Seattle always greets me with rain, the kind that taps against the windows like it’s trying to harmonize with whatever melody I’m humming. I’ve lived here long enough to recognize its moods, and honestly, they match mine most

days — soft, steady, sometimes dramatic, always honest.

My name is Lana James, and I’m a singer.

Not the megastar kind. More like the “you’d hear me on local radio and go, oh yeah, I know her” kind. I’m good with that. Fame looks cute from far away, but close-up? I’ve seen what it does.

Which brings me to Lance.

My ex-husband.

And the reason I don’t flinch at shadows anymore — I’ve already walked through darker ones.

But as I stand backstage at my soundcheck for a charity event, thinking my biggest worry is whether my mic will glitch again, I hear a familiar voice from behind me. 

"Hey, you look like you’re about to conquer the world.”

Joshua.

My boyfriend.

My peace.

He steps beside me, warm hand brushing mine, and the whole city suddenly feels less heavy.

Joshua isn’t flashy. He doesn’t chase attention. He’s the kind of guy who listens first, talks second, and somehow says everything I needed to hear.

We met at a café where I was trying — and failing — to write lyrics. He recognized me, but instead of the weird fan energy I usually get, he just asked:

“Want company, or want quiet?”

I said “quiet,” and he sat anyway — silent, patient, steady.
Quiet turned into conversation. Conversation turned into hours. Hours turned into us.

But dating me… is not simple.

Especially when Lance refuses to stay in the past.

The night after my performance, I got a message from an unknown number.

We need to talk. You’re making a mistake. — L

I blocked it. Of course I did.

But that didn’t stop him.

Two days later, Lance showed up outside the studio.
Tall. Sharp suit. Fake calm. Same man who used to tell me he loved my voice and then, months later, tell me it was all I had going for me.

He gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Lana, sweetheart. You can’t be serious about this… what’s his name? Josh?”

“Joshua,” I said sharply. “And yes. I am serious.”

He looked me over like I was a song he wrote and didn’t want to share with the world.

“You and I aren’t finished.”

I felt my stomach twist.
But not because I missed him — I didn’t.
Because I knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

Zack has been my best friend since before my singing career even existed. He’s seen every bad haircut, every rehearsal flop, every panic attack before a show. He’s family.

But lately… Zack’s been acting strange.

He gets tense when Joshua’s around. Short answers. Cold vibe. Like he’s holding something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

One night, as we sat on the floor of my apartment sorting through old vinyls, he finally said it:

“I don’t trust him.”

I paused. “Why? Joshua’s been nothing but good to me.”

Zack kept staring at a record cover instead of me.
“That’s exactly why.”

I knew what he meant before he said it.
I had felt it — that shift in the air when Joshua entered a room and Zack’s shoulders tensed.

“Zack… do you have feelings for me?”

He exhaled, long and defeated.
“I didn’t want to. I tried not to. But yeah… I do.”

The room got very, very quiet.

I cared about him — deeply — but not like that. And telling him the truth felt like stepping on something fragile.

“Zack… I love Joshua. I want to be with him.”

He nodded, but it wasn’t a relieved nod. More like a “this hurts but I knew it would” nod.

And I wondered…
Could our friendship survive this?

Lance didn’t slow down.
If anything, Zack’s confession made him accelerate.

He showed up at Joshua’s job.
Told him lies.
Told him I’d come back to him.
Told him Joshua was temporary.

Joshua didn’t fall for it, but it rattled him.
I could see it in the way he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?” every time I picked up my phone.

I hated that Lance could still shake the ground under me.

Meanwhile, Zack barely talked to me for weeks. When we did talk, it was careful… stiff… almost formal. Like he was trying to tape up something cracked but couldn’t find the edges.

I was losing sleep.
Losing breath.
Losing my grip.

But I wasn’t losing Joshua.