They pulled into Jeff’s driveway at 3:34 in the morning, and Vix had that surreal feeling that they’d only been gone a few days instead of a few months. It always felt like that when a tour ended; though, of course, the tour wasn’t quite over yet. They still had one last show at Minglewood Hall, and then that would be it.
Vix put the van in park and looked over at Sawyer. She grinned and held her fist out, feeling triumphant, tired, and happy all at once.
Sawyer fist-bumped back. Her long, gorgeous legs were stretched out in front of her, cowboy boots resting on the dashboard. The paisley dress she was wearing was draped above her knees, and her legs were slightly parted.
“Stay right there,” Vix insisted, pulling out her phone. She took a picture of Sawyer’s legs, then rummaged around for her ever-present notebook and pen, in the console between the driver’s and passenger’s seat, and made a note. She tossed them on the dashboard, nodded, and took another picture.
“You get to see them a lot, now,” Sawyer pointed out. She yawned and paused before taking her feet down, making sure it was okay with Vix. “Also, you took like sixteen pictures of me in my underwear on this trip, don’t lie.”
“Shh.” Vix opened the car door, hopping out onto the driveway. The air was hot, humid at the early hour, and she stretched her arms up to the sky. She hadn’t taken the picture because of how hot Sawyer’s legs looked in those boots, but she wanted to remember the composition. With a few tweaks, namely daylight and an actual road beyond the window, it was a perfect cover for Victoria Vincent’s next album. For which the title had sprung into being, fully formed and badass, as she’d driven them from their venue in Little Rock to Germantown.
Everyone was sluggish as they pulled the equipment out of the van, shuffling it into the Townleys’ garage and trying not to drop anything. Sawyer had her backpack, her ever-present water bottle, and her violin case. Vix realized that Sawyer might want to go sleep at her parents’ house instead of in Jeff’s basement, though maybe they’d take the upstairs bedroom despite the Cracker Barrel decor. Not that Vix had the energy to do much besides crash.
“You headed home?” she asked Sawyer, as they locked up the van and helped transfer the rest of the stuff inside.
“Wow, breaking up with me already?” Sawyer bumped their shoulders. “Nah. I told my parents we were getting in late, so I was going to crash with you guys and I’d see them tomorrow.”
“Aw.” Vix turned and put her arms around Sawyer’s neck, kissing her. “A sleepover.”
“Even your magic tongue couldn’t make me stay awake,” Sawyer murmured, kissing Vix back. “It could totally wake me up in the morning, though.”
Excellent.
In the end, Jeff was a gentleman and let Sawyer and Vix sleep in his bed in the basement’s bedroom, and went upstairs to crash in his parents’ room. Vix made sure there were no illicit recording devices—honestly, all that would show up was two girls snuggling, but there were probably people who were into that—and they fell into bed with little more than a good-night kiss shared between them.
Vix woke up alone in the bed, annoyed, except she supposed she didn’t need to be—no nights in the van for a little while, though they should probably figure out the whole living-arrangement thing. They had a fall tour in a few weeks, and Vix had to work on an album, but she also wanted to spend time with Sawyer as much as possible before it was time to get back on the road.
Except Sawyer was . . . nowhere to be found. Scowling, Vix grabbed her phone, groaned when she saw it was only nine thirty, and pulled the pillow over her head. Vix ended up dozing for another hour, waking up only when someone yanked the pillow away. She scowled up at Sawyer, who was dressed and looked fresh and delightful. Vix groaned. “Why?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Sorry.” Sawyer bounced down on the bed next to her. “Also, Jeff’s sheets smell like weed. I thought I’d reached a certain tolerance for that, but I guess it doesn’t extend to bedding.”
“You’re using too many words,” Vix whined, trying to pull the sheet over her head.
“And, like, why doesn’t he have a duvet or something? Who sleeps with only a sheet?”
“Boys,” Vix muttered into the bedding. “Boys do.”
“Well, ew.” Sawyer reached out and lightly drew her fingers through Vix’s hair. Or tried, because of course they got caught up in the tangles. “So, um. If you’re going to talk to the band, then I’m gonna go to Urban Outfitters and shop or something. I don’t want to wait around while you guys have a meeting about me. That’s stupid.”
“I, um.” Vix peeked up at her. “Yeah, sure, if you want me to.”
“You know I do. But do you?” Sawyer cocked her head thoughtfully. “You know if there’s something about this idea you don’t like, I want you to talk to me before bringing it up with the band, okay?”
