By Kansas City, we’re falling into a routine.

Five shows in and not only can I hold a flip phone, I can work the soundboard. Not quite by myself because Jerry’s still the master. But I’m getting better. I like the combination of digital and analog.

I sneak out a bit of time to work on my program. Mostly at night after the shows because it helps me transition to sleeping. I’ve built in ideas Jax has shared with me.

Though I’m not about to admit it because his ego would blow up.

Some nights I play with Jerry. His mind’s not great, but he’s amazing at chess, and I’ve learned he’s the most patient teacher.

I’ve also learned Jax looks after him. He drops by the sound booth before every gig, usually with the excuse to check on something. But they end up talking and joking for a few minutes, sometimes half an hour. That much time might not seem like a lot, but I’m realizing that when you’re headlining a production like this one? It’s a lifetime.

This morning should feel like every other morning. The surroundings are the same. But since Toronto, I’ve been edgy.

I spend a lot of time thinking about Jax.

We all do because it’s his tour.

I’m guessing the others don’t sniff his hoodie and wear it to bed.

Miss placing a coffee order because they’re picturing his body. Or that smirk.

It’s reasonable that I’m a little distracted since finding out that the voice in the phone I’d assumed was his girlfriend is actually in third grade.

Sue me for being happy. I’m never touching Jax and he’s never touching me.

Still.

I feel better about the times my gaze lingers on him, knowing there’s not someone out there who’s earned the right.

Serena calls me right after lunch.

“How’re you getting off?”

“Huh?”

“I said how are you getting on?”

“Oh.” We’ve stopped at a diner where I wolfed down a sandwich. Now, I’m sneaking a few moments of privacy behind the bus. “It’s weird being around people 24/7.”

“I thought you had your own room?”

“I do. But even then…” I struggle to explain it. “It’s like you can’t forget the whole crew is sleeping a few steps away.”

“Creepy.” I laugh. “The tuition bill arrived.”

The smile fades. “When’s it due?”

“August.”

I curse. “I haven’t gotten a paycheck yet. That competition better work out. I have another two weeks before the deadline. If we win…”

“You’re rolling in cash.”

“At least I’m rolling in enough to pay for next semester.”

“Please tell me you’re not spending every waking moment working on that computer program.”

“Carter sent me a bunch of tweaks to work on. Basically, I need different versions of the same track, so I’m going through these databases to find—”

“Whoa.” I stop. “When are you going to lift your head from Carter’s ass and look around?”

“I am looking around. And then I realize I’m on a rock tour, and it’s insane, and I put my head down again.”

I’ve listened to everyone I can to learn the business. Production crew members setting up. Nina rattling off orders like a Smurfette drill sergeant. To Jax, whether he’s fine-tuning an arrangement with the band or giving feedback to the lighting director or reviewing the promotion schedule with Nina.

Something I’ve learned in between the ‘actual’ work is that not only does Jax look after Jerry, he looks after everyone.

He buys every meal for every crew member when we’re traveling. Ensures there’s a massage therapist, physiotherapist, or doctor on site the moment anyone groans, cracks, or coughs.

“The universe is change. Our life is what our thoughts make of it.”

Serena’s voice brings me back and I blink at the side of the bus. “Did you just quote Marcus Aurelius?”

“You think I don’t remember anything from that first-year philosophy course we took together?”

“You’re kind of awesome. So, how’s Declan? Or Nolan?”

“Oh, I’m so past that. But there’s this guy, Tristan…”

I grin as she tells me all about him.

“How’s your man quest?”

“No quest. And no men.” I hesitate. “But I have seen more of Jax than I expected. He…tolerates me.”

“Sounds hot,” she says dryly.

I chew my lip, looking around to make sure I’m alone in the parking lot. “More like we’re… friendly.” I realize as I say it that it’s true. “He talks to me about all kinds of things, and I think he trusts me.” I don’t want to admit that we text each other, because that feels personal. Serena making up crazy sex ideas is one thing, but this is too close to real and I hate that she’d try to read something into this.

I glance up as the crew starts to file out of the restaurant. “I gotta go. Thanks for calling.”

“What?! You can’t leave.”

“Serena, I have to—”

“Ugh, fine. And Haley? Don’t worry about where you came from. Think about where you are right now. Which is the Riot Act tour.”

