I was on a plane to Vancouver around midnight, eight hours after Maggie’s flight took off—after I’d finished my work and as fast as Talia could arrange a flight for me. I had some shit to do in Chicago, including a creative meeting for the “Blackout” video that Brody strongly advised me not to bail on.

Then I hit the air.

It was a private jet, straight from O’Hare to Vancouver, and since we were flying back two time zones and Talia had a car waiting for me at the Vancouver airport, I got to Maggie’s place just after midnight, Vancouver time.

I would’ve brought flowers and candy and teddy bears and fucking balloons if I thought it would help, but since it probably wouldn’t, I came alone and empty-handed. I left Shady in the car and rang the bell.

I didn’t message Maggie on the way or let her know I was coming. I never told anyone exactly why I was suddenly jetting to Vancouver. Likely, they knew. Maybe they gave her a heads-up.

I had no idea.

But it took her a long-ass time to open the door.

A light went on inside, then there was a definite pause as she checked me out through the peephole. The lock clunked open and the door cracked, and Maggie looked at me, uncertain, through the gap. She looked tired, but not like I’d woken her up. More like she’d been trying to sleep and failing miserably.

“What are you doing here?” she asked softly.

“What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer that, but she opened the door wider. “You want to come in?”

“Yeah, I want to come in.”

She stepped aside and I went in, kicking off my boots. I walked into her living room as she turned on another light. One of her travel bags was still sitting in the hall, but nothing else was out of place.

I fucking loved Maggie’s place. It was so her.

Neat. Orderly. Pretty.

It was a modern condo, about eight years old, everything white and steel and minimalist. But everything Maggie touched turned to soft and pretty. The billowy curtains, the furry pillows and blankets draped everywhere, the twinkly lights strung around the fireplace and windows.

It even smelled like her.

A guy could sit down on that girly pink couch and just never want to get back up.

Which was pretty much what I did.

She sat down next to me, and I noticed she was wearing sweatpants. Maggie never wore sweats. At least, not in front of me. They were pink. And she was wearing a soft white T-shirt that was falling off one shoulder, with a lime green bra underneath. And fluffy slippers. She’d probably only gotten dressed when I rang the bell.

Was she sleeping naked? Or wearing those silk jammies she wore when we shared that hotel suite in Vegas?

She had no makeup on, and her hair was straight but a bit bed-messy. She had slight circles under her eyes, and she was kinda chewing on her full bottom lip as she stared at me with something like trepidation mixed with want.

Fuck, but I was in love with her.

I just wanted into her bed and into her heart and I wanted to be all wrapped up in her and hang out with her in her pink sweatpants and watch movies with her in her fluffy slippers.

I wanted it bad… and I still didn’t know how I was ever gonna get it.

I still didn’t know if I’d earned her trust, and being not even three weeks clean didn’t exactly make me feel like I had a right to ask just yet.

We still had a long way to go.

I knew that.

I leaned my elbows on my knees and stared at the floor and took a breath, blowing it out again in a deep sigh as I tried to gather my thoughts and not say the wrong fucking thing like I usually did.

I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but I didn’t want to pussyfoot around, either.

“Just please tell me you’re not leaving the tour.”

“I’m not leaving the tour.”

“Why did you fly home? You didn’t tell me you were going. I had to find out from Talia.” I looked at her, and her gray eyes widened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to hurt you,” she said, like she was realizing for the first time that it did hurt me.

“When I asked you to go,” I said carefully, “I meant I needed you off my bus. You know, so I could cool off. I didn’t mean for you to leave the country.”

“You said you needed some time, Zane, and I wanted to respect that. You needed me out of your space.”

I stared at her, processing that. “Look. I know it’s been part of your job for the last—what? Almost eight years now? But maybe you need to stop telling me what I need,” I told her.

She blinked at me. She started to speak a couple of times, her mouth popping open and closing again before the words finally came out. “Okay. I needed to think. And to not feel like I’m there putting pressure on you when you’re fighting to stay sober.”

“You’re not.”

“Zane. I know you. I know things about you…” She trailed off and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sure you think I’ve been incredibly, overly hard on you, and I have, but—”

“I don’t think that. You’ve been more than fair. And you’ve been hard on me. And you have reasons for that.”

Her pretty eyes softened as she looked at me, and I fucking melted.

Fuck, but I wanted to kiss her.

