The Rocker's Muse E-Book

Penelope Ward

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 387

Beschreibung

From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward comes a new, STANDALONE novel…

No one but me knew why I was actually in the California desert that day.

Nestled deep within the desolate, rocky area was a recording studio.

When a door suddenly opened, a man mistook me for someone he was supposed to be interviewing for a job.

The next thing I knew, I was whisked inside.

The position? An assistant on the upcoming tour for one of America’s most famous rock bands.

Pretty exciting opportunity for a twenty-two-year-old, just out of college.

Not surprisingly, I bombed the interview.

When I ended up mistakenly walking into the men’s room on my way out, I struck up a conversation with a stranger—not realizing it was the lead singer, Tristan Daltrey.

He seemed to like the fact that I had no idea who he was, that I saw him as a normal person.

That night, I got a call offering me the job.

So began my complicated story with Tristan.

Millions of women loved him.

Yet for some reason, after the shows, he only wanted to hang out with me.

Late-night talks. Casual dinners in his hotel room.

I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the band’s frontman.

Despite our fifteen-year age difference, Tristan and I had a connection.

But I had a secret.

One that would eventually lead to my leaving the tour.

And one that would lead Tristan and the band straight to the small town where I came from.

Leseprobe

First Edition

Copyright © 2024

By Penelope Ward

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Editing: Jessica Royer Ocken

Proofreading and Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Publishing

Proofreading: Julia Griffis

Cover Photography: Brennen McMurray, brennenmcmurray.com

Cover Model: Levi Stocke, @levistocke

Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Dear Readers

Other Books by Penelope Ward

Acknowledgements

About the Author

EMILY

Maybe I should just leave.

In the middle of the California desert, this lone building seemed so out of place. Even so, the one-level, earth-toned structure almost blended in with the natural surroundings. This was definitely a place you went when you didn’t want anyone to find you. There was a small lot behind the building with several high-priced cars parked, but literally nothing else in the vicinity for what seemed like miles.

I felt the pressure of knowing I was about to be kicked off the premises as I wandered around, attempting to peek into windows. Then out of nowhere, a door opened. A man wearing all black came out.

Trying my best to seem casual, I cleared my throat. “Oh, hello.”

“Are you here for the interview?” he asked.

Interview? “Uh…” Clearing my throat, I straightened and lied, “Yes.” What are you doing, Emily?

“Well, then you’re late.”

“I’m…so sorry. Traffic.”

“Well, that’s typical of L.A., isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I instructed the agency to have you call me when you got here. I was just coming out for a smoke, but since you’re here, we can get started.” He turned back toward the door. “Come with me.”

Letting out a shaky breath, I followed him inside. We passed a door that said Control Room, and I could hear the distant sound of drumming and cymbals coming from somewhere in the building.

“I’m sorry for having to drag you out to the desert for this,” he said as I scurried behind him. “But I needed to be here while the band is recording their new album, and figured I’d kill two birds with one stone by having the candidates come out here. We don’t have a ton of time to fill this position.”

He wore a T-shirt with the name of the band on it: Delirious Jones. They were popular these days after some of their songs had gone viral. They’d been around for a while but had only seen real success in the past couple of years. Their music was definitely rock, but usually described as modern, post-grunge.

I continued my ruse. “The ride out here was no problem,” I assured him. “Once I got off the highway, it was quite scenic.”

The man brought me into a kitchen with a vending machine. He pulled out a chair for me, and then sat on the other side of the table. He held out his hand. “Doug Elias, by the way.”

I took it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Did you bring a resume?”

Uh. No, considering I’m not supposed to be interviewing for a job today. I rubbed my palms on my thighs. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Let me check my email. Maybe the agency sent it over.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. They said they would.” Gazing out at the desert through the window behind him, I prayed I didn’t get myself into deep shit.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

I could barely remember it. “Emily Applewood.”

He scrolled through his phone and shook his head. “No. I don’t see anything.”

I straightened and lied again. “That was a misunderstanding, then. I would’ve brought it if I’d known you didn’t already have it.”

“No worries.” He crossed his arms and settled into his seat. “Well, I guess start with your background. What experience do you have?” He opened the notes app on his phone.

“I’m…in between jobs at the moment. I recently graduated from Nevada State University with a degree in communications, but I haven’t really figured out what I want to do with it yet.”

All of that was true, at least.

For the next several minutes, I rambled about my experience interning for a TV station in Las Vegas. I didn’t even know what the hell I was interviewing for. But at least I had hands-on experience with something I could talk about.

“What makes you want to work for the band?” he asked.