Here was her chance, and Vix knew it. Her chance to tell Sawyer that actually, yeah, maybe they should talk about this. Because while Sawyer being in the band was a dream come true, Vix had so many reservations about what would happen if she fucked things up with the two of them. But seeing Sawyer’s smiling, happy face . . . how could she say anything?
Maybe it would be for the best to bring it up with the band. Maybe she wasn’t the only one having concerns. “Go buy something cute and we’ll talk when you get back.”
“Ugh, no way, that shop costs like eight gazillion dollars for a sweater.” Sawyer leaned down and kissed Vix, her dark hair smelling sweet and fresh, like fucking sunshine. “I don’t know if I’ve said this, but thank you.”
“For what?” Vix asked, reaching up with the intention of pushing Sawyer’s hair out of her face. She ended up playing with it, instead.
“You brought music back to me,” Sawyer said.
Oh, Jesus. Vix closed her eyes and kissed Sawyer desperately, as if that might make all her reservations about the future disappear.
But when she opened her eyes, Sawyer walked out of the room and the reservations were right where Vix had left them.
“Okay, so. Here’s the thing.” Vix perched on the couch, the same place where she’d been sitting when Sawyer first walked into the Townleys’ basement for her audition. “Sawyer wants in. She wants to stay and be a full-time member of the band. Since that’s a thing we all have to agree about, I’m bringing it up.”
Her stomach flipped unpleasantly, and she tried to ignore it. She knew what would happen, anyway. Connor and Kit would be fine with it, and Jeff would say no. Then she would have to tell Sawyer that she couldn’t be in the band, and that would suck more than anything that had ever sucked before, but at least she wouldn’t be the only one who thought it was a bad idea.
No, that wasn’t right. The idea of having Sawyer in the band—of making and playing music with her—was heaven. Which meant that if things went to shit, it would turn into a goddamn nightmare and Vix would lose everything—her girlfriend, the band, all of it. She knew how near of a thing it was that the band had stayed together after she and Jeff called it quits. They’d lost a band member over it, and that was huge. Vix could admit that what she felt for Sawyer was intense, much more so than her high school relationship with Jeff. And that was why she knew it would hurt like a bitch if it ended.
If, if, if.
Sawyer didn’t want Vix to bring it up with the others unless she wanted her in the band. Vix didn’t know how to explain that she did, in fact, want Sawyer in the band—so badly that she knew it was a terrible idea. And now, instead of being honest and telling Sawyer that she was too scared of what might happen . . . she was bringing it to a vote, because she wanted someone else to make the decision for her.
“Well,” Connor said. “She’s a great musician. I like her. She fits in well.”
“She’s really serious about leaving school?” asked Jeff.
“Definitely.” Vix knew that was absolutely the truth. Her concern wasn’t about how miserable Sawyer was at Juilliard, it was how she absolutely did not want to be the reason Sawyer felt that way, ever again.
Kit shrugged. “Then, sure. I don’t see why not. She’s a hell of a musician, and we need to find someone permanently to take Bryant’s place.” He glanced at Vix. “You two still . . .?” He made a hand gesture that Vix absolutely chose not to try to interpret.
“Yeah.” Vix glanced at Jeff, waiting for the dissenting opinion she knew was coming.
“If she wants to, yeah, I’ve got no problem with it.”
Vix blinked, staring at Jeff. “Wait, what?”
“I said, if she really wants to stay, I’ve got no problem with it.” Jeff’s mouth flattened into a tight line, and there was a look on his face that Vix knew from experience meant he was pissed at her.
“You don’t seem happy about it,” she said, carefully.
Jeff gave her a tight smile. “I’m fine with Sawyer joining the band, Vix. She’s great, she’s talented, and I think she brings a lot to our sound.”
“You’re not worried because we’re together?”
“Nope. Not my problem if things go tits-up with you two. I expect you’ll handle your shit, because we’re professionals.”
Vix stared at him. “Oh. I— Yeah, of course.”
Kit and Connor looked at each other, then back at Vix. “So is that it, then?” Kit asked warily. “You guys look mad.”
“I’m not—I didn’t think you’d be okay with it.” Vix kept staring at Jeff as if she’d never seen him before. “Given what you said earlier.”
“And you told me to mind my own business,” Jeff said, with the same edge to his voice. “So I am. But that’s not what you want, is it?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“Oh, would you stop?” Jeff laughed harshly. “You know what? Vix, you are always the first person to call someone out on their shit, so I’m going to do it for you. I don’t fucking appreciate what you’re trying to do here.”
“I thought you wanted Sawyer to be in the band,” Kit said, slowly. He looked between them like they were a confusing Ping-Pong match. “What am I missing?”
“You’re missing Vix trying to get me to do her fucking dirty work,” growled Jeff.
