"That’s the point," I say, shifting slightly to sit up more. "You’re working through it. You’re not alone anymore, Jax. And that’s what matters."
His gaze drops for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching as he considers my words. When he looks back at me, there’s a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Guess Ishould be grateful for all these assholes, huh?" His smirk is full of affection despite the teasing tone.
Before I can respond, Enzo groans, his voice rough as he wanders into the living room, blinking blearily at the ceiling. "What the hell time is it?"
Dylan shifts on the couch, rubbing his face with both hands as he groans. "Too fucking early for whatever’s happening right now," he mutters, his curls sticking up wildly.
Jax smirks, standing up and stretching his arms out in front of him. "Rise and shine, fuckers. Another day on the road."
Marcus walks into the room, stopping beside me, and running a hand through his tousled blond hair as he yawns. His voice is still husky with sleep as he murmurs, "Back to the grind."
"There’s something about the road," Dylan says, leaning back against the couch, his eyes still half-closed. "The constant movement, the unpredictability… it’s like freedom in a weird way."
"Not to mention," Enzo adds, cracking his neck as he walks closer to me, "We can’t fuck up a tour if we don’t play one." His smirk is sharp, but there’s an ease to his tone that lightens the mood.
Laughter bubbles out of me, warm and unforced. I glance around at them all, my chest swelling with a mix of affection and gratitude. Despite everything—the chaos, the struggles, the messiness of our lives—this feels right. This is home.
Jax leans back against the counter, his arms braced casually to the sides. He surveys us, his expression thoughtful. "It’s good to be back," he says softly, his voicecarrying a note of sincerity that makes me pause. "I thought I’d lost this. All of it. But…"
"You didn’t," I say, cutting him off gently. I meet his gaze, holding it steady. "You never lost us, Jax. We were always here. You just had to let us in."
His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Yeah," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "Guess I’m finally starting to believe that."
The bus hums beneath us, the rhythm of its movement lulling us into a comfortable silence. Outside, the light shifts, the sun rising higher and painting the landscape in soft shades of orange and pink.
As the morning unfolds, the weight we’ve been carrying feels a little lighter. I ignore the pressing words of Harris’ warning, tabling them for just a little longer. It’s almost time to tell the guys. Just not quite yet.
I don’t want them to lose this fragile hope that has been steadily building. There’s still work to do, still miles to cover, but I feel certain that we’re heading in the right direction.
CHAPTER 34
BLURRED LINES
ENZO
The dayson the bus blend into each other. One show bleeds into the next and the hours spent traveling become indistinguishable from those spent backstage. We play, we drive, we play again. Rinse and repeat. The rhythm is relentless, but I still find comfort in the routine. Until I notice Lily.
She’s trying too hard. It’s like she’s balancing an invisible ledger, dividing herself between us as if she’s afraid someone might feel left out. I watch her drift from Marcus to Dylan, then over to Jax, her smile soft but strained. In addition to dividing her attention between the band, she spends her time at each show fielding calls from Harris and dealing with random issues from the crew. She keeps up the act of everything being a-okay, but I see the exhaustion behind her eyes. I just don’t know what to do about it exactly.
The city streets are dark and empty as we wind our way to our next stop a little earlier than usual. The faint hum of the city is barely audible in the distance, replacingthe usual din of the crowd we typically hear as we close in.
When the bus finally lurches to a stop at our third venue this week, I start to formulate a plan. The guys are already halfway out the door, their voices fading as they head for the dressing room. Lily lingers by the front of the bus, her hand on the door handle, staring at something far away.
It’s my chance.
As the others disappear, I step off the bus and follow her inside. She moves quickly, her head down, as though trying to slip away unnoticed. I catch up just as she ducks into a small crew bathroom tucked in the back hallway.
“Lily,” I say, stopping the door with my arm before she can close it.
She blinks up at me, her blue eyes wide with surprise, but there’s something else there too—relief, maybe, or something heavier. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to be alone, but I interpret her expression to mean that she doesn’t. She starts to say something, but I don’t give her the chance. Pushing the door open, I step inside, shutting it firmly behind me.
The space is tight, the air thick with the faint scent of industrial cleaner and her perfume—a mix of lavender and some other floral scent that clings to her like a second skin. We’re so close I can feel the heat radiating off her.
“You’re running yourself ragged,” I mutter, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from her face. Her eyes search mine, hesitant, like she’s trying to figure out my angle.
“I’m just trying to make things easier and keep them fair,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. But it’s guarded, and I know there’s more she’s not saying.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “You don’t have to make things easier for everyone else. Not for me, not for the others. What about you, huh? When’s the last time you thought about whatyouneed?”
