My dad was always going on about how a man's only as good as his word. And since he never kept a single promise in his life, it proved just what a shitty man he was. Not like my Uncle Gil.

"Hey, Reese-My-Niece," he rumbled on the other end of a crackly connection. "How was the first day?"

I leaned back, slumping against the wall of my bunk. "I don't think I've ever been this tired in my life," I sighed.

"That probably won't be getting any better," Gil chuckled. "You're in the big time now, girl."

"Yeah, because you got me here," I reminded him.

Gil was my father's half-brother, ten years older and light years nicer. I always wondered if that was because he got to live out his rock and roll dreams. Not the usual dream, the one of being in front of an enormous crowd, hearing them sing along to every word of your songs. No, not that pride-filled delusion that my father carried with him like a yoke around his neck. Unlike him, Uncle Gil was a true musician. He just wanted to be near it while it happened, and he slipped into roadie-ing because he had no ego at all. While my father's ego was a bruised and overripe as a late-summer peach.

"You got yourself there, kid," Gil corrected. "Proud of you."

I blinked a little. The quiet hum of the generator outside of the trailer was the only sound aside from the persistent ringing in my ears. I didn't know where everyone else was and the waves of loneliness that I'd been swimming in, trying to keep my head above water, suddenly knocked me over me at hearing my uncle's kind words."You're proud I'm a roadie?" I said, my laugh too bright and too false in my ears. "You've got some screwed up priorities, Uncle Gil."

"You know it, kid," Gil said, playing along. "You headed out tomorrow?"

"Yeah, first rehearsal should be wrapping up." I bit my lip, not wanting to brag and then thinking to hell with it. "So, I saved the bassist's life tonight."

"Yeah?" I could almost picture my uncle's bushy eyebrows zooming up to meet his equally bushy hairline.

"Spotlight fell."

"That's a red mark on the lampies," Gil growled, his contempt for lighting techs readily apparent. "What the hell happened?"

"Stress fracture in the bolt, I think. It was an old piece of equipment."

"They should be keeping better track of their inventory." Gil was getting worked up. The dangers of working backstage at concerts were something he was intimately familiar with. And the last thing I wanted him doing was worrying about me. Because that might mean he'd tell me I should come back home.

"It was a total freak thing," I said quickly. "No one's fault, really. Probably a manufacturing error."

"Mhmm." Gil didn't sound convinced, but he let it slide. "So you saved the bassist, huh?"

I sat up a little straighter. "Tackled him out of the way."

Gil snorted. "Atta girl. Did he thank you?"

I nodded, shifting in my bunk again, suddenly embarrassed to be talking about Niall Penrose and his green eyes to my uncle. "Yeah, he did," I said. "Eventually."

"He owes you a drink."

"He knows it. But I doubt I'll ever get it. He seems like the type who thinks he's more charming than he is. Makes promises he has no intention of keeping."

"Sounds like a bassist," Gil chuckled. "So used to getting overlooked that they expect no one to take them seriously."

I grinned and plucked at the old, frayed Army blanket I'd stolen from my house the day I left town. "Thanks again though, Gil."

"Don't thank me. I just made the phone call. You got yourself there."

He said goodbye and hung up, but I sat there a moment with the dead line still open, listening the the sound of silence whistling over the wires, feeling an odd, aching wistfulness I wasn't used to. Suddenly pissed at myself, I stabbed my finger into the off button, severing that connection, and sat there alone in my trailer, the silence so thick I could hear the steady beat-beat of my pulse in my ears.

And then the rhythm of footsteps, exactly in time with the sound of my heart. I sat up straighter, shoving my phone under my blanket for some reason and grabbing an old science fiction paperback from the little shelf. I held it in front of my face as the footsteps approached the door of the trailer, then listened as they paused a second.

A sharp rap on the door made me jump. "Oy? Reese? You in there?"

I set the unread book back down again and slid from my bed. "Who is it?" I called. But I knew exactly who it was.

He had to duck near double to be able to fit through the too short door. "You asleep or something?" Niall asked as he stepped into the trailer.

For a second I was aware of just how tall he was. The trailer slept six, but it seemed too small with only the two of us in it. I stepped back from my bed and shook my head. "I'm not asleep," I said, sitting up and stretching.

He grinned. "Set's over. Thought I might see about getting you that bourbon I owe you."

I shook my head a little to clear it and then blinked. "That quick, huh?"

