We hold hands as we walk to the end of the pit platform, unable to let go even for a moment. The crowd hasn’t stopped screaming since Ryder’s song faded out, since our lips tangled together in a kiss that made all the pain and heartbreak of the past few months worth it, ten times over.

My whole body shakes as we take our places in the center of the platform. Not back to back, like we usually do — face to face, eyes locked, breathing to the same tempo, every beat of our hearts in perfect sync.

“I don’t know if I can sing, right now,” I whisper tremulously as the first notes of Faded start to drift around us.

“Of course you can, baby.” His grin grabs hold of my heart and doesn’t let go. “I’m right here with you.”

His words are enough to ground me. To center me.

We never look away from each other as we belt out our biggest hit, the whole stadium joining in as we reach the chorus.

In that moment, with music in my soul and stars in my eyes, I know, no matter what, the words I spoke to him were true.

I am his and he is mine.

Come what may.

Because for him — for us — I’d do anything.

Even rearrange the goddamned constellations.

The backstage meet-and-greet session is the longest hour of my entire life, even with Ryder standing a few inches away, his arm brushing mine every few seconds. Maybe especially with him standing there. The desire thrumming between us is burning so hot, I can feel it singing my skin beneath my clothes.

Fifty more minutes.

We smile and mingle with our fans, thanking them for coming with big smiles on our faces. Meanwhile, inside, I’m dying.

Cause of death? Ryder Woods.

Forty more minutes.

The strain of being next to him but unable to touch him, surrounded by a room full of people watching our every move, is enough to drive me insane.

Thirty more minutes.

I want his mouth on my skin, my hands in his hair. I want crisp sheets and soft sighs, his name on my lips as we finally, finally, finally…

“Thank you so much for coming!” I say brightly, waving goodbye to a young couple who drove all the way from Mississippi to see us.

Ryder’s gaze slides to mine, taking in the sight of my bright red cheeks, my lust-clouded eyes. A wolfish smile appears. He leans in a shade, close enough that his stubble brushes the sensitive shell of my ear, and whispers, “You’d better wipe those needy thoughts off your face, baby. Otherwise I’m dragging you into the closest broom closet and making good on two years worth of sexual frustration.”

“Are you trying to dissuade me?” I gulp, a bolt of desire shooting straight between my legs. “Because that doesn’t sound so bad…”

“Felicity.”

I meet his eyes and see they’re spilling over with need. “A bed. Not a broom closet. Hours. Not minutes. Alone. Not with a room full of people around the corner.” His nostrils flare. “Got it?”

My brain feels rather foggy as I contemplate hours in a bed with him, after so long apart. His head between my legs… my tongue tracing every letter of the tattoo over his heart…

“Twenty more minutes,” I breathe.

“Christ,” he growls, looking away from my face, a muscle jumping in his cheek. I worry he’s upset with me, but a few seconds later, his hand curls around mine. Our fingers intertwine so tight, I’ll probably lose circulation, but I don’t let go. Not even when the next group of fans come spilling into the room, and I’m forced to sign autographs one-handed.

Ten more minutes.

When only single digits remain on the clock, I’m about ready to do a jig.

Naked. Horizontal. While lying beneath Ryder.

I glance toward him as the final fan steps through the doors. The grin falls off my face when I catch sight of Ryder’s expression. He’s staring intently across the room at an elegant-looking brunette. She’s dressed far more conservatively than most people do for a concert, her skirt and blazer combo at once tasteful and demure. Even if she wasn’t staring at the man by my side like he’s responsible for the very earth turning beneath her feet, I’d know she was Ryder’s mother.

They look so alike, it makes my breath catch.

Ryder’s hand squeezes mine tighter as she approaches, coming to a stop a handful of feet away. She clutches her purse so hard, her manicured fingers go white. I get the sense it’s to keep herself from hurling her body into her son’s arms.

“You got the tickets.” Ryder’s voice is carefully blank.

She nods. “Yes.”

“I’m surprised you came.”

“Oh, Ryder…” Her voice breaks. “Of course I did.”

“And Dad?”

She shakes her head, wincing. “I’m sorry, he—”

“It’s fine.” Ryder cuts her off. “Really.”

He doesn’t react, not outwardly, but I can see the way his father’s absence carves into him with deep strokes. His grip tightens on mine, almost to the point of pain. I squeeze back as tightly as I can manage, ignoring my smarting eyes.

The silence stretches on, going stale with all the things they aren’t saying.

