I bring my knees up to my chest and stare out the back of my tour bus as we make our way to Los Angeles for a show tonight. The sun is setting on the horizon bringing in beautiful yellow and orange colors that light up the scenery as if it’s on fire, as if it’s burning. I start humming a tune, nothing old, but something new. As my eyes scan over the freedom beyond the windows of my bus, I feel a warmth travel over me. I wonder what it would be like to just disappear into those mountains, beyond that sunset, to a world where nothing makes any sense, but that’s exactly how you’d want it to be.

“Beyond the sunset, she sees freedom burning,” I hum, feeling something gathering in my mind, something new, something real and deep.

It’s been a long time since I’ve sung from the heart.

Mostly, I sing what they want me to sing.

A motorcycle appears in my line of sight, snapping me from the lyrics building in my head. I know whoever is on it most likely can’t see me because of the tinted glass on my bus, but I can see him as he nears. I bring my face up to the glass and peer out. He’s wearing an open-faced helmet, and he has the most breathtaking face I’ve ever seen. I can’t see his eyes through the dark sunglasses, but there is something about his features and how they’re put together that tells me he’d take my very breath away if he were to take them off.

Chiseled jaw covered in dark stubble, full lips, a slightly crooked nose, dark hair pushed down over his forehead and curling out from the helmet, skin soft and olive. He’s wearing a dark leather jacket and, as he gets closer, I see it has a number of different things written on it, mostly in the form of patches. The first thing my eyes train in on is the patch that reads ‘Iron Fury MC’. On the other side, there are a few other random patches—I can’t read them from here.

He’s a biker.

The thrill that has me bringing my face closer to the glass.

I’ve never seen a biker up close. They’re everywhere, of course, and everyone knows about them, but I’ve never been right near one. I wonder how it feels to just ride that bike, the wind in your face, the road taking you wherever you want to go. My heart longs for that feeling.

I zone in on his hands curling around the handlebars of the dark-blue motorcycle he’s riding. He’s got thick rings on his fingers—skulls, I think. He’s a big man, and I know beneath that jacket and those blue jeans that fit him so well he’d be muscled, probably tattooed. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my time on the road. He’s alone, sitting relaxed on his bike, seemingly without a care in the world.

His fingers raise off the handlebars and wiggle in my direction. I jerk back. Did he just wave at me? How can he see through the tinted glass? I move forward again, and his lips twitch in a smile, I can’t help it, I smile back and my hand raises just a little, and I wiggle my fingers back. His smile turns into a grin, showing me a set of gorgeous dimples and straight white teeth. I hold up two fingers in a peace sign, just to see if he’s really watching.

He does the same thing back.

My cheeks flush, and I watch the stranger following my bus, wondering who he is, wondering why he’s out here, all on his own. My smile gets bigger and I reach down, grabbing my guitar and running my fingers over the strings. I glance at his patch again and slowly keep singing.

“Through the burning I see fury, so wild and carefree, and, oh, I wonder what it would feel like, to have him next to me.”

“Scarlett.”

I spin around at the sound of Susan’s voice coming from the doorway. I glance at my manager who I love to hate. She’s good to me, but she’s also hard and strong and doesn’t allow for any kind of misbehavior. She’s on my back everywhere I go, making sure I’m always poised and in perfect order, there has never been, and probably never will be, a scandal about me. She makes sure I’m at my best every second of every day.

“We’re an hour off L.A. When we arrive, you’ll have an hour to yourself before you have to do a pre-concert interview, then you’ll go straight into wardrobe, we clear? You have a late show tonight, so you’ll need to be refreshed.”

I nod. “Yes, okay.”

Her eyes narrow at my guitar. “What are you working on there?”

I glance back out of my window, but my mysterious stranger has gone. My heart sinks a little.

“Just a new song,” I say, staring at the sunset once more.

“That’s good, we’re wanting to release a new album this year. There are other young and rising stars out there, you’ll want to keep your name front and center.”

I look back at her, and force a smile. “Yes, that sounds good.”

She raises a brow. “Have you gone through your list for this evening’s concert?”

I nod. Can she see the emptiness in my eyes? Does she notice my pain when she looks at me? And if she does, is she just choosing to ignore it? “Yes, I’m familiar with all the songs and their order.”

“I’ve advised the band, they’re ready and on schedule. Have you eaten today?”

I stare at the middle-aged, attractive woman and nod once again. “Yes, I’ve eaten.”

Her hazel eyes scan over me and she nods her head, tucking a strand of loose black hair from her perfect bun away and straightening her blouse. She always looks the picture of perfection, poised and sharp. I don’t think there is a great deal that could break her, or hell, even make her angry. She’s always together.

“And how is everything else?”

I flinch at her question.

She notices the flinch but says nothing, she just keeps her eyes on me, waiting for an answer, expecting an answer. She won’t leave until she gets one.

“Everything is fine. I’m doing fine.”

She nods. “Good to hear. We have the best security, so no need to worry yourself at all. Just focus on your show and your fans, and leave the rest up to me.”

“Thank you,” I say, staring at her and smiling.

She nods, giving me a small but sharp smile. “I’ll leave you to it. Get some rest, you’ll certainly need it.”

When she’s gone, I push up from my spot and walk into the bathroom, stopping at the mirror. I stare at the reflection looking back at me, and I no longer recognize it. I’m the picture of perfection when it comes to country music with my long, thick, blonde hair that’s always curled, my big brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and my petite, sculpted face topped off with full lips. I’m small and curvy, but not too curvy, and I can rock a pair of boots.

I’m everything the people want to see.

But I’m just not me.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and blink a few times, then I sigh. I wash my face and leave the bathroom, walking back to my spot and lying down, putting my head on a pillow, closing my eyes and letting the last of the sun blaring through my window warm me before everything becomes crazy once again.

~*~*~*~