Harris shakes his head. “No. I’m telling you because you’re the one holding their strings right now. If they know just how close they are to losing everything, it could break them. But it’s your decision. You know them better than I do.”
I nod slowly, my mind spinning. The thought of keeping this from them feels wrong, but Harris has a point. The pressure might shatter the fragile stability we’ve worked so hard to rebuild.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, my voice tight.
Harris studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “I don’t want this band to fail, Lily. But it’s up to them, and up to you, to make this work. No mistakes. No excuses.”
I nod and murmur, “I understand.”
With that, he turns and heads toward his car, leaving me standing there, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder on my chest.
When I step onto the bus, the usual chaos greets me. Marcus is in the corner, tuning his guitar with a focused intensity. Dylan sprawls on the couch, flipping his drumsticks with casual precision. Enzo and Jax are in the middle of a quiet argument, their low voices carrying an edge of tension.
I watch them, enjoying the normalcy and wanting to live in this moment forever. If only that was possible.
“Hey, you okay?” Marcus asks, his blue eyes flicking to mine as I pause in the doorway.
I force a smile, though my stomach churns with the burden I’m carrying. “Yeah,” I lie. “Just a tough talk with Harris.”
Enzo raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t press. “What’d he want?”
“Updates,” I say lightly, brushing it off. “He’s just keeping tabs.”
Jax looks up, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “We’re good, though, right?”
“Yeah,” I lie again, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. “We’re good.”
I sink into a seat, letting their banter wash over me like white noise. The weight of Harris’s warning feels unbearable, but I can’t bring myself to tell them—not yet.
There’s still a chance, no matter how slim, that we can pull this off. I need to give them every opportunity to succeed without the added pressure.
If they lose the band, I don’t know what will happen—to them, to me, to everything they’ve built together.
For now, the truth can wait.
CHAPTER 27
A NEW START
LILY
The familiar humof the bus stirs me awake, vibrating softly beneath me. My eyes flutter open to the dim ceiling of my bunk. For the first time in what feels like ages, I’m alone in bed. No Enzo’s steady warmth by my side, no Dylan’s arm draped lazily over my waist. The absence feels strange, almost hollow, like a void that can’t quite be filled.
I lie there for a moment, staring up at the small ceiling above me. The rhythm of the bus is soothing but foreign at the same time. It’s as though the comfort I’d grown used to has been stripped away, replaced with the weight of reality.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind, and now we’re back on the road, heading to the next venue. I can already feel the familiar pull of the stage, the rush of adrenaline that comes with watching the band performing in front of their thousands of fans. But this time, there’s something different—a heaviness lingering in the air.
Maybe it’s the weight of the conversation with Harris,still hanging over me like a storm cloud, or the aftermath of everything that happened with Jax after the last show. Either way, things don’t feel the same.
I slip out of my bunk, my feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. The bus is dimly lit, the morning sunlight beginning to filter through the small windows, casting long shadows along the narrow hallway.
I can hear faint sounds coming from the front—clinking dishes, the low murmur of conversation. I run a hand through my tangled hair, taming it with my fingers instead of finding my brush as I make my way toward the kitchen area.
The smell of coffee hits me before I reach the end of the hall. When I step into the kitchenette, Marcus is at the stove, flipping eggs in a pan with his usual efficiency. Enzo is slouched at the table, cradling a mug of coffee, his dark hair still messy from sleep. Dylan is lounging in the corner, drumming his fingers on the counter in a rhythm only he seems to hear. Jax sits at the far end, his green eyes distant, though there’s a quiet strength in the way he holds himself now. He’s healing—it’s slow, but it’s visibly happening.
“Good morning,” I say as I slide into the empty space beside Enzo.
“Morning, sunshine,” Dylan replies with a grin, his tone as upbeat as ever.
