J amie was something I had to unmake. Years ago, when the raw damage I left behind still ached like a bruise long after the deed, I had to learn to forget. He left an impression, one I’m not likely ever to release, but the feel of him, that bone-deep haunting he left inside was something I had to pull apart. Like a tapestry with frayed edges, I pulled on the threads of who Jamie had been, unraveling, unweaving until there was nothing left of his comfort. Until there was only the memory of his angry face and the biting words he’d spoken that night in front of Kylie’s hotel door .

“You don’t even register .”

I’d grown good at segmenting my emotions—putting them in pieces, in boxes locked deep inside me. Jamie was a ghost and in his place came Dash. The latter was a caricature of the boy I’d loved, his edges harder, his tongue sharper. But on that stage last night, Jamie had peeked through .

“There’s breakfast on the table,” he told me, tugging on a jacket without looking in my direction. He donned black sunglasses that covered his eyes completely and obscured half of his nose. “It’s what’s left over. I don’t eat much in the morning .”

“I remember.” It slipped out, something that didn’t need saying, but the confession made Dash pause, glaring at me, the frown moving as though he wasn’t sure he liked or loathed me knowing things about him that couldn’t be found out in all the lengthy interviews he made Isaiah give .

He stared, going still before he adjusted the collar to his jacket. “We’re heading out after lunch…” He didn’t elaborate or give me a clear answer why I was on his bus instead of somewhere else. I’d asked that very thing last night when Landon led me to the massive black mammoth Featherlight tour bus right outside the loading docks .

“Why are we going to Dash’s bus?” I’d questioned, stopping when Landon waved his hand toward the door. I’d avoided the band since the sound check and Dash at all costs. I didn’t know who’d seen the small break down following Dash’s rendition of Heartache in Blue. It would break something inside me, mostly my pride, if he mentioned it .

“Your things are already on the bus, and Mr. Justice said you were to take the second bedroom .”

“Why?”

“Lady,” Landon said, rubbing his eyes as his two-way beeped with alert after alert. “I don’t question my boss’s motives. I just do what I’m told .”

The bus was a high-end red, black and grey monstrosity with marble tile floors, black leather on every plush surface, and a massive main room for eating and relaxing. Separated by a decent sized bathroom were two bedrooms. I hadn’t gotten a look at the one Dash slept in the night before, and I absolutely wouldn’t ever, but the one he’d put me in had a comfortable double-sized bed that took up the entire room. There was a 42-inch television affixed to the wall and a plush, tufted headboard in soft gray linen that matched the charcoal and black duvet and pillows. I’d slept great, in style and comfort, but still didn’t know why I was there .

“I have a question,” I said, stopping Dash before he made it to the door. I’d expected his attitude, but not the passive, unbothered expression on his face. He lifted his eyebrows, as if to say “Yeah? What?” and I hurried to ask before I lost the nerve. “Why am I on your bus ?”

That impassive non-expression disappeared and back again was his irritated impatience. “Because I want to keep an eye on you .”

My mouth fell open, and I flopped behind the kitchen table, grabbing a crisp strip of bacon as a distraction. “You want to keep an eye on me?” He nodded, hand on his hip as though he wanted me to hurry along the interrogation. I took a slow bite of bacon and rested against the back of the chair. “Because you don’t trust me and think I’ll do what exactly? Bed the entire crew ?”

“I didn’t say that.” His voice was sharp, his irritation evident .

“But you need to keep tabs of me specifically .”

Dash shook his head, moving closer, and I wondered when he’d gotten the small, barely visible lines that shadowed around the corners of his eyes. He still smoked, that would age him, but these tiny lines somehow made him look mildly distinguished. Well. As distinguished as a grizzled rocker can look. He leaned on the table, watching me for several long seconds before he spoke .

“Dios, chica. You think I got time to worry about who you’re fucking?” He leaned in closer, slow, humorless grin inching across his mouth. “You think I care ?”

