The bus rolls into the lot of Blue Hills Bank Pavilion as the sun breaks through the cloudy Boston skyline. I know this because I toss and turn all night, unable to turn off my brain and find rest. My tattoo itches like a son of a bitch, but that’s not what keeps me from passing out. No, it’s my conversations with Opal, playing in my mind on repeat. The look on her face as she gripped those letters and tucked them away from sight. The realness of her eyes when I almost kissed her. The hurt I caused when I didn’t.

Jay parks the bus and everyone stumbles out, still half asleep with dark shades to combat the daylight. There’s a breakfast joint within walking distance of the amphitheater and Trent leads the way to coffee and food. You’d think everyone was hungover with how little we talk during our meal, but it’s just sleep deprivation and too many days sleeping on a bus.

“Damn, that was good.” Trent stretches as we step back outside. “I need a nap already.”

“Hell to the yes,” Austin agrees.

On the walk back to the bus, regret churns in my belly. I should have kissed Opal last night. Or at least smoothed things over better. The last thing I need is to create tension between us when my uncle is dead set on digging around her personal life. I need to make things right, and I have an idea about where to start.

In three long strides I’m by her side. “Hey, when we get back grab your notebook.”

“Yeah?” She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her black ripped jeans, the new ones she purchased yesterday, and scuffs her shoes along the sidewalk. I half expect her to change her mind about song writing today, but once again her limitless grace is astounding.

I aim to keep my tone casual, but the truth is, I’m already excited about the prospect of writing music with her. “We don’t have to check in until two, and the weather’s awesome. We’ll find some shade and get to work.”

“Sounds good.” She grins.

“Guitar practice?” Austin steps to her other side and slows his gait so he’s even with us.

Opal glances at me before turning to him. “Oh, um. Yeah. Practice.”

“Fine, don’t tell me what you’re up to. My feelings aren’t hurt.” His dramatics are over the top, but he’s only teasing. I think.

“I’ll get the guitar,” I say with the bus in view.

“I’ll just grab my . . . pen and paper.” She avoids meeting my gaze and darts ahead to where Sean and Trent step inside the bus.

“Is it just me or are you two acting weirder than usual?” Austin stares after her and raises his eyebrows.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Houdini.”

“Touché.” Austin tips his chin. “Just don’t defile her in the park, okay?”

“We’re not—”

Austin holds a hand up and pushes past me to jog up the steps of the bus.

Whatever. I shake my head, not needing to explain myself to him or anyone. There’s nothing to tell. At least not yet. I have a feeling they’re going to flip out and in a good way after hearing Opal’s lyrics. If she even feels comfortable sharing. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. First step is putting music to her words.

I climb into the bus, relieved to find everyone settling back in for more sleep. They don’t pay us any attention as we grab the guitar and sneak back outside.

“Thanks. For not . . . I don’t even know whether I can do this. I’d feel like a complete fool if I told everyone what we’re doing and then choke under the pressure,” she says, holding up her notebook.

“I get it.” I point across the lot to the small park I spotted on our way to breakfast. There’s a picnic bench and plenty of trees to keep us cool for a few hours. I begin walking and she follows suit. “But first thing’s first. You can’t think about them, or anyone else for that matter. We’re gonna make a bunch of mistakes and it’s gonna feel stupid at first. That’s art. You have to put all those voices of doubt out of your head. Doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. This is between us and the music.”

“Easier said than done.” She laughs but it’s not carefree. “I’ll give it my best shot.” She climbs on the top of the table and opens her notebook, flipping through the pages.

“Okay, then.” I pop the case and pull out the guitar. The sleek polished wood is heavy in my hands. She looks up at me from beneath her lashes. Her wide eyes hold nervous anticipation, but I don’t miss the flicker of excitement in their depths. It’s the energy I embrace as I allow a smile to take over my face. “Half the battle’s getting started.”

“She’s more than the small town,

a sweet face, her pretty hair.