“Dude.” Connor took a step forward.
Jeff was still glaring at Vix. “You thought I’d say no, and then you could tell Sawyer she wasn’t in the band and blame it on me. Right? You’d tell her sorry, but it wasn’t going to work because someone had concerns that you two would break up and take the band with you. And that’s the truth, isn’t it? But the person who’s worried about that is you, Vix. And you’re too fucking afraid to tell her that.”
Vix felt the hot burn of tears behind her eyes, a combination of anger, embarrassment, and the sickening feeling that he was right. “I thought you’d have a problem with it. You did, up until . . . what, a week ago? Adding a band member is something we either all agree on, or we don’t.”
“Oh, come off it, Vix.” Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. “Admit it. You wanted me to say no so you didn’t have to. If you didn’t think I’d say no, you never would have asked. You want to come across smelling like roses, but let me tell you something. This isn’t about adding a fiddle player. This is about asking if we’re okay with you dating someone in the band long-term. And you admitting the person who has a problem with it is you.”
He wasn’t being entirely fair. They did have to agree, as a band, on adding a new member. But Vix had to admit there was more truth to what he was saying than she’d like to admit. Still, she felt trapped—what was she supposed to do? Not ask, when she knew Sawyer wanted her to?
“Okay,” Connor said carefully, ever the peacemaker. “Maybe we should talk about this after the last show. We’ve got a few weeks, right, before the next one?”
“That seems reasonable,” said Kit. “Which means we probably won’t do it,” he finished, under his breath.
“We all think Sawyer would be great in the band,” Jeff hammered on, as if he hadn’t heard any of that talk about being reasonable. “So, what is it, Vix? Yes or no?”
Vix looked at them all very carefully. They were her family, and as much as they drove her mad and got on her nerves, she knew she wouldn’t be making music without them. They were finally starting to make a name for themselves, finally starting to get a following and some professional write-ups and attention. If she and Sawyer were a summer fling and nothing more, what would happen when it was over?
She couldn’t take that chance. She couldn’t. Deflating, Vix wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t say anything, and eventually, she heard footsteps and saw Kit and Connor both quietly leave and head outside.
Jeff was still there. “I know you’re pissed at me. But what you’re trying to do is shitty.”
Tears stung her eyes. Vix knew he was right, and she hated herself for it. But she hated what she was going to have to do a lot more, and childishly, she wished Jeff did have a problem with Sawyer joining the band. “I don’t know what to do, that’s the problem. And fuck you for making it harder on me.”
“I’m not trying to.”
Vix’s attention snapped over to her former boyfriend turned bass player. Jeff still looked kind of pissed, but there was something like pity on his face, and that made her more annoyed. “Whatever.”
“Don’t act like a brat. Decide if you want Sawyer in the band or not, Vix. It’s your name, your band. You asked us if we wanted her, and we said yes.”
Vix did want Sawyer in the band. Goddamn it, that wasn’t even a question. But she also wanted Sawyer, and she was starting to think she couldn’t have both. It was too risky.
She didn’t say anything, and eventually Jeff let her be. Vix sat by herself in the basement, wondering why the fuck she’d had to go and fall in love.
Sawyer had apparently spent the afternoon at the nearby Urban Outfitters because, for some reason, she found trying clothes on that she couldn’t afford to be an enjoyable use of her time. Vix hated shopping and she really hated trying on clothes—if the jeans she bought at Target or the thrift store didn’t fit her, she sulkily threw the bag in a corner until she remembered they were there and took them back and returned them.
“I don’t know how fifty-six dollars for a maxi skirt is a sale price,” Sawyer said, sounding miffed, like the overpriced store had personally offended her. “I mean, it’s, like, one piece of fabric. Maybe I should take up sewing!” She clapped her hands. “I can make all our clothes since we’re gonna be poor traveling musicians.”
“Okay, Friar Tuck,” Vix mumbled, and Sawyer gave her that bright, happy smile that made Vix’s insides twist like rusty mechanical gears.
“So? How’d the band meeting go?”
Jesus. Vix took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I’m sorry. It’s not gonna work out.”
Sawyer’s smile faded, and she blinked those pretty eyes of hers, brow drawn in confusion. “Wait, what?”
“It’s not going to work.” Vix shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and tried not to look at Sawyer. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t—” Sawyer’s voice had dropped, and she was as soft-spoken as she’d been at her audition—before she’d pulled out that fiddle, before Vix had fallen in love with her. “I don’t understand. Did I make someone mad?”
Vix felt like a heel. She shook her head. “No. Everyone likes you.”
“Then what . . . what’s the problem? What did I do wrong?”
