Chapter Four

Maggie

“Again! Again!”

Cara’s tiny hands clap together as she bounces on her toes, her blonde curls swaying with every movement. She’s three and has more energy than I’ll ever have, even on my best day.

“Okay, but this is the last time, squirt,” I say, laughing as I grab her hands and spin her around the living room. Rosie’s house smells like cinnamon and fresh-baked cookies, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

“You’re such a good dancer, Aunt Maggie,” Cara says, her green eyes wide with admiration as I twirl her under my arm.

“Not as good as you,” I say, crouching to her level. “You’ve got the best moves.”

She giggles and throws her arms around my neck, squeezing tight. “When I grow up, I want to sing and dance like you.”

My chest tightens and I hug her back. “You can do anything you want kiddo. Anything.”

Rosie appears in the doorway, holding a tray of hot cocoa. “Cara, give Aunt Maggie a break before you wear her out.”

Cara reluctantly lets go, plopping onto the couch with a pout. “But we were dancing!”

“And now you’re having cocoa,” Rosie says, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Go grab the marshmallows from the kitchen.”

Cara hops off the couch and skips away, humming a little tune under her breath.

“She’s obsessed with you,” Rosie says, sitting beside me. “I swear, every time you visit, you’re all she talks about for days.”

“I’m amazing,” I say, smiling as I grab a mug.

Before Rosie can respond, her phone buzzes on the table. She picks it up, grinning as Phoebe’s face pops onto the screen. “Look who finally decided to call!”

“Phoebe!” I lean closer to the phone, waving.

Phoebe waves back, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. “Hey, superstar. How’s the big Broadway debut coming along?”

“Not a debut, just a charity gig,” I correct, though my cheeks flush.

Cara rushes back into the room, holding the bag of marshmallows. “Aunt Maggie, can you show me the dance again after cocoa?”

Rosie glances at Alex, who’s reading on the other side of the room. “Babe, take Cara on a special mission, will you? The sisters need a minute.”

Alex looks up, catching her meaning immediately. He sets down his book, scooping Cara up in one swift motion. “Mission time! Let’s go!”

Cara squeals with delight, and I watch as they disappear down the hallway, her giggles trailing behind them.

Rosie turns back to me, handing me the phone. “Okay, spill. How’s it really going?”

I let out a long sigh, sinking into the couch. “It’s... harder than I thought. The singing’s fine, but the dancing? It’s kicking my butt. These professionals make it look so easy and I just feel clunky.”

“You? Clunky?” Phoebe says with mock disbelief. “Impossible.”

“I’m serious. Some of the dancers look at me like I don’t belong there. Like I’m just some pop singer pretending to be a dancer.”

Rosie frowns. “That’s ridiculous. You’re talented, Maggie. And you’ve worked hard to get here.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But it doesn’t help that I’m totally distracted.”

Phoebe raises an eyebrow. “Distracted by what —or who?”

I hesitate, but I know there’s no point lying. “Jonah.”

“Ooooh,” Phoebe says, her voice dripping with mischief.

Rosie leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Tell us everything.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly. “We’re just... working together. But there’s something about him. He’s not what I expected. He’s sweet, in this quiet, rough-around-the-edges kind of way. And when he touches me...”

“You feel tingles,” Rosie finishes, her smile knowing.

I nod, embarrassed but unable to deny it. “Yeah. It’s ridiculous. I barely know him, but I feel... something.”

Phoebe grins. “Sounds like you’ve got a little crush.”

“It’s not a crush,” I protest, though my cheeks betray me.

“Sure it’s not,” Phoebe teases.

Rosie rests a hand on my knee. “You know what? When Phoebe and Logan get to town, you should invite Jonah to dinner. Bring him into the fold and let him see how chaotic our family is. It’s the ultimate test.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “There isn’t anything to test. This is probably one-sided and once the show is over I’ll never see him again.”

“Think about it,” Rosie says. “It might be fun. And if he survives dinner with us, you’ll know he’s a keeper.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Phoebe leans closer to the camera, her expression softening. “Mags, whatever happens, we’re proud of you. You’re chasing your dream and that’s huge.”