We hang up, and an hour later I’m sitting on our bus, heading to the next town. Most of the crew is playing cards in the back when Jerry drops onto the seat, and I realize there’s a photo album in his hands.

“Oh, here we go,” Lita comments from the opposite couch, where she’s reviewing what I’ve learned are stats on her iPad.

“Shush,” Jerry scorns.

I look between them, mystified.

“It’s a rite of passage,” she clarifies. “Tour rule number seventy-two: thou shalt be subjected to the History of Music According to Jerry.”

But as the old man flips through the pages, it’s not boring.

It’s fascinating.

There are more famous faces than I can count. Moments captured on film, painstakingly tucked into sheets.

“You made all this yourself?”

“Sure did.” His leathered fingers turn the pages.

We stop on a picture of Jerry drinking beer next to… God, is that Prince?

“You were badass.”

“Started out as a stagehand. But I always loved sound. Took me five years before they’d let me near it.”

He turns some more pages.

“That’s…”

“CEO himself.” Cross is way younger in the picture. “First few years after he founded Wicked. Didn’t own a suit yet.”

“It looks like a party.” My gaze scans the other people in the picture. Rests on one.

“See? That haircut is worth blackmailing over.”

“It’s not the haircut. Do you know that woman?”

“No. Can’t say’s I do. Do you?”

I frown. “Can I grab a copy of this?”

“Don’t show anyone.” He winks. “He doesn’t go anywhere without a suit anymore.”

I lift my phone and snap a picture.

When I close out of the photo app, I see a message from Carter. I bite my cheek and reach for my laptop.

“What’s that?” Jerry asks.

“Just working on an app I built for this competition.”

His eyes light up. “A what?”

I get out of the terminal mode and switch into the graphics-laden interface that’s more user-friendly. “So you import a track, then choose from one of these settings…”

His hand points to one of the three buttons on the screen.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

The app’s not perfect yet, but what strikes me is that Jerry immediately grasps how to use it.

Probably because the interface is clean and straightforward. I even modeled part of it after an analog soundboard, though it was more for whimsy than any legit reason.

Which gives me an idea.

Lita and her bassist are on the couch up front with me when I close my computer two hours later. “What are you guys working on?”

“New song. After this tour wraps, we’re going out on our own. I have a friend who’s set up some gigs in Nashville for us. Small venues. Different than playing arenas, but it’ll be our show. Our way.”

I shift back into the seat. It’s my day off, and I’m determined to think about something that’s not Jax for ten seconds. “So, what are you guys doing in KC?”

She fires off a message on her phone, then holds up a finger and grins at the response. “Kyle’s in.”

My brows shoot up. “Kyle’s in on what?”

Lita explains, and I shift in my seat, playing with my phone. Serena’s words echo in my head.

“Can I come with you?”

That’s how five hours later, I’m no longer a college-student-turned-sound-tech-assistant. I’m watching Lita’s band in a little bar in Kansas City, drinking bourbon she bought for me that she swears will change my life.

I don’t know about life-changing, but it’s sweet and spicy and has all my internal organs on notice.

Kyle’s on drums, looking as happy as when he plays a stadium. Lita’s swinging her hips as she sings, crooning into the mic.

The crowd’s barely thirty people, but they’re into it. It’s thrilling—or maybe that’s the bourbon again—until she steps off stage between songs and motions me up. “Come on. I know you can sing. I’ve heard you on the bus.”

I stumble after her, a little slow thanks to the spirits. “I don’t know your songs well enough.”

We stop in front of Kyle, and she says, “What do you know well enough?”

I look around the stage. Whether it’s the drinks or Serena’s voice in my head, an idea takes over my mind.

I bite my lip before I say the word.

Kyle shifts back on his stool.

But Lita’s beaming. “It’s a song, Kyle, not a cursed monkey paw. Take the mic, Haley.”

I step up to it. The chords start, and I lose myself in the song.

My favorite song.

It starts somewhere deep in me, uncurling like a flower.

The song that’s always gotten me through the moments I don’t feel independent, ready, or capable.

The times I wish my mom were still here.

The times I wonder who my father is.

The times I feel like something’s wrong with me.

My eyes fall shut, and I sing.

I lose track of time.

I don’t care about the crowd, about anything.

When my eyes open, they find one person in particular.

A guy wearing a long-sleeve black T-shirt and an Astros cap.

My heart is in my throat as he spins and stalks out the door.