What have I gotten myself into? I had nothing. I’d barely heard their music—other than one song on YouTube I didn’t remember the name of.

When I didn’t say anything, he tried again. “What’s your favorite of their songs?”

Shit. My face felt hot. I couldn’t name a single one. “Honestly, I’m not a fan,” I confessed. “Unfortunately, I can’t name one of their songs. I just thought this would be a good job opportunity for my own personal growth, a chance to experience something new.” My face had to be red right now.

He grimaced. “How do you not know even one of their songs?”

“Just not my personal taste.”

The man scratched his chin. “Well, usually my biggest issue is having to weed through the groupies for these types of positions, but this is sort of the opposite problem. Can’t say I’ve ever encountered it before. Could be a point in your favor, but I’m not sure I should be hiring someone who isn’t familiar with them at all.”

Scrambling for something, I shrugged. “Does anyone really know them? They just think they know them, right?”

“I suppose you have a point.” He typed something into his phone. “Anyway, what questions do you have about the position?”

“I’d love to know more about the specific responsibilities of the job.”

Like…please tell me what the job even is.

“Well, you’d basically be a lackey for lack of a better word. You’d be fetching whatever the band and crew needs, assisting with loading and unloading stuff at each location. Anything and everything, really. This is definitely not for someone with a big ego. You can’t be afraid to get your hands dirty. And it would be a lot of work and a true commitment since you’d be on the road for several months.”

I gulped. “On the road?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes. “What did you think? You’d be going on tour with us. Didn’t you read the job description?”

“Of course I did,” I said, attempting to save my ass. “It just took a minute for ‘on the road’ to register. I was thinking they flew to events. Road implies…bus, yes?”

“We travel on tour buses for the North American leg. They’ll be hitting Europe later this year, which will be mostly air travel on a private jet from city to city. But that wouldn’t involve you. This position is for the US tour only.”

“I see…” My mind wandered a bit as he spoke for several more minutes—I think about some of the logistics of the job.

After I gave him my phone number, he suddenly stood. “Anyway, while I like the fact that you don’t seem starstruck, I have to be honest. You’re giving me the impression that you might not be ready for this. But I’ll hang onto your information, and depending on how the other interviews go, you may or may not be hearing from me.”

“Okay,” I said, standing as well. “Thank you for your time and consideration.” Why not ask? “Would I have an opportunity to meet the band while I’m here?”

He shook his head immediately. “I’m sorry. That won’t be possible. They’re busy recording and can’t be interrupted.”

I swallowed. Worth a shot. “I understand. Thank you again for your time.”

He nodded. “Safe drive home.”

My heart pounded as I headed down the hall toward the exit. I decided to stop in the bathroom to splash some water on my face.

Inside the lavatory, I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks flamed as I processed the last twenty minutes and pondered whether to stick around here in the desert or just head back to Nevada. What now?

Then I caught movement behind me and jumped. Through the mirror, I spotted a man’s bare ass at the urinal on the opposite wall.

Before I could do anything else, he turned, spotting me as he zipped his fly. “Whoa. What the fuck?”

EMILY

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d walked into the men’s room.”

He had a long beard and wore a hood. His blue eyes were piercing, and he seemed to have high cheekbones and a handsome face through all that facial hair.

He looked at me skeptically. “Why are you here?”

“I thought it was the ladies’ room. I—”

“Yeah, I got that. I don’t mean why you’re in the bathroom. I meant the building. No one’s allowed in this place.”

“I was let in by…Dan Elias for a job interview.”

“Doug Elias, you mean?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Interview for what?” The man turned to the sink and proceeded to wash his hands as I explained.

“To assist on Delirious Jones’s upcoming tour. But I don’t think that’s going to be happening. Pretty sure I flubbed the interview, because I was unprepared.” As in, I had no idea I was applying for a job today.

And why am I still standing here talking to this guy?

“I see.”

“Do you work here?” I asked.

He stared at me like I had ten heads. “Yeah. I work with the band.”

“Can you tell me what it’s like working for them? Would I be getting myself into some deep shit by taking this position? I don’t think I’m gonna get it, but in the event they call me back, I’d like to know if I’m getting in over my head.”

“What do you consider deep shit?”

“I’ve just never been part of a scene like this.”

He chuckled. “You mean like…sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”

“Right.”

“Well…” He crossed his arms. “There are a few things I should warn you about.”

“Okay.”

“You should know, there are orgies almost every night.”

My eyes widened. “There are?”

He nodded. “Then there’s the BDSM bus.”

“BDSM…bus?”