She wasn’t looking for much,

but maybe one night of love.

He can’t stand his skin,

always moving to keep a nomad pace.

He wasn’t looking for her,

but fate intervened and took control.”

Glancing up at the movement from the corner of my eye, I find Trent, Sean, and Austin heading over. Not wanting Opal to stop, I continue to play as she belts out the chorus.

“She’s not running from her past,

Searching for a future to call home.

And for a few hours he’ll be hers.

She’ll be his even more.”

With her eyes shut, the music fucking shines from her soul. I sneak a look at the guys and they’re as shocked and impressed as I was when she started opening up. Opal can sing. Her voice is husky and deep, rougher than her wholesome exterior lets on. She opens her eyes after repeating the chorus, and the smile that takes over her face is my new favorite sight.

I tip my head toward the guys and Opal twists as they approach.

“What’cha two playing? I don’t recognize that one.” Sean struts the rest of the way to our place in the park.

“We’re writing it.” Opal drops her gaze, and her lips pull into a shy smile. “Or, really, Leighton is.”

“Don’t let her fool you. She’s been writing lyrics and keeping her brilliance from us.”

Opal blushes and I’m overcome with the urge to reach out and kiss her. Of course I can’t. Not now. I’ve been mentally kicking myself for not seizing the opportunity when I had the chance. Last night she would have welcomed my advances. But like the coward I am, I bolted at the glimpse of something honest and real. Let’s face it, I don’t deserve Opal’s goodness, and I’m not sure I can handle the responsibility. My own priorities come first, always, and she deserves better.

“For real? You write? How did I not know this?” Sean straddles the bench seat.

“Because I never really meant to tell anyone.” Opal narrows her stare and points at me, but I can tell by the hint of her smile she’s not angry I outed her.

“Sorry, not sorry.” I mock glare.

“Can I get in on this, too?” Austin comes around the far side of the table.

“Heck, yeah.” Opal pats the open space to her left.

Trent chuckles and takes a seat across from Sean. “Might want to up that to hell yeah if you’re gonna write music with us.”

“Sorry, habit.” She glances to her lap with embarrassment.

“Or make it your signature phrase.” I wink, encouraging the no-fear Opal to return. Trent was joking, and I get it, but she shuts down with that crap. “It’s different. Refreshing. Everyone uses hell yeah, but you’ll stand out in the crowd.”

“We gonna sling compliments back and forth or jam out?” Sean says.

“Let’s go again. We’re still working on the verses, but here’s what we’ve got so far.” I count it out and play the guitar. The guys watch my hands and Trent scoots closer to Opal. She holds up the notebook with her lyrics arranged for this song, and after the first go through Trent joins in. Their voices harmonize and complement in a raw and sultry sound.

Sean taps his palm onto the wooden bench, setting the pace and keeping rhythm.

Austin’s head bobs, his eyes memorizing every chord I strike.

We get to the part in the song without lyrics and stop. Sean immediately leans over, and both he and Trent discuss possibilities with Opal. She scratches them down on the paper.

I hand over the guitar to Austin. “It’s yours.”

“You sure? You don’t have to—”

“No. It’s yours, unless you think you can’t keep up.”

“Please.” He chuckles and accepts the instrument.

“Yeah, let’s try that!” Trent nods, and points to Austin. “You ready, man?”

“I was born ready.” Austin strums a chord, I count us off, and then everyone comes together.

My chest tightens and my pulse races with a feeling I’ve never experienced. There’s something special about this moment. Being outside on this gorgeous day, the sun shining from behind the clouds and a cool breeze rustling the leaves overhead. The creative energy that fills this air, everyone’s collaborative talents coming together to make something new. This is what music is about. Not just performing, but creating something that didn’t exist before. As close to magic as there is.

I glance at everyone’s faces, inhale the day—a little humid with the lingering scent of cut grass—and I memorize this moment, not sure how many more I’ll get but appreciating the sacredness.

