Rescue (Ransom Book 5) - Rachel Schurig(ang.)

Contents Title Page Dedication Acknowledgements Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Also By Rachel Schurig

Rescue A Ransom Novel Rachel Schurig Copyright © 2016 Rachel Schurig All rights reserved. Ebook Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com Join the mailing list for updates and exclusive content! Visit her author page on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/RachelSchurigAuthor) Follow her on Twitter (https://twitter.com/rems330)

For all the Ransom readers who were as excited to read Lennon’s story as I was to tell it. Thank you!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Laura Koons at Red Adept Editing for all of your help. Madeline Freeman, thank you for your fantastic advice, mad formatting skills, and willingness to talk me down from the cliff, every time. I’m so excited to watch you take over the world this year! Cover Designed by Najla Qamber Designs Photo by Lindee Robinson Photography Models: Elena Irene Papanastasopoulos & Marcus Filip

Chapter One Lennon It’s sunny and warm in our backyard, the kind of day my mom likes to call a Pure California Day. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but she usually says it before sending me and my brothers out to play. “Go have fun,” she says, shooing us out the door. “Go and enjoy this Pure California Day.” But I’m not enjoying it. Not today. “Lennon, stop crying.” I rub my hand across my eyes. “I’m not crying.” My brother Cash makes a face, looking up to Reed for agreement. “He’s totally crying, Reed. He’s always crying.” “You’re a liar, Cash.” “And you’re a big baby, Lennon.” Even though I know I’m not supposed to hit my brothers, I just can’t help it. Cash is mean to me all the time. He thinks he’s so cool, always trying to get Reed, our oldest brother, to laugh. “Shut up, Cash!” I push him as hard as I can, smiling when he stumbles. He’s a lot bigger than me, and it makes

me feel strong, knocking him off his feet a little. “Don’t you push me!” he yells, pushing me right back. His face is red now, and I laugh. He’s embarrassed because I almost made him fall in front of Reed. “Then stop being so mean!” I shout back. “Both of you stop,” Reed says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Mom said we didn’t have to practice our instruments all morning, and you’re wasting it fighting. We’re supposed to be finding Daltrey.” That’s what started our fight. We were playing hide-and-seek in the backyard, and Reed kept letting Daltrey hide, even though it was my turn. They’re always letting Daltrey take my turn in all the games we play. Just because he’s littlest. It isn’t fair. “It’s not fair,” I mutter, squeezing my hands into fists. I wish I could slam Cash in the face with my fist, that would show him. But I know I won’t do it, not when Mom is home. Shoving is one thing, but actually punching my brother would wind up with me in trouble. Even if he deserves it. “It’s not fair,” I say again. Reed sighs, sounding a lot like our dad, and bends over so his face is closer to mine. My oldest brother is a lot taller than me, even though he’s only nine. Mom always calls him her little beanpole, ruffling his hair and making him smile in

a way that doesn’t look at all like his usual cool-kid face. Reed is always trying to be a cool kid. It’s annoying. I miss the way it used to be, back when Daltrey was still too little to play with us and Reed didn’t try to act like a grown-up all the time. “Listen, Len,” Reed says, looking right at me. I feel a little stupid for crying before—he can probably see that my eyes are red, no matter what I said to Cash about being a liar. “Sometimes being a big brother means that life isn’t fair. When you have little brothers, sometimes you have to let them have their way.” “So I don’t ever get to hide?” I ask, hating the way my voice sounds all shaky. Cash is probably going to make fun of me again. Reed laughs. “You’ll get to hide next, okay? I promise.” I nod, rubbing my face again. Reed is pretty good at making me feel better. Most of the time. “What a baby,” Cash mutters, and I feel a big rush of anger. It reminds me of the waves we see at the beach—big and fast and coming right at me no matter what. “You’re a jerk, Cash!” I yell as loud as I can, trying to get around Reed to shove Cash again. This time I’m going to do more than make him stumble. I’m going to knock him right down into the dirt and — “Hey!” Reed sounds mad now. “You’re going

