Chapter 37: Anchors (Nico POV)

The rooftop’s behind us now, that news about Mercer moving fast pulling us back to the motel, the quiet day fading like smoke. Silas is beside me, his hand brushing mine as we walk, the warmth from our break still lingering, but my head’s heavy, spinning with what we saw—Mercer, deals, power plays. We’re in the room, door locked, curtains shut, and I drop onto the bed, hard, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight crash down. Silas sits slow on the edge, watching me, steady like always, and I can’t keep it in anymore.

“My career,” I say, low, voice rough, sitting up fast, hands gripping my knees. “It’s all fake, Silas. Dante said it—rigged, pulled by strings I didn’t see.” My chest hurts, tight, thinking back—gigs I thought I earned, crowds I thought loved me, all a lie. “I’m nothing,” I say, quiet, looking at him, my eyes stinging hot. He shakes his head, quick, leaning closer, his hand resting light on my arm. “You’re not your mistakes,” he says, firm, voice low, cutting through the mess in my head.

I blink, fast, his words hitting deep, and I see it—years chasing fame, pushing hard, thinking it was mine, when it was theirs, Mercer’s, whoever’s behind this. “I believed it,” I say, loud, rubbing my face hard with both hands. “Every win, every cheer—I thought it was me.” My voice cracks, raw, and I feel small, stupid, like a kid tricked over and over. Silas shifts, closer, his knee pressing mine now, and he grabs my hand, slow, holding it tight. “It was you,” he says, steady, looking right at me. “The moves, the fire—that’s yours, Nico. They can’t fake that.”

My throat’s tight, and I look at him, hard, seeing his eyes—gray, sure, like he believes it even when I don’t. “I’m an imposter,” I say, quiet, pulling my hand back, but he doesn’t let go, keeps it firm in his. “No,” he says, loud, shaking his head again. “They used you, yeah, but you’re real. I’ve seen it—every dance, every fight.” His voice softens, low, and I feel it—truth, maybe, breaking through the fog, first time I’ve let it in.

I breathe, slow, shaky, and lean into him, quick, wrapping my arms around him tight, a quiet hug that says more than I can. He hugs me back, hard, his hands steady on my back, and I rest my head on his shoulder, slow, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat against me. “You’re my anchor,” I say, soft, voice muffled in his shirt, meaning it deep—him, here, holding me up when everything’s sinking. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls me closer, his chin brushing my hair, and it’s enough, more than enough.

We stay like that, still, the room silent around us, and I feel it shift—something breaking open, real, raw, like I’m letting go of the lies I’ve carried. “I thought I had to be big,” I say, quiet, pulling back slow, looking at him. “Fame, lights, all that. But it’s gone, and I’m still here.” He nods, small, his hand sliding up to my neck, light, keeping me close. “You don’t need it,” he says, low, his thumb brushing my skin. “You’ve got more than that.”

My chest warms, slow, his words settling in, and I lean my head back on his shoulder, steady now, feeling lighter, like I can breathe again. “You’ve seen me fall,” I say, soft, closing my eyes, his shirt rough under my cheek. “Cole, the crash—I didn’t save him, but you’re here, keeping me straight.” He tenses, quick, then relaxes, his arm tightening around me. “You keep me straight too,” he says, quiet, voice rough with something deep, and I smile, small, feeling us lock in tighter.

The motel’s calm, just us, and I sit up, slow, still close, our hands tangled together now. “I don’t know what’s next,” I say, loud, looking at him, my anchor in this storm. “But I know it’s us.” He nods, fast, his eyes soft, and I feel it—breakthrough, first real one, where I’m not just the star crashing down, but me, with him, real and solid. “Us,” he says, quiet, squeezing my hand again, and it’s a promise, simple, keeping me here.

We sit there, quiet, my head back on his shoulder, his arm around me, and I let it sink in—my career, manipulated, yeah, but I’m more than that, because of him. The world’s dark outside, Mercer moving, threats closing in, but this moment, it’s ours, steady, like an anchor holding me still. I breathe, slow, feeling his heartbeat, and it’s good—better than good, like I’m finding my feet again, with him right there.

Then it hits—wood splintering, loud, the motel door kicking open hard, shattering the calm. I jump, fast, heart slamming back to panic, and Silas grabs me, quick, pulling me up as shadows rush in.