The violent jolt lifted Deacon a full inch off his mattress and the resulting jaw-snapping crash back to earth earned him a tongue welt.

“What the fuck?” he heard from above him. Simon peeked his head into Deacon’s curtained off bunk. “Are we going off-roading or something?”

“Why don’t you go check?” Deacon rolled onto his side, facing the wall. It had been well after five in the morning by the time they’d cleared out the groupies. And he’d had to decontaminate the back of the bus at said five in the goddamn morning.

“Why are you so bitchy?”

“Stop banging chicks in my bunk.”

“My bed didn’t have sheets on it.”

“Jesus, Simon.”

“What?”

They had such limited personal space. What was so hard to get? “Just don’t put your skanks on my bed.”

“Well, maybe if you’d get laid sometime then you wouldn’t care so much.”

Deacon reached an arm back and pushed Simon out of his enclosure. “We’ve only been on the bus for two weeks. Don’t make me kill you so early.”

“Pissy fucking priss,” Simon muttered and hopped down. “Son of a—”

Deacon grunted when the bus lurched again and couldn’t help a smile when Simon obviously stumbled into the door to the bathroom.

“Sorry! Strap down back there, guys,” came a bellow from their bus driver, Joe.

Deacon slid his head under his pillow to knock out the hiss of hydraulics as Joe slowed to avoid whatever havoc was on the road. Sometime that morning their bus had started the four hour trek to their next city, Nashville. They had a two-day stretch there, with a show the following night.

That meant they had a night off. And he was more than anxious to actually see what was out there. More curious to figure out plans for the day than to try and sleep any longer, he hopped off his bunk and grabbed his bottle of water to brush his teeth.

Deacon quickly shucked clothes and climbed into the straitjacket sized stall for a quickie shower. He rinsed the last of the shampoo out of his hair and shut off the water that reminded him way too much of the well water of his childhood and toweled off. Simon was waiting outside the door.

“You didn’t use all the damn water, did you?”

“No.”

“All that fucking hair always takes too much water,” Simon groused.

Deacon jostled his way by and Simon slammed the door in his face. “Your hair’s almost as long now, buddy.”

“The hell it is,” Simon said through the door.

Deacon flipped his hair back behind his ears. Okay, so maybe it was getting to shoulder length these days. It wasn’t like they had time to go to get haircuts. Everything had happened so fast they’d barely had time to breathe and enjoy their new penthouse before they’d been rushed out to the studio then to touring.

He stashed his clothes in his laundry bag and unearthed shorts and a shirt. They were going to need to do a Laundromat run soon.

The bus rumbled over another bump, and Jazz poked her head out from her bunk. The purple curtain shimmered around her make-up free face. Her dark hair was in two pigtails missing the trademark streaks. “Seriously? Did we suddenly hit safari Death Valley or something? I had no idea the country was so dangerous.”

Deacon cracked his back, widening his arms to reach each edge of the bunk with a fingertip to stretch.

“Showoff,” Jazz muttered and ducked back into her purple palace.

Deacon finished dressing and padded into the main part of the bus. An army of orange and white reflective barrels flashed by on either side of them.

“Man, you weren’t kidding about the rough ride.” Deacon gripped the bar behind Joe’s massive seat.

“Roadwork as far as the eye can see. Goddamn summer. Every politician decides that’s the best time to fix the roads.”

Deacon huffed out a laugh. “We’re mostly up, so if you need some tunes to kill the monotony go ahead.” Nick could sleep through a symphony playing next to his head, and Gray was already up, hiding in his bunk, scribbling in his notebook.

CCR boomed through the front of the bus. “Bad Moon Rising” surely fit the landscape. Overcast skies with a sun trying to bleed through highlighted the ripped up blacktop. It was Joe’s wake-up call every morning. He’d been driving for bands all his life and didn’t take any shit from them. Deacon took down his Takamine and played along with “Have You Ever Seen the Rain”. Joe’s scratchy voice mixed with Jazz’s sweet one at the back of the bus.

When the track changed to the Doors, Simon strutted down the aisle, his jeans low, and inky black sunglasses shielding most of his face. His hair was as wild as Morrison’s. Instead of singing he mimed to Jim’s iconic voice, landing on his knees through the last psychedelic portion of the song.

