Which makes me hate myself.
Chapter Five
Dean
Ghost
Justin Bieber
We play our second night in Seattle and leave the same night. No party this time. We’ve only got two days between this show and Salt Lake, and it’s over a fourteen-hour drive on the bus. Probably longer with pit stops and traffic. The highway between Seattle and Salt Lake might as well be a graveyard made of asphalt.
We pull out a little after 2 a.m., but only Hayden hits the bunks. The sky’s a dark purple bruise clouding over us. Rain chews at the edges of the windows. Mikey’s making TikToks or sexting or whatever he does when he’s suspiciously quiet. Luc is behind us, on his bus, but Lily isn’t with him. She flew home this morning to go home and gather Larkin. She’s coming back to join us for the rest of the tour.
The circus just keeps growing.
And then there’s Sadie. She’s sitting at the table editing photos like she’s trying to distract herself from existing. Every time the bus hits a bump, her knee knocks into the table and she winces. I want to go over and turn her body so her knee doesn’t turn into one big, black bruise.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t even notice. But I do. All from my corner, my guitar long forgotten in my lap. I tell myself I’m not watching her. I’m watching the scenery. Only she just happens to be the scenery.
The bus slows, air brakes hissing loudly as we come to a full stop. I can see red and blue lights flashing through the slats in the blinds. I rise without even realizing it, my body drifting to the front of the bus, my lungs seizing when I look out the wide windshield.
There’s a large semi on its side. A sedan crumpled under the back of the truck’s trailer like a soda can. Firefighters pulling someone through broken glass. A girl with long blonde hair, streaked red with blood, body limp in their arms.
My heart goes nuclear, every inch of my skin prickling with heat. I blink and I’m eighteen again, gripping a steering wheel so hard my palms bleed, my foot pressing through the floorboard of my car as I attempt to brake. Watching the black Mustang in front of me spin into oncoming traffic. Hearing the metal rip and her scream. Seeing her hair spread across the windshield like gold threads snapping.
“Hey, Dean.” Her gentle voice pulls me back, but not far enough. Not fast enough. “Dean?”
I grip the back of the driver’s seat so hard I feel my nails breaking through the leather. The air feels too thin. Too sharp. I need out.
Sadie is standing beside me, a hand reaching out toward me. “Hey, what’s happening? Are you?—”
“Don’t,” I snap, slapping her hand away from me as I spin around. The word echoes in the bus like a slap.
She takes a step back, lowering her arms to her side, going still as she stares over at me, concern clearly etched in her furrowed brow.
Mikey stands up, eyes narrowed. Hayden is suddenly in the main cabin, a weary expression marring his normally calm exterior.
I don’t wait for questions. I yell at the driver to open the door, and then stumble out into the cold, wet air like it owes me my breath back. I brace my hands on my thighs. Inhale. Exhale. Try to slow the tremor in my spine.
Rain pelts like needles into my skin, grounding me in the present. The real present. The one where she’s gone, long gone, and nothing can hurt me worse than that already did. I blow out another breath, suck another one in.
Footsteps approach. No. Please God, no. She doesn’t need to know this about me.
“Dean?” Of course it’s Sadie. Her question is tentative, like her step, as she stops. She stands a few feet away, not touching, not crowding, just there. Her hair is damp from the mist. Her expression is soft, not one of pity, not one of fear. It’s concern.
“You okay?” she asks gently.
“Yes.” The lie is automatic, ugly, but it’s all I have in this moment to give her.
She nods once. “Okay. Then I’ll just… stand here. In case you need something.”
I don’t deserve that. I don’t know how to accept it either. The wail of a siren cuts through the air. My vision tunnels again, and I feel the world tilt on its axis, my arm slamming onto the side of the bus so I can keep my balance.
She takes one tiny step closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough to make sure I know she’s not leaving. And fuck me, it actually helps. Just a little. When I finally straighten, she looks up at me like she’s cataloging data points straight into my bloodstream.
“You didn’t have to come out here,” I mumble, resting my forehead against my outstretched arm, my heartbeat starting to slow a little.
“I know.”
