Chapter 21

William

I chased everything they said I needed

But now I'm lost in a world I never seeded

I thought I had it all, I thought I was set

But the echoes remain, and I can't forget

Drowning in whispers, caught in their gaze

The higher I climb, the darker the haze

Hands that applaud, but shadows still linger

Tracing the cracks with a cold, steady finger

But then you pull me close, and the static fades

In the hollow, you're the song that stays

The night is quieter than usual as we near the end of the tour, and something about that silence hits harder than any sound ever could. The lights of LA are a blur outside the bus window, fading into the night as we roll toward our last stop. The tour's winding down, and I feel the weight of it all settling in like a stone at the bottom of my chest. I don't even know what to do with myself anymore.

That day in Spain, I released that song—Glint in the Hollow. It wasn't planned. It just... came out. The lyrics hit me like a punch in the gut. I couldn't keep them inside any longer, not after everything that's been building up. To everyone else, it might sound vague enough for anyone to fit their own story into it. But for me? It's everything. It's the weight of the criticism, the pushback, the hate that's been following me all year. It's the pressure that's been building, that feeling like I'm constantly walking a tightrope between being my true self and giving people what they want.

But the song... it's also a nod to the ones who've kept me going through it all. My Kill John family, who've never turned their backs on me, and Jules, who's been my anchor even when I didn't want to be tied down.

When I hit post and saw the response, it was a weird feeling. The song went viral almost instantly. People praised it—said that they could feel the emotion in every word. For a second, I thought about how it might be received: would they understand? Would they think I was just another guy complaining? But they didn't. It was like they got it. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I wasn't just screaming into the void.

The crowd here in LA tonight—the last of the tour—was everything, like a fever dream. It felt like the perfect send-off. Kill John brought the house down, as we always do. There was laughter and adrenaline, and for a few hours, it felt like the world outside didn't exist. Like everything we'd been through together was worth it for moments like this. It felt good.

But then, as the lights dimmed and the applause dissolved into the distance, something gnawed at me. It wasn't the end of the tour that unsettled me—it was the after. The aftermath. The part where everything you've been running toward fades, and you're left staring at what's next.

The tour ending meant a thousand little things were about to change, but one change loomed larger than the rest. One I wasn't ready for.

Jules.

She's always been there, beside me, a steady presence in a world that never stops spinning. She's the tether I didn't know I needed, the voice that cuts through the noise, the person I trust without question. Comfortable and terrifying all at once.

And now, for the first time, she won't be. But the thought of losing her, of waking up every day without her presence beside me, it makes my chest ache in a way I don't want to acknowledge. I can't stop picturing it: waking up, heading to rehearsal, walking into a room without her. No easy smile, no quick-witted remark, no Jules.

She deserves the world. She's independent, brilliant, strong in ways that make my chest ache just thinking about it. And God, she's beautiful. Not in the way that makes heads turn, though she's that too. It's the way she carries herself, the way she sees people. The way she's seen me.

But she's her own person, and I can't be selfish. Not with her.

The night air is sharp against my skin as I step off the bus, needing space, needing air. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and her name flashes at the top of my notifications.

Jules: We need to talk soon.

Five words. That's all it takes to make my stomach twist.

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen, before locking my phone and shoving it back into my pocket. I don't have an answer for her. Not about the band, not about my music, not about us.

I don't know how to hold on to her without holding her back.

The emptiness settles deeper in my chest as I glance toward the edge of the parking lot. Jules is there, leaning against the railing, her silhouette outlined by the dim glow of the streetlights. She looks like she's lost in thought, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

I walk toward her, my steps slower than they should be. Her shoulder barely brushes mine when I stop beside her.

We stand there in silence for a while, the world humming softly around us. And then she speaks.

"So... what now?"

She turns to me, her gaze meeting mine, and I see it—the exhaustion she's been trying to hide, the weight she's been carrying. Not just for herself, but for me. For the band. For everyone.

She's been trying to ease my mind, trying to make it all okay for me. But I know she's struggling too. I can hear the undertone of hesitation in her voice, the unspoken truth we've both been dancing around.

"You know," she begins. "I could stay with Scottie for a bit longer. Or, I don't know, go back to London. Find another artist. I mean, there's plenty of rising talent out there. We'd make it work. I—"

"Stop."

