Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

EMILY

No one told me just how exhausting working on a music tour would be.

Don't get me wrong. It was the most exciting thing I'd ever done in my life. But there was no time to breathe. The action was so fast and constant that every day blended into the next. It had only been a week. Those seven days had gone by in a flash, yet it felt like I'd been here forever and had no concept of the world outside.

There were no set hours. I basically worked all day, with random breaks in between. And I was on call twenty-four hours a day for "emergencies"-like if someone needed something that catering or a delivery person couldn't fulfill. Having things delivered was a challenge when trying to protect the privacy of the band and keep their location secret. So that's where I came in, constantly running from place to place.

Delirious Jones had two buses. The main bus carried the band members and their management. The other band employees and I were on the second bus. Then there were additional buses for the crew employed by the tour company.

Sleeping in a bunk with no windows took some getting used to. At night, when we'd take off for the next city, I'd put my earbuds in and listen to a podcast or an audiobook until I eventually fell asleep. I'd drift in and out of slumber all night, often woken by the sound of the motor stopping. The mattress, though, was surprisingly comfortable.

Thus far, the band had done four back-to-back performances, starting in Boston and ending in New York. I hadn't had many interactions with Tristan or the other guys in the band. Tristan Daltrey sang and played guitar, and Delirious Jones also included drummer Atticus Marchetti and bass player Ronan Barber. Their keyboardist apparently quit a few months back due to some personal problems, so a musician named Melvin Finkle was filling in for the tour. They'd apparently gone through a couple of temporary keyboardists before him.

The real work began when we arrived at a new location. The tour manager rented a car in each city, and I had to be at the ready to go get whatever the band or crew needed. I'd even been asked to hem pants once. This position should've been advertised as "jack of all trades." I mean, maybe it had been. But I definitely hadn't gone to college for this kind of work. Still, I was a firm believer that opportunities landed in your lap for a reason. And while I hadn't shown up in the desert that day expecting to land a job, I knew this would be good life experience for me.

Tonight was the first night we'd be staying in a hotel because there were two shows in a row in Columbus, Ohio. I'd be rooming with one of only two other women on the crew, Layla, the tour photographer. Our room was modest, with two double beds.

As we settled in, Layla bounced on her mattress. "How are you liking being on tour so far?"

"I've been too busy to really think, you know?" I chuckled. "I blink, and then we're in the next city."

"You said this is your first tour. How did you end up here?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Not a lie.

Layla smiled. "Anything surprise you so far?"

"I wasn't expecting this level of fandom, you know? I can't even exit the field where the buses are parked to get to the parking lot without running into crazy girls."

"Yeah. It is pretty crazy. They all want a piece of them. Especially Tristan."

Tristan .

He looked so different now from the way he'd looked in the bathroom that day. His long beard was gone, replaced by much lighter facial scruff along a strong jawline. The brown hair that had been piled under a hood was now usually let loose, wavy and thick, falling over his forehead to frame his face. Tristan was gorgeous-rugged and tattooed all over from his arms to his chest and even up to the base of his neck. It was no wonder women went crazy over him, and his broody, powerful voice was just as amazing as his looks.

"I haven't gotten to speak to Tristan much since the tour started," I told Layla. "Or any of the guys, for that matter. What's your take on them?"

She shrugged. "Everyone assumes Tristan is the wildest of the bunch. You know, that lead-singer energy. That's the persona he puts on for the public. But in reality, I find him to be the most private-not necessarily the wildest."

I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed. "Interesting."

"When you take photos of people, sometimes you look into their soul in a way others can't. And in Tristan I see someone who's preoccupied, lost a bit, even if I don't understand why."

"There's more than meets the eye, then?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "Atticus is probably the wildest of the crew. And his eyes tell me he's troubled about something."

"What about Ronan?" I asked.

"Ronan is the funniest. His eyes are mischievous."

Both Atticus and Ronan were just as good-looking as Tristan. The three of them were like a rock-god trifecta.

"How come you're never taking photos at night?" I asked.

"The guys have a rule: no photos after the show. Probably because they don't want the world to know what they're up to. My job is to mainly document the musical aspects of the tour, not necessarily the other shenanigans."