“Yup. Whatever you do, make sure they don’t assign you to that. Unless you like your nipples clamped and your ass whipped on the regular.”

I chewed my lip. “Um…”

“And do you do magic mushrooms?” He pointed at me. “If so, you’ll fit right in.” The smirk on his face finally gave him away.

“You’re bullshitting me?”

“I am.” He chuckled. “There are no orgies, and as much as a BDSM bus sounds kind of fun, it doesn’t exist.”

“What about the drugs?”

“There are always some drugs around. But the guys in the band don’t do them. Just a little weed here and there. Why are you so concerned? No one would force you to do anything you didn’t want to. If you see something you don’t like, just look the other way. In any case, if you’re working the tour, trust me, you’ll be too busy to notice.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.” I swallowed.

“Why did you apply for the position?” He cocked his head. “You seem apprehensive about it. You shouldn’t do anything you don’t really want to do.”

That’s a great question. “Things have been tough in my personal life the past few years, and I need a change.”

That was my second truthful statement of the day.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not in a men’s room with a complete stranger. That would be a bit weird.”

He shrugged. “You weren’t the one with your ass hanging out a second ago. Talk about weird.”

“Well, that’s one point in my corner today.” I looked away as a few seconds of awkward silence passed. “Is the band nice?”

After a moment, he nodded. “They’re okay. The lead singer, Tristan, has good days and bad. He’s not as talented as people give him credit for. He mainly got lucky to be where he is. He’s struggling with some stuff this year, actually, and it’s showing.”

Hmm... “That’s too bad.”

“What do you think of their music?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I’ve heard of them, of course. But I’m not a fan or anything. I don’t really know their music.”

He grinned. “Seriously? Why the hell would you want this job, then?”

“I sort of…fell into the opportunity. I’ll go home tonight and google more of their stuff so I can be prepared if by some miracle I get the position.”

“Well, if you want to check out their songs, look at their earlier stuff—from five or six years ago. Between you and me, the more recent material sucks in comparison, even if it’s the most popular.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome.”

I pointed over my shoulder at the door. “Well, I’d better get out of here and find the right bathroom.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Emily.”

Then the door opened, and another man entered. He looked between us. “What the fuck are you up to in here, Tristan? We’re waiting on you.”

Tristan?

He’d said he worked for the band.

Oh gosh.

I suppose being the freaking lead singer qualified as work. I hadn’t recognized him. My cheeks burned all over again, and a rush of adrenaline shot through me.

Tristan winked at me. “Nice talking to you, Emily. Good luck with the job.”

Both men left together, leaving me with my jaw hanging open.

• • •

That evening, I’d barely gotten back to my home in Henderson, Nevada, when my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Is this Emily?”

“Yes.”

“This is Doug Elias from the interview today.”

“Oh…” My heart skipped a beat. “Hi.”

“I’d like to offer you the position, if you want it.”

What? “Wow. Um…okay. I wasn’t expecting that. You gave me the impression it was a long shot.”

“Yeah, well, apparently, you ran into Tristan in the bathroom, I’m told? God knows how that happened. But am I right?”

“Yes.” I licked my lips.

“He liked your…trepidation. Said it proved you cared. He also liked the fact that you didn’t know who the hell he was. He said that was refreshing. So, even though I personally wouldn’t have chosen you—no offense—it’s his preference that I offer you the job.”

Holy shit. My throat felt ready to close. I forced out the words. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“I can give you a day or so to think about it. Maybe take the time to go online and become familiar with the band? Just get back to me by tomorrow night. I can’t wait much longer than that, since we leave in two weeks.”

My eyes widened. “Two weeks? Wow.”

“Yeah. Take that into consideration, too.”

“How long is the tour? I never asked.”

“It’s four months. Again, this job only encompasses the North American leg. You wouldn’t be working in Europe. So it’s a temporary position.”

Four months.

I can handle four months, right?

Am I actually considering this?

“Okay, well, I appreciate the opportunity. I promise to get back to you tomorrow with an answer.”

“Call me back at this number.”

“Will do.”

I hung up in a daze. What the hell did I get myself into?

After taking a long, hot shower to clear my head, I was no closer to a decision.

I decided to call Leah. We’d grown up together in Shady Hills, Missouri, and she still lived there. Leah was the only person from home I still talked to regularly besides my mother.

Since no one knew the real reason I’d ventured out to the desert today, when I started my story I told Leah a white lie about hoping to meet the band after getting a tip about a hidden recording studio out there from our mutual friend Ryder.

