over her face once, as if he were still letting himself believe this was happening in real time.

“I think I’ve been loving you for a while,” he admitted softly, a faint, disbelieving smile pulling at his mouth. “I just didn’t want to be the guy who said it in the middle of a tour prep meltdown and made your life harder.”

There was a little humor in it, but only a little. Mostly it was reverence. Relief. The kind that made a man feel half wrecked just standing there.

His thumb slid once along her skin.

“So, for the record,” he murmured, “hearing you say it back before soundcheck is... way better than anything I had planned.”

That finally cracked a fuller smile across his face.

Warm. A little helpless despite himself.

Then his expression softened again, deeper this time.

“And I meant everything I said out there,” he added. “About you not doing this alone. About calling me. About all of it.”

His eyes held hers.

“That wasn’t me saying the right thing because you were having a moment.” He shook his head once, small. “That was me telling you how this works now.”

Something about that sat between them with a certainty he didn’t try to tone down.

Before she could answer—before he could completely forget they weren’t alone—Wren popped upright on the couch with both hands full.

“I’M READY.”

Kai turned to her and blinked. “For what?”

“For front row seats.”

She held up two granola bars, a fruit snack pack, and what looked alarmingly like three different kinds of crackers.

Kai looked at Lennon, then back at Wren. “Bug, you’re packing like we’re crossing a desert.”

“It’s a long soundcheck.”

“It is not.”

“It could be.”

Kai let out a laugh and held out both hands. “Okay. Hand over half the stash. We’re traveling light.”

Wren gasped in outrage. “This is light.”

Lennon’s laugh came softer this time, but it hit him just as hard.

He looked at her again and found himself smiling without trying. Not a performance smile. Not the one people knew from cameras and stages and practiced ease.

This one belonged here.

“Help me negotiate with your tiny criminal,” he said.

Wren clutched the snacks to her chest. “I’m not a criminal. I’m strategic.”

Kai pointed at her. “See? This is your influence.”

That got him a look from Lennon—fond, warm, glowing with something that made the whole room feel too small in the best possible way.

He took one more step toward her then, bent, and kissed her quickly this time. Just once. Just enough to say I’m still here, I’m still hearing it, I’m still carrying it.

When he drew back, his forehead nearly brushed hers for a second.

“One more room,” he murmured, echoing her earlier words back to her.

Then, softer—

“And then a few thousand people who are about to lose their minds.”

He glanced over at Wren, who was now trying to hide fruit snacks in the couch cushions like she was creating emergency reserves.

Kai sighed. “Absolutely no couch rations.”

“I’m preparing,” Wren said.

“You’re hoarding.”

“Same thing.”

Kai laughed under his breath, then finally turned fully toward her and offered his hand.

“C’mon, boss. Front row.”

Wren slid off the couch in a flash, tiny jacket squeaking, crown crooked now from the speed of her movement. She jammed one small hand into his and reached the other toward Lennon automatically, like there was never any question she was coming too.

Kai looked at Lennon over the top of Wren’s curls.

There it was again—that thread.

Only now it felt less fragile. Less tentative. Less like something they were tiptoeing around and more like something real they had both finally touched with bare hands.

He gave her a look that said everything he didn’t want to say out loud in front of Wren.

I meant it. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Then he squeezed Wren’s hand once and grinned.

“Alright, front row royalty—time to report for duty.”

Lennon didn’t try to rush through it.

Not the feeling. Not the way it sat in her chest after he said it back. Not the way everything in the room had shifted just slightly on its axis, like something had finally clicked into place instead of hovering just out of reach.

Her eyes stayed on him for a second longer than necessary—long enough that the rest of the room blurred a little at the edges.

“Yeah,” she said softly, almost to herself, but still meant for him. “You are.”

Very good with that.

There was a small, almost shy curve to her mouth that hadn’t been there earlier—less guarded now, less like she was bracing for impact.

At his comment about the snacks, she glanced over at Wren, watching her stuff things into that tiny jacket with absolute conviction.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Lennon murmured lightly, but there was warmth under it—ease, finally.

“I NEED OPTIONS,” Wren repeated.

“I can see that,” Lennon said, crouching just slightly to eye her. “But options don’t mean everything.”

Wren paused.

Considered.

“…most things,” she negotiated.