“You said …”

“I said I wanted to keep an eye on you. Not because I’m worried you’ll end up in someone’s bed.” He stood then, exhaling as though he needed a pause to control his temper. “Some of the crew have ideas about you.” I opened my mouth, a rude remark at the ready, but Dash held up his hand, stopping me. “Si , I know. I’m the pendejo who put you in a song and made the world think you were down to fuck. Spare me the insults.” His phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, a small hint of a grin shaking the left side of his mouth. Then Dash focused on me again. “The crew gets a little loud and offensive when they drink, and I’ve had to fire a few for getting handsy with some of the fans. I don’t tolerate drunk assholes groping women. Since they tend to come from the same group when we hire a new crew and since I’m busy as hell and can’t do the hiring personally, a lot of times I don’t know what kind of people they are until something happens. Especially if they’re good at covering their asses. You being here,” he waved around the bus, “is just me sending a message. You’re off limits to them. Don’t bother asking them questions for your article. They aren’t allowed to speak to you .”

“Well what about the band or your assistants…don’t they have …”

“You don’t want to be on the band’s bus, chica. Trust me.” He cleared his throat, eyebrow arching. “They tend to entertain a lot, and Landon and his staff have no room in their bus since they’re stuck with the equipment .

Dash watched me for a second, as though he expected me to ask more questions, but I remained silent, pushing back the small rush affection I felt for him at wanting to make sure I was safe. I might have smiled, possible blushed and Dash picked up on it, his tone sharpening once again .

“While we’re on the subject, I have to warn you.” He leaned against the counter, arms folded. “I might not entertain as much as the band but on occasion, I do have company.” He licked his lips as he spoke the word and it felt like an insult. “You can either get some earbuds to drown out the noise or you can wait until I’m done entertaining before you knock on the door .”

I crumbled the bacon leaving it on my plate, wiping the grease on my hands with a napkin to avoid looking at him. “What if your entertaining carries on overnight? Where will I …”

“It won’t. I don’t let anyone sleep in my bed. Ever .”

He waited for a reaction, I guessed wondering if I’d be jealous at the idea of him sleeping with groupies, but I maintained my composure. I didn’t care who Dash slept with. I didn’t care about anything but getting my story and distancing myself from that damn song .

“Fair enough,” I said, standing from the table. Dash’s gaze slipped below my face, lingering on the black, silk robe I wore. I instinctively pulled it closed .

“If you don’t have any other questions or need anything…” Again, his gaze lingered on my body, staring for several seconds on my chest and the slip of cleavage visible before he looked back at my face. “I do have work to do before we head out .”

Instead of answering, I waved him off, leaving the main room for the bedroom. His attention was sharp, intense, I felt it as I walked to the back of the bus. I didn’t exhale until I shut the door behind me .

Dash entertained and wanted me to know. He wanted me safe, despite his professions that he didn’t care about me. And as I dug through my bag and pulled out an outfit for the day, I realized I’d just agreed to spend mile after mile for three months in a confined space with my first love. The man whose heart I’d ripped to shreds. The man that looked as me as though he wanted to take a bite. Months with him on this bus .

Alone.

* * *

I t was later that morning, as the crew secured the buses and fans milled around the band that I decided to close my laptop. I’d made notes at the concert, logging the set list and the size of the crowd, the theatrical aspects of the show and, most importantly, the sound. It had been entertaining, no doubt, but all the glitter and showmanship left me a little empty. By the size of the small grouping of fans that surrounded the bus, I got the feeling I was alone in my opinion .

I spotted Isaiah and Lou through a line of black SUVS, the bodyguards, I suspected, as they talked to fans and took pictures. The band’s bus was large too, but it was blue and gray, not as massive as Dash’s. Our bus, and I hated thinking of it that way, was set a football field’s length away, likely to avoid a rush of fan attention. Likely because Dash thought of himself as too important to lower himself to talk to anyone at all. Especially a bunch of kids, but as I left the bus, noticing that the crew completely ignored me, and spotted the handful of kids on the other side of the bus, Dash in the center of them, I realized my assumptions were wrong .

