“There they are,” Dylan calls, grinning as we step in. “Thought you two were gonna waste the whole day away in your bunk.”
“Trust me, it crossed my mind,” I say, grabbing two cups of coffee and sliding into the seat next to Lily, passing her one.
Jax looks up from his mug, his green eyes clearer than they’ve been in weeks. He still carries a faint shadow of discomfort in his shoulders, but he looks good. Strong. “Good timing,” he says, his voice rough. “Therapy session’s in an hour.”
I nod, the reminder settling over us. Harris set up a virtual group therapy session for Jax’s recovery, and though none of us have talked about it much since he initially brought it up, we all know it’s necessary. Not just for him, but for all of us. We’re stronger when we work together.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” Jax says, his eyes dropping to his coffee. The words seem hard for him to get out, his voice low. “I know it’s not exactly… fun.”
Lily reaches across the table, placing a hand gently on his arm. “We’re in this together, Jax. All of us.”
Her voice carries a quiet conviction, and the heaviness in the room softens. Even Enzo, who’s usually the first to add a snarky comment, simply nods.
Dylan continues flipping another pancake, finally breaking the moment with a grin. “And let’s not forget,” he quips, “this session is happening right after I’ve cooked pancakes for everyone. I fully expect someone to mention how I’ve stepped into the caregiver role here. Really leaning into the whole team dynamic thing, aren’t I?”
Jax huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but there’s a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. Dylan’s over-the-top humor canget annoying, but he also uses it to help steer the conversation when it gets too heavy.
We eat together, the conversation light and teasing, but beneath it all, there’s a shared anticipation for what’s coming next. Despite the undertone, breakfast together is nice, a small moment of normalcy.
When we wrap up eating, we gather around the table, setting up the laptop for the session in the center. Jax fidgets in his seat, his nerves showing, but no one calls him out on it. We’re all feeling the pressure in our own way; the weight of what this session means for all of us.
The screen flickers to life, and the therapist’s calm voice fills the room. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here.”
One by one, we introduce ourselves. It feels awkward at first, but as the session goes on, a strange sense of relief settles in. The therapist asks Jax to start, and he does, his voice cracking in places as he talks about the pressure of the band, the way he spiraled, and how hard it’s been to fight his way back.
We all share our piece. I talk about how the band is my family, how hard it was to watch Jax fall, and the guilt we all carry for not stepping in sooner. Enzo, as expected, starts with sarcasm, deflecting at first, but eventually opens up about the anger and frustration he’s felt—not just at Jax, but at all of us. Dylan, usually the joker, gets quiet, admitting his fear. Fear for the band, for the future, and most of all, fear of losing Jax again, but for real this time.
Lily holds my hand through it all, her touch grounding. She tried to leave the therapy session to just the band, but we all balked at the suggestion. Lily is part of thegroup now, whether she fully accepts it or not. When it’s her turn to speak, her voice is unwavering, full of warmth and compassion. She talks about how much she believes in us—in Jax—and how she’s seen firsthand the strength we all have, even when we don’t see it ourselves.
When the session ends, the room is quiet for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering. But it’s not a bad weight. It feels like a weight that we are working to release and move on. It’s the beginning of something lighter, something better.
“We did it,” Jax says, his voice thick with emotion. He glances around the table, his green eyes softer than I’ve seen in years.
“Yeah, we did,” I reply, my voice steady. “And we’ll keep doing it.”
Lily smiles at me, her blue eyes shining with pride and hope.
As the bus rumbles beneath us, carrying us toward whatever comes next, I feel it too. We are stronger the more we work together.
CHAPTER 37
WAITING FOR THE OTHER SHOE TO DROP
DYLAN
The dayson the bus blur together—wake up, eat, rehearse, drive. Play a show, pack up, repeat. It’s almost mechanical, like we’re all running on autopilot. The hum of the engine, the faint smell of coffee, and the constant sway of the road become the backdrop to our lives. There’s a strange familiarity to be found in it, but underneath, there’s something else. A weight, a waiting. Like we’re holding our breath for the inevitable.
I keep checking my phone, even though I know there’s nothing there. No updates from the label. The silence feels like a ticking time bomb. Part of me wants to believe that no news is good news, but I know better. Jax’s mistakes aren’t the kind of thing they let slide, and the quiet feels more ominous than reassuring.
I’m stretched out on the couch, tapping my fingers against my knee as the bus rocks along the highway. Enzo sits across from me, headphones on, quietly strumming his bass. Marcus leans against the window, scrolling throughhis phone with a deep frown. Jax is half-asleep in his bunk, calmer than he’s been in weeks. And Lily—she’s curled up in the corner of the couch, her head resting on her hand, her eyes closed but clearly not asleep.
The silence stretches until Enzo finally pulls off his headphones and breaks it. “You think they’re ignoring us?” he asks, his voice dry.
I shrug, not looking up. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just waiting to see if we screw up again.”
“They’ve never been this quiet,” Marcus mutters, his eyes still fixed on his screen. “It’s... unsettling.”
Jax stirs, his voice gravelly as he joins the conversation. “Maybe they’re giving us space.”
