Hayden interjects, quiet as always. “He’s… handling it.” Like that means anything.
Sadie’s gaze flicks from Hayden back to me. She clocked the hit. I hate that she saw it. I hate it even more that it matters.
“Look.” Her tone is softer, but not soft. “I’m not here to make anyone bleed. I’m here to cover the tour. All of it. If my being here is a problem for you, let’s just pretend that neither one of us exists when we’re together.”
“Sweetheart,” I scoff in pleasure when her jaw tightens at the word. Good. “I’ve been pretending people don’t exist since before you learned how to take a lens cap off.”
“Cute.” She leans forward, forearms on her knees, the camera swinging in front of her. “Here’s the thing you ego maniac; I’m not here for you.”
A laugh pushes against my teeth and dies there. The room mishears me all the time, but not like that. “Good,” I seethe. “Stay out of my way.”
“If you have a way worth staying out of, I’ll let you know.” She gives it back as good as she gets and I have to admire her for that. Even if I’d never admit it to her.
Mikey whistles low and pretends to cough when I cut him a look. Hayden busies himself with his mug like he’s hoping to disappear into the coffee.
She settles back and crosses her ankles on the edge of the seat. She looks like she could sleep through a riot. She also looks like she knows how to sleep with one eye open.
I should pick up my guitar and play until the conversation dissolves under the sound. Instead, I watch the dim lights stripe across her face through the window. A streetlamp, another, and another, like someone flicking through frames of a film.
Her eyes go to the ceiling, as if memorizing the route the ductwork takes. Her hand slides into her pocket and comes out with a rubber band. She tightens the bun without looking, the bracelets on her arm clicking against each other. The whole move says I’ve done this on a hundred buses and none of them were allowed to own me.
“Do you have a bunk for me?” The question is not directed to any one of us in particular. “Or do I need to ask your tour manager where I’m crashing?”
“You’re not crashing anywhere near me.” It’s automatic. It’s also true.
“Tragic.” Sarcasm reigns supreme once again. “I’ll cry into my pillow. Tell me the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Bus rules.” She tilts her head. “Every crew has them.”
“Don’t puke in the head,” Mikey instructs helpfully. “Trash bags tie off on the right. If Dean’s writing, let him brood.”
“I don’t brood.” My response defensive as my brow furrows.
“You absolutely brood.” Hayden confirms, and then winces like he can’t believe he said that out loud in front of the enemy.
Sadie’s mouth curves. “Duly noted. Anything else?”
“Don’t point that thing at me.” I nod at the camera. “Not without a warning.”
“Consent is sexy.” She smirks. “I promise to use my words. Can’t say the same for you.”
I stare. She stares back, steady as a tripod. There’s no flirt in it. There’s challenge. There’s, I can take a punch and swing one harder. There’s, you’re not the first man to try me and you won’t be the last. Something under my ribs shift. I push it back where it belongs.
Luc’s bus peals past us on the right. It’s dark, blinds drawn, and the sight hits me behind the ribs again. The urge to call him. The urge not to. The memory of a hospital parking lot a lifetime ago where a cop wouldn’t meet my eye. A door I refuse to walk through again. A girl who’d been my whole world and then wasn’t.
That door is welded shut. I welded it.
“Dean,” Hayden mutters under his breath, because apparently my face is making noise.
“I’m fine.” I’m not, but that’s standard.
Sadie’s eyes track the other bus’s taillights until they disappear. She doesn’t ask. Points for that. She could. It’s literally her job, but she doesn’t. She’s better than press. And she’s worse. Because she sees more.
I hook the strap over my shoulder and bring the guitar up where it belongs. The wood settles against me like it knows what to do with my hands when I don’t. I roll the volume knob with my thumb, just enough to feel it.
A riff threads under my fingers unwanted, uninvited, familiar like a word you can’t remember until it’s too late. It’s nothing. It’s a line of notes walking toward a chorus I don’t intend to write. It sounds like getting close to a flame on purpose. It sounds like no. It sounds like yes. I cut it off and let the silence fall heavy.
