“Food’s almost ready,” Marcus says over his shoulder as he focuses on the pan in front of him. “You hungry?”
I nod, my stomach growling in response. “Starving.”
Marcus serves up our food, sliding plates of eggs and toast to each of us. The simplicity of the meal feels comforting, almost indulgent, as if we’re recreating a piece of the peace we found at The Ranch.
As we eat, I steel myself for the conversation I know we need to have. The Ranch had been our sanctuary, a place where it felt safe to unpack the chaos inside us. But now, back on the bus, it will be too easy to let old habits resurface, to hide behind distractions and pretend everything’s okay. We can’t let that happen.
I set my fork down, scanning their faces. "So," I begin, my voice steady but carrying an edge of firm determination. "We’re back on the road, but I don’t want us to stop communicating. We’ve come too far to slip backward now.”
Marcus looks up from his plate, his expression thoughtful. His blue eyes meet mine, steady and sure. “I agree,” he says quietly. “We can’t just act like things are fine because we’re moving forward. That’s not how this works.”
Across the table, Jax shifts in his seat, his hand running over the rim of his coffee cup. His fidgeting is a telltale sign of nerves, but his gaze is firm when he finally speaks. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, his voice careful but carrying an undertone of resolve. “About everything… how I’ve been dealing with things. I think I need to talk to someone. Like… professionally.”
The room stills, his words hanging in the air. The weight of what he’s said doesn’t pass unnoticed. Jax, the one who always tries to handle things on his own, who carries burdens silently until they break him, is admitting he needs help. It’s not just surprising—it’s monumental. From what the guys have told me, his pattern has always been the same: bury the pain, let it simmer, and then spiral when it becomes too much. This moment feels like a turning point.
“I think that’s a huge step forward,” I say, my voice soft but sincere. “Therapy could be really good for you, Jax. I can help you find someone.”
He nods, his gaze still fixed on his coffee. “I want to try. I need to. I don’t want to go back to how things were.”
Enzo leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s about damn time,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “But it’s a good move, Jax. It shows you’re serious.”
“I’ll reach out to Harris,” I add, already reaching for my phone. “We can find someone who can do virtual sessions while we’re on the road. That way, it doesn’t have to wait.”
Jax finally glances up, his green eyes meeting mine with a flicker of gratitude. “Thanks, Lily.”
Before I can start typing out a message, Dylan clears his throat, drawing our attention. “You know,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “if Jax is doing therapy, maybe we should all think about it. Like… as a group.”
I blink, surprised by the suggestion. Dylan, the joker who always lightens the mood, is suggesting group therapy? It’s unexpected, but the sincerity in his eyes makes it clear he’s serious.
Enzo raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Group therapy? Really?”
“Yeah,” Dylan says, shrugging as he taps his fingers lightly on the table. “We’ve been through a lot. All of us. And maybe talking it out together could help. I mean, we’re a band, right? We’re supposed to have each other’s backs.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “I thinkthat’s a great idea,” I say, glancing around the table. “What do you think, Marcus?”
Marcus nods, his gaze shifting from Dylan to Jax. “I’m in. We’ve all been carrying stuff, and it’s not just Jax. We all need this.”
Jax looks between us, his face caught between surprise and something softer. “You’d all do that? For me?”
“For us. For the band,” Marcus corrects, his voice calm but firm. “We’ve got to stick together, Jax. That’s what this is about.”
Jax exhales, his shoulders lowering as if the weight of his confession is already beginning to lift. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Enzo mutters, his tone gruff but teasing. “Just show up and don’t fuck it up.”
A ripple of laughter moves around the table, lightening the atmosphere. The sound feels like a thread connecting us, tying us back together. It’s like we’re bringing the feelings created at The Ranch with us to the bus, making it an equally safe space.
It feel like a new beginning.
I ignore the burden of the news Harris told me, knowing that sharing it now could shatter the fragile peace the band is rebuilding.
Instead, I push the issue to the side for later and quickly type out a message to him, requesting help to find a therapist who can handle both individual and group sessions virtually. As I hit send, I look at each of them, a quiet pride swelling in my chest. This is what progress looks like—not perfection, just continuing to step forward.
“Alright,” Marcus says, standing and stretching after afew more minutes at the table. “Let’s start the day. We’ve got work to do. On our new music.”
CHAPTER 28
BACK IN THE SPOTLIGHT
