She looked up. For the first time, he saw not the superstar, but the girl. The one who was tired of being untouchable.
The weeks that followed were a strange, tense duet. He taught her how to check a blind spot; she taught him how to feel something other than the cold recoil of a gun. He’d stand outside her dressing room while she ran through her setlist. He’d hear the band warm up with that throbbing, dangerous beat, and he’d imagine her prowling the stage in leather and fire. She was a force. A hurricane in a silk dress. the bodyguard film songs
“You came back,” she whispered.
She didn’t scream when the glass shattered. That was the first thing he noticed. Rachel Marron, the woman with the voice that could crack stadium lights, simply stopped mid-sentence, turned her head toward the broken window, and placed her champagne glass down with a steady hand. She looked up
“You’re going to leave,” she said, not looking up from the mic. “Because that’s what you do. You protect, then you vanish. You think love is a threat vector.” The weeks that followed were a strange, tense duet
He woke up in a hospital three days later. The room was full of flowers, but she was the only one he saw. She was sitting in the chair by the window, humming
“You should go home,” she whispered.