"I don't like having obligations hanging over my head."

"This is an obligation?"

"Just come. It's the afterparty. I can't believe the rest of the roadies are letting you hide in here."

I winced. I'd had no idea there was an afterparty. No one had told me, no one had come to fetch me. That camaraderie I'd felt earlier must have just been a mirage. I wasn't one of the guys yet, it seemed. "I wanted to read," I lied, lifting my chin a little. "Savor the quiet and all. You guys are loud."

"Yeah, so we've been told," Niall chuckled. He extended his hand, beckoning. "Come on. There's food."

I swiped my hands across my jeans, and nodded, following him out of the front door, feeling for all the world like a little lost, forgotten puppy and hating myself for it. If I had any pride, I would have declined the invite. After all, it was clear I'd been an afterthought. I didn't need his charity, or to help him relieve his feelings of obligation. I wasn't some fucking charity case.

I was just about to say that when we stepped from the raw damp of the February drizzle and into the overwhelming warmth of the crammed green room.

"Holy shit, you weren't kidding," I said.

The craft services table was practically groaning under the weight of all the food. Far better than the cold sandwich I'd bolted down before retreating to the trailers. The loud, excited growl that emanated from my stomach was thankfully drowned out by the hum of cheerful voices.

I looked up at him. Niall was watching me closely, like he wanted me to say something and I had no idea what it could be. Was I supposed to be impressed? Did he want me to fall all over him with gratitude for inviting me to this exclusive perk, stroking his rockstar ego like some groupie?

"It's a lot," I hedged.

"Eat," he encouraged wth an expansive sweep of his arm. "Get some food in your belly before I get you that bourbon."

That old, cold feeling tightened in my belly. More like the memory of hunger than actual hunger, but with it came the bile too. Rising to my throat and forcing my lips into a tight, ungracious smile. "No thanks," I heard myself say to him, and there was no mistaking the way his face was falling but I had never taken charity and wasn't about to start. "I'm not hungry."

"Well the drink then." He smiled a little, recovering his politeness. "Please, darling. I owe you after all. Saving my dumb arse."

I couldn't make the words come out and he seized on my silence. "You'd be doing me a favor," he added.

There was nothing but silence inside of me, like my whole body holding its breath as I weighed this. Finally, I nodded. Favors I could do. "You're not dumb," I told him, accepting the shot glass he'd somehow managed to magic up. "Just oblivious."

His smile was wide and satisfied. "Good thing then that I had an angel watching out for me," he declared.

Was this thick, Prince Charming charm supposed to make me drop to my knees? He was way too satisfied with himself. He already looked less like a greasy rock star and more like one of those British nobleman you see on public television, the only station we could get through the staticky antenna in my house. The same upper-crusty accent that ordered around servants and said things like "well I never." And calling me darling and his angel?

It was all pretty fucking gross.

Except he wasn't, not really. Just...what he was was gross. "I'm no angel," I told him and promptly knocked back my drink and slammed the glass back down on the table.

He looked impressed. "I see that," he sort of murmured.

I was standing too close to him. I stepped back but he mirrored my movement, stepping forward "Another?" he asked.

I shook my head. Panic was starting to take hold of me, that fight or flight response. If I didn't get out of here, I might start shouting, punching people, pulling hair. I was a roadie, for fuck's sake. A redneck country girl. This was too fucking fancy for me, hell he was too fucking fancy for me and if I didn't get out now I was going to start turning into my dad, grabbing people by their shirt collars and demanding to know if they thought they were better than me. "I need to go."

He seemed completely confused. "Why?"

"Because we have early call tomorrow," I reminded him. "And I have to work."

He gestured around the green room and my heart sank as I saw Deuces over in the corner laughing crazily with Nashville. Woody was over talking to a big guy I vaguely recognized. And Jumpy caught my eye just then and broke out in a grin. "Half the crew is down here partying wth us," Niall pointed out.

Fuck. This was almost required. I had to stick around, shoot the shit. There was no way I'd ever be able to be one of the guys if I held myself apart, no matter how badly I wanted to. "Okay," I relented.

"Great," said Niall, and the way he said it, I almost believed he did think it was great that I was staying. But I knew better and that's why I had to keep my guard up. "Another then?" he asked, waving my empty glass.

"No!" I blurted, then tried to soften it with a polite, "thank you though."

"Come on then," he said, brushing his hand along my back like he already knew me. "I'll introduce you around."