“I can’t believe you lied to that manager guy,” she said. “But what’s the harm if he believed you, right? I mean, you have been looking for a job. Maybe this is fate. Besides, it’s only four months. Do you know how fast that will fly by?”

“Are you saying you think I should take it? Go on the road with them?”

“You have nothing better going on, right? Seriously, this is the best way to kill some time while you’re trying to figure your life out.”

“If I don’t get killed first.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be surrounded by people. Nothing is going to happen to you. Think of it as an adventure. Do you know how many people would die for this job?”

“I feel kind of guilty that I don’t appreciate it more. It should go to someone who does.”

“Like this girl, Stacia, I work with,” Leah agreed. “She has a tattoo of Tristan’s face on her side. But that’s not even the crazy thing. When he was in Missouri once, she found out he’d gone to a local salon for a trim. A woman who worked there knew how much Stacia loved him, and she swept up his hair and gave it to her. Stacia keeps it in a jar! Let that sink in.”

“Stacia sounds nuts.”

Actually, I might’ve been the nuts one. I was considering taking a job I’d been offered because of a gigantic lie.

As Leah chatted away about the girl she worked with and her nutty jar of Tristan’s hair, I decided to throw caution to the wind. It would either be the biggest mistake I’d ever made, or the opportunity of a lifetime. But deep down, I knew I had to take it—for the same reason I’d found myself in the desert earlier.

I interrupted her. “Leah?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go on tour with Delirious Jones.”

EMILY

No one told me just how exhausting working on a music tour would be.

Don’t get me wrong. It was the most exciting thing I’d ever done in my life. But there was no time to breathe. The action was so fast and constant that every day blended into the next. It had only been a week. Those seven days had gone by in a flash, yet it felt like I’d been here forever and had no concept of the world outside.

There were no set hours. I basically worked all day, with random breaks in between. And I was on call twenty-four hours a day for “emergencies”—like if someone needed something that catering or a delivery person couldn’t fulfill. Having things delivered was a challenge when trying to protect the privacy of the band and keep their location secret. So that’s where I came in, constantly running from place to place.

Delirious Jones had two buses. The main bus carried the band members and their management. The other band employees and I were on the second bus. Then there were additional buses for the crew employed by the tour company.

Sleeping in a bunk with no windows took some getting used to. At night, when we’d take off for the next city, I’d put my earbuds in and listen to a podcast or an audiobook until I eventually fell asleep. I’d drift in and out of slumber all night, often woken by the sound of the motor stopping. The mattress, though, was surprisingly comfortable.

Thus far, the band had done four back-to-back performances, starting in Boston and ending in New York. I hadn’t had many interactions with Tristan or the other guys in the band. Tristan Daltrey sang and played guitar, and Delirious Jones also included drummer Atticus Marchetti and bass player Ronan Barber. Their keyboardist apparently quit a few months back due to some personal problems, so a musician named Melvin Finkle was filling in for the tour. They’d apparently gone through a couple of temporary keyboardists before him.

The real work began when we arrived at a new location. The tour manager rented a car in each city, and I had to be at the ready to go get whatever the band or crew needed. I’d even been asked to hem pants once. This position should’ve been advertised as “jack of all trades.” I mean, maybe it had been. But I definitely hadn’t gone to college for this kind of work. Still, I was a firm believer that opportunities landed in your lap for a reason. And while I hadn’t shown up in the desert that day expecting to land a job, I knew this would be good life experience for me.

Tonight was the first night we’d be staying in a hotel because there were two shows in a row in Columbus, Ohio. I’d be rooming with one of only two other women on the crew, Layla, the tour photographer. Our room was modest, with two double beds.

As we settled in, Layla bounced on her mattress. “How are you liking being on tour so far?”

“I’ve been too busy to really think, you know?” I chuckled. “I blink, and then we’re in the next city.”

“You said this is your first tour. How did you end up here?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.” Not a lie.

Layla smiled. “Anything surprise you so far?”

“I wasn’t expecting this level of fandom, you know? I can’t even exit the field where the buses are parked to get to the parking lot without running into crazy girls.”

“Yeah. It is pretty crazy. They all want a piece of them. Especially Tristan.”

Tristan.

He looked so different now from the way he’d looked in the bathroom that day. His long beard was gone, replaced by much lighter facial scruff along a strong jawline. The brown hair that had been piled under a hood was now usually let loose, wavy and thick, falling over his forehead to frame his face. Tristan was gorgeous—rugged and tattooed all over from his arms to his chest and even up to the base of his neck. It was no wonder women went crazy over him, and his broody, powerful voice was just as amazing as his looks.