"The women, you mean?"

She nodded.

My phone rang, and I held a finger up to pause our conversation. "Hello?" I answered.

"We have a request for condoms," Stephen, the tour manager, said. "I need you to take the car and get some. Bring them to Atticus's room."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Uh…okay."

"You okay?" Layla asked as I hung up.

"Yeah." I slipped on my shoes and chuckled. "I have to get condoms."

"Oh shit." She laughed. "Well, at least they're being safe."

"No idea what happened to the box I bought the other night."

"I have some ideas." She rolled her eyes. "I think you need to get, like, ten boxes."

"No shit. I think I'll do that." I stopped at the door. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"I don't want to trouble you."

"I'll definitely need to buy something else to distract from the condoms, so what do you want?"

"Bring me back a Diet Coke?"

"You got it." I winked.

I took the rental car and drove down the main road to the nearest Walmart.

After grabbing some snacks for the hotel room, Layla's Diet Coke, and five boxes of condoms to keep stashed away so I didn't have to keep going out to buy them, I went to the self-checkout register.

When I returned to the hotel, I dropped most of the stuff in my room first, then went to the other side of our floor to deliver a box of condoms to Atticus. I knocked on his door, and when it opened, I handed him the box as fast as I could. He took it without uttering a word. It felt like a covert operation, almost the way I imagined a drug deal to be. I'd barely noticed the shadow of a woman behind him.

On the way back down the hall, I heard a struggle as I passed a little alcove off of the hallway that contained a vending machine. I realized it was a girl being practically mauled by a man whose advances she clearly didn't want. He'd cornered her, and her arms flailed as she tried to push him off.

"Get off her!" I shouted as I leaped in and used all of my might to shove him away.

"What the fuck?" he spewed.

"Can't you see she's telling you to stop?" I panted.

"Oh my God, thank you," the girl whispered to me.

"What the hell is going on?" A voice came from behind me.

I turned, surprised to find Tristan standing there. But maybe I shouldn't have been. This floor had been blocked off for the band and crew.

"This guy was pushing himself on her, when she was clearly resisting," I explained.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she muttered.

Tristan turned toward the guy. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"

The guy looked at the floor. "I had too much to drink," he slurred.

Tristan took his phone out. "Not an excuse…" He spoke to someone before grabbing the guy by the arm and dragging him down the hall.

Left alone, the girl and I chatted for a bit. She looked about my age, in her early twenties. She explained that she'd met the guy downstairs at the hotel bar, and he'd invited her to come back to his room. Turns out he worked for the tour company, which is how he'd had access to our private floor. After following him upstairs, she'd decided she'd had too much to drink and told him she'd changed her mind. But he'd followed her down the hall, then forced her into the vending area.

After thanking me one last time, she went back downstairs in the elevator.

I was going back to my room when I heard Tristan's voice behind me.

"Emily. Wait up," he said.

I turned, surprised he remembered my name. "What's up?"

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Sure, why?"

"You didn't seem okay when I left, and I just want to make sure you're good."

"Yeah." I forced a deep breath in and out. "I am."

He cocked his head. "You sure?"

"That was a little triggering for me," I admitted. "He was basically attacking her."

He frowned. "Triggering…because something happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me , but…" I trailed off as a rush of heat warmed my cheeks.

"Can I get you a water or something?" he asked.

My head pounded. Everything that had just happened hit me like a ton of bricks. "You wouldn't happen to have ibuprofen, would you?"

"Yeah, of course I do. Somewhere around here." He gestured down the hallway. "Come on. I'll get you some."

I followed Tristan into his room, which was a full-on suite. Depending on the offerings of the hotel, I was told sometimes Tristan stayed in a penthouse; other times, he ended up with the best room on whatever floor the band's management had booked. There was no doubt he got preferential treatment as the star of the band. I wondered if the other guys secretly hated him for it. Each of the band members at least got their own rooms, while the crew had to share. Thankfully, I really liked Layla.

I stayed close to the door as Tristan sifted through some stuff. There were a bunch of papers with handwritten words scattered on his bed. A leather jacket lay over a chair. He'd lit a candle on the bedside table-smelled like vanilla. This scene was a little different than I might've imagined in here. Much more Zen.