Jazz and Nick clapped from the doorway and Deacon kicked Simon over onto his back with a laugh. Looked like it was going to be a good morning on the bus for once.

Two hours later, they pulled into the venue with “Whole Lotta Love” belting through the outside speakers. A few people on the grounds turned and waved.

Jazz stood on the couch to look out the wide windows that ran the length of each side of the bus. Deacon held onto the overhead compartment door to look out over her head.

Woods flanked the uncovered stage. White folding chairs were lined up on the grass and the trucks were already belching out equipment. Roadies pushed huge trunks with wheels while others were already putting up the rigging for lights. A tireless circus that was as fascinating as it was exciting. Someday it would be their lights that would be hoisted overhead. The stage would be something they put together with a set designer.

But for now they would live through the Rebel Rage set up.

“We’re in Nashville, y’all.”

Deacon huffed out a laugh and waved for the camera—aka the purple iPhone of greatness—that Jazz always had at the ready. She rushed for the front of the bus, stuffing her bare feet into her flips.

“Hi, Joe.”

“Hey, boss.”

“Where are we today, Joe?”

Resigned to the questions he got every time they stopped, Joe leaned back to cross his meaty arms over his barrel chest. “We’re at The Woods Amphitheater.” He leaned forward, his voice hitching into a menacing growl. “Buy tickets if you don’t have them already.”

“Whoa.” Jazz spun the camera eye to herself. “You heard the man. Don’t piss off our Joe. We hope to see you guys tomorrow night. Voting for the cover song of the day will commence at 10:00 AM tomorrow. What do we have for choices, guys?” She turned the camera to him.

“Rebel Yell,” Deacon said.

“Nice,” Jazz said in a low approving tone.

“Sweet Child o’ Mine,” Simon chimed in.

She gave a long whistle for that choice.

“Jet City Woman,” Gray said quietly.

Nick had his mouth open to answer, but snapped it shut and grinned. “Damn, didn’t think of that one.” In a rare show of camaraderie, he held out his fist to Gray who bumped his knuckles.

Deacon watched the smile spread over Jazz’s face. She was always trying to get Nick and Gray to talk. Maybe they could bond over a little Queensryche during soundcheck tomorrow.

Jazz flipped her phone back around. “There you have it. Go forth and think about it, YouTube it, and learn your lyrics. Tweetcha later, gators!” She turned to the rest of them. “So we’re on our own today?” Her voice thrummed with excitement.

Maybe Jazz needed to get out of the bus just as much as he did.

Deacon’s phone chimed. “Let’s see just how many things Gordo has on our list of duties.”

“Ugh.” Jazz flopped back on the tiny wedge chair crammed in the front of the bus. She flicked her phone alive as the rest of them did.

“Sonovabich,” Simon groused.

“Sorry, dude.” Deacon stood and clamped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. As usual there were interviews to do, and the radio station wanted Simon and Jazz. Deacon wasn’t the least bit pissed. Freedom beckoned.

He reached into the overhead compartment and pulled out his backpack, checking to make sure he had cash.

“Where are you going?”

Deacon shrugged. “Not sure. I’m heading out to see if anyone’s going into town.”

Jazz stuck out her bottom lip, her shoulders hunched. “I want to go into Nashville.”

“We’ll see if we can use someone’s car after your interviews,” Gray said to her.

Simon scrubbed his fingers through his hair and pushed it out of his eyes. “And why do we want to go to Hicksville?”

Why did they want—he couldn’t even wrap his mind around the complaint. “This is the music capital. There are a million bars—”

“Okay, you had me at bars,” Simon interrupted. “I’m not much for country music.”

Deacon rolled his eyes. He definitely needed an afternoon to himself. Almost a week to get across the country with their gear for their first gig and another week of shows was more than enough band-time for him. Especially since this was only the beginning of the tour.

He slapped Joe on the back and hit the stairs running.

He climbed through the trees and stepped over a small stream that cut across the dense vegetation that framed The Woods. It smelled of rain and shadows, the dirt was rich and loamy, not quite as baked into submission as the Hollywood Hills. Even within the huge canopy of trees, it felt like he could walk forever and never hit the end.

Drunk on actual fresh air, Deacon climbed further and found a hive of trucks lined up for the eateries and beer tents. He loped after one of the trucks that were headed to the front gates.

