I wake to an empty house. The glory of this place is utterly lost on me. The sunshine, the warm air, the crystal clear aqua pool—it's all lost on me. I can barely smell the chlorine. Barely taste my coffee. It's not that he's gone. Not exactly.

He must be worried. Scared. My stomach refuses to settle. I'm scared for him. I shoot him the most low-key I'm absolutely not checking on you text I can muster.

Willow: Hey. How is everything? Call me if you need to talk.

No response.

No response while I kill time watching a movie.

No response when I dress, pack my suitcase, and take an Uber to Kara and Drew's brunch spot. They're both ecstatic when they arrive. Kara takes every opportunity to show off her engagement ring. But she's much more excited by the fresh ink on her shoulder. A key. And Drew has the matching lock on his shoulder. When they press against each other, the key and the lock connect.

And here I thought they couldn't get more adorable.

I muster up enough enthusiasm they don't interrogate my mood. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for them. It's just hard for the happiness to get through all the dread in my gut. For Tom or because of him? The only thing I'm sure of is how much I need him.

Drew and Kara spend the entire day showing off Santa Monica, Venice Beach, and Marina Del Rey. The loose collection of cities west of the 405 is called the Westside and it's beautiful. Everything is clean. The sun shines big in the bright blue sky. The air tastes of salt. The breeze blows over the streets, tempering the heat.

Even with all the nerves in my stomach, I fall for the city. I want to be here. Near my brother and all the people who are becoming my friends.

It's the perfect place to set up a studio.

But not if things get messier with Tom.

Still no response.

Still no response at dinner.

Or when we get ice cream after.

Or when we go back to Drew's place and pick out classic romance Sabrina from the many streaming options. My brother, the good fiancé. He doesn't object to watching something about feelings.

Halfway through the movie, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I nearly jump out of my seat.

Tom: Results are inconclusive. Mom has to have another test in a few weeks. It should be right after we finish the tour.

Willow: Are you okay?

Tom: Yeah. You alone?

Willow: With Drew and Kara.

Tom: Too bad. I was going to send you a naughty picture.

Willow: Do it anyway. Please.

Tom: Thinking about it.

Willow: They got a couple's tattoo. It's disgustingly cute.

Tom: Tsk. Tsk. You should be happy for your brother, kid.

Willow: I am.

Tom: Would you ever get a couple's tattoo?

Willow: With you or with someone else?

Tom: With Brad Pitt. Of course with me.

Willow: Depends.

Tom: On?

Willow: If this is forever or not.

Drew clears his throat. "It's rude to text during the movie, Wil."

Kara whispers something in his ear, capturing all his attention. "If you want some privacy, you can take the spare room, sweetie." She motions upstairs. "Just ignore the guitars. In fact, if one is lying on the floor, go ahead and kick it."

"Insolent today, Kendrick. I'm gonna have to punish you for that." He whispers in her ear.

She laughs.

Yes, privacy sounds like a capital idea. For them as much as for me. It must be nice, loving someone that openly and honestly.

"Yeah. Thanks." I push myself off the couch. Sorry, Humphrey Bogart but you've got nothing on Tom Steele.

I don't look at my phone until I'm alone in the spare room, my back pressed against the door for extra security.

Tom hasn't replied to my not quite a question. Not with words.

The only thing on my phone is a picture message:

Him, from the neck down, completely naked.

So much for thinking anything besides oh hell yes for the rest of the night.

* * *

Tom and I talk about nothing for hours.

The next day, we're back on the road, on the tour. The bus is louder with Meg and Kara around. But sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's quieter, sometimes one of the happy couples goes off to a bunk or to the bedroom and soaks in the glory of just being together.

And I sit with Tom, close enough to feel all the warmth of him but not close enough that I have to explain this to anyone, and soak in the glory of being with him.

I get lost in the rhythm of the tour. Hazel works me hard. Every night we're stopped, she has a new project that requires my assistance. She talks to me about my interest in a studio, guides me through my options. Encourages my boudoir aspirations enough that I actually manage to do a shoot with a model. Then it's two. Then three. Then half a dozen. Little by little, I get comfortable working with strangers.

I go on a photography tear. When we're stopped with nothing to do, I take headshots or portraits of anyone who will get in front of the camera.

The pictures are good.

Really good.

Like I can really do this.

Like my life could really be setting up a studio in Los Angeles, near Tom, near everyone.

If he loves me too.

If this is forever.

There are too many possibilities, and I don't get much of him. There's always someone around. I'm tired. He's busy trying to catch up on all the stuff he does besides playing the drums like a God damn machine. We're two ships passing in the night, barely time for a kiss or a hug or an occasional screw in my hotel room, late at night, after everyone is asleep.

The days blur together. Two weeks. Then three. We curve around the South West. Then we're in San Diego.