Oh, fucking hell. “You didn’t do anything, Sawyer. You’re a great musician and . . . it isn’t that.”
“Then what is it?” Sawyer’s voice wavered, but her chin went up and her shoulders straightened. She looked like she did onstage. Except angry. “Obviously someone has a problem with me, so what is it?”
“It’s not you, it’s . . . it’s us.” Vix sighed. She ran a hand through her messy hair. “If something happens with me and you, it could really fuck things up. With the band, I mean.”
“That’s really our business, though, isn’t it?” Sawyer asked. “What’s that have to do with us playing music together?”
“Do you think we could be friends?” Vix stepped forward. She reached out and took Sawyer’s clammy hands in hers. “If we had some massive breakup, do you really think you could ride in a van with me, day after day, week after week, month after month, and not have that impact the band? Look at what happened when we were mad at each other for, what, a week? Four days? Everyone was miserable.”
“You and Jeff managed,” Sawyer pointed out.
“Barely,” Vix muttered. “And not without collateral damage. Sam quit, our keyboardist before Kit. And Bryant threatened to leave, and it was miserable, okay? And that was, hell, before we had any of the notoriety we have now, which might not seem like that much, but compared to where we were, then? It is. And you and me—Sawyer, I love you, but I can’t fuck this up. It’s not just me, it’s . . . everyone who’s taking a chance on me. Kit, and Connor, and Jeff.”
Sawyer stared at her, and Vix watched while understanding dawned. “It was you,” she said softly, and yanked her hands away. “You’re the one who doesn’t want me here.”
Vix thought for a half of a second about blaming Jeff, but she knew she’d never do that. It’d be unforgiveable, and besides. If she wanted to salvage her relationship with Sawyer, she knew she had to be honest. “I want you here. But I don’t think you should be here.”
“So you’re breaking up with me?” Sawyer sounded dumbfounded.
“No,” Vix assured her. “I want us to be together. But we can’t, not if we’re going to play music. And if we’re going to play music, we can’t be together.”
Sawyer was so mad, her cheeks flushed bright red, and Vix could see tears trembling in the dark of her eyelashes. “Okay, first? I asked you—I asked you—if you were sure about me joining. I told you if you didn’t think it was a good idea, to tell me before you brought it up to the rest of the band.” Sawyer dashed her hand over her eyes. “Goddamn it, Vix, I fucking asked you and you said you wanted me!”
“I do want you!” Vix protested. She raised her hands. “God, Sawyer, it’s not that. I’m trying to keep everything from being a huge mess!”
“When we break up,” Sawyer said, flatly. “Because apparently, you see so little future in this relationship, your main concern is what’s going to happen when it’s over.”
“My main concern is I don’t want to ruin anyone’s life.” Vix wished she could make Sawyer understand. “I almost lost this band once before, and I can’t do it again.”
“So, what? You assumed I’d be your little lady waiting at home?” Sawyer scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. You clearly think we’re doomed, and there’s still the whole thing where I asked you not to bring this up with the others unless you yourself were sure. Is there some reason you didn’t do that? Oh, wait,” Sawyer said, her tone of voice so ugly it made Vix wince. “You wanted to make sure we could still have fun before the tour ended, right?”
“You know that is totally not true,” Vix insisted. “Yeah, okay, I should have said something and I didn’t. But it’s not like this is easy for me, either.”
“I’ll make it easier,” Sawyer said, and for a moment she looked like the girl from high school, the one etched on the corners of Vix’s memory—awkward and unsure, half-hiding in the fall of her dark hair. “I quit. And we’re breaking up. There you go. No more hard decisions for you.”
“Sawyer,” Vix said, but that was it. Only her name, and there were no other words she could think to say that would make this better. “Can’t you at least think about why I’m saying this?”
“I probably could have,” Sawyer said, crying. “If you’d have said any of this before, when I asked you about it. I would have listened, and we could have made it work. Now? It sure as hell looks like you want me gone.”
“It’s not that I want you gone. Can’t you see what a risk this is?” How could she make Sawyer understand that?
“Yeah, actually. And I was willing to take it. It’s that you’re not, and I wish you would have told me instead of letting me think you did.” Sawyer marched off into the bedroom, and Vix heard her rummaging around, clearly packing up her things in a hurry.
When she came out, she looked at Vix across the room. “I’ll see you at the show tomorrow night. Because I’m a fucking professional, even if you seem to think I’m not.”
Vix lasted until Sawyer closed the door behind her before she threw herself on the couch and cried. She wished she were back in Dallas or Little Rock—anywhere but here. They said home was where the heart was, but in her case, home was where it broke.