A large, almond-skinned man was tapping on the casing of his rolled down window. He was bald and wore an orange Hawaiian shirt that seared the eyeballs.

“Hey! Are you headed into town?”

The man looked down at him. “Yeah.”

“Mind a passenger?”

“Only people willing to work get in my truck.”

“I’ve got a strong back,” Deacon answered easily. He didn’t mind getting his hands dirty to get out of the park.

“You sure? Sissy musicians that pump it up in the gym got no stamina for real work.”

Deacon grinned. “Try me.”

The man squinted at him. “All right, get in, Kanaka Nui.”

Hoping whatever the man said to him in Hawaiian wasn’t too insulting, Deacon rounded the truck and climbed in. “Hey thanks, man. I needed to get out for a while.”

The man nodded. “Mitchell.”

“Deacon.”

“All right then, Deacon, let’s go find us some produce. Then you can go play in town, huh?”

“You know where the farmer’s markets are?”

“I’ve been on the road longer than you’ve been alive.”

Deacon laughed. “You’re the second one to put me in my place about being a newbie.”

“Yeah? Get used to it. There’s a lot of road-weary stories that’ll come your way.”

“I’m getting that. First one was a surprise. But then again most of what comes out of her mouth is a surprise and a frustration.” And a distraction and a dick hardener. Just the thought of Harper twisted his spine up again. Watching her in her element was way too much of an aphrodisiac. Obviously he needed his head examined. And about twenty minutes alone.

Then again, being alone wasn’t an option when you lived with four people.

Mitchell didn’t say anything for a good long while, so Deacon contented himself with the scenery. The wild trees and bushes gave way to pavement with stubborn weeds that found any excuse to find sunlight through the cracks. Desolate roads grew denser and finally populated into a city.

The bridge over the water was as long and lean as the Golden Gate, but less ostentatious. Steel girders and thousands of bulbs let him know that the view would be spectacular at night.

He rolled down the window and tasted water and the familiar blend of city dirt and car exhaust. The heaviness of August curled around his neck like a noose and coated his skin in sweat as he broiled in the truck.

Mitchell didn’t seem to be bothered by the heat. A fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead was the only outward sign that he was human. Deacon wished for a beer or a soda, but didn’t complain. Somehow he was pretty sure Mitchell would call him a pussy in that lyrical hint of Hawaii that snuck out from time to time.

Instead of heading into the city proper, he veered off the beaten path. Deacon wrapped his hand around the door frame through the violent dips in the road.

“Just like any city, there’s always work to be done. It may not look like much but just you wait.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Mitch grinned. “Just making sure you knew I wasn’t kidnapping you and holding you for ransom. Don’t want to scare the big, bad musician.”

Deacon held his tongue. The streets of L.A. had been good for one thing and one thing only. He knew how to land a punch and he knew how to run. Although he was pretty sure Mitchell could do some damage if he wanted to.

“So, tell me, kid. Who schooled you already?”

“About what?”

“The road, kid. What else have we been talking about?”

Deacon’s eyebrow quirked. “We haven’t talked in thirty minutes.”

“I was ruminating.”

Deacon laughed. “Is that so?”

“Talk is cheap, silence is golden.”

“I tend to agree with you. The people in my band aren’t exactly known for shutting their mouths.”

“I seen you, kid. You’re a watchful sort. And I’ve seen you watching Harper.”

Deacon sat back and folded his arms. “You know Harper?”

“Harper’s practically my daughter. You don’t go messing with her. You hear me?”

“I don’t think I can make that promise, Mitch.”

“Oh really?” Mitch halted the truck with a jerk and turned to him.

Wincing, Deacon pulled the seatbelt away from his neck where it dug deep. “Nope.” He met Mitch’s gaze. “I can’t turn it off. I wish I could—no, actually I don’t want to turn it off. She’s the first woman that’s even remotely interested me in too many months to count.”

Mitch’s bear-sized hand clenched on the gear shift between them. “You’re going to mess with my niece’s head because you’re bored?”

Christ, that wasn’t it. It would be a lot easier if it was. He knew the difference between infatuation, boredom, and actually liking a girl. What he felt for Harper was a heady mix of infatuation along with a great big side scoop of lust. “Evidently you haven’t been paying that much attention. First of all, she can hold her own.”

