This is my alt-rock NA serialised story — the book my younger self needed, written by my older self who finally knows what to do with all the bruises.
New here? Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, and 19.
Or you can go to the chapter index.
Sadie
I showed up to work with charcoal dust under my nails and a smear of cerulean blue on my shoulder that looked vaguely like a map of New Zealand.
The mural was nearly finished. One more day and it’d be done.
I’d stood on the scaffolding that morning, sweaty, under-caffeinated, staring at the top corner wondering if I could get away with leaving it blank. The shape was perfect. Raw. Like a breath someone forgot to take.
But no. Perfection was a moving target. And I was still sprinting after it in borrowed boots.
The mural wasn’t part of my course. Technically, I wasn’t even supposed to be doing it – something-something “unauthorised freelance work” and “diluting institutional focus.”
One of my tutors gave me a look last week that said ambition is fine as long as it wears a name tag and asks permission first. Which is hilarious, considering all I’ve ever wanted was a blank wall and some silence.
I wasn’t painting this for marks.
I was painting it because it wouldn’t shut up.
I scrubbed the paint off in the staff bathroom at Margot’s and tried to remember how to be a person who poured drinks and smiled like it wasn’t a threat.
The pub was already loud when I walked in.
Warm. Chaotic. Beautifully unhinged.
Someone had started a drinking game involving table numbers and Dolly Parton lyrics.
Gray was halfway through an interpretive dance to Jolene on top of a bar stool. Naturally.
Margot caught my eye from behind the taps – nodded in that you’re late but I love you more than my own knees kind of way.
I nodded back. Tied on my apron. Stepped behind the bar like I was born there.
It was busy. But not the bad kind of busy.
The flow-state kind – pints, laughter, snark, EFTPOS machines beeping, someone shouting “round for table six!” and the music cutting in at the perfect moment.
And I needed it.
No headspace to spiral about someone posting my mural without credit.
No emotional RAM left to wonder if I was being dramatic.
No time to reread Dev’s last DM and pretend it didn’t make my stomach flop over.
Just beer.
Glass.
Music.
Noise control.
By ten, I’d stolen six wontons from the kitchen, lost a bottle opener to the dish pit, and told three different Matts that no, I did not want to hear their demo.
Gray leaned over the bar, cheeks flushed, grin crooked.
“You good?”
I shrugged. “Holding it together with duct tape and sarcasm.”
He flicked a peanut at my apron. “You look hot. And competent. And slightly feral.”
“My signature vibe.”
“Love that for you.”
Until the air shifted.
Not silence, not drama – just that pressure-drop ripple when heads turned without meaning to.
I looked up.
They were here.
Fucking all of them.
Connor. Mateo. Owen. Simon… and Dev.
They moved like they couldn’t help it – not rehearsed, just gravity. A collective presence that made the room tilt toward them.
Connor spotted Gray first, scooped him into a bear hug over the bar like they’d been mates for years IRL instead of weeks online. Gray lit up like Christmas. Mateo grinned at me like he already knew exactly who I was. Owen gave a warm, quiet nod. Simon’s eyes flicked over me once, sharp, then back to the jukebox.
And then Dev.
Leaning on the bar like he belonged there. Same eyes. Same smirk. Same Dev-ness that had been bleeding out of my phone at 2 a.m. for months. Voice notes, riffs, tattoos, emojis I’d pretended not to blush over.
My mind tripped, unhelpfully, straight to the one Jasper had sent from my phone:
bet it’d look better in person.
Did he believe I meant it? Did I?
“Whatever you’re making,” he said, voice low, “I’ll have that. And a minute, if you’ve got one.”
The drink was halfway finished for some mid-table dad. I slid it across. “It’s a Whiskey Sour.”
He tasted it, eyes still on me. “Figures. Strong kick. Little bite. Pretty much like your mouth.”
Heat clawed at my neck. “Careful. You keep talking like that, I’ll start charging you extra.”
That grin – slow, wicked – before he turned slightly, gesturing at the others. “Sadie. Lads.”
Just that. But it landed heavy.
Connor leaned in first, grin wide. “Finally. The infamous Pike in the flesh.”
Mateo gave a mock salute. “Didn’t think you were real. Thought Connor was catfishing us.”
Owen’s smile was easy. “Good to put a face to the art.”
Simon muttered, “About time.”
They all looked at me like they already knew.
Which, apparently, they did.
Dev pushed off the bar, heading to the booth where the others were already sprawling. Didn’t look back.
Connor lingered, though. Leaned across the taps just far enough that only I could hear. “Don’t worry, Pike. He hasn’t shut up about you since the bush hut.”
He winked, straightened, and sauntered after the others, leaving me clutching the shaker like it might explain what the hell had just happened.
My chest was buzzing, brain trying to catch up with the fact that Ruin were actually in Margot’s pub, ordering nachos and arguing over the jukebox like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Gray leaned over the bar, eyes dancing. “So that’s what he meant.”
I blinked. “What?”
Gray grinned, wicked. “When Dev said, ‘when we’re in your neighbourhood.’”
My stomach dropped. “Yeah, I just thought he was being a dick as usual.”
Gray nodded, smug. “And now here they are, like it’s casual. Oh, and by the way—” He dropped his voice low, leaned closer. “Wonder what he’s got planned for your mouth?”
I swatted a bar towel at him, heat crawling up my neck. “Shut up.”
But my pulse was sprinting.
Because he was right – none of this was casual. Not Dev leaning on the bar like he came in here all the time. Not the way the rest of the band looked at me like I’d been part of the story before I even walked into it.
And definitely not the question chewing at me since they walked in:
What the fuck are they doing here?
"What the fuck are they doing here?" 😆 like she doesn't know. I can't wait for the next chapter!
Oh,oh,oh, I feel prickly