Chapter 8

My eyes flutter open. I don’t know where I am. I don’t recognize the ceiling that I’m now staring at. Where am I? Something happened. But I can’t track down the memory through the fog that’s settled over my mind. It feels like I’ve lost something. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t think I could recall it even if I tried.

I sit up in bed, searching my surroundings. The room is small but luxurious. To my left, a door sits open, letting in enough light to reveal a bathroom. The room’s decor is modern, and the furnishings fit into a black-and-red color scheme. I’m lying in satin sheets the color of blood, vibrant against my own pale skin. There is a small nightstand to my right with a lamp bolted into the wood. And there, lying on top of the nightstand, is a pale white note against the dark wood.

I tug the lamp’s chain so I can better read the letter. I take a deep breath and pick it up, hoping it has some answers.

“My dearest Dani, I’m truly sorry it had to be this way. You left me with no other choice. I realize this may all come as quite a shock. Come see me at the front of the bus once you wake up and read this. I’ll be waiting for you, love.”

Oh good. The note left me with more questions. The most relevant of which is… Bus? I quickly throw off the sheets covering me and run to the window next to the bed. I peer through the blinds, and I see that not only am I on a bus, but we’re moving fast under a deep, starry sky, with other cars’ headlights flashing as they drive alongside us. Since when did they get a new tour bus? And how long have they had it? I’m almost positive that if Oliver was riding around in this massive steel bus, someone would have noticed it. Where are we going, though? I can’t tell by the landscape outside. It’s just miles of land, trees, and grass—dark and uncaring.

I shudder as I walk away from the window. How did I end up on this bus? My memory is starting to catch up, slowly supplying the events that occurred before I woke up here—here on a tour bus with Oliver. I remember the party. Elijah. Drinking and dancing. Then, the moment I shared with Chris. Oh god, Chris. He told me I wasn’t safe and was trying to get me to leave. But why? It’s not like he could have known what was going to happen. Right? If I ever see him again, and that seems to be a big if, Chris and I are going to have a lot to talk about. And, then, Oliver’s grand entrance. I remember looking into his eyes, and then my mind blanked. None of this makes any sense. A shiver shoots down my spine. Oliver, my ex, somehow just kidnapped me by hypnotizing me? And now, I’m traveling to who the hell knows where.

Letting out a deep sigh, I walk towards the bathroom. After flicking on the light switch, I find a sink, over which there’s a large mirror with lights surrounding the outside perimeter of the glass. There’s a small toilet, but the remainder of the space is taken up by a large walk-in shower.

I grip the edge of the counter and take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. My long blonde hair is messy, tangled knots hanging down my back, and the makeup Elijah oh-so-carefully applied to my eyes has smudged onto my cheeks, giving me a sunken look. I quickly drag my fingers through my hair and try to wipe away the smudged makeup with my fingers. That’ll have to do. A small laugh escapes me at the pure absurdity of making myself look better for my abductor. For Oliver.

I pause, my hand still partially raised, my dazed look reflecting back at me. Oliver is alive. My Oliver is alive, and he’s here. He didn’t give me anything about where he’s been. Was he just hiding out on a tour bus for two years? That makes no sense. But he came back for me. Even if he was acting so strangely when I saw him, acting like it was all a joke, but then he seemed angry. Then he was my Oliver again, warm and gentle. Throughout it all, though, he acted as if I was overreacting. After two fucking years, he thinks I’m the crazy one for getting upset and having questions? Silly me. Anger surges through my blood. Fuck this. Fuck him . I’m going out there to confront him.

Standing in front of the closed bedroom door, hand gripping the doorknob, my breathing is quick and raspy. I need to collect myself before I walk out of this room. Before I see him again. I begin taking slow, deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I need to get my shit together, so I don’t walk out there looking and acting like a psycho.

My mind is burning with questions. What was so vital that he abandoned his life and left everything behind? His family, friends, music, and… me. He abandoned me, which in itself is entirely unforgivable, much less on the heels of his betrayal. I can’t think of one good, logical, or non-crazy reason for any of this. Everything he put me through. Continuing to focus on my breathing, I’m finally able to calm down enough to go out there. No more bullshit. No more games. I’m getting answers, and I’m going to get them right fucking now.

I slowly turn the handle and crack open the door, peering around the gap into a brightly lit, narrow hallway. Directly to my left, there’s another small bathroom. A little further beyond that are rows of bunk beds lining each wall where the rest of the band members would sleep. I furrow my brow. Are they all here? All of the beds are neatly made and untouched. From the front of the bus, I can hear the sound of metal playing low on the stereo, and laughter.

I step out of the bedroom and down the hallway, scanning what I now see is a very modern-looking tour bus. There’s a long black leather couch running the length of one of the walls opposite a large, wall-mounted flat-screen TV. Directly to the right of the TV setup is a small kitchenette, with stainless steel appliances lining the wall and a small island in the center.

I take a few tentative steps further into the main area and see five men standing, talking, and laughing as if they didn’t feel the seismic shift in my world upon seeing them. They’re all here. Every single member of Soulstorm fucking Serenade is right here on this tour bus with me, and all very much alive. Noah, Matt, Travis, Adrian, and him . Oliver Shaw. The love of my life and the bane of my goddamn existence, standing in the center of the group, his back facing me.

Tears burn my eyes as I stare at them. They’re all right here within my reach, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s like I’m staring at ghosts. A dead and gone fragment of my past. But they’re not ghosts. They’re vibrantly alive, laughing and joking with each other like it’s just another ordinary day on tour. Like nothing has changed.

I fix my glare on the back of Oliver’s head. All of the calm I summoned with my breathing exercises vanishes, just as quickly as he did all those years ago. My sanity and sense abandoned me long ago, starting on the very first day I first met Oliver. He changed me completely, cracked open my soul, and made me something different than what I was. And then he fucking left me, my heart wide open and bleeding, alone and devastated. And I’m going to know why.

It’s like something clicks deep inside me. When I woke up, my anger burnt slowly, an open flame, ready to ignite at the slightest incentive. As if someone doused that flame with a can of hairspray, I fucking explode.