Everything about today is fucking with my head.

My uncle and the fact I lied to give him what he wanted. Worse, I’ll probably do it again. I shouldn’t give it a second thought. I did what I had to do to keep my place in the band. I got mine. Anyone else would do the same. But I feel like scum. Like the traitor I am.

Making it worse? Opal’s sweet and constant kindness. It’s as if the universe is intent on dousing salt in the wound. A wound I caused. The afternoon of interviews isn’t any better. Knowing I screwed over my bandmates while they treat me like I belong, as if I’m one of them? It all feels wrong.

The only place I find peace is on stage.

We rock Milwaukee hard and the crowd rises with the energy.

Music is my consolation. It always has been. The notes of a song have the ability to take me away whenever life is too much or I just don’t fit. Soaked in sweat and beating on the toms, I feel that power take hold. Transform my mood. Provide inspiration, light, and breathe new life into an otherwise lonely existence.

I can’t help but wonder whether we’re doing that now. If the thousands of fans who come out for our shows chase that same connection? It gives new purpose to my role, and I shove all the crap from the day out of my mind, determined to play my fucking heart out and leave it on stage.

The set goes by in a flash, and when it’s time to head back to the bus I’m almost disappointed. My mind amps up with the still-screaming fans, and music might as well pump through my veins. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to sleep. Not anytime soon.

“We going out tonight?” I ask Sean as we’re ushered back to the bus by the stadium’s security crew.

“No time. We roll out in an hour.”

“Fuck.” I rub the tension that gathers in my shoulders.

“It’ll be worth the day off tomorrow.” That’s right. I almost forgot. An entire day to ourselves while our driver rests. Over the next few months we don’t get many of those, and while I could play every night for the rest of my life, I realize burnout is real and self-care is necessary.

Sean claps me on my back and nods ahead to where Trent steps inside. “Don’t look so glum, kid. Opal’s cooking.”

“Yeah?” I don’t know any personal assistant who also prepares meals in addition to regular job responsibilities, but Trent hit the freaking jackpot with her. My stomach rumbles with the promise of good food, and my smile builds with thoughts of the woman who’s cooking for us. And while I should use this conversation as an opportunity to glean info about Opal, I don’t have it in me. Not right now.

The scent of baked bread, chicken, and goodness hits my nostrils before I’ve even made it inside the bus. The meal isn’t quite ready so we take turns using the shower while our driver Jay pulls out onto the road ahead of schedule.

“I think I need a dinner bell,” Opal says, and it’s almost comical how fast we all sprint to the table. Tonight there’s no joking. No idle conversation. Just the occasional clink of silverware against dishes as we stuff our faces. Maybe it’s only because we’ve been going non-stop since we rolled into Wisconsin, but this is quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had.

“Opal, you outdid yourself.” Trent pushes back from the table to retrieve another beer. He pops off the top and settles himself back into his seat. “Really, thank you so much. This was better than any takeout.”

Sean nods. “So good. You could open a restaurant.”

“Y’all are so sweet.” She drops her gaze to her plate with a grin.

“Dude, we fucking slayed tonight.” Austin leans back from the table after scarfing down his second plate. Of course, he’s still shirtless from his earlier shower and I catch Opal staring at his chest for at least the tenth time tonight. I guess I should be thankful he’s wearing pants. I wish she would look at me that way.

“Best show yet,” Sean says.

“Our new drummer has chops.” Trent winks and maybe it’s dumb but his compliment warms my insides. I don’t look for affirmation from others, and it’s even more welcome when unexpected.

I move the last bite of food across my plate with my fork. “I’m just lucky to be here.”

“We’re lucky to have you, brother.” Sean tips his drink.

Lucky? If he only knew. Guilt bubbles to the surface and brews in my gut.

“Fuck. I feel like going out.” Austin leans forward in his seat and rubs his hands together.

“Fuck.” Sean raises his brows with a knowing grin. “You just feel like fucking.”