“It’s just that… it used to be the booze,” she said softly. “But then it became other things. You use pot, and you use women and sex instead of dealing with your shit.”

“That’s true.”

She looked genuinely surprised that I wasn’t trying to deny it. That I actually got it.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It is. And maybe I’m the only one who really calls you on it.”

“That’s not true, believe me. Brody treads lightly. But Jude calls me on it. Jesse calls me on it. Rudy calls me on it, and Seth sure as fuck calls me on it. But I’ve never listened to any of them like I listen to you.”

Maggie stared at me for moment, seeming to process that. Then she looked away. She stared at the floor for what felt like a fucking eternity.

Then she shifted, turning her body toward me a little. She looked up into my eyes like whatever she had to say was going to be hard.

I braced myself for whatever it was gonna be.

Whatever shit she had to say to me, I knew I had to hear it.

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you in some heated moment when we fall into bed,” she said slowly. “So I’m telling you now. I know you said you want to wait a while before you get involved with someone, that Rudy advised you long ago to do that. And I respect that. But we’re already involved, Zane. You can’t deny that. We’ve been involved since the day we met.”

I nodded. “I know, Maggie.”

Her gray eyes held mine. “So maybe we could work through this together. I mean, you told me we’d get through this together. On the first day of the tour, you came on my bus and that’s what you told me. So now I’m telling you the same thing right back.”

Well, shit. She was serious.

She really meant that.

And hearing her say shit like that? Felt like I’d been waiting my entire life to hear Maggie say shit like that to me.

Did she even have any idea how much I loved her right now?

“I mean, if you want,” she went on. “If that works for you. No pressure. I guess what I’m trying to say is… um, I’m here for you. Damn.” She took a breath and started again. “This is hard for me, Zane. I’m not used to stepping back and letting someone else call the shots.”

“I know, Maggs.”

“Not when it comes to my personal life, anyway,” she said. “But… you’re a huge part of my personal life, and I know I can’t call the shots right now. Not with you. I can’t guide this and I can’t control it. I can set my personal limits and boundaries, but I can’t take control of the reigns of our relationship like a can your day-to-day band business. We both know there are some things that you need to deal with, and I can help you in some ways, but I can’t make it happen. I’ll tell you, honestly, this is a really uncomfortable place for me to be. But I know I have to step back. What you’re doing is even harder, way harder, and I respect the hell out of you for doing it. So I’m here for you. In whatever way you need me to be. As your friend. Or as more… when you’re ready for that.”

I absorbed every word she said. I knew she meant every word of it. But… “I know you mean that,” I told her, “as long as I stay sober. But I won’t hold you to it if I don’t.”

She shook her head. “I would never say that to you. I don’t want to put an ultimatum on you or that kind of pressure.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I know it.”

She stared at me, and she looked really fucking sad. Like she wanted to argue that. But we both knew she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I love you, Zane. I’ll love you no matter what you do. I’ve always loved you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper on that last part, like it was hard for her to say.

“I love you too, Maggs,” I said, the words heavy with emotion.

And fuck… Right about now, I would’ve been reaching for a joint, if I could. Actually feeling shit like this… I wasn’t used to it.

At least, not clean and sober.

Everything I felt for Maggie, since I’d gotten clean, had only intensified. The feelings were always this intense, but the pot just kinda dulled them down, or distracted me from them. Intense feelings, in general, without anything to do about them—like get stoned—were a lot to deal with right now.

Definitely didn’t make it any easier to stay off the weed.

But I had to admit, actually experiencing the intensity of my feelings for Maggie, while pretty overwhelming, was pretty fucking incredible, too.

Like when we’d had sex without a condom… There was nothing to buffer the connection between us. It was raw, powerful; naked.

“But,” she said, “I just can’t be in a relationship with you if you’re using, Zane. You’re really… different… when you’re drinking.”

“No doubt.”

“And when you smoke pot…” She shook her head and sighed a little, like she was really trying to find the right words. “I like who you are, Zane. I really do. I wish you could understand how much that’s true, despite how much I’ve pushed you away. But I feel like the pot is just a slippery slope to all the other stuff.”

“I know you do. And you’d be right.”

She stared at me, surprised.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to say that to me, Maggie.”

