“Oklahoma, baby!” Paige squealed as she bounced in her seat, pointing out the window of the tour bus. “We’ve officially left the Lone Star State!”

Taryn jumped up from the table and joined her, snapping pictures with the digital camera she’d bought before we left Austin.

Sinking deeper into the well of Rhenn’s arms, I hummed along to the old Garth Brooks tune bleeding from the speaker on the antiquated sound system. He nuzzled my ear, and I felt his lips curve into a smile. “We’re on our way, Belle.”

Gasping, I came off the seat with a start, knocking the box of pastries onto the floorboard. The memory receded, leaving me with a burning throat and tears lining my eyes. Gazing around, I took in the watery landscape outside the window.

“Where are we?” I croaked.

But I knew. Before I even asked, I knew.

Eyes on the road, Logan leaned over the console to retrieve the box at my feet. “Oklahoma.”

His arm brushed my bare leg, and I drew in a sharp breath. A hint of rain lingered on his skin. In his hair. Maybe it was the last vestiges of sleep still clinging to my consciousness, but I reached down and brushed my fingers over the soft, golden locks. “Why did you cut it?”

I’d wanted to ask him ever since the moment I’d seen him back on the bus. But we didn’t have that kind of relationship. We weren’t friends. Except here I was, sifting my fingers through the soft strands that barely reached his collar.

Smiling, he settled back in his seat. “Didn’t think you noticed.” He tipped his chin to the box on my lap. “Hand me a blueberry, will you?” I recognized a diversion when I heard one, so I shut my mouth and sorted through the array of pastries. As I handed him the treat, he closed his hand around mine, pinning me to my seat with a somber gaze. “What were you dreaming about?”

I pulled away as if I’d touched an open flame. But instead of shutting down, I let my eyes wander from his impossibly high cheek bones to his full lips and the blond stubble dusting his jaw. “Answer me first. Why did you cut your hair?”

The muscle in his bicep twitched as he tightened his grip on the wheel, his eyes narrow behind the aviator shades. “It reminded me of someone I’d rather forget.”

“Who?”

His lip quirked at the corner. “That’s two questions, princess. Your turn.”

Maybe it was the confines of the car. The solitude that came when there was nothing but the hum of the highway under the tires. Or it could’ve been that moment we shared back in the parking lot. But I couldn’t stop myself. “Our first tour … we followed this route. Played the same venues.”

Avoiding the prying eyes that had already seen too much, I turned my attention to the scenery.

“Why would you want to follow the same route?”

It was my turn to smile. “That’s two questions. Your turn.”

For a long moment, Logan said nothing, and the air grew thick with the weight of our secrets. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he sighed. “Jake. My old man. I hadn’t seen him in years. But now, he’s … um, back.”

Logan was so caught up in his own thoughts, I could’ve left it right there. Instead, I let the words tumble free. “Mac booked our first tour—launched us after the debut album. At the time I … er, we, thought it was because he believed in the band. But really, it was all upside for Metro. Benny Conner, the concert promoter, he’d already made an offer to take us wide. But Mac wanted the money for himself. To build Metro. We didn’t mind, though. We were partners. Or so we thought.”

My voice fell to a whisper as I reached the end of the tether linking my past and my present. Standing at the abyss, memories threatened to swallow me whole.

I jerked back to myself with a start when Logan placed his phone on my lap.

“What’s this for?” I asked, brushing my fingertips over the Caged logo on the screen. The same lion on the shirt I was wearing. And the medallion hanging from the rearview mirror.

“Why don’t you find something on there to play. I can’t get shit on the radio.” Slanting his gaze my way, he peered at me over the top of his shades. “No Leveraged. Or Revenged Theory. No Drafthouse either.”

Biting down a smile, I opened his music library. “Someone sounds a little jelly.”

I froze when he reached over and swiped the corner of my lip. “I don’t get jealous, princess.” Heat pooled in my belly as he licked the raspberry smudge from his thumb. “And no Britney either. That shit just hurts my ears.”

When I realized I was staring, I shook my head and turned my attention to the phone. “Yeah … um, mine too.”

Finding a playlist marked “country,” I hit shuffle, and Willie Nelson filled the silence, crooning about angels flying too close to the ground. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t cringe.