The word leaves my mouth before I can think.

She blinks, startled, and I shake my head.

"Jules, stop," I say again, softer this time. "You don't have to do this. Not for me. Not for anyone."

She frowns, confusion flickering across her face. "I'm not—"

"You are," I cut in, my voice breaking just enough to make her pause. "You're trying to make it all okay. For me, for the band, for everyone but yourself. But you can't keep doing this."

She looks like she wants to argue, but I don't let her.

"You've already given so much," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "Too much. Jules, you've been holding me together all year, and I didn't even realize what it was doing to you. That's on me. But I can't let you keep sacrificing yourself for me. You deserve more than this."

Flashes of her running around with Scottie, staying up all night to make sure every little detail was perfect, grounding me through the anxiety of stepping out on my own—it slams into me all at once. She's too fucking stubborn to admit how much it's drained her, but I see it now. And yeah, I get it, because I'm the same damn way. But I can't just stand here and let her run herself into the floor for me. Not when there's a shot at something bigger, something she's busted her ass for. Something she's always wanted.

Her breath hitches, and she shakes her head. "Whip, no. This isn't about—"

"It is," I insist, stepping closer. "It is, Jules. And you need to stop pretending it's not."

Her eyes fill with something I can't quite name—anger, sadness, maybe both. "I don't want to leave you," she whispers, her voice breaking.

"I know," I say, my chest tightening. "I don't want you to, either. But I can't watch you burn yourself out for me. You've already done more than enough. It's time to do something for yourself."

Her shoulders sag, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue. But then she nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Okay."

The sight of that tear undoes me. I can't breathe past the ache in my chest, can't stand the thought that I'm the reason for it. Before I can think, I step closer, closing the space between us. Gently, I reach out and brush the tear from her cheek with my thumb, my hand lingering for just a second too long. She's right there, but she's not really here, not in the way I need her to be. I've been holding onto this lie, this hope that she'd stay with me, keep holding me together, but I see her too. The way she's been pulled in every direction, trying to balance everything. Trying to balance me.

"I've got everything I could ever ask for, Jules," I say, and I mean it. The music, the stage, the connection with Kill John—it's all here. I'm thankful for it all, but I can't ask her to be a part of it if it means losing herself.

She looks up at me then, her eyes wide, and I can feel the shift in her. The weight of my words settling on her chest. She wants to argue, I can see it. But she knows it's true. She can't keep doing this for me.

"Don't promise me you're staying," I whisper, voice breaking just slightly. "You're not a fucking backup plan, Jules. And I'm not some consolation prize. I know you want to be here, with me, but you've got your own shit to figure out. And I won't let you sacrifice that for me.

I'll keep making music. I'll keep pushing forward, no matter what. But you... you can't keep putting yourself on the back burner for me. You deserve your own dreams, your own future. And I'm not going to hold you back from that."

Her chest rises and falls with a shaky breath, and I feel her hand brush against my arm, tentative, like she's afraid I'm going to pull away. But I don't. I won't. I'm not walking away from her—I'm pushing her to walk toward what she needs.

More tears in her eyes threaten to spill over, and I can't stop it. It fucking wrecks me to see them there, but I won't let her think she has to stay to fix me.

"You've always been the best part of this, Jules," I say, voice thick with emotion I can't keep inside anymore. "I've never been more grateful for you in my life. But you have to promise me one thing: Don't do this for me. Do it for you. For everything you deserve."

Her lips tremble, but she nods, once, slowly. She's not going to say it. I know she won't. But we both know what it means. And it hurts—hell, it feels like I'm cutting off a part of myself. But I won't let her drown in this, in me. Not when she's meant for so much more.

I reach out, taking her hands, pulling her into me one last time. "If you need me, I'll always be here," I whisper, pressing my forehead against hers. "But you need to go after your own happiness, Jules. Don't wait around for me."

We stand there, the space between us still full of everything we've been, everything we could've been. And when we part, it feels like we're both letting go. But I know it's the only way we'll both find what we need.

Jules stays in the USA. I head back to London.

And even though we've said goodbye in our own way, I know I'll always be here for her. Even if it means letting her go. Even if it means letting go of what we were.

Because I need her to have everything she deserves. And that means letting go of us. For her.