Austin rolls his eyes. “Don’t we all? It’s the best after a show. All that energy, it’s gotta go somewhere.”

“You wanna . . .” Sean points at himself and then Austin. “I mean, Trent’s not in his room right now.”

Everyone bursts into laughter, even Opal.

“Fuck you!” Austin laughs and tosses his napkin across the table. “I can do way better than you.”

Sean puckers his lips. “Saving yourself for someone special?”

Fuck. I don’t want to hear the answer to that, especially when Austin’s gaze lifts to Opal.

“Let’s play a game,” I interrupt before she and Austin start making eyes at each other.

“Game?” Trent lifts an eyebrow.

Here I am trying to get them to see me as a man, but I’m asking to play games like some child. I tap my fingers at my sides under the table as my nerves skyrocket. Fuck it. I can’t take the suggestion back now. “Yeah, I’m too pumped up from the show to fall asleep or lay around.”

“I’m in. As long it’s not strip poker.” Sean winks at Austin. “Sorry, Aust.”

“I’ll live.”

“Okay, drummer boy. Your idea.” Trent leans forward on his elbows and steeples his hands under his chin. “What are we playing?”

“Never Have I Ever.” Next to Truth or Dare it’s the only game I can think of that doesn’t require a board or deck of cards. And while Truth or Dare has its benefits, there are things I can never share with these guys unless I want to kiss my job good-bye. I’ve done enough lying for one day.

The guys look at each other and nod their agreement.

Opal stands to clear the table.

“You in, too?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Trent rises from his seat. “We’ll all pitch in and clean up. Get yourself a drink. We want you to play. Don’t we, guys?”

Hell, yeah. I do! I manage to stifle my enthusiasm with a grunt, letting the others convince her to stay.

“Okay,” she finally relents. “I’ll play.”

Hell, yeah. The next few hours of this trip just got a lot more exciting.

“Never have I ever been caught in the act by paparazzi.” Austin grins widely.

“That’s highly specific.” Sean tips his beer for a long swallow.

I grin because once again I don’t have to drink. Resorting to this idiotic game as a way to change the topic of conversation wasn’t meant to be anything other than just that. A distraction. But it’s actually fun. Educational even. I haven’t looked at my cell to check the time because we’ve been laughing and talking non-stop, but it’s got to be pushing one or two o’clock by the collection of empties on the table.

I was surprised the guys didn’t object when I grabbed a beer. Even more shocked no one said anything after Opal took one, too. Not that she’s had more than a sip or two to drink. I swear the sweet girl act isn’t an act at all. She hasn’t done much of anything.

“Okay, I’ve got one!” Sean hits the table with his palm. “Never have I ever gone by a stage name.” He waggles his brows and everyone’s eyes zero in on me.

I tip my beer before taking a drink and let loose a deep laugh. “Got me there.”

“Leighton Stix.” Austin shakes his head. “Who the fuck came up with that name? I hope not you.”

“My mama if she named me right.” I wink and try not to think about my cringeworthy last name.

The guys all chuckle. They don’t care what my real last name is as long as it’s not Wellington. Bedo thought Stix would be a great conversation starter, but it felt more than lame in all the interviews today. A bit unoriginal and lazy if you ask me, but no one did. Since Bedo’s ass is on the line if anyone discovers my real name, I have some trust he won’t totally screw me over. Still. It’s pretty bad.

“Your turn, Opal,” Trent says.

She studies the label on her beer a long moment before a slow grin takes over her face. She doesn’t look at me though; instead her gaze lifts to Austin. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”

Everyone takes a drink except her and I.

“Not even one?” Austin flirts and I swear my chest burns with a flame of jealous anger.

She giggles, twirling the green glass bottle in her long pale fingers. “Maybe you should have to finish since you have the most.”

“Like he needs an excuse to drink more.” Trent laughs.