“I haven’t gotten to speak to Tristan much since the tour started,” I told Layla. “Or any of the guys, for that matter. What’s your take on them?”

She shrugged. “Everyone assumes Tristan is the wildest of the bunch. You know, that lead-singer energy. That’s the persona he puts on for the public. But in reality, I find him to be the most private—not necessarily the wildest.”

I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed. “Interesting.”

“When you take photos of people, sometimes you look into their soul in a way others can’t. And in Tristan I see someone who’s preoccupied, lost a bit, even if I don’t understand why.”

“There’s more than meets the eye, then?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Atticus is probably the wildest of the crew. And his eyes tell me he’s troubled about something.”

“What about Ronan?” I asked.

“Ronan is the funniest. His eyes are mischievous.”

Both Atticus and Ronan were just as good-looking as Tristan. The three of them were like a rock-god trifecta.

“How come you’re never taking photos at night?” I asked.

“The guys have a rule: no photos after the show. Probably because they don’t want the world to know what they’re up to. My job is to mainly document the musical aspects of the tour, not necessarily the other shenanigans.”

“The women, you mean?”

She nodded.

My phone rang, and I held a finger up to pause our conversation. “Hello?” I answered.

“We have a request for condoms,” Stephen, the tour manager, said. “I need you to take the car and get some. Bring them to Atticus’s room.”

I ran my hand through my hair. “Uh…okay.”

“You okay?” Layla asked as I hung up.

“Yeah.” I slipped on my shoes and chuckled. “I have to get condoms.”

“Oh shit.” She laughed. “Well, at least they’re being safe.”

“No idea what happened to the box I bought the other night.”

“I have some ideas.” She rolled her eyes. “I think you need to get, like, ten boxes.”

“No shit. I think I’ll do that.” I stopped at the door. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

“I don’t want to trouble you.”

“I’ll definitely need to buy something else to distract from the condoms, so what do you want?”

“Bring me back a Diet Coke?”

“You got it.” I winked.

I took the rental car and drove down the main road to the nearest Walmart.

After grabbing some snacks for the hotel room, Layla’s Diet Coke, and five boxes of condoms to keep stashed away so I didn’t have to keep going out to buy them, I went to the self-checkout register.

When I returned to the hotel, I dropped most of the stuff in my room first, then went to the other side of our floor to deliver a box of condoms to Atticus. I knocked on his door, and when it opened, I handed him the box as fast as I could. He took it without uttering a word. It felt like a covert operation, almost the way I imagined a drug deal to be. I’d barely noticed the shadow of a woman behind him.

On the way back down the hall, I heard a struggle as I passed a little alcove off of the hallway that contained a vending machine. I realized it was a girl being practically mauled by a man whose advances she clearly didn’t want. He’d cornered her, and her arms flailed as she tried to push him off.

“Get off her!” I shouted as I leaped in and used all of my might to shove him away.

“What the fuck?” he spewed.

“Can’t you see she’s telling you to stop?” I panted.

“Oh my God, thank you,” the girl whispered to me.

“What the hell is going on?” A voice came from behind me.

I turned, surprised to find Tristan standing there. But maybe I shouldn’t have been. This floor had been blocked off for the band and crew.

“This guy was pushing himself on her, when she was clearly resisting,” I explained.

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

Tristan turned toward the guy. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”

The guy looked at the floor. “I had too much to drink,” he slurred.

Tristan took his phone out. “Not an excuse…” He spoke to someone before grabbing the guy by the arm and dragging him down the hall.

Left alone, the girl and I chatted for a bit. She looked about my age, in her early twenties. She explained that she’d met the guy downstairs at the hotel bar, and he’d invited her to come back to his room. Turns out he worked for the tour company, which is how he’d had access to our private floor. After following him upstairs, she’d decided she’d had too much to drink and told him she’d changed her mind. But he’d followed her down the hall, then forced her into the vending area.

After thanking me one last time, she went back downstairs in the elevator.

I was going back to my room when I heard Tristan’s voice behind me.

“Emily. Wait up,” he said.

I turned, surprised he remembered my name. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sure, why?”

“You didn’t seem okay when I left, and I just want to make sure you’re good.”

“Yeah.” I forced a deep breath in and out. “I am.”

He cocked his head. “You sure?”

“That was a little triggering for me,” I admitted. “He was basically attacking her.”

He frowned. “Triggering…because something happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me, but…” I trailed off as a rush of heat warmed my cheeks.

“Can I get you a water or something?” he asked.