We work for the next hour, sharpening the lyrics and sound until it’s a complete song.

“Damn. I’m loving this.” Trent leans back onto his elbows and squints his eyes up at the sky.

“We could work it into the set. After Hollow.” Sean taps Opal’s pen against the page full of notes.

“Fuck, yeah.” Trent glances at all of us before landing on Opal. “It’s perfect. That is, if you’re okay with sharing. We didn’t really work out copyrights and permissions.”

“You want to play this song? On stage?” She swallows hard as if she can’t believe him. This girl has no clue how talented she is, or how good the song is.

“Yeah, we add in drums, some sick electric riffs, and our fans will go ballistic. I hope you’ll be there, too. Aust does all right on backups, but he hasn’t really nailed that feminine octave.”

“Bitch, please.” Austin bats his eyelashes and puckers his lips. “I’m fabulous and you know it.”

Trent rolls his eyes. “What do you say?” He holds Opal’s gaze, his own hopeful.

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and wrings her hands together in her lap. “Can I think about it first? I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I might freeze up.”

“No way. It’s in your blood,” Trent says, admiration and confidence in his tone. His comment strikes me weird. What blood? He coughs, clearing his throat and letting loose a laugh. “I mean, hanging around with all of us has worn off on you. You’d do great.”

“Let’s run through it one more time. Record it on my iPhone for now?” Sean asks.

We each nod our agreement, but before we begin Sean frowns at his phone. “That’s strange. Emergency conference call in twenty.”

“What?” Trent scrunches his brow.

“Our publicist from Off Track. She sent an email just now.”

Dread fills my gut. Is this about me? About what I leaked to Bedo, even though it wasn’t true? I brace myself for the fallout. Maybe I’m being paranoid. This could be about something else entirely. I have to ask. “Is everything okay?”

Sean shrugs and sets his phone in the center of the table, the recording app pulled up and ready to go. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Does it happen a lot? Emergency calls with your publicist?” I should keep my mouth shut and let everything play out, but the need to ease my apprehension trumps my good sense. If this is about my involvement, I could get sent home immediately. I’m not ready to leave.

“Our publicist.” Trent clasps my shoulder and gives a little shove. “You’re a part of this shit show too now. And no, but whatever it is they’ll take care of it. Nothing comes close to what we’ve already been through.”

“Cool.” But it’s not cool, and his friendliness only makes my betrayal that much worse. If he was an asshole or a piece of shit I could rationalize what I’ve done. But Trent has been nothing but welcoming since we hit the road for this tour. I’m the ass in this scenario. I hate myself for it.

As we record this last take, the high of writing a new song deflates under the reality of what I’ve done. I’ve always been a resourceful kid, but I have no idea how to dig myself out of this one. The lack of control spikes my anxiety. My only move is to hope for the best and even I recognize that kind of plan is fucked from the start.

“Here’s the short of it. We think someone’s leaking stories to the press. A crew member. A relative. Someone with a personal vendetta or who could use the financial gain.” Julie, Off Track Record’s lead publicist says all the way from LA. We’ve gathered around Trent’s cell phone, switching to speaker for this call.

“A rat,” Austin says incredulously. “You’re saying we have a rat?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Julie clears her throat. “This isn’t the mafia, but yeah.”

“Could it be someone at the label?” Trent asks.

“We’re investigating the possibility, but considering the longevity in which everyone on the team has worked with you, we think not.”

Trent runs his hands through the long ends of his hair and tucks them behind his ears. “So, what do we do?”

“You need to take extra caution. With private phone calls. Personal matters. Look around before speaking. A conversation that’s overheard can be twisted, well, to the next TMZ headlines.”

Stay away from your drummer. I school my features because I swear if I make one move they’ll notice the sweat beading on my brow. I’m so fucked.

Sean chuckles but it’s humorless. “For the record, Jess and I aren’t engaged.”