He zipped open a bag. "I guess you didn't realize wrangling drunk assholes was part of your job?"

"Thankfully, it's not, usually."

"I kind of feel guilty now," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you wouldn't be here if it weren't for me."

"What do you mean? The condoms weren't for you…"

He froze for a moment. "Condoms?"

"That's why I was over here. To drop off condoms for Atticus."

"What a jackass." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, what I meant was, you were nervous about taking this job to begin with. I told you nothing bad happens on tour. And then you ran into that situation tonight. I was the one who told Doug to hire you."

I nodded as understanding dawned. "Thank you for putting in a good word, by the way. I wasn't sure you remembered me. We haven't spoken since the tour started."

"Don't take it personally. Tour's just been crazy. I've been meaning to say hello. Just under different circumstances."

I nodded. "Why did you tell them to hire me? You don't even know me."

"I liked that you didn't know who I was. That was the first time in a long time someone's looked me in the eyes and seen a normal person, not some musician they've made a million incorrect assumptions about."

"I saw more than your eyes in that bathroom, unfortunately."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be. I'm just kidding. I was the idiot who walked into the men's room. Served me right." My eyes traced the ink at the base of his neck, just peeking out from his white T-shirt. "Anyway, I probably would've recognized you from the Internet if you hadn't had that long beard."

"That's exactly why I had the beard. I grow one every recording season when we don't have to perform. It helps me not be recognized in public. I hated having to cut it before the tour."

"Makes sense."

Tristan opened another drawer and finally pulled out the ibuprofen. "Ah! Got it." He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.

"Thanks." I cracked open the bottle and took a sip before downing the meds. "I'm surprised you're alone tonight."

"Why is that?"

"I've heard you guys have a different girl every night on hotel stops."

"Wow." He scratched his chin. "A different girl every night. I think my dick would fall off. Where are you getting your information?"

"I don't disclose my sources."

He shrugged. "Some nights I just want to be alone. I do have to write music at some point, rest my voice, get sleep."

I nodded. Now the papers scattered over his bed made sense. "You write a lot on the road?"

"I write whenever inspiration strikes, but being on the road is actually when I'm most creative. Late at night on the bus, when everything goes quiet? That's what I like best about touring. That's my favorite time to write."

"That's my favorite time of the day lately, too. There's something so relaxing about staring out at the moving darkness."

He cocked his head. "What do you do?"

"On the bus? Read or listen to podcasts…"

"Sorry, I meant in general. What do you do when you're not held captive by a tour for four months?"

"Not much of anything, actually. I'm trying to find my place in the world at the moment. I just graduated from Nevada State University."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty-two." I'd googled his age but asked anyway. "How old are you?"

"Almost thirty-eight. Old as fuck, right?"

"You don't look thirty-eight. I would've guessed, like, thirty."

"What did you study at Nevada State? Blowing smoke up people's asses?" He winked.

I laughed. "It's true. You look younger. But I majored in communications."

"Nice."

I shrugged. "Well, it's been challenging finding a job with such a broad degree."

"You're in a good position," he assured me. "I envy you."

"Envy me ?" I drew my brows in. "Why?"

"You're a blank slate with your whole life ahead of you. Some days I wish I could go back and start over."

"Why would you want to do that? You're a huge star. If you did even one thing differently, you might not be where you are today."

"Where I am today isn't all it's chalked up to be." He sighed. "Don't get me wrong-I'm very grateful for it all. But there's always a price to pay for fame. Like giving up your privacy."

"Yeah. I'm seeing that. You guys can't go anywhere without being mobbed."

"You clearly don't give a shit who I am, though. I need that sometimes." He smiled. "Your innocence is refreshing, Emily."

Innocence? "I may be young. But I'm not innocent." I scoffed.

"I don't believe you. I can see it in your eyes. You're innocent as hell."

"You're not a good reader of people, then."

Tristan crossed his arms. "Tell me the worst thing you've done, and I'll believe you."

No one had ever asked me such a direct question before. And something about looking into this man's eyes made me want to answer honestly.

So I did. "I killed someone."