The Storm's latest single had just broken into the Top 10 on the Billboard charts. In America. Yeah, big deal. Huge deal. Naturally, that meant their schedule had gone completely feral. TV interviews, live radio spots, off-air showcases, fan meetups. They were basically booked solid until next year.
Ethan had been bouncing from one city to another like a glitchy Google Maps pin. Right now, he and the rest of the band had just landed at LAX after a quick run in Chicago. While their manager, Chase, went to grab the SUV, Ethan leaned against a column in Arrivals, eyes half-lidded, watching the chaos unfold around him.
Airports never changed. People rushing, people crying, people waiting. Business as usual.
It had been three months since he last saw her. Supermarket Girl. His schedule had been murder lately, which meant no more casual late-night "accidental" visits to that same damn grocery store. But if he ever got a free evening? Yeah. You'd find him there. Wandering the aisles. Looking totally normal. Not at all emotionally attached to a stranger who ghosted him.
The new single had gotten a ton of buzz. Fans loved it. Critics were weirdly nice. Especially the Gen Z crowd, they were all over it. And like clockwork, the burning question showed up in every interview:
Who was the girl behind the lyrics?
He remembered one particular late-night talk show appearance where the host really went in.
"Ethan, man, fans are calling you the male Taylor Swift. Every song hits like it came straight out of a breakup diary. So… this new track, real story or pure fiction?"
Ethan smirked. "No comment."
"Come on," the host pushed. "She sounds pretty important. Ex-girlfriend?"
Ethan shrugged and gave a cheeky grin. "That's classified."
Girlfriend? Try mystery woman who vanished like a damn ghost after one night.
Ethan shook his head now just thinking about it. Honestly, it still messed with him. How could someone just disappear after a night like that? No number. No name. Just… gone.
Sometimes he even wondered, was he that forgettable? Was his performance that underwhelming? The thought alone gave his ego a hernia.
"Dude. Earth to Ethan."
Finn waved a hand in front of his face.
Ethan blinked. "Huh?"
"You going straight to your place or you got plans?" Finn asked, hauling his guitar case over one shoulder. Aaron and Daniel looked over, waiting on his answer.
"Home. I'm wrecked," Ethan mumbled, rubbing his shoulder.
They all got it. They were dead tired too. But Ethan's calendar had been a full-on disaster lately. Three hours of sleep per night? Luxury. The bags under his eyes had officially gone from tired to tragic.
"Yo!" Chase shouted from across the curb, waving like a dad at Disneyland.
The guys headed toward the car. The second Ethan slid into his seat, the AC hit him like a blessing. He barely lasted five minutes before he passed out cold.
If Chase hadn't woken him up, he probably would've ended up riding around the freeway in circles all night.
"Where'd everybody go?" Ethan mumbled when he finally stirred.
"They're already out. Didn't wanna wake you," Chase said, glancing at him in the rearview. "So I dropped them off first."
Ethan blinked. His place was the closest to the airport. That meant Chase had gone out of his way just to let him rest a little longer.
"Damn. Thanks, man."
Back in his apartment, the sun was already starting to set. Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, stretching out his sore limbs. He was thirsty, so he headed for the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, then started brewing coffee. He needed it, desperately.
Ethan without coffee was basically a malfunctioning robot.
Caffeine = survival.
Still shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxers, coffee in one hand and a half-empty pack of Marlboros in the other, Ethan stepped out onto the balcony. The air was warm. Orange glow bathed the LA skyline. Honestly? Beautiful.
Too bad he felt like garbage.
And of course, because life had a sense of humor, she decided to waltz back into his brain again. Short black hair. Smart mouth. The ghost of aisle nine.
He sighed, set the coffee down, ran a hand through his messy hair, then lit a cigarette.
Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?
Some days, he wanted nothing more than to find her. Other days, he wished he could erase her from his brain entirely.
But, neither option worked.
Eventually, he gave up and put on a movie. Rudy, his comfort film. The 1993 underdog classic. He'd watched it like, a dozen times. Maybe more. Sean Astin crushed it in the lead. That story of a guy chasing an impossible dream? That was his jam.
That movie had gotten him through a lot. Reminded him to keep grinding.
Halfway through, his stomach growled.
He got up, checked the kitchen… and surprise, surprise... no snacks. No chips. No Pringles. The fridge? Mostly expired leftovers and sadness.
He sighed dramatically.
With a shake of his head, he grabbed a trash bag and cleaned the place up, muttering to himself like an old man the entire time.
Then he tossed on a hoodie, grabbed his keys, and headed back out.
Destination, the one place that had started it all. The supermarket.
***
Ethan pulled into the supermarket parking lot like muscle memory had taken over. This was the place. The same grocery store where everything started. At some point, it had just become his store. Routine. Familiar. But once upon a time, he'd come here like an idiot on a mission, hoping to run into a girl who'd ghosted him harder than a bad Tinder date.
He parked and stared out the windshield, fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel.
"God, I was such a dumbass," he muttered to himself with a dry laugh.
Still sitting in his car, Ethan let his gaze drift. This place, this moment… maybe it was time to finally let her go. For real. Cut her out of his system. Stop chasing a what-if that was never going to happen.
He took a deep breath. Right. Back to the old me. The Ethan before all this emotional wreckage. The one who lived for music, partied without apologies, and didn't waste time thinking about women who disappeared.
"You'll be fine, man. She's not the last girl on Earth," he told himself, voice low and half-convincing.
He reached for his baseball cap from the back seat, pulled it on, and slipped on his favorite Persol sunglasses. Instant shield. Rockstar mode: activated.
Satisfied with his look, Ethan got out and shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked toward the entrance.
And then it happened.
Bam.
He wasn't watching where he was going and ran straight into someone.
"Sorry," the person said automatically.
Ethan froze.
That voice.
He looked up so fast it almost gave him whiplash.
"You?" he breathed out, stunned.
His mouth went slack. He wasn't hallucinating, right?
Why the hell are you back? he thought, heart suddenly jackhammering in his chest.
She stared back at him, same short black hair, same face that had haunted him for months. Except this time… her baby bump was very, very real.
He couldn't move. He couldn't think. His mouth went dry.
"You're pregnant?"
She didn't answer.
"Hey. I said, are you pregnant?"
His voice cracked a little, like it physically hurt to ask. And honestly, it did. He hadn't expected this. Not even close.
Of all the ways he'd imagined bumping into her again, this wasn't on the list.
His brain scrambled to make sense of it. But the one thing he didn't consider? That the baby might be his. Because that night, he was sure they'd used protection.
So yeah, in his head… this kid was somebody else's. And that thought made his chest feel like it was imploding.
Without thinking, he grabbed her arm and led her away from the crowd, toward a quieter aisle near the back. She struggled, instantly resisting.
"Let go of me!" she snapped, ready to scream if she had to.
But the second she saw his face, really saw him, she stopped cold.
"What's it to you if I'm pregnant?" she hissed.
"Does your boyfriend know you slept with me?" he shot back, voice sharp.
She flinched. "What the hell did you just say?"
Ethan almost laughed. The look on her face, that fire, that defiance, it was exactly what had drawn him to her that night. She was something else.
And just like that, any plan to forget her disintegrated into smoke.
Now that she was standing in front of him again, something inside him stirred. He didn't want to name it. But it was there.
Then his eyes dropped to her stomach again… and all that warmth vanished.
In its place? Rage.
Whose baby is that?
His jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists.
He didn't know who he was more furious at—her, the mystery father, or himself for still giving a damn.
All he knew was this, seeing her again had messed him up. And nothing about this was going to be simple anymore.