to wake up Mom!” He casts a worried look toward the house, and my anger goes right out of me, replaced by a feeling I don’t like very much, right in the pit of my stomach. It feels like worry. “It’s stupid that she still needs naps,” Cash mutters, looking up at our house. “Daltrey doesn’t even take naps anymore, and he’s a baby.” “I am not a baby!” We all turn around to see our littlest brother marching toward us from the trees behind the house. Of course he was hiding in the trees. It’s the only place he can ever think of. They should have let me hide. At least I have an imagination. “Sorry, kid,” Cash says. “’Course you’re not a baby.” Daltrey grins, reaching up to return Cash’s high five. I’m not sure why, but watching them makes me feel mad all over again. Cash never says sorry to me. And he never gives me high fives, either. “What’s going on?” Daltrey asks, puffing up his chest so that he looks a little bit taller. He always does that when Reed and Cash are around. It looks stupid. “Why didn’t you come to find me? I waited forever.” “Lennon was throwing a little fit,” Cash says. “I was not throwing a fit!” “What did I say about waking up Mom?” Reed asks, shoving my arm. He’s getting mad, I can

tell. He always acts like he’s too old to fight with us unless he gets really mad. Then he shoves even harder than Cash. “Why’s Mom asleep, anyway?” Daltrey asks, gazing over at the house. He doesn’t look worried about it, and I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. None of my brothers seem at all scared about her sleeping during the day. Why does it give me such a funny feeling in my tummy? “I don’t know, idiot,” Reed says. Yup, he’s getting mad all right. “All I know is that she’ll be mad if we wake her up.” “So, are we playing or not?” Cash says. “Daltrey, go find your hiding spot, we’ll count again.” “That’s not fair!” I cry. “Reed said it would be my turn next!” “Daltrey didn’t finish his turn,” Reed says. “Only because he was too dumb to sit and wait for us.” “Hey!” Daltrey pushes me. “I’m not dumb. You’re dumb! A big dumb baby!” “He’s crying again!” Cash says, throwing his hands up in the air. I know that Reed said we needed to be quiet, but I just can’t help it. “I am not crying!” I scream as loud as I can. “What’s going on?” We all turn around, the icky feeling in my

stomach growing really big and scary. There’s my mom, standing on the little back porch, looking out at us. She’s wearing a pretty yellow dress, and I know exactly how soft it will feel against my cheek if I lean against her leg, how it will smell like baby powder and something else sweet. “Reed?” she asks, and I can see that my big brother is nervous. “The kids are just being stupid,” he says, as if he’s some grown-up and not a stupid nine-year-old. “Lennon called me a baby!” Daltrey adds. “And he pushed me!” Cash says. My brothers are the biggest jerks in the world. Now I’m going to be the one to get in trouble. I swallow as my mom steps off the porch, walking across the grass in her bare feet to get to us. She comes straight to me, bending down to look at my face. I rub my eyes quick, hoping she won’t see that I’m crying. “You know you’re not supposed to shove your brothers,” she says, but her voice is soft. She doesn’t sound mad. “They were being mean,” I say, feeling like a stupid little kid. “We were not,” Cash cries. “Why does he always have to be such a baby?” “That’s enough,” Mom says, standing. Cash immediately closes his mouth. She looks around at us. “My boys,” she says, shaking her head. “My