My head pounded. Everything that had just happened hit me like a ton of bricks. “You wouldn’t happen to have ibuprofen, would you?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Somewhere around here.” He gestured down the hallway. “Come on. I’ll get you some.”

I followed Tristan into his room, which was a full-on suite. Depending on the offerings of the hotel, I was told sometimes Tristan stayed in a penthouse; other times, he ended up with the best room on whatever floor the band’s management had booked. There was no doubt he got preferential treatment as the star of the band. I wondered if the other guys secretly hated him for it. Each of the band members at least got their own rooms, while the crew had to share. Thankfully, I really liked Layla.

I stayed close to the door as Tristan sifted through some stuff. There were a bunch of papers with handwritten words scattered on his bed. A leather jacket lay over a chair. He’d lit a candle on the bedside table—smelled like vanilla. This scene was a little different than I might’ve imagined in here. Much more Zen.

He zipped open a bag. “I guess you didn’t realize wrangling drunk assholes was part of your job?”

“Thankfully, it’s not, usually.”

“I kind of feel guilty now,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

“What do you mean? The condoms weren’t for you…”

He froze for a moment. “Condoms?”

“That’s why I was over here. To drop off condoms for Atticus.”

“What a jackass.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what I meant was, you were nervous about taking this job to begin with. I told you nothing bad happens on tour. And then you ran into that situation tonight. I was the one who told Doug to hire you.”

I nodded as understanding dawned. “Thank you for putting in a good word, by the way. I wasn’t sure you remembered me. We haven’t spoken since the tour started.”

“Don’t take it personally. Tour’s just been crazy. I’ve been meaning to say hello. Just under different circumstances.”

I nodded. “Why did you tell them to hire me? You don’t even know me.”

“I liked that you didn’t know who I was. That was the first time in a long time someone’s looked me in the eyes and seen a normal person, not some musician they’ve made a million incorrect assumptions about.”

“I saw more than your eyes in that bathroom, unfortunately.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I’m just kidding. I was the idiot who walked into the men’s room. Served me right.” My eyes traced the ink at the base of his neck, just peeking out from his white T-shirt. “Anyway, I probably would’ve recognized you from the Internet if you hadn’t had that long beard.”

“That’s exactly why I had the beard. I grow one every recording season when we don’t have to perform. It helps me not be recognized in public. I hated having to cut it before the tour.”

“Makes sense.”

Tristan opened another drawer and finally pulled out the ibuprofen. “Ah! Got it.” He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” I cracked open the bottle and took a sip before downing the meds. “I’m surprised you’re alone tonight.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve heard you guys have a different girl every night on hotel stops.”

“Wow.” He scratched his chin. “A different girl every night. I think my dick would fall off. Where are you getting your information?”

“I don’t disclose my sources.”

He shrugged. “Some nights I just want to be alone. I do have to write music at some point, rest my voice, get sleep.”

I nodded. Now the papers scattered over his bed made sense. “You write a lot on the road?”

“I write whenever inspiration strikes, but being on the road is actually when I’m most creative. Late at night on the bus, when everything goes quiet? That’s what I like best about touring. That’s my favorite time to write.”

“That’s my favorite time of the day lately, too. There’s something so relaxing about staring out at the moving darkness.”

He cocked his head. “What do you do?”

“On the bus? Read or listen to podcasts…”

“Sorry, I meant in general. What do you do when you’re not held captive by a tour for four months?”

“Not much of anything, actually. I’m trying to find my place in the world at the moment. I just graduated from Nevada State University.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-two.” I’d googled his age but asked anyway. “How old are you?”

“Almost thirty-eight. Old as fuck, right?”

“You don’t look thirty-eight. I would’ve guessed, like, thirty.”

“What did you study at Nevada State? Blowing smoke up people’s asses?” He winked.

I laughed. “It’s true. You look younger. But I majored in communications.”

“Nice.”

I shrugged. “Well, it’s been challenging finding a job with such a broad degree.”

“You’re in a good position,” he assured me. “I envy you.”

“Envy me?” I drew my brows in. “Why?”

“You’re a blank slate with your whole life ahead of you. Some days I wish I could go back and start over.”

“Why would you want to do that? You’re a huge star. If you did even one thing differently, you might not be where you are today.”

“Where I am today isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m very grateful for it all. But there’s always a price to pay for fame. Like giving up your privacy.”

“Yeah. I’m seeing that. You guys can’t go anywhere without being mobbed.”

“You clearly don’t give a shit who I am, though. I need that sometimes.” He smiled. “Your innocence is refreshing, Emily.”

Innocence? “I may be young. But I’m not innocent.” I scoffed.