Opal’s stare is stuck to his arms and the ink that covers his skin. “Did you have the same artist do them all? How did you decide?” Her gaze lifts to his and she blushes. “Sorry, I’m asking too many questions.”

“No. It’s cool.” He scoots closer to her in the bench seat, and I swear he’s flexing. “I’ve collected them from all over. But most of this sleeve was done in Phoenix.”

“That’s where y’all grew up?” she says and then turns to Trent and Sean.

Austin nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you want a tattoo?” I ask Opal to gain her attention, and without looking I can feel Austin’s glare. Too bad, sucker. She’s not off-limits and I’ll talk to her if I want.

She blushes and glances up from beneath her lashes. “Maybe. Yes? I was always told I couldn’t have one. My body is a temple and all that.”

“Not to argue, because your body is positively a temple,” Austin says. “But why would that keep you from getting ink?”

“My grandparents were really strict. Religious.”

I can understand strict, but why would her grandparents’ beliefs dictate what she couldn’t do. “And your parents’ felt the same?”

“Oh, um. Yeah, something like that.” Opal drops her gaze and pushes her drink to the center of the table. Eyes downcast, she scoots out of the seat. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.”

The second she’s gone, all three guys glare at me.

“Her parents are dead, moron.” Austin blows out a harsh breath.

“What?” Shit. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.” Trent’s stare is somber. “So, maybe layoff the parent talk.”

“Yeah. Totally. Sorry.” I glance down the hall. “Is she okay?”

Austin scoffs. “I’m sure she loved being reminded of her orphan status. Yeah, she’s probably totally cool.”

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, you don’t know her.” Austin rolls his eyes, his disgust at my ignorance evident.

“Sorry,” I say again but I still feel like an asshole. Shit. Here I was trying to get to know her and instead shove my foot in my mouth. She probably thinks I’m the biggest jerk in the world.

Austin’s phone rings and he flips it over before anyone can catch a glimpse at the ID on the screen. “Gotta grab this. Trent, I’m using your room,” he calls out, but he’s down the hall and slamming the door before Trent can answer.

“Sure. Yeah. Go ahead. Thanks for asking first.” Trent rolls his eyes, but doesn’t glance up from his phone. He’s been texting Lexi on and off for most of the game anyway.

“I guess game time is over. ’Night.” Sean pushes to his feet, his body swaying with the roll of the bus as he shuffles over to his bunk and climbs inside.

Seconds turn to minutes and still Opal doesn’t come back. I clean up the beer cans, needing to do something while I wait. She probably wants space. She sure as hell doesn’t need me. But shit, do I feel like shit. The woman who I thought was sweet and untouched by anything but good holds a great amount of pain behind those gorgeous green eyes.

With the kitchen clean and the table wiped down, I feel more like a jerk than ever. She still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. I can’t stand it anymore. The need to check on her overpowers any sense of propriety as I make my way down the hall. I knock on the door softly.

“Just a minute.” She falters through what sounds like a sniffle. Fuck. I made her cry. I didn’t know about her parents, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. She cracks open the door and the redness of her nose only confirms the hurt I’ve triggered. Her gaze drops to the floor. “Excuse me.”

I don’t move for her to pass. “I’m sorry . . . I-I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m sorry for your loss.” I meet her gaze when it snaps to mine. “About your parents.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes. God, they cut right through my soul. Swimming with such pain and emotion, and yet for once she doesn’t shy away or hide. Her vulnerability is right there to witness.

The need to acknowledge it comes before anything else. “Do you miss them?”

“My parents?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

“It’s hard to miss something you never really had.” Her gaze focuses over my shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes. She inhales sharply and I swear she doesn’t see the interior of the bus right now. She’s somewhere else completely. “Still hurts.”

Truer words were never said. How many times have I longed for my mother to embrace me in a hug, or my dad to invite me into his office for something other than a verbal lashing? How many nights did I come home to a giant empty house and wish for someone to notice I was there? To love me for more than my accomplishments.

