Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

EMILY

A week later, we had our biggest, sold-out show yet in Detroit.

I'd learned that one of my favorite parts of the tour were the moments I could stand backstage and enjoy the performance for a bit, ignoring the controlled chaos around me. The moment the lights dimmed in a packed venue, I always got chills. Then came the roar of the crowd as the band emerged, followed by more hysteria as Tristan belted out the first notes. And the audience would go from excited to captivated as the show got underway. Hands waving, bodies swaying, the crowd joined in singing whenever Tristan pointed the mic their way.

After hearing the band's music over and over, I could understand why so many people loved them. I often had the songs stuck in my head for the rest of the night. And it wasn't just Tristan who shined. The chemistry between him, Atticus, and Ronan was palpable. They'd look at each other and smile in the middle of a performance, as if sharing silent messages only they understood.

For some reason, tonight Tristan had sounded a bit different to me, like the notes weren't coming as smoothly as he sang. It wasn't obvious, and at first I'd thought it was my imagination. But the more I paid attention, the more I noticed it.

I was back from the arena now and on the bus, using the bathroom after a long day. We'd have a few more hours here before we hit the road for the next city. Our departure time had been delayed so the band could explore downtown Detroit. But none of that for me. As I washed my face, I continued to ruminate. I still couldn't believe I'd told Tristan about my past the other night. What was I thinking? His eyes had made me want to open up. They were mysterious yet somehow familiar, comforting, and nonjudgmental.

My plans to get into my pajamas were thwarted by a text from Stephen. Tristan needs lozenges. Apparently, the other members of the band had gone downtown, with security in tow, but Tristan had stayed behind. Besides that night a week ago when we'd talked in his hotel room, I'd only encountered Tristan in passing. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for another moment alone with him. Even if that was crazy.

Often, late at night, I'd watch from across the lot as various girls disappeared into the band's bus. God knew what was happening in there. I could only imagine how many women Tristan and the guys had been with since they'd become famous. Even if he denied having a different girl with him every night, it must've been a hell of a lot of ladies.

I put my jacket on and used the rental car to go to the drugstore for Tristan's lozenges. Stephen hadn't specified what kind to get, so I grabbed a couple of different brands.

After returning, I walked over to the band's bus and entered, expecting at least a few people in the main cabin. But it seemed virtually empty.

"Hello?" I called.

"Hey…" A low, gravelly voice came from the back of the bus.

Tristan emerged from the back bedroom, looking painfully sexy in ripped jeans and a T-shirt that seemed practically painted on his muscular chest.

Clearing my throat, I looked around. "Everybody's out, huh?"

"Up to no good somewhere probably, yeah…" He walked down the aisle toward me, and my heart beat a bit faster with each step.

I held out the small brown paper bag. "I got your lozenges."

"Thank you." He took them, the brush of his hand sending a chill down my spine.

I inhaled his spicy scent as I stared at his strong, tattooed arms. The combination was magnificent. But as much as I'd wished for alone time with him, I had no reason to stay. "Well…have a good night." I turned back toward the front of the bus.

"Emily, wait."

I looked back. "Yeah?"

"Do you have somewhere to be right now?"

"Not really. I was just going back to my bus."

"You're off the clock, right?"

"Technically."

"Have you eaten tonight?"

"I had a slice of pizza."

"That's not enough. Feel like taking a ride? I hate going out alone, but I could use a change of scenery."

"Won't people mob you if we go out? The other guys took most of security with them."

"I know a place open this late where no one will bother us. Really good food, too, and not far from here."

It was a no-brainer. I couldn't pass this up. "Yeah. Sure. Okay."

"Cool. Let me just grab a hoodie."

Tristan pulled the black hood over his head as we ran across the parking lot, past security to the rental car. I drove while Tristan sat in the passenger seat, texting someone. He then punched an address into the GPS on his phone and directed me as I drove us there.

After a few minutes we arrived at a Middle Eastern restaurant with a house attached. The sign out front read Abdul's .

"We're eating here?" I parked in the lot.

"Abdul, the owner, is a friend of mine," Tristan explained. "Whenever I'm in Detroit, I try to hit this place up. They stay open late. I wasn't going to come this time, but you reminded me I was hungry."

"I remind you of falafel?" I laughed.

"You're more like kibbeh." He winked.

"What?"

He chuckled. "Come on," he said as he exited the car.

