“Up,” Chase said, taking me by the arm. “Now, Logan. I’m not kidding.”

With the gaggle of press camped out in front of Twin Souls, there was no way he was kicking me out. Even if his girl put him up to it. Yeah, Taryn told me to leave. But I wasn’t budging.

“I’m just waiting to talk to my manager,” I said calmly as I shoved to my feet.

Anger flashed in Chase’s hazel eyes. So much like Cameron’s, but different. Crazier. Sure, Chase hid it all behind a calm exterior. But underneath, the dude had a fuse like mine, and from the vein bulging in his neck, he was about to blow.

“You did speak to your manager,” he growled, his eyes darting to the receptionist who’d taken a keen interest in our conversation. “She told you to carry your ass home.”

And wait.

But I was done waiting. I’d been waiting my whole life.

“My other manager.” Victoria. The little thief who stole all my tomorrows when I was only eight. She’d been holding them in her pocket ever since. Even if she didn’t realize it. I held up her copy of Wuthering Heights. “I’ve got something that belongs to her.”

Rather than continue our chat in front of witnesses, Chase yanked me toward the hallway with the executive offices. My heart sank as we passed Tori’s open door. The lights were off, and her desk was clear of any clutter. She wasn’t here.

Chase gave me a shove, and I stumbled over the threshold and into Taryn’s office. He closed the door, and for a minute, I was a little worried. His girl looked ready to rip my head off, and I wasn’t so sure that Chase wouldn’t let her.

Rounding the desk, Taryn headed straight for me, flames dancing in her stormy blue eyes. “What about ‘go home” do you not understand?”

Chase cut in front of her at the last minute, steering her over to the sofa and urging her to take a seat.

Once she was settled, he tipped his chin to the chair, and I obliged.

“I need to talk to her, Taryn,” I said.

“You and everyone else. Have you seen the press outside? I told you to wait. The concert’s in two—”

“I’m not waiting. Her phone is off, and I want to know she’s okay.”

Chase’s hand came down on Taryn’s shoulder when her butt rose off the cushions. “Of course she’s okay. Do you think I’d be sitting here if she weren’t okay?”

I fingered the copy of Tori’s note, tucked in the pages of the book. “Not good enough. I want to see for myself.” I took a deep breath and softened my tone. “She left me, Taryn. Not the other way around.”

Technically, it was true. But I hadn’t given her much choice.

“And do you really think you two are going to ride off into the sunset after you went to LA to make that deal with Mac?”

My gaze flicked to Chase, and I didn’t know whether to strangle the dude or commend him for his loyalty. He knew I was in LA, and more importantly he knew why.

Slowly, and with purpose, his gaze shifted to Taryn’s office phone on the desk. A single light shone brightly on the panel below the keypad. It took me a second to catch on. I was on speaker and Tori was listening.

Releasing a controlled breath, I began, “I didn’t go to LA to make any deals with Mac. I didn’t even see Mac while I was there. If you don’t believe me I’ll call him right now and tell him to go to hell. Again. I don’t want a solo career or a record deal with Metro. I want to be here. My heart is here.”

With you. Always with you.

Staring at the tiny beacon on the phone, I willed Tori to answer. But all I got was silence. And when the light flicked off, my world went dark right along with it.

I stared at the phone, hanging on to Logan’s every word. I could swear he was talking straight to me.

He wasn’t leaving.

My heart is here.

He hadn’t mentioned that in his voicemails, only saying he needed to see me. Which, of course, I took to mean he wanted to tell me in person that he was taking Mac up on his offer.

“Pride is one of those seven deadlies,” came the voice from across the room.

My head snapped up, and I found Miles propped against the wall, ankles crossed one over the other. And I don’t know why— maybe because I knew he was right—but I hung up. And then dismayed, I blinked at the screen.

A laugh from my drummer. “Jesus Christ, Belle. You are so fucking stubborn.”

I set down the phone and ran a shaky hand through my hair. My heart raced as if I’d just run a marathon, and my skin felt too tight. Was I having a heart attack? I rubbed at the tender spot on my chest.

“Let’s get back to work,” I said thickly.

He sighed and then hobbled over while I jotted some notes on the sheet music I’d been working on.

Lost and found, you turned me around, and it all came down to you.

Our song, the one that Logan and I had composed on our cross-country journey. The lyrics blurred, shimmering under the canned lights in Miles’s studio.

“So you don’t even want to talk about it?” he said, taking a seat beside me.

“Nope.” I scrambled to retrieve the paper when Miles plucked it from my hand. “Give it back!”

Settling sideways into the corner of the sofa, he glanced over the song. “Pretty sappy stuff here, Grayson.” His gaze darted to mine, and all the humor left his face. “Are you still Grayson?”

My shoulders sagged, and in that instant, a little piece of me fell away. And I knew why I kept going back and forth with Logan. Yes, I was ready to move on. But who was I if I wasn’t Belle Grayson? It went deeper than some persona the media had gifted me. It went all the way to my soul. To the memories shared with every important person in my life. It was much more than a name. It was his name.

Had I really let go?

I eased back against the cushions, frowning. “I don’t know.”

Miles tossed the sheet music on the table and scooted over. “Do you still want to be?”

I cut my gaze to his and shrugged. I fucking shrugged. Not from ambivalence. The answer held so much weight, I couldn’t force the words from my lips.

If I said yes, did that doom my future relationships to fail? Consign all others to some secondary status? And if I said no, wasn’t that giving up a part of me I wanted to preserve? The music and the memories and, yes … the pain. The pain was part of me too, like my scars. There was beauty in those scars. A truth in the imperfections. Logan had helped me see that.

Logan …

It all came down to you.

Minutes passed, and Miles didn’t say anything. He was always the strong, silent type. Not one to impose his will through rhetoric. Unless it was really important.

“Belle?” I cringed without meaning to, and his gaze caught mine. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “You don’t want to be ‘Belle’ anymore?”

He looked confused, and maybe a little crestfallen. And that was the problem. So many expectations. Even from those who had my best interests at heart.

“Nobody was supposed to know about ‘Belle,’” I said quietly. “Belle was something between Rhenn and me. And when he died …”

Miles nodded slowly. “It’s painful, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And the Grayson?”

“I don’t mind the Grayson.” I frowned. “Do you think that means I haven’t moved on?”

He pondered for a moment and then lifted his shirt. Over his heart he wore the same R with the crown that was inked on my back. And above that, a flying guitar with a ribbon that simply read “Paige.”

“Does this mean that I haven’t moved on?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “It’s a tribute, Be … Tori. Like this.” Holding his wrist next to mine, the two birds etched in the far corner became four when they joined the ones inked on my skin. We all had them—Taryn, Dylan, Beckett, even fans. Everyone whose lives Rhenn and Paige had touched with their music, and their love, and their light.

An idea came to me suddenly, and I grabbed my guitar. “I want to make a change to the last song in the set.”

Miles snagged his drumsticks from the table and then looked over at me with a smile. “Anything you say, Tori Belle.”

Tori Belle …

I could live with that.