She clears her throat. “Did I ruin the game?”

“Not at all. Austin took a call in Trent’s room. Trent’s texting Lexi, and Sean turned in for the night.”

“I should probably do the same,” she says without much conviction.

I don’t want her to go to sleep yet. Maybe it’s because I’m not ready to be alone, but more likely it’s that when I’m around her, everything feels lighter. Free. Good. For once she’s hurting and I feel this yearning need to comfort and console her. “Dessert? We haven’t had dessert.”

Her brows rise with surprise. “You’re still hungry?”

“Only for something sweet.” I clear my throat. “You? At least join me so I don’t feel like a loser.”

“Sure.”

Opal follows me back to the kitchen where we discover Trent passed out and laying long ways on the bench seat. He appears comfortable enough, and since Austin’s still occupying his room I don’t wake him. I also don’t want to share this moment. Something about this feels important. After all, I was the one to dredge up her past and make her cry. I need to make things right.

Reaching inside the freezer, I pull out two individual tubs of ice cream and then grab two spoons. I nod to the floor, near the recliners and where we have our guitar lessons. Opal pads over and takes a seat against the wall. I slide down next to her, delighting in the touch of her body against mine, even if it’s totally platonic.

“Chocolate chip cookie dough or bourbon pecan pie?”

“Both?” She lets out a laugh, but the sadness is still clear in her tone. “I don’t care. You pick.”

“How about we share? Best of both worlds.” I hand her a tub and a spoon, and then pop the lid off mine. I take a spoonful and groan against the metal silverware. “So good.”

“Better than my sticky buns?” She takes a scoop out of my container.

“That’s ludicrous. Your buns are the best thing that’s ever been in my mouth.” My eyes widen the second I realize what else that could mean. I turn my chin to find Opal staring with the same look.

A giggle bursts through her lips, and she covers her mouth, either to cover the sound or keep from spewing ice cream.

I chuckle, and once I do I can’t seem to stop. We sit there like two stupid kids, laughing over my faux pas and it’s the best I’ve felt all damn day. I’m surprised we don’t wake Trent or Sean.

“I’m sorry,” I say when I finally catch my breath.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you like my baking.”

I love everything about you. The thought comes into my mind so quickly I almost speak it aloud. Thank God I don’t. Instead I reach across her body and shove my spoon into what’s left of her cookie dough. I ignore the impulse to throw the dessert to the side and claim her lips with my own. They probably taste like the ice cream I shove into my mouth. No, I’m certain she tastes even better.

Fuck me.

Not because she’s perfect, or that it’s taking all of my self-control to keep my hands to myself right now. No, that’s bad enough. Fuck me, because I’m running out of excuses why this is a bad idea. I don’t deserve a woman like Opal. I really don’t. But since I’m reinventing myself anyway, maybe there’s a possibility I could.

Together in companionable quiet we share the rest of the ice cream, trading spoonfuls of our respective containers. It might be wishful thinking, but she appears lighter, happier, and I want to write Ben and Jerry a thank you note for that alone.

“Well, I better turn in.” She glances down at her hands and the spoon she holds. I want her to lift her gaze, and yet at the same time it’s probably safer this way. If she did I’d be tempted to kiss her. She pushes off the ground and takes a step forward before looking back. “Thanks for the ice cream.” A smile stretches her lips, faint and more beautiful than any I’ve seen her wear before because this one’s meant for me. “Good night.”

“Good night, Opal. Sweet dreams.”

She turns away and drops her spoon in the sink, gathering her toiletry bag on the way to the bathroom, but before she’s completely down the hall I catch her gaze again. She’s still smiling, but there’s something more, something so real, and I can’t help but lift my hand, waving as I smile back like an idiot. Her lighthearted giggle is worth the embarrassment. I might be a fool to think I could have anything more than this moment with her, but by the way warmth spreads through my very soul, the risk might be worth it.