“You must be Mrs. Woods,” I interject softly. “I’m Felicity Wilde, Ryder’s…” Ex-girlfriend? Rekindled flame? Soon-to-be sex slave? “—singing partner,” I finish lamely.

Her eyes flicker to mine, full of warmth. “Well, of course you are. It’s so lovely to finally meet you.” Her eyes drift back to her son. “I’ve followed your career, these past few years. Kept track of what you were doing, as best I could.”

Ryder tenses. “Why?”

“Why?” Her voice is sad. So, so sad. “You’re my son, Ryder. I’m so proud of you, of everything you’ve accomplished.”

His throat convulses. “Dad made it pretty clear, when he threw me out, that neither of you had any interest in seeing me again.”

“He regrets that moment, more than you know. I wish you understood how much he wants to make things right.”

“Then where is he? Why not come here and tell me that himself?”

“Your father…” She shakes her head. “You know what he’s like. He’s stubborn and set in his ways. You got that from him, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, well, I hope that’s the only thing I inherited.” His voice holds notes of bitterness.

Her eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry for not trying harder. I’m sorry we pushed our dreams onto you, instead of embracing the ones you wanted to chase for yourself. I’m sorry about all of it.”

I can feel the emotional battle being waged inside Ryder. How his heart craves reconciliation. How his mind prescribes caution.

Giving his hand one last sharp squeeze, I detangle my fingers from his. He looks over at me, brows raised. I try to broadcast my thoughts in my eyes as best I can.

Forgiveness doesn’t make you weak, Ryder.

It makes you strong.

I’m not sure he gets the message, but whatever he reads on my face is enough to steel him. With a determined set to his shoulders, he turns back to his mother.

“Mom…”

She’s looking up at him, hope etched on her expression, as he steps forward and pulls her into a tight embrace. She doesn’t say anything, so far as I can hear. But her shoulders shake as she buries her head against his chest, muffling her sobs against his shirt. His big hands stroke her hair.

My throat feels suddenly tight.

Ryder Woods is a good man.

I walk to the other side of the room to give them some privacy, beelining to Carly’s side and avoiding Francesca like my life depends on it. The auburn-haired record exec is talking Linc and Aiden’s ears off, over by the door. Probably about analytical data or sales figures, judging by the tortured looks on their faces.

“Is that his mom?” Carly whispers, her eyes sliding to Ryder.

I nod.

“Didn’t she cut him off a few years ago?”

I nod again.

“And he forgave her…” She whistles lowly, bumping her elbow against mine. “He’s a good one, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m really happy for you.” She pauses. “Happy you two are finally giving it a shot.”

“Me too.”

“That song he wrote for you… those things he said about you…” She whistles again. “God, Felicity. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d kind of hate you right now.”

I laugh. “Yeah, well, it hasn’t always been a fairy tale.”

“I know, honey. That’s what makes it all the sweeter.”

I glance at her, eyes pricking dangerously, and find hers are glossy, as well. We both smile, despite the looming threat of tears.

“Why is everyone crying?” Lincoln asks, appearing beside us.

“No one is crying,” Carly says immediately, brushing at her cheek.

“Allergies,” I concur, dabbing at my eyes.

He lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Forget I asked.”

Aiden scoffs.

“Something to say, Hill?” Carly snipes at him.

“Nothing at all, Hart,” he shoots back.

“Didn’t realize you two were on a last-name basis.” Linc’s eyes move between them, but they’re far too busy glaring at each other to pay him any attention. He sighs and turns his focus to me. “You want to head back to the hotel? I’m beat. Gonna have Smith drive me in a few.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll wait for…” My words trail off as my gaze slides to Ryder. He’s still embroiled in a deep conversation with his mother on the other side of the room.

“Ah, right.” Linc’s voice turns serious. “Glad you two are going to try and work things out. Can’t say it’s been easy being around either of you, the past few months. I suddenly understand why Fleetwood Mac broke up.”

“We weren’t that bad!” I protest.

“Whatever you say, Rhiannon.”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m just happy sexual tension isn’t flammable.” He smirks. “The whole bus would’ve gone up in flames.”

I punch him lightly on the arm. “Shut up.”

“You know, Felicity…” Linc’s eyes get serious — a rare event. “That song he sang for you tonight…”

My brows arch.

“You know what it’s about?”

“Of course — the night you two got arrested at The Viper Room.”

“Yeah.” He blows out a breath and runs both hands through his sandy hair. “The thing is, you don’t know the full story about that night…”

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time Ryder and I make it back from the stadium. My mind is spinning after everything Lincoln told me; his is fully engaged with thoughts of his mother.