wild, naughty boys.” But she doesn’t say naughty like it’s a bad thing. She’s smiling at us, like we make her happy. “You need to be kind to each other,” she says, her voice a little less happy. “I don’t like the name calling and shoving. You know that.” “Sorry,” we all chorus, even Reed. No one likes to make our mom sad. “All right, go on and play. Be nice,” she adds, looking right at Cash and then Daltrey. “Yes, ma’am,” they say before running off toward the woods, Reed behind them. I know they want to get out of her sight before she decides we should be punished after all. I don’t follow them. “What’s wrong, Lennon?” she asks. I shrug. “Then why don’t you go play?” I shrug again. “Just don’t feel like playing.” She watches me for a long moment. “It’s hard, isn’t it?” she finally asks, ruffling my hair. “Being in the middle.” I don’t really know what she means, but she smiles at me and I feel a lot better anyway. “Having older brothers and a younger brother,” she explains. She always seems to know how to explain things. “They called me a baby,” I say, leaning into her leg. Yup, her dress smells just the way I thought it would, and it feels soft against my cheek. “And Cash said I was crying and—”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying, Lennon.” Suddenly she sits down in the grass, pulling me right up into her lap. I know I’m too big for this—I am six, after all, and Cash and Reed never sit in her lap. But they aren’t around to tease me, and it feels so nice, sitting with Mom like this. “You’re a sensitive little guy,” she says, kissing the top of my head. “That’s a good thing.” “What’s sensitive mean?” She thinks for a minute. “It means you have a lot of feelings.” I scrunch up my face. “That sounds like being a baby.” She laughs. I love how her laugh sounds, all tinkling, like the glass music box on her dresser, the one I’m not supposed to touch. “You’re not a baby, Lennon. You’re strong, just like your brothers.” She sighs, pulling me closer. “But sometimes things are a little harder for you.” “Because I have a lot of feelings?” “Because you’re very smart.” Her voice doesn’t sound as happy anymore, and that icky feeling is back in my tummy. “And because you can see when things aren’t fair. And you can see when things are sad or when something makes a person feel bad. Other people ignore those things.” I cuddle into her arms, feeling a little scared. I don’t like how her voice sounds. She squeezes me tight, and I can smell something else on her dress.

Smoke maybe? “How about you and I go inside and make some cookies?” she asks suddenly, and I sit up straight, forgetting about the smoke smell. I turn in her arms to see her face. She’s smiling. “Just us?” “Just us.” “Yeah!” I jump up from her lap, making her laugh as I grab her hand and pull her up so that she’s standing. “Really?” “Sure.” She ruffles my hair again, and I’m smiling so big my ears hurt. “There’s no one else I would rather spend the afternoon with.” We walk to the house holding hands, Mom swinging my arm and making me laugh. I decide I don’t care so much about my brothers being mean. Cash could call me a baby all he wanted, and Reed could be unfair, and Daltrey could be a spoiled brat. It didn’t matter. Because there was no one else my mom would rather spend the afternoon with than me. She said so herself.

Chapter Two Lennon Seventeen Years Later There’s a familiar battle raging in my head. It’s an old refrain, one I know as well as any of our songs. I’ve been singing these words to myself for as long as I can remember. It goes like this: do the thing I’m supposed to do, or do the thing I want to do? Supposed to do usually wins out, if I’m honest. Too many people will be let down if I give in. When I do what I want to do, instead of what I need to do, a lot of people end up really unhappy. Or scared. Just like this summer. I close my eyes and let my forehead fall against the painted cinder block wall. The cement is cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. It doesn’t matter how much we travel, or how much time we spend in LA. I’ll never get used to ninety-degree weather at the end of October. Just walk into the room, I tell myself. It’s

easy. Open the door and go in there. They’re waiting for you. And they are. All five of them. My brothers. My friend Levi. My dad. All waiting on me. They’re probably pretty used to it by now. A text alert sounds on the phone in my pocket, and I know without looking that it’s Levi. He’ll be concerned by now. I’m only ten minutes late, but for Levi it’s been ten minutes of worry. Longer, probably. I bet he’s been stressing since he texted me this morning to ask if I wanted to ride in together for the meeting. Telling him no had, I’m sure, set off a morning’s worth of anxiety. Levi seemed to operate better when he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing at all times. He’s always been that way. For my brothers, worry is a relatively new experience. There was a time when Reed, Cash, and Daltrey wouldn’t have even noticed me showing up ten minutes late for a meeting. Hell, one of us was almost always late. Usually Cash. But that was before. These days the Ransome boys are on time for everything. On time and waiting. Waiting for me to show up so they can watch me out of the corner of their eye for the duration of whatever we’re doing. Band practice. Interviews. Photo shoots. Meetings. I can never get away from those corner-of-the-eye glances. It’s kind of a mind fuck, going from being the