Today is the last show. The last day of knowing where I'm going to be or what I'm going to do.

Now I have to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my photography.

With Tom.

With the rest of my life.

* * *

The guys are more relaxed tonight. It is a relief, knowing this is the last show for a while. Can't say that I spend much time taking in Pete, Drew, or Miles's mood. Behind the camera, the world makes sense. My feelings for Tom don't overwhelm me. Even when I'm photographing him. He's an amazing subject. This look of concentration spreads over his face as he loses himself in the music. His arms flail with frenetic energy. But they're precise. Exact. Sweat drips off his torso. During a break in the set, he stands and joins Miles at the mic. Mostly to show off his body. Some to goad Drew and Pete out of their clothes.

It works! It never works. Pete really is attractive. I can see why Hazel teases. His body is easily as good as Tom's. The curving lines of a tattoo peek out from the waist of his skinny jeans. It's not just a thigh tattoo. It's over his hip too.

That's yummy.

I spend almost a whole ten seconds looking at something that isn't Tom.

Can't say I'm particularly moved by my brother stripping. But I know other women will be. Especially with the way he's blushing. I capture his awkwardness. And the way the audience groans with adoration when he shows off his new tattoo.

The show blurs together. I get lost in my photography. The concert thing gets old, night after night, but there's something amazing about capturing the energy, the mood, the facial expressions.

I snap out of my trance in time for the encore. Thank God we're almost done with this touring thing. I'm exhausted. I barely hear the outro, the guys soaking in the adoration of the audience.

They make a dramatic exit. The lights go down.

And that's it. Show's over. I can't hide behind my camera anymore. I can't throw all my energy into surviving the tour anymore.

I have to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life.

Hell, I have to figure out what I'm doing tomorrow. It's Ophelia's test. And I'm still not sure if I'm invited. Every time it comes up, Tom and I end up out of our clothes before we can discuss it.

Thankfully, Hazel demands my presence immediately. I take one last look at the sweaty crowd leaving the packed venue—it's been a hell of a ride—and make my way to her backstage editing nook.

"You've come a long way, Willow." She compares a set of pictures from our first show to a set from last night's show. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted."

"Don't tell me you're skipping the end of tour party." She hooks up my camera and uploads the pictures. Her eyes stay on the computer. "You're too young to hide."

"I'm not hiding from anything."

"Hmm."

Hazel takes me through the evening's set. She points out her favorites and gives me tips on places to improve. Then we do the same with her photos. She's taken half as many pictures but there are twice as many keepers. One day, I'll be that good.

"Show me some of your personal projects, sweetheart." She nods to my camera. "Every time I see you, you look exhausted. Tell me it's because you're busy shooting pictures and not because you're sleeping off hangovers."

"I don't really drink. But there's nothing on my camera. I wiped my memory card last night. Here." I take over on the computer and show off a Dropbox folder of my recent portraits. It's a mix of standard actor headshots, moody editorial pieces, and a hell of a lot of boudoir.

"These are fantastic." She points to a headshot of Pete with a mysterious look on his face. "I can admit my bias towards the subject, but you'll get actors knocking down your door if you can get Pete to show off this much emotion." She navigates to a sweet yet sultry boudoir shoot of an inexperienced model. "You captured her shyness without letting it bleed into fear or insecurity. This is great work."

"Thank you."

"I have an offer for you. A job."

"What?"

"In two weeks, I'm doing this all over again with another band. The tour will be six months with a few breaks. I'll spend most of those doing editorial work. I'd love to have you as my assistant again."

Hazel Alexander wants me to continue as her assistant. It's the most flattering thing I've ever heard. But six months is a long time away from everything. From Tom. If there is even a me and Tom after I tell him how I feel.

"I understand if you've had enough of the rock star lifestyle," she says. "But I can bump your salary by about fifty percent."

"Can I think about it?"

"Let me know by the end of the week. Whatever you do, you'll do great." She looks away at something. "Just make sure it's what you want. Men never put their ambitions aside for you."

"Huh?"

She motions to something behind me. Tom is leaning against the wall.

He nods hello, not at all shy about spying.

"Enjoy the party." Hazel nods goodbye to Tom, packs up her computer, and takes the back exit.

Once we're alone, Tom slides his arms around me. He smells good. His hair is wet. His shirt isn't his usual sweaty, discarded v-neck but a sleek white button-up thing. He showered and changed. For me.

"Never been this excited for a tour to end." He presses his lips to mine. "I haven't had enough of you."

"Me either." The need inside me pours into him as I kiss back. God, he tastes good. I break our kiss and bury my face in his chest. "We shouldn't be making out here."

"Can't help myself." His voice is breathy, needy. "What were you and Hazel talking about?"

"I'll tell you once some blood is back in my brain."