Rosie nods. “And if anyone in that cast gives you crap, send us their names. We’ll handle it.”

I laugh, my chest feeling lighter than it has in weeks. “Thanks, guys. I needed this.”

“That’s what sisters are for,” Rosie says, squeezing my hand.

As Cara’s giggles echo down the hall, I realize how lucky I am to have them in my corner —even if they’re a little meddlesome.

***

Jonah

The bar is dim and smells like old beer and sweat, just like every other dive we’ve ever called a “home base.” The guys are already a few rounds in by the time I show up, their laughter cutting through the low hum of bad rock on the speakers.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence!” Chris, our bassist, yells, slamming his beer down on the table. “How’s Broadway treating you, Axe ? You got a dance belt yet?”

The table erupts into laughter, and I force a tight smile as I sit down. Same old crap.

“Careful, Chris,” Rick says, leaning back in his chair, his smirk as sharp as his guitar riffs. “Jonah might toss you across the room like he did me.”

The laughter spikes again, and Rick raises his bottle in my direction. “No hard feelings, though. We all know how sensitive you get when it comes to defending a lady’s honor.”

My jaw tightens. He’s full of shit and still playing the victim even though he deserved what he got. I grip the edge of the table, the wood digging into my palms as I force myself to stay calm.

“I’m not here to talk about that,” I say flatly.

Rick shrugs, his grin lazy. “Fair enough. So, tell us, how does it feel to trade the drum kit for jazz hands?”

More laughter. I knew this was coming, but it still grates.

“It’s a charity gig,” I say, my voice low. “Not a career change.”

Chris snorts. “Charity gig, my ass. You’re singing Christmas songs and pirouetting across the stage. Face it, Axe, you’ve gone soft.”

I could argue. I could point out that Chris hasn’t written a decent bassline in years or that Rick hasn’t cared about the music since our third album. But honestly? I don’t have the energy.

Instead, I lean back and let their jabs roll off me, tuning them out until the conversation shifts to the usual nonsense.

“Man, this babe I picked up last night,” Chris says, grinning like the idiot he is. “Total ten. Took her back to my place and let’s just say she didn’t leave disappointed.”

The table bursts into crude laughter, and I feel my stomach turn. This used to be my world —cheap thrills, shallow connections, and booze-fueled stories we’d laugh about later. Now? It just feels empty.

“Speaking of hot women,” Rick says, leaning forward with a sly grin. “What’s the deal with the one you’re working with? Maggie Stone, right? She’s sexy as hell. Bet you’re—”

“Don’t.”

The word is sharp, cutting through the noise like a whip.

Rick blinks caught off guard. “What?”

I lean forward, my voice low and cold. “Don’t say her name. Don’t mention her. Don’t even think about her. Got it?”

The table goes quiet, and for a second, nobody moves. Then Chris lets out a nervous laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, man. Chill. Didn’t know she was off-limits.”

“She’s not part of this,” I say, standing up. “And neither am I.”

Rick tilts his head, his smirk returning. “Getting a little protective, aren’t we? Didn’t think you were the type to—”

I cut him off with a glare. “I mean it, Rick. Shut your mouth.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn and leave the bar, the sound of their laughter fading behind me.

Out on the street, the cold air hits me like a slap, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

This isn’t me anymore. The fights, the bullshit, the endless cycle of meaningless tours and drunken nights —it’s not what I want.

Maggie’s taking a leap, trying something new. She’s chasing a dream, putting herself out there, even if it scares her. And what am I doing? Wasting time with guys I don’t even like, playing music that doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.

I have enough money to walk away from all of this. I could start over. Not as some Broadway star —hell no— but something different. A new band, maybe. Something smaller, more meaningful. Or something completely outside of music.

Anything would be better than this.

I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking, the city lights blurring as I go. I don’t know exactly what’s next, but one thing’s clear: I’m done with them, and I’m done pretending this life is enough.