guy in the background nobody ever really notices to being the guy everyone in the room has their eye on. And I really fucking hate it. Do the thing I’m supposed to do, or do the thing I want to do? Walk into that room and pretend I don’t notice while they all shoot me worried glances or go get in my car and get the hell out of here? I’m not even sure where I would go, honestly. But it wouldn’t be here. “Just walk into the room, Lennon.” This time I say the words out loud, hoping the sound of my own voice will give me some motivation to follow through. The meeting won’t be long, and then we’ll be in rehearsal. And while I know I still won’t be able to escape all the looks they shoot my way, at least I’ll be behind my bass. I’ve always felt safer behind my bass. “Talking to yourself is a bad sign,” a soft voice says, close to my ear. I don’t need to lift my head to know who it is, but I do anyway, meeting Daisy Harris’s steady gaze. One corner of her mouth tilts up almost into a smile. “Do I need to call Dr. Jacobs?” I release a breath. Somehow Daisy’s eyes, inquisitive and knowing, don’t make my skin crawl. Maybe it’s because she’s the only person who dares to make jokes about me being crazy. Maybe it’s because she’s the only person who

understands. “Depends,” I tell her. “Does Dr. Jacobs have some previously unmentioned superpower that makes time spent in the company of my brothers pass more quickly?” Daisy scrunches up her face in thought. “Hmm. I’m not sure. Somehow it never came up in our therapy sessions.” She flashes a quick grin. “So. Whatcha doing out here talking to the wall?” “Avoiding going in there.” She nods. “I can see how the wall might offer better conversation than Cash.” If there’s anything that can make me feel better, hearing other people ripping on my big brother is usually it. And since Daisy, Daltrey’s girlfriend, has known us her entire life, she’s usually pretty good at throwing out the insults at the Ransome boys. I shoot her a smile. “What are you doing out here?” “Looking for you. Your brothers sent me.” At least she’s honest about it. Better than the fake-ass nonchalance the rest of them try to force when they’re checking up on me. That doesn’t keep the edge out of my voice, however. “I’m ten minutes late. Hardly necessary to call in reinforcements.” She shrugs. “Think of it as a sign of their love.” A sign of their lack of trust. They don’t trust

me to get myself to a band meeting on my own. They don’t trust me to do what I say I’m going to do. They don’t trust me to show up in one piece. And that’s nobody’s fault but your own, a voice in my head reminds me. I sigh, straightening. Daisy is watching my face, a little crease between her eyes. “Come on, Len. I know it’s not fun, knowing they’re worried all the time. Let’s just get in there and get it over with. The later you are, the worse it will be.” I nod, gesturing at the door. “After you.” Before she can reach for the handle, the sound of a suddenly raised voice reaches us from within the room. Daisy rolls her eyes. “Reed?” “Cash,” I say. “Definitely Cash.” Another shout, this one loud enough I can make out individual words—something about shutting the hell up. “That was Reed.” “You boys,” she mutters, pulling on the handle. As the door swings into the room, I can hear Cash’s response. “He’s clearly not ready—” Cash cuts off abruptly when he sees me standing in the doorway next to Daisy. Every head in the room swivels in our direction. I don’t miss the shot of relief that passes across each face. The basket case is here safe. “What’s up?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. No one responds. It’s pretty obvious

from the red faces and suddenly clenched jaws that their raised voices were about me. “You’re late,” my dad finally says, causing Cash and Daltrey to glare at him. Reed’s jaw tightens even more, and he turns away from Dad. While everyone else has been regarding our father with open hostility since my hospital stay, Reed’s rage seems beyond words. I don’t think he’s said more than a dozen non-business related words to him since I got out. “Sorry,” I say, causing Cash to shoot my dad another glare. This is another thing I’ve noticed about my post-mental-institution life—as far as Cash is concerned, no one is allowed to criticize me. It would be kind of sweet if it didn’t make me feel so much like a fucking child. “Good luck,” Daisy mutters, patting my back. “You’re not coming in?” She edges back into the hallway, shaking her head. “No way, dude. You’d have to be crazy to want to hang out in there.” She makes a face at me, and I laugh. “Traitor.” My dad clears his throat behind me, and I suppress a groan, turning away as Daisy shuts the door behind me. “We were just going over the schedule,” Dad says as I take the empty chair next to Levi, my best friend and our newly promoted tour manager. “The booking manager has been