“Yeah, it’s like they’re finding new and creative ways to make shit up.” Trent shakes his head. “They don’t need an insider to write this stuff. Who’s to say it’s coming from within? Anyone could claim to be a long lost friend and make up lies.”

“I understand, and that’s a possibility as well, but as your publicist, I thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Julie.”

“Also, if there’s anything you’re keeping from us—something the press could catch wind of and run with? It’d be prudent to let us know now so we can mitigate any negative effects. I don’t need to remind you the board of directors wasn’t happy with everything that happened last month.” The more she goes on, the more guilt eats at my fears. I did this. It’s my fault. We wouldn’t even be having this conference call if it weren’t for the lies I told.

“Oh?” Sean slams a fist onto the table, making the phone bounce on impact. His tone laces thick with sarcasm. “They weren’t happy our friend lost himself in addiction? Funny, ’cause they didn’t have a problem when he played shows high as fuck. Why is that, Julie? Oh, right. Because everyone was getting fucking paid.”

“Sean, calm down.” Trent reaches his arm out to his friend.

Sean shoves it away. “I won’t calm down. This is fucking bullshit!”

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” Julie says. “I apologize. You’re still grieving.”

“Don’t. Please, don’t pretend you know how I feel.” Sean scoffs.

Austin leans forward in his chair to speak into the phone. “Look, we’ve been laying low. We aren’t partying hard anymore. We’re killing these shows. Sold out shows, I might add. What more do you want?”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open. Keep us informed of shit before it hits the fan. That’s all we can do right now.” The tension builds in the silence after Julie speaks, and stretches through the line.

“That all?” Trent finally says.

“I think so. Oh, there is one more thing.”

Sean groans, his head falling back. “Give us something good, Julie.”

“Bedo won’t make it to Boston. Family emergency. But he’s already contacted the stage manager, reps at the venue, and everything’s in order for tonight’s show.” I might be imagining it, but everyone seems to perk up at the news. They really don’t like my uncle. I’m beginning to share the sentiment.

But emergency? What emergency? For the first time since walking out, the need to check on my parents flashes in my mind. But is there really a family problem? Since it’s my uncle I don’t trust, this isn’t just an excuse to get out of a daylong flight.

“Okay. That all?” Trent rolls his eyes as he reaches for his cell.

“For now. We’ll talk soon. Bye now.”

Trent ends the call and shoves his phone into his back pocket.

“You know? Our music label should have our back.” Sean crosses his arms over his chest and his jaw ticks from where it’s clenched. “Why the fuck do I feel like we’ve scrapped through the great exposition after that call?”

Trent blows out a slow breath. “That’s because Julie is a shark. She’s got our best interests at heart.”

“That’s assuming she has a heart,” Sean grumbles.

“She’s got our best interests because we pay her salary.” Austin shrugs. “Loyalties only lie as long as our value. That’s how it is.”

“It was easier when we we’re nobodies.” Trent rubs his eyelids. His body is taut with stress. Stress I’ve added.

Austin shakes his head. “Speak for yourself. I like my ramen-free diet.”

“Have you ever thought about switching labels?” The question pops out of my mouth before I consider the consequences. Shit. Obvious enough?

“No.” Trent shakes his head. By some miracle he doesn’t notice the anxiety written in my words. “Loyalty means something. I get that you’re just coming in, but Bedo and his team believed in our greatness back when no one else did.”

Trent’s answer hits like a punch to the gut. He’s right, I don’t understand this kind of loyalty. My father, a shrewd and brilliant businessman, taught me early on that allegiance lies as long as the relationship remains beneficial. These guys operate under a different kind of morality, one I don’t understand. A brotherhood. I’ve witnessed it in the way they treat each other like family. Opal, too.

Didn’t they accept you, too? I didn’t realize it was something I even needed, or how conflicted I would be. Is there a way to right my wrong? I wish, but if there is, I don’t see it.