Page 1 of The Broken Keys

Chapter One

CALLUM/CASH

A Week & A Half Before Now

Stars We Trace in the Dark

I hold her like a present I haven’t earned…and someone’s already knocking to take her away.

Stay cool, Cash. It’s only Livianna, and she knows me well.My nerves are on high alert as I open the door to my place in Laurel Canyon.

Livianna stands before me like she’s been beaten by the rain. Her mascara is smeared, streaking dark trails down her cheeks, and something vulnerable is in her posture.

Her shoulders curl inward, and her hands tremble at her sides. Every protective instinct I’ve ever buried claws its way to the surface.

“I’m sorry I’m so late.” She peeks out at the driveway, then back at me. “Is it okay that I parked there?”

“It’s perfect, and you’re welcome here anytime.”

“Thanks, I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Those words nearly bring me to my knees.

“Then you won’t be.” I don’t ask questions or demand explanations. “Come in.”

I step aside and let her in, wrapping one of my oversized hoodies that’s hanging on a coatrack around her shoulders before she even makes it past the entryway.

The fabric swallows her whole, and she pulls it tight like a child holding her blanket, breathing in the scent of my cologne that still clings to the cotton.

My living room stretches out before us. Dark leather furniture, vintage guitars mounted on the walls like trophies, and Grammy statues catch the soft glow of ambient lighting. But she doesn’t notice any of it.

Her gaze lands on the framed photographs scattered across the mantel. They’re of us when she’s sixteen and I’m almost eighteen, laughing over something I can’t remember.

There’s another photo of the band at our first Grammy ceremony—Bren flipping off the camera while I grin like an idiot and Hawke and Cooper glare. There’s a candid shot of her sleeping in my bed years ago, peaceful in a way that seems impossible now.

She ambles toward those pictures like they’re pulling her forward, her fingers hovering over the glass without quite touching. “Where did you get these?”

“They were in a box at my ma’s house where I kept everything.” I follow Livianna. “I could never burn or let go of our memories.”

“Wow. We were so young.”

I glance at the images, warmth radiating through me. Against my better judgment, I visualize her lying in my bed now.

“Come this way.” I guide her into the kitchen that opens into the living space.

Cooking has never been my strength, but something about her fragility tonight makes me want to do normal things,domestic things that might anchor us both to something that could bring us closer.

“You hungry?” I’m already pulling ingredients from the fridge. “I make a mean grilled cheese. And before you say anything, yes, it’s probably the only thing I can make without setting the house on fire.”

That gets a small smile out of her, barely there but enough to ease the knot in my stomach.

“Since when do you cook, rockstar?”

“Since I realized ordering takeout every night wasn’t exactly sustainable.” I heat butter in a pan, the sizzle filling the space between us. “Guns has been hitting the gym with me, too. I need to keep my head on straight.”

She leans against the counter, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie over her hands. “How’s that going for you?”

“Better than expected. Turns out physical exhaustion is a decent substitute for…” I catch myself before I say something that might hurt her.