“I know that, boy. Don’t talk to me like you know Harper.”

“Then you should know she’s got some strong convictions. I’ve only known her a week and she’s made that very apparent.”

The huge man’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “Truth.”

Deacon unclipped his seatbelt so he could turn to face the man fully. “I like her Mitch. Not in—”

“If you try and tell me you don’t want to get in her pants, I’m going to leave you here and let the fates decide if you get back.”

Deacon swallowed down the first bubbles of unease in his belly. He had GPS on his phone, but they really were in the middle of goddamn nowhere. “I get it. You’re protective. I would be too. Hell, I already am.” He adjusted his ball cap. “I’m not gonna lie. She’s goddamn gorgeous. But if all I was looking for was an easy lay, I could get that.”

“Cocky fuck.”

Deacon shook his head. “Not cocky, just fact.”

“What? So she’s a challenge?” Mitch’s hands fisted again.

Deciding truth was probably the only thing that would save him, he made sure their gazes locked. “Part of it is the challenge. But any woman worth having in your life is going to be a challenge. I like her kind of challenge. Hell, I don’t even know if she likes me, Mitch. It’s not like I’m going to push myself on her.”

“She’d rip off your nuts and roast them.”

Deacon winced. “I don’t doubt it.” He eased back into the seat and stared straight ahead. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she wasn’t interested, but he knew in his gut that she was. There couldn’t be that much…crackle…between them.

But she’d been ignoring him since that first day at the scavenger hunt—the conscious kind of ignoring. Like she was making sure they weren’t in the same room together. The minute he spotted her during the meals, she disappeared. And when she couldn’t get away, she made sure she wasn’t the one that waited on him.

At first he’d thought he’d done something wrong. Maybe he’d come on too strong in the pavilion. Being near her made him feel centered for the first time in his life. And he didn’t want to let that go. At all. And then he’d caught her checking him out on one of his runs.

And she’d left a box of spinach, egg and pepperjack on English muffins at breakfast for him. The kind of light, but iron and protein rich food he needed to fuel up for a run. Without a word, she’d started skewing the menu for him among the usual breakfast fare that most people preferred.

Was she being a good caterer? Or was she looking out for him?

“Yeah well, it’s not one-sided.”

Deacon snapped his gaze to Mitch and sat up straighter. “Why are you telling me this?”

Mitch shrugged. “She needs fun. And maybe you are a good kid. I’m still not entirely sure about that, but I’ve got to make quick judgments about people in this business. You don’t set off bells. That half-naked all the time lead singer you have—he’d get his nuts fed to him if he went near her.”

“You sure like to threaten the boys.”

Mitchell shrugged. “A punch is easy to take. A swipe at the jewels will make you cry like a baby.”

“Fair enough.” Deacon sighed. “Simon’s a good guy.”

“That kid has one thing on his mind.”

The urge to defend Simon was strong, but he swallowed it down.

“If Simon got near her, I’d tear his hair out by the roots. But Harper can take care of herself, so I don’t need to worry about it,” Deacon said.

Mitch studied him for another beat and then put the truck back into gear without a word. They bounced over a few more cracked roadways until they came to a narrow opening that was more alleyway than street. Pop-up tents lined the street and greens, fruit, and flowers spilled from overburdened collapsible tables.

He slid out of the truck and motored to the back as if he didn’t weigh in at three-hundred and fifty pounds. “C’mon kid. Time to earn your ride.”

Deacon clattered down, stashing his bag deep into the footspace of the truck. Mitch handed him a huge plastic tub with rope handles.

With every minute that Deacon hustled after him, there was another five pounds of produce added to his bucket. Tomatoes and potatoes, green beans, kale, and collard greens, the silky tufts of corn rode the overflowing bushel. And when they were done with one, he was sent back to the truck for another.

Being Mitch’s slave labor for an hour seemed to have put the older man in good spirits. They rumbled over a few more dodgy streets until they were finally spit out into the guts and glory of Broadway. Deacon leaned forward, well aware he looked like a tourist as he soaked in the neon and heavy foot traffic. High summer in Nashville meant vacations and people spending their hard earned dollars.

Mitch stopped in front of a tiny, dingy storefront with a surprisingly sparkling counter and window. “Start there.”