Dash held a guitar between his hands, signing the back of the neck as a tall kid who looked no more than seventeen watched his every move, grin wide and impossible to hide .

“There you go, Carlos .”

“Mr. Justice, gracias . Really. That’s just…wow.” He glanced to his right, showing the signed instrument to a petite girl I heard him call Anna. She had large black eyes and brown hair that fell to her waist. “Did you see?” She nodded and both kids looked back at Dash as he took a second to talk to a small boy, younger than the first .

The kids didn’t look at me when I approached, but Dash glanced my way, his easy smile growing tight when I stood next to him. Despite the distance between us, I caught his gaze, then the subtle nudge of his chin as he looked back at the couple .

They weren’t a couple, as I first thought. Anna knocked Carlos’s arm, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning and he seemed more interested in Dash and his newly signed guitar than touching the girl. They whispered together, high fiving each other and I realized they were close. Friends. Best friends, I’d wager. Some shared thing hung in the air around them. It was sweet and very familiar. It reminded me of all those summer concerts in the park with Jamie, stealing away to Indy or Cincinnati to catch a live show or hear a new record as it dropped. Guitars and smoke, liquor and laughter. It had been the fucking theme of our lives back then, something I saw sparking and shining between the kids gawking at Dash’s signature .

“Mr. Justice?” Anna asked, stepping forward with the gentle push of her friend. Dash looked up at her, pausing as he signed another autograph. “We…” she looked at her friend, nodding as he smiled at her, “we wondered, me and Carlos, about how you started. What was it like for you, when you started? What did it take for you to get so good ?”

“We’re awful, right now,” Carlos put in, laughing with his friend when her shoulders shook. “Sometimes it feels like we’ll never get better .”

“You will,” I offered, the answer coming from my mouth before I could stop it. I looked between the kids and Dash, relaxing a little when they watched me, seeming interested in what I had to say. I nodded at Dash, shrugging. “I first heard him play at sixteen. He had a secondhand Gibson with a fretboard so worn he had to just about squeeze the neck to get the chords to sound right.” Next to me, Dash laughed, and I saw in my periphery the slow smile moving over his lips. “He was decent, but he got better. Every day, every week, he played. Each time he did, he got so much better .”

“Who are you?” the girl asked, her voice curious .

“An old friend of mine,” Dash answered for me, stepping to my side to watch the two kids. “But she’s right. Practice. It sucks to say that, sucks worse that you’ll have to do it, but that’s what it takes. You love the music?” He watched them, gaze shifting over both of their faces. The couple nodded, smiles proud before he spoke again. “Then you can’t cheat the music. There ain’t no shortcuts. Trabaja duro. You wanna be good, you gotta work for it. Plain and simple. Work hard and when you think you’ve done enough, then start all over .”

They seemed satisfied, nudging each other and Carlos pulled out his phone, waving it at Dash. “Do you mind?” he asked. “We’d be honored …”

“Por supuesto,” Dash told them, waving them close as all three stood in front of the bus. Carlos handed his phone over to one of the bodyguards hanging back near the rear of the bus, and I stepped back, not wanting to get in the way .

Dash took one shot with the kids, throwing up a peace sign as he posed, and then the girl stopped, waving at me before the next click of the camera sounded. “Get in the shot,” she told me, stepping out of frame to grab my arm. “Any friend of Dash Justice needs to be in the picture with him .”

“No, it’s fine,” I tried, giving up quickly when Dash cocked an eyebrow and nodded me over. “Just one .”

Carlos shifted to the side and he and Anna flanked both me and Dash in the center of the group. “Squeeze in tight,” he commanded, and I brushed against Dash’s side, feeling awkward and stupid. I had nowhere to put my arms and held them at my sides, likely looking stiff .