“Two,” Lennon countered gently, plucking one item free with practiced calm. “And one backup. That’s the deal.”

Wren narrowed her eyes, then sighed like the weight of leadership was exhausting.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Lennon said, just as serious.

Her gaze flicked back to Kai at his next line, something softer settling in her expression again.

“You started it,” she pointed out quietly. “Security detail was your call.”

But she was smiling when she said it.

When he moved closer—when his hand found the back of her neck and his voice dropped—Lennon stilled again, but not in that panicked way from before.

This time, it was quieter.

Steadier.

Her breath caught just slightly at his words, even though she’d just said them first.

Even though she knew.

Hearing it still did something.

Her hand lifted without thinking, fingers brushing lightly along his wrist, grounding herself there.

“I know,” she whispered back, not interrupting him, just letting it sit between them.

Her gaze softened at what he admitted next, something in her expression warming with recognition.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I think I knew that too.”

Her thumb moved once against his skin before she let her hand fall again, not pulling away—just letting the moment breathe instead of holding onto it too tightly.

“And I’m glad you didn’t,” she added quietly. “Not like that. This… is better.”

It was.

Everything about it was.

At his next words, she held his gaze a second longer, something more certain settling behind her eyes now.

“I hear you,” she said simply.

No overpromising. No dramatics.

Just truth.

Then Wren exploded back into the moment.

Lennon huffed a soft laugh under her breath, shaking her head slightly as she looked over.

“Front row seats, huh?”

“I’M READY,” Wren insisted.

“I can tell,” Lennon said, eyeing the stash. “That’s… ambitious.”

As Kai tried to negotiate, Lennon folded her arms loosely, watching the two of them with something soft and unguarded now—something that made her chest feel a little too full in the best way.

When he looked at her for help, she tipped her head slightly.

“You made her this way,” she said. “I’m just maintaining.”

But she stepped in anyway, easing one more item out of Wren’s grip.

“Half,” she agreed quietly. “You’ll survive.”

Wren clutched what remained like it was a victory.

“I’m strategic,” she repeated.

“Clearly,” Lennon said, lips pressing together to keep from smiling wider.

At Kai’s comment, she shot him a look—fond, a little amused, something softer threading through it now that hadn’t been there before.

“That’s not my influence,” she said. “That’s instinct.”

When he kissed her again—quick, grounding—her hand lifted briefly, brushing his chest where she’d pulled him in earlier.

Not holding him there this time.

Just… acknowledging.

“One more room,” she echoed quietly, meeting his eyes.

This time, it didn’t feel like something she had to push herself through.

It just felt like the next step.

Wren’s voice cut in again, and Lennon turned back to her automatically.

“No couch rations,” she added, lifting a brow.

“I’m preparing,” Wren argued.

“You’re hoarding,” Lennon corrected gently.

“Same thing,” Wren insisted.

Lennon shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“Come on, boss,” she said softly as Wren grabbed Kai’s hand.

Wren reached for her without even looking, and Lennon took it immediately, fingers curling around hers like it was instinct.

Then they were moving.

Out of the room.

Into the hallway.

The noise picked up again—crew, voices, movement—but Lennon’s focus stayed exactly where it needed to be.

Down.

On Wren.

“Middle,” she reminded softly. “No running.”

“I’m not running.”

“That’s because I said it first.”

Wren huffed.

Lennon’s thumb brushed once over the back of her hand, grounding.

And then—

without really thinking—

her other hand reached out.

Found Kai’s.

Fingers slipping into his like it belonged there now.

She didn’t look up right away.

Her attention stayed on Wren, guiding her steps, making sure she didn’t trip, didn’t veer too far ahead.

But there was a softness to her now.

A quiet, steady warmth that hadn’t been there earlier when everything felt too big, too loud, too uncertain.

Now it was just—

this.

His hand in hers.

Wren between them.

The hallway opening toward the stage.

When Lennon finally lifted her gaze, it wasn’t with hesitation.

It was with something quieter. Stronger.

Not fearless.

Just… not alone.

Her grip tightened slightly—on both of them—as they stepped forward together, the stage coming into view again, the lights stretching out ahead.

And this time, it didn’t feel overwhelming.

It felt like something she could walk into.

Because she wasn’t walking in by herself.

And she didn’t let go.