“Oh.” She went silent for a moment, thinking. “Okay. So here’s the thing. I feel like when you need to smoke weed it means you’re out of control, even just a bit, and it scares me.” She shrugged with discomfort, her shirt slipping a little farther off her shoulder. “I guess… it’s my hard limit. Does that make sense?”

“Hard limit…” I repeated, considering that. “So you’re saying… spanking and tying you up is okay, then?”

Her eyes narrowed at me a little. Then her full lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “Good to know giving up weed hasn’t dulled your sex drive.”

“Actually,” I admitted, “it’s kinda made me hornier.”

At that, her eyes went wide. “I’m… uh… not really surprised. It’s definitely made you… clearer. It’s subtle, but your eyes are clearer. You’ve been brighter, in general, since you stopped smoking up.”

I had to hold back a smile. “Brighter?”

“Yeah. Like all your dazzling-golden-sun-god shit just got more blinding. It’s annoying, really.”

Now I full-on grinned. “Sun god?”

“You know that’s what they call you. Rock’s golden god. Like, girls get a sun tan just gazing at you.”

I laughed.

She frowned. “I think we’re getting beside the point…” Then she wrapped her arms around herself.

And this was it. The moment Maggie started raising her defenses and I turned up the charm, cranked up the flirt, pressed into her space and got my hands on her, daring her to resist.

But I didn’t. Not this time.

My pulse was beating in my dick, my growing hard-on getting uncomfortable in my jeans, and yes, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to pull her to me, peel off her clothes, jam my tongue in her mouth and my cock in her pussy and never let her go. I wanted to fuck her on the floor and on every piece of furniture she had. Never mind that we’d fucked right here on this couch about six months ago.

But I knew I had to keep it platonic, as hard as that might be. For now. Because I wasn’t ready to touch her.

Because if I fucked her again and she put up her wall, I could spiral.

I had no fallback now. No parachute. No bag of weed in my pocket to take the edge off.

And no way was I touching another woman.

It was Maggie for me, but it wasn’t even about proving that to her anymore. I definitely didn’t need to prove it to myself. I didn’t need to convince anyone that Maggie was the woman for me.

I didn’t care about any of that anymore.

All I cared about was staying clean and doing right by her.

“Here’s the point,” I informed her. “You’re gonna grab your bags, get dressed if you want to. You can wear sweatpants, I don’t care. You’re getting in the car with me and we’re going to the airport, and we’re flying back to Chicago. You’re not leaving the tour, and you’re not taking a break from the tour either.”

I studied her response to that. Maggie wasn’t used to me telling her what to do; I knew that. I mean, not like I hadn’t fucking tried. But she never really listened.

On this, she had to listen, because I was right. No way was she leaving the tour. I wouldn’t let her leave the tour.

Brody wouldn’t either.

I’d already talked to him. And while he was clearly a little pissed at me over the whole secret marriage thing—and probably worried I’d fuck things up with Maggie—he’d assured me fucking up-and-down that Maggie’s job was safe, that he was never gonna let anyone fuck with it. Even me.

“You need some time off,” I added, taking a gentler tone, “you can take time off, but you’re doing it on the road.”

Maggie shook her head slowly. “I don’t need time off, Zane.”

“Great. Go get your shit.”

“I’ll need to book us a flight,” she said.

“No worries,” I told her. “Got a jet on standby.”

* * *

When we were seated in the plane, I said, “Surprised you didn’t say anything about the private jet.”

Maggie looked at me. She’d sat right next to me, even though the cabin was huge and she could’ve sat anywhere. She’d gotten dressed and she’d even put on a little makeup. Her gray eyes looked tired and pretty. “Like what?”

“Usually you tell me not to waste my money.”

“Usually I don’t mind flying first class with you.” Her eyes moved slowly over my face. “But I don’t really want to deal with the bombardment of attention. You know… fans. Horny flight attendants.” She looked away. “I really don’t need people or their camera phones in my face right now.”

That was fine with me; I didn’t want that either. I just wanted to be with her.

“I don’t want to share you, either,” I told her.

She looked at me again, but she didn’t say anything.

Once we were in the air, she started reading on her iPad. I put in my earbuds and listened to some music.

After a while, she put the iPad aside, dropped her head on the headrest and went to sleep. Or at least I thought she went to sleep. But then she reached her hand onto my armrest, palm-up, without opening her eyes.

I put my hand in hers, and we curled our fingers together. And we held hands like that for the rest of the flight… even when we both fell asleep.