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I’ll pass the classes. Get the Trust. Pay the boys back. Drag Atlas Falling out of the grave with my bare hands if I have to.

We’ll write something better than anything we’ve done before.

We’ll get back onstage.

For the boys. For me.

For every person who still gives enough of a shit to stop me on a sidewalk and tell me we gave them the best night of their life.

Fuck, yes.

Let’s fucking go.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks up at me with an expression I know well.

“Are you doing anything later? A few of us are going to⁠—”

“I can’t,” I say. “But thank you.”

Her smile flickers with surprise, but she takes it well. “Sure. Of course.” She lifts her phone. “Can I just⁠—”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

We take the selfie, and she walks away.

I stand on the sidewalk, the coffee warming my hand, watching her disappear into the crowd.

A year ago, I would’ve taken her number.

Six months ago, even.

Now the only woman my dick seems interested in has a smart mouth, and big brown eyes.

I take a drink of coffee.

Right.

Grades first.

Then the Trust.

Then the band.

And somewhere in between, apparently, Bea fucking Walker.

Chapter Seventeen

Bea

Turns out, Sheila is enormous.

I stand on the sidewalk outside my building in my red dress and my one pair of heels that don’t make me want to cry, and I stare at it. It’s a black pickup, lifted, looks like it belongs on a ranch or a building site. It is the size of a small building.

Cal is leaning against the driver’s side with his arms folded, watching me take this in. Damn, he looks sexy in that pose.

“This is Sheila,” he says.

“She’s…big.”