Deacon grabbed his knapsack. “DeLuca’s?”

“Yep. May not look like much, but if you like hot and barbecue then that’s your place.”

His mouth watering before he even opened the door, Deacon hopped out. “Thanks, man.”

“And just how are you getting back to the venue?”

Deacon shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

Mitch shook his head. “A bunch of the waitstaff is going to The Honky Tonk around nine. They have live music until the wee hours of the morning for you crazy kids.”

“Well if I don’t get into too much trouble that’s where I’ll land.” How could he not go to something called the Honky Tonk in the middle of freaking Nashville? “Thanks again.”

“I appreciate your back and your help today. But no matter how big you are I’ll tie an old amp to your back and drop you in the nearest lake or river if you fuck over my niece.”

Deacon tried not to smile as Mitchell chirped his tires as he pulled out into traffic. He was glad Harper had family that cared enough to face arrest for manslaughter charges. His own family had lost interest him a long time ago. He juggled his phone out of the bottom of his bag and decided to play with twitter.

Hey tweeple. I’m on Broadway in Nashville. Want to have BBQ w/me? Find me at DeLuca’s in the next 15. - D

He wasn’t sure the shout-out would amount to anything, but he hated to eat alone. So why the fuck not? He moved up to the counter and smiled. “I’m from California and need to be schooled in Tennessee barbecue.”

The thick-necked man with a wide ginger beard smiled and rubbed his hands. “You have come to the right place.”

“So I’m told. Feed me—and I can eat a lot.”

Five minutes later he had a huge plate of brisket, ribs, slaw, potato salad, and a sweet tea.

“Oh my God, he really is here.”

Deacon turned to the excited voices of two women and one bored, lanky teenage boy. “Hey there.”

“You’re really you!” The twenty-year-old girl with wild, black, Dolly Parton-sized hair came forward. Her lips were glossed in red to match her skin-tight red tank top. Jeans, kidney-constricting tight, encased long legs that ended in well-worn boots.

“I’m really me,” he said with a laugh.

A woman, slightly older, but with the same western I-come-from-Boobtown style came forward. “I’m Jamie Ray and this is my daughter, Dina and my son, Jack.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Deacon set his burden down and reached out to shake hands. “You’re quick.”

Dina pulled out her phone. “I couldn’t believe when I read that tweet. I have Jazz and all of y’all up in a special feed on my Twitter account. God bless iPhones. I was waiting for the scavenger hunt information, and there you were.”

“Yeah, Jazz is doing the scavenger hunt stuff tomorrow morning.”

“Oh yeah, I know. Me and my mama, we know Jazz can give out extra clues if you’re patient. Right, Mama?”

“Right, baby girl.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Can I have some money? At least I can eat while you two drool.”

Deacon hid a smile behind his cup as he took a swig of his tea.

Jamie Ray pulled a twenty out of her equally skin tight black jeans. “Bring us back a tea, baby. You want food, Dina?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t eat in front of him,” she said in a whisper that the entire eatery could hear.

Deacon leaned forward. “So, tell me girls. Are you coming to the show tomorrow night?”

“Of course!”

With that opening, they let loose. Deacon nodded and laughed. He loved the one-on-one with fans. As they ate, another three guys and two high school-aged girls came. He spent the better part of the next two hours visiting with fans as the crowd grew and they took over the patio.

Tea and truly amazing deep fried ice cream was passed out to everyone. When he finally stood to leave, he heard a chorus of awws and an army of phones came out. Another thirty minutes for pictures, autographs, and red-smeared lip-locks from Jamie Ray and her daughter Dina, and he finally got out of there.

When a few of them followed him out to Broadway, he used his sizable stride to lose them in the crowd. He spent the afternoon ducking into bars to hear random musicians play and enjoy the local breweries.

He drooled his way through a guitar shop and did the touristy thing with pictures at the statuary that lined the streets. He found a small park that was nearly deserted and scribbled down a few thoughts for songs as well as lyrics. After he added a few pictures to the band Instagram, he looked up the Honky Tonk. It was only a few blocks from him.

But he had an hour to kill, at least. And for once, he was alone. No one had to be wrangled, no interviews, no soundcheck, just blessed quiet. He tucked his bag behind his back and leaned back on the tree and let the sun bake him into a sweet little nap.