We don’t speak. We don’t need to. It’s enough just to sit there in the back seat, hands tightly intertwined, supporting each other in silence as Stevens pulls the SUV to a stop outside our hotel. Thankfully, the curb is paparazzi-free as we step out onto the dark sidewalk.

Ryder laughs when he catches sight of my face-splitting yawn. “Tired?”

“Exhausted,” I confirm, looking up at him dreamily.

He reels me in slowly, bringing my body flush against his. I feel my slumbering neurons start to fire as our torsos align. There are dark promises in his eyes as his head descends toward mine.

“Suddenly less tired,” I murmur, craning my neck up. Our lips meet in a lingering kiss that makes my knees shake. I’m full-on panting when he pulls away. “Suddenly, very awake.”

I feel him grin against my lips. “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

“I like the sound of that…”

We turn toward the entrance, eager to get inside. Impatient, after hours of delay, to finally be alone, skin on skin, enjoying a few scant hours together in the privacy of a hotel room before we’re forced to board the bus in the morning, heading for Indiana.

Five hours.

Not nearly long enough for everything I want to do with him.

We keep it PG as we walk through the lobby, fully aware that prying eyes are never far away. But as soon as the elevator doors close behind us, all pretense of propriety disappears. Ryder backs me up against the wall, hands sliding beneath my thighs as he hoists me up against him. My dress rides high as my legs wrap around his waist. My head lolls back as his mouth kisses the column of my throat, torturously slow as he nibbles his way from the hollow beneath my ear down to my collarbones.

“God, Ryder,” I whisper, threading my hands into his thick hair. “I feel like…”

“What, baby?”

“Like I’m not even real unless you’re touching me. Like this, your hands on my skin, is the only time I truly exist.”

His eyes meet mine, burning with intensity. He doesn’t respond — not verbally, at least. His mouth crashes against mine, a brutal attack, an unequivocal declaration that he feels the same way. When the elevator doors chime open on the penthouse floor, he walks out with my legs still wrapped tight around his waist, his mouth never disengaging from mine as he carries me to his suite.

He pins me to the door with his hips so he can retrieve the key from his back pocket. My bones turn to liquid at the contact, my fingers flexing in the fabric of his shirt as he shoves the key into the slot, snarling with impatience. I giggle as the entry finally gives way, swinging inward with a jolt.

All traces of humor quickly fade as Ryder kicks the door shut, carries me toward the king-sized bed, and throws me onto the mattress. He follows me down, so we’re kneeling face-to-face, kissing me as his hands work at the side-zipper of my dress. My fingers yank at the loops of his belt.

We are both restless, jittery with need that has been suppressed for far too long. We’re out of our clothes in record time, staring at each other in the middle of the bed, our eyes devouring, our hands desperate.

I lean forward to kiss the tattoo over his heart, reveling in the groan he unleashes when he feels my lips on his bare skin.

He pulls the pins from my hair, sending it tumbling around my shoulders in soft waves.

“Felicity,” he growls, his forehead dropping to hit mine. I feel his breaths on my lips, coming fast as his heartbeats. I feel the rigidness of his body as he holds his desire on a short leash, even as his hands rove over every square inch of my skin. As though he’s memorizing me. “It’s been so long since I held you. So long since I’ve done this…” He swallows roughly. “I don’t know if I can go slow. I don’t know if I can be gentle, or—”

I stop his words with a finger on his lips. “Ryder.”

His brows lift.

“I don’t want gentle.”

Without waiting another instant, he pushes me back onto the bed, eyes glittering in the darkness. Just the look on his face is enough to make my mouth go dry.

He knocks my knees apart, and I barely have time to take a breath before he’s inside me — so deep, so hard, tears spring to my eyes. His name tears from my throat on a moan. It’s so loud I think the whole floor hears me. Maybe the whole hotel. The whole damn city.

“Felicity.” His mouth hits mine, crushing it in a carnal kiss. “God, Felicity.”

His weight deliriously heavy as he presses me into the mattress, each thrust fraying my nerve endings, each swivel of his hips driving me a little further over the edge of oblivion.

“I love you,” he gasps, driving deeper. Pushing further.

His eyes never waver from mine. And as I stare up at him, I’m overcome by that same feeling I get when we’re onstage together, singing like there’s not another living soul in the word. That same feeling I have when he looks at me with those mismatched irises and everything somehow falls into place, even when the world is coming apart at the seams.

I built my home out of a man, not a place.

“I love you,” I mange to echo, as my whole world dissolves.

I’m finally home.