“I don’t believe you. I can see it in your eyes. You’re innocent as hell.”

“You’re not a good reader of people, then.”

Tristan crossed his arms. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve done, and I’ll believe you.”

No one had ever asked me such a direct question before. And something about looking into this man’s eyes made me want to answer honestly.

So I did. “I killed someone.”

TRISTAN

I blinked. “You…killed someone.”

She muttered something and shook her head, looking down at her feet. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

“Well, I asked, and you certainly delivered. But I do think it warrants an explanation. That’s not the kind of thing you blurt out without further details, you know?”

She finally looked up at me. “I killed my mother’s boyfriend—accidentally. It was in self-defense. Or rather, in defense of my mother.”

Shit. I swallowed. “What happened? I mean, leading up to it?”

“I’d come home early from school. Walked into the house and found him choking her. She was gasping for air. I pleaded with him to let her go, and he wouldn’t. I was sure he was going to kill her.” She took a deep breath. “I grabbed a bat from my brother’s bedroom and knocked him over the head with it. I didn’t mean to kill him. But apparently, I hit some spot on the back of his head…” Her words trailed off.

“When did this happen?” I asked softly.

“My senior year in high school. So a little over four years ago.”

“Holy fucking shit. That’s a lot to go through.” I shook my head. “Are you okay? I mean, mentally?”

“Not really.” She looked down at her feet again. “I still feel guilty about it. And I have a savior complex sometimes. Any chance I get to help someone, I take it. You witnessed a bit of it tonight. I think I feel like I have to do good deeds to make up for the horrible thing I did.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Henry, my mother’s boyfriend, was an asshole. But he had kids. They no longer have a father. Even if he was a terrible person, I took him away from them. They didn’t deserve that.”

“No, but you didn’t deserve to be put in that position. Sounds like it was either him or your mom. You shouldn’t feel guilty. You saved her life. You did what anyone would do.”

Her eyes lifted to meet mine. “Is that true? Anyone would’ve grabbed a bat and bashed him over the head with it?” Her green eyes flashed.

“Probably not anyone. That took balls.” I exhaled. “I’m sorry you have to live with the guilt. And I can understand why you were so shaken by what happened out there tonight.”

“It doesn’t take much to trigger me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Like I said, I brought you here.” I wished I could wrap this girl in my arms right now, but that would seem creepy. “Do you need help?” I asked instead. “Like, do you see a therapist? You should talk to someone if you’re still struggling with everything.”

“Well…” She sighed. “I haven’t wanted to rehash it. But perhaps I need to force myself at some point.”

“The band has a shrink, believe it or not. She does remote therapy. Doug got the idea a while ago when Atticus went off the deep end, and he thought we were going to break up. He told us we should all get our heads checked and then hired her—Dr. Jensen. I’m sure she can fit you in.”

“I’m not part of the band.”

“Everyone on this tour is part of the band. I’ll make sure you get in with her, if you want to. And I’ll make sure it’s paid for if the insurance they gave you doesn’t cover it.”

“That’s nice of you, but you don’t owe me anything.”

I ignored her comment. “What’s your last name?”

“Applewood.”

“I’ll mention you to her, if you want. I can have her office reach out.”

“That’s very gracious of you. I’ll let you know, okay?”

“You shouldn’t have to keep it all inside. That’s the worst thing we can do to ourselves. Suffer in silence.” I should know. Though my problems as of late were nothing compared to what this poor girl had been through.

“Do you do that?” she asked. “Suffer in silence?”

It was like she’d read my mind. “My issues aren’t like yours, but yeah, I do keep things inside. I’m definitely struggling with my own shit lately.” I shrugged. “Isn’t everyone, though?”

Emily nodded. “I’m sorry.”

I could tell she meant it. Emily Applewood seemed like an empathetic person. A strong person. Tough life experiences only make people stronger. She was young, but some things age you fast.

I got lost in her eyes for a moment. She was beautiful—not in the fake way most of the women I’d been around recently were. But in a natural way. Her long brown hair was wavy and had a reddish tint when it caught the light. She had a small gap between her two front teeth that I found oddly appealing, sexy even, especially framed by full lips that were cherry red without lipstick. Not an ounce of makeup on her fresh face, yet she was perfect. Perfect on the outside, and perfectly imperfect on the inside. She wasn’t trying to impress me. She wasn’t trying to be anyone other than who she was. Emily had gotten a bum deal for trying to do the right thing. And that made me angry. Life wasn’t fair.

“Anyway, I’d appreciate you not telling anyone about this,” she said, fiddling with her hands. “I don’t need people here knowing what I just told you.”

