Page 129 of The Rogues

“Do you want to add some keys to the chorus?” Cyrus asks me. He mumbles the melody as he reads over the lyrics, his brain working a mile a minute.

My mate always works on autopilot when writing music and today is no exception.

“Maybe later. Just work on the chords with Kai and Remi. I’ll figure out something to embellish it later.”

He nods and immediately walks over to the guys. We’re halfway through our new album, and since the tour was canceled, we’re working overtime to get some material together for our producers.

I look at the date. We were supposed to be in North Carolina by now, playing at the Spectrum Center, but instead we’re back in Los Angeles, isolating in our pack house and trying to heal from the past few weeks.

After Cleo’s overdose, both of our teams realized that we can’t go on with the tour. Her condition was serious, and although the guys and I weren’t explicitly told what happened, Josie said that their label forced Cleo to check into rehab. Only a select few people know where she is, Josie included, and the rest of the public has been asked to give the band privacy as they navigate this difficult time.

In regard to their careers, that’s on hold for the time being while Cleo recovers.

I look up at Josie across the room, her notebook sitting idle beside her as she types away on her phone. The change has been hard on her. I don’t have to be bonded to her to know that the guilt she feels is still very much present. She tries to keep herself busy by hanging out with us and by diving into her songwriting, but it’s obvious that the events still weigh heavily on her.

Still, despite all the turmoil, she wanted us to start our lives together, and that started with moving in together.

When we first brought Josie to our pack house, we were nervous. We didn’t have time to prepare anything, but even without all the bells and whistles, Josie loved it so much that she burst into tears the second she saw it.

She moved in that same week.

I love that no matter where I am, Josie isn’t far away. We all have our own space, and Josie has her nest next door to the music room we’re occupying right now. It’s a dream come true, and even with all the drama in the media following everything that happened, we’re still enjoying the honeymoon phase as best as we can.

I walk over to her and sit down on the green carpeted floor.

“Texting Lark?” I ask.

She looks up with a soft smile, her scent subdued but still just as beautiful. “Yeah, she’s getting together with Nicola to write some melodies. We all feel really weird about doing it without Cleo, though.”

“Which is why you’re staying back,” I guess.

She shrugs. “I just don’t feel ready to jump into it yet.”

My thumb finds her cheek, wishing I could will away her somberness with a flick of a finger. “You’re allowed to grieve, Josie. There’s no time limit for when you’re supposed to be ready. Just feel it out.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I’ll keep writing lyrics on my own and maybe someday soon, things will feel different.” She bites her lip, looking to the ground. “I just wish she would answer my calls.”

I nod, knowing there’s nothing I can say that will make it any better. Cleo hasn’t taken anyone’s calls at the rehab facility, and I think that’s hurting Josie even more than the situation in general.

“I just wish she knew that I don’t care about what’s happened. I just want her to be okay. I want to be there for her.”

“She knows,” I reassure her. “She knows you better than anyone. She got a bit lost, but she’s going to make her way back to you. It’s just a matter of when.”

Josie smiles the tiniest bit, her eyes sparkling for the first time all day. “Thank you, Jamie,” she says.

She pecks my lips, and I revel in it. No matter how small the affection is, I will gladly accept it. Every second in her line of sight is one that I’m grateful for.

“I really like this house,” she confesses for the tenth time since she’s moved in.

“We’re glad,” Remi overhears and replies. He comes up behind us, the rest of the guys in tow.

“We have some places in England, too, if you’d ever like to come meet our families and see where we grew up,” Malaki suggests.

Her eyes widen. “I would love that.”

“Bristol would be happy to have you,” Lennon beams.

She looks to me again. “Would Kiss Cove like another famous visitor?”