The bodyguard fired off several shots, and I held my smile, but it wavered when Dash moved his head, the low wind around us picking up the scent of cigarettes and peppermint from his hair .

“How did you remember that old Gibson?” he asked, holding the smile on his face .

I glanced at him, hurrying to watch the camera again before I messed up the shot. “How could I forget?” I asked, relaxing a little when he shifted closer, his open palm against my back. “That was the first summer you worked at Hector’s to save up for it. I went with you to Joe’s Pawn Shop on Fourth Street to get it .”

The bodyguard lowered the camera and Dash stared at me, the warmth from his breath against my cheek. “How did I forget that ?”

“You are getting old. Thirty looms .”

“Yeah well …”

“Thanks Mr. Justice! It was good to meet you,” Anna said, waving to both of us as she and Carlos looked down at his phone .

We stood watching them for a moment, the bodyguards ushering the other fans away from the bus. Carlos and Anna couldn’t have been more than sixteen. So young, so clueless about what might be heading toward them, both with their music and with their friendship. It was a familiar sight, something I could recall with perfect clarity—the wanting. The waiting and the ache of not knowing if either would ever be filled .

“What happened to you last night?” Dash asked, hands in his jacket pockets as he stood next to me looking after the kids as they walked across the parking lot. “I didn’t realize…I mean, playing the Hawthorne didn’t mean anything.” I shook my head, not willing to elaborate. He went on watching the kids walk away. “Were you…did I see that right ?”

“Hearing that song, no matter who is singing always does that to me .”

He nodded, gaze still on the parking lot, and I wondered why he didn’t just turn around and return to the bus. I wondered if he saw the same thing in those kids as I did and if he hurt for them too .

“Lager is changing everything,” Dash said, his voice thick with disappointment. “He’s throwing it all away .”

I looked at him then over my shoulder before I spoke. We were alone now, the parking lot was left with only a few cars. “He’s dying .”

Dash jerked his gaze to me, then turned to face me when I kept quiet. “What ?”

“Kidney failure. He’s been a bad diabetic for years .”

He came to stand in front of me, the low whip of wind blowing his hair in his face. “You know this …”

“Paris. The day before he made the announcement. I always go this little dive place Rita discovered him in when I’m there hoping to find him.” I adjust my jacket, zipping it up when the wind blew harder. “I got lucky that weekend. He was drunk. We talked for six hours, drinking bourbon and wine .”

Dash watched me, the muscles in his face tensing, his dark eyes glassy in the wind. I managed a quick glance at his face before I walked forward, my gaze following Carlos and Anna as the neared their car .

“You’re responsible for the drunken announcement?” he asked, leaning against the back of the bus. “I wouldn’t put it past you to encourage that old man to drink and play on Instagram .”

Heading shaking, I lifted my chin, deciding to keep what I thought to myself. It was the most civil we’d been in years. “No. I’m not the spawn of evil you think I am .”

“That’s debatable .”

When I sighed, feeling worn already before we’d even set off and away from Chicago, Dash looked up at me, following my gaze toward the kids piling into a beat-up Nissan Titan. There was rust on the roof, and the gray paint was chipped. It was the vehicle of a kid with barely enough cash to get something drivable .

“I hope they make it .”

“As musicians?” he asked, a low laugh of pity in his voice .

“The music…their friendship…I hope it works out .”

Dash didn’t comment but watched me, his attention on the truck as the engine cranked and they sped out of the parking lot .

“I should have warned him.” When I looked at him Dash blinked against the harsh wind, lowering his face near his collar. “Should have told him that girl will likely destroy him .”

“You’re cynical,” I said, head shaking .

“Hurt like that? It will make him a better musician.” He pushed off from the bus and walked toward his guards, mumbling low as he left me. “God knows it did for me .”