I followed him to the door of the house. A dark-haired man with a moustache let us in. He and Tristan chatted for a few minutes about the band, and then the man clapped him on the back.

"Make yourself at home," he told us, gesturing toward the living room. "I'll have someone bring you a platter."

"Thanks, my guy." Tristan patted him on the shoulder.

I looked around. The house smelled like the spices coming from the restaurant, and there were religious statues all around the room-mostly variations of Mary. "I feel like I'm being judged right now with all these Holy Marys staring at me."

Tristan nodded. "Abdul's mother was very religious. She passed away a few years back, but he hasn't had the heart to move any of her statues."

"Well, that's kind of sweet."

"You'll also notice a stash of gay porn DVDs in the corner. Goes well with everything else, doesn't it?"

"Well, that's interesting."

"Life's about balance, Emily." Tristan laughed.

God, he was gorgeous. The way pieces of his silky hair fell over his forehead. His hair was amazing. "No wonder that nutty girl kept it in a jar," I muttered.

"Hmm?" he asked.

Guess I said that aloud. I shook my head. "Nothing."

"Are you not religious?" Tristan asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"You said the statues make you uncomfortable."

"Yeah. I don't really like talking about religion."

He wriggled his brows. "We could talk about porn, if you prefer."

Religion it is. I rolled my eyes. "Religion scares me sometimes. Anything that dictates how you're supposed to act, threatening punishment…" I shivered. "Maybe it's because I feel I deserve punishment."

"Whoa." His expression darkened. "Only truly bad people deserve punishment, Emily, not those who get caught up in shit. Besides, we're all imperfect in our own ways."

"Some of us more than others…" I murmured.

"I don't think we were put on this Earth to be perfect. I think we were designed to fuck up, learn lessons, and take those lessons back to wherever we came from."

"And where exactly did we come from, Tristan?"

"Not sure what it's called. But I think we all came from the same place. There has to be a purpose to this craziness."

"So you think there's a larger meaning to this thing we call life…"

Tristan grinned. "Something about you makes me want to admit things I'd never say to other people."

"Like what?"

"One of my interests is studying near-death experiences."

"Really? When the heck do you have the time for that?"

"There's always time for Internet rabbit holes, Emily." He winked. "And, there are a lot of commonalities among people's accounts of what happens when you almost die. Too many similarities, if you ask me, for it to be a coincidence." He paused. "And now you're wishing we'd watched porn instead of having this philosophical discussion at one in the morning, aren't you?"

"No." I laughed. "Tell me what you mean, though. What do people say happens when they have a near-death experience?"

"Well, those who claim to have crossed over talk about seeing loved ones who've passed who guide them to the other side. They also realize that their soul has lived many lifetimes, sometimes needing to go back to Earth to learn lessons they failed to grasp in a previous life. Sometimes they're given a choice of whether to stay there or come back." He shrugged. "These are all anecdotes, of course, and we can't prove anything. But it's pretty fascinating to listen to their stories."

I nodded. "It is strange how we go through life not questioning these kinds of things-as if our purpose is to eat bagels and scroll on our phones all day. It does make sense that there's more to it than that."

"Yup." Tristan plopped down on the couch and kicked his feet up. "God, this feels good. Hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," I admitted.

"Exactly. It's heaven-and not because of the saints surrounding us. It's just cool to be away from the tour for a while."

A woman entered with a massive platter of food: hummus, pita, falafel, skewers of chicken, piles of black and green olives. She placed it on the coffee table, along with two waters and two cans of Coke. I only now realized how damn parched I was.

"Thank you," I said as she walked away. My stomach growled. The food smelled so good.

Tristan and I ate in comfortable silence as we sat together on the floor of Abdul's living room. Half an hour later, we'd made a pretty good dent in the food when he rolled his napkin up and threw it aside.

"That was fucking tasty. Hits the spot every time."

"Best Middle Eastern food I've ever had," I told him. "And it does feel good to just rest and eat in quiet. Tours are grueling-and I'm not even the one performing."

"You and the rest of the crew work your asses off just as much as I do-probably more."

Now that we were on the subject of the tour, I had to ask. "Was everything okay with you tonight?"

His smile faded. "Why do you ask?"

I chewed my bottom lip. "I got to watch some of the performance from backstage, and you seemed…I don't know…a little hoarse at times, maybe?"

Tristan stared at me for the longest time.

