The rehearsal had run late. The others had drifted out one by one, voices trailing behind the heavy studio door. Sienna left first. Then Mia. Adrian lingered, shot Dante a long glance, then said nothing and left.
Now, it was just Roxanne and Dante.
The soft click of guitar cases. The hum of unplugged amps. The air hung with leftover sound.
Roxanne sat at the edge of the riser, elbows on her knees, staring at her hands. Dante leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a stillness that wasn't judgment—just presence.
"You staying because you think I need babysitting?" she asked without looking up.
"Staying because I'm tired," he said. "And maybe a little worried."
She scoffed. "You're always worried."
"I take my role as team mom very seriously."
That made her crack the faintest of smiles. It passed quickly.
She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you think I overreacted? With Elliot?"
Dante's brow furrowed. "No."
"I mean, it was just a kiss."
Dante hesitated. "It was more than that."
Roxanne looked up, surprised.
"I mean," Dante clarified, "the kiss was the final blow. But everything before it? The distance, the avoidance, the silence? That's what did the real damage."
She stared at him. "Yeah."
A pause.
"He stopped showing up for me," she whispered. "Not just physically. Emotionally. He'd come home from gigs and barely say two words. I'd ask how he was and he'd just... shrug. Like I was background noise."
Dante didn't speak, didn't interrupt.
"I kept wondering if he regretted choosing me," she continued. "If he looked at the other girls backstage and thought, 'Maybe I picked too soon. Settled too fast.'"
Her voice caught.
"I was afraid he'd leave," she said, softer now. "And then… he didn't leave. He just... made it easy for me to go instead."
The room was quiet except for the soft creak of the floor beneath Dante's steps. He walked over and sat beside her, just close enough to share warmth.
"I hate that he hurt you," he said simply.
"I hate that I still think about him," she replied.
Another pause.
And then Dante said, almost too quietly: "You know you're allowed to care about more than one person, right?"
Roxanne looked at him.
"Just because you still think of Elliot… doesn't mean you can't let someone else care for you, too."
The air shifted.
His voice had gone low, rough around the edges. Not suggestive—just honest.
She didn't pull away.
But she didn't lean in either.
"Dante…"
He looked at her, eyes steady. "I'm not asking for anything."
She held his gaze for a long time.
And then—slowly—she reached over and took his hand.
Just for a second.
Then let go.
---
Later that night, as Roxanne lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she thought about Elliot.
About the time he stayed up with her during a storm, tracing songs on her arm until she fell asleep. About how his voice used to crack when he laughed too hard. About how he looked the moment she turned and saw him kiss that girl.
Her heart still ached.
But it no longer ached in just one direction.