I shook my head. “I would never, Emily.” I took a step toward her. “Never. I hope you know that.”

“Anyway…” She looked back toward the hotel room door. “I’d better go.”

Fuck. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted her to stay and talk to me, tell me what had led her mother to date a man so abusive he’d almost killed her. Where was Emily’s father? Where was she from? I was really curious about her—maybe because being in her presence was the first time I’d felt a normal human connection in as long as I could remember. But there was absolutely no good reason to ask a twenty-two-year-old to stay and chat in your room. She’d have every right to assume my intentions were questionable, since my reputation unfortunately preceded me.

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “Have a good night. Thanks for chatting with me.”

“Thank you for the ibuprofen.” She smiled before heading out.

After she left, I stared at the door, wishing she’d forgotten something, wishing she’d come back. Even if that was just a fantasy.

I eventually settled in my bed, my failed attempts at writing music surrounding me. But I couldn’t shake Emily from my mind. What she’d done to protect her mom…

I told myself to mind my fucking business, but the urge became too great. I grabbed my laptop and searched Emily Applewood.

Sure enough, a story popped up from a news station in St. Louis, Missouri.

A Shady Hills man is dead after being struck with a baseball bat, allegedly by his girlfriend’s eighteen-year-old daughter. According to police, Emily Applewood arrived home Wednesday night to find fifty-four-year-old Henry Acadia choking his girlfriend, Terry Applewood. According to Applewood’s attorney, Frank Simmons, Applewood pleaded with Acadia to let her mother go. When the deceased continued to attack the elder Applewood, her daughter reportedly used her brother’s baseball bat to hit Acadia from behind. According to the medical examiner, Acadia suffered an injury to the occipital-atlas region, which caused him to lose consciousness almost immediately. The injury was fatal. Given Acadia’s documented history of domestic violence, police have not brought charges against Applewood and are ruling the incident as accidental.

That was it.

Damn.

A life-changing trauma, reduced to a simple paragraph. In the days after it happened, the news media likely moved on to something else, but for Emily, the horror of that night would continue forever, haunting her. Life was so damn unfair.

I should’ve stopped there, but I scrolled through the other hits on Emily’s name, including her social media pages.

There was nothing recent. Her newest post was from about a year ago. She was smiling in the photo, her eyes holding a certain light that seemed lost now. A guy had his arm around her. I couldn’t make out his face because he was wearing a hood and kissing her cheek. My chest tightened as I looked at the caption: I’ll miss you forever.

EMILY

A week later, we had our biggest, sold-out show yet in Detroit.

I’d learned that one of my favorite parts of the tour were the moments I could stand backstage and enjoy the performance for a bit, ignoring the controlled chaos around me. The moment the lights dimmed in a packed venue, I always got chills. Then came the roar of the crowd as the band emerged, followed by more hysteria as Tristan belted out the first notes. And the audience would go from excited to captivated as the show got underway. Hands waving, bodies swaying, the crowd joined in singing whenever Tristan pointed the mic their way.

After hearing the band’s music over and over, I could understand why so many people loved them. I often had the songs stuck in my head for the rest of the night. And it wasn’t just Tristan who shined. The chemistry between him, Atticus, and Ronan was palpable. They’d look at each other and smile in the middle of a performance, as if sharing silent messages only they understood.

For some reason, tonight Tristan had sounded a bit different to me, like the notes weren’t coming as smoothly as he sang. It wasn’t obvious, and at first I’d thought it was my imagination. But the more I paid attention, the more I noticed it.

I was back from the arena now and on the bus, using the bathroom after a long day. We’d have a few more hours here before we hit the road for the next city. Our departure time had been delayed so the band could explore downtown Detroit. But none of that for me. As I washed my face, I continued to ruminate. I still couldn’t believe I’d told Tristan about my past the other night. What was I thinking? His eyes had made me want to open up. They were mysterious yet somehow familiar, comforting, and nonjudgmental.

My plans to get into my pajamas were thwarted by a text from Stephen. Tristan needs lozenges. Apparently, the other members of the band had gone downtown, with security in tow, but Tristan had stayed behind. Besides that night a week ago when we’d talked in his hotel room, I’d only encountered Tristan in passing. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for another moment alone with him. Even if that was crazy.

Often, late at night, I’d watch from across the lot as various girls disappeared into the band’s bus. God knew what was happening in there. I could only imagine how many women Tristan and the guys had been with since they’d become famous. Even if he denied having a different girl with him every night, it must’ve been a hell of a lot of ladies.