"What?" I finally asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just-you're right. No one else has called me on it. I want to say I'm surprised you noticed, but I'm not." He sighed. "Guess I didn't do a good job hiding it after all. Did I sound that bad?"

While I hoped not to insult him, I wanted to be honest. "I've listened to enough of you live to know what you sound like at your best," I admitted. "You sounded different to me tonight, like you might've been struggling a little. But, Tristan, you're an amazing singer no matter what."

He exhaled. "Thanks for not bullshitting me. I'm surrounded by people who only care that I show up so they keep making money. None of them would ever bring this to my attention."

"Is there something going on with your voice?"

"There is." He nodded. "But I haven't told anyone."

Feeling dread in the pit of my stomach, I swallowed. "What is it?"

"I was diagnosed with polyps on my vocal cords. It's been challenging to hit the notes I used to. I've known about them for a while, but they seem to have caught up with me all of a sudden."

My heart sank. "Is there a treatment?"

"There is, but it's surgery. That totally freaks me out. I've read there's a risk of permanent damage. Can you imagine? And then a lot of times, the polyps just come back anyway. They say the best first step is to rest the voice, which I'm hoping to do once this tour season is over. Surgery is a last resort. I've just been struggling through it. And apparently, not hiding it very well." He shut his eyes momentarily. "It's scary when you've worked your whole life for something, and it could all be taken away. Let that be a lesson, Emily. Don't base your entire self-worth on something that could be fleeting."

"What would you do if you weren't a musician?" I asked.

"I don't know." He looked away. "The thought of that terrifies me. I don't have a plan B. I never did."

"But you don't have to work another day in your life, and you'd be okay."

He shook his head. "It's not about that. Without music, I wouldn't have a purpose. I'd have money, but money means shit if you don't have a reason to live."

Now I felt stupid. Financial security wasn't everything. As poor as I was, I understood that.

"This situation has made me realize I threw all my eggs into one basket," he continued. "And that was probably a mistake."

"You might not be where you are if you hadn't, though. So, it's a catch-twenty-two."

"That's true." He nodded.

I wracked my brain for something that might make him feel better. "So, if your near-death-experience theory is true, and there's some purpose in everything we go through, is there a lesson you think you were put here to learn? Maybe this challenge with your voice is part of it."

"Interesting." Tristan scratched his chin. "Maybe I need to learn to accept failure to truly understand that success doesn't define a person. Or maybe I need to figure out how to be at peace without success-just be at peace with myself and nothing else. Learn to love myself, I guess. There's no way to be sure what the hell it all means." He looked at me pointedly. "What happened with your mom's boyfriend could have a purpose, too, even if it's hard to see."

"Or maybe I was a really bad person in another life, and that was my punishment," I countered.

"Maybe what happened was his punishment. But your lesson. And maybe the lesson is that you need to learn to forgive yourself."

"Very convenient story you've crafted there." I sighed. "If life is a set of challenges, can I unsubscribe from the game?"

He smiled. "Not an option, beautiful. That's why we have to enjoy ourselves along the way. We have to make life about more than the uncontrollable shit that gets thrown at us. Happiness isn't something that just happens. It's a choice, the way we react to life. Each person's happiness is their own responsibility."

I tilted my head. "That sounds a little too simple. I choose to be happy, therefore I am?"

"Happiness is more the result of choosing not to engage in the bullshit that brings us down, the negative self-talk, the worry and fear. When you move toward things more likely to bring you joy, that's where choice comes in. And happiness is the result. At least in my experience." He took a sip of water. "Look, I'm not perfect at it. But I'll give you an example of one thing I did right. Tonight, I was feeling like shit. So I told the guys I didn't want to go with them to downtown Detroit. I almost made the mistake of staying alone and wallowing over my shitty performance. But when you came onto the bus, I took the opportunity to ask you to hang out with me. Now I'm happy instead of miserable. That was the result of my choice."

I smiled.

He smiled back.

His gaze was electrifying, and I found myself wanting things from him in a way I had no right to. This man made me feel special. He made me feel everything . That was the last thing I'd expected.

"Thank you for sharing your secret with me," I finally said. "I'll pray that the situation gets better…"

"You could pray in this room and maybe one of these statues would listen." He chuckled. "Anyway, since you've been so honest and told me your biggest secret, I figured I owed you one."

I nodded, even as my heart lurched. If only that was my biggest secret.