working with our new parameters—” I audibly groan at the words. New parameters. Translation: Lennon is too fucked up to do the tour as planned so we have to downsize to make it more manageable for his fragile little head. “Don’t start,” Reed growls. “New parameters are not up for discussion.” “Yeah, because heaven forbid I have any input,” I say, trying to ignore the glance Cash shoots me. “Son,” my father says, rubbing his forehead. “We’ve talked about this. There’s no reason to overdo it—” “Tour sponsors,” I say, holding up a finger with each point. “The label. Our fans. Album sales overseas. Ticket sale momentum for the second leg next year.” I wave my hand. “Five reasons to stick to the original plan right there, just off the top of my head.” “And not a single one worth risking your health for,” he shoots back. “I’m fine—” Daltrey grunts, and I turn to face him, realizing that he’s the only one who hasn’t looked at me since I sat down. Even now his eyes are glued firmly to the floor. “You want to say something, Dalt?” He shakes his head, but I can tell from the change in the set of his shoulders that he’s pissed. “Really? ’Cause that sure as shit sounded

like you were objecting to my assessment that I’m fine.” “Of course you’re fine,” Cash says quickly, turning his glare from our father to Daltrey. “We all know that.” Yeah. Right. There’s not a person in this room who thinks I’m okay. Daisy left, after all. “Can we get back to the topic at hand?” my dad asks, picking up a piece of paper from the desk and waving it. “Revised schedule.” “Yeah, just completely ignore my objections to the need for a revised schedule. Perfect.” Dad sets down the paper and once again rubs his forehead. He looks exhausted, and I feel a pang of guilt. I did that. The worry and stress of my situation hasn’t been easy on him. And though he would never admit it, the hostility from my brothers is painful. All of that is on me. “Listen,” Reed says, turning in his chair so he’s facing me fully. “No one in here is interested in participating in a tour that runs us ragged. The fact that all of your doctors are advising you to take it easy matters to us, Lennon, even if you seem to want to ignore their advice.” Now Cash is glaring at Reed, and I’m suddenly overcome with a pang of hysteria. I actually have to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. It’s just so ridiculous. Everyone in the room tiptoeing around my issues, terrified of

offending me or setting me off. Reed ignoring Dad. Daltrey just looking for an excuse to blow up. And Cash glaring at everyone who dares raise their voice to me like some kind of overgrown baby nanny in a leather jacket. If it wasn’t all such a mess it would be hilarious. Levi grinds his heel into my toes, once again demonstrating his uncanny ability to know exactly what I’m feeling at any given moment. “Cool out, man,” he mutters under his breath. I nod, taking a deep breath and trying to focus on Reed, who’s still droning on about doctor’s advice and the need for all of us— “All of us, Lennon”—to take it easy on this tour. “Taking it easy and scrapping half the cities on the original list are vastly different,” I argue. “Think about all the fans we’re disappointing here.” “And think about how disappointed they’ll be if we can’t tour at all because you’re—” Reed cuts himself off, breathing heavily, and suddenly no one seems to be able to look at me. It’s quiet for a long moment before I clear my throat. “It would be nice if even one of you had the tiniest shred of faith in me.” “We do!” Cash cries. “No one is saying that we don’t, Len.” “Sure,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. I look up, eyes traveling to each of their faces. Except

Daltrey. He’s still staring resolutely at the ground. “Look, I get that I fucked up, okay? I get that I freaked you all out. But, Jesus. You act like I can’t even do my job.” “We know you can do your job,” Reed says. “You’re great at your job. We just don’t want to push you on your first tour after… after…” I do laugh then, but it’s a strangled, angry sound. “You can’t even say it. None of you can even say the words.” I stand, suddenly too frustrated to be still. I want to run, want to get out of this room and away from the fear that hangs so heavily over all of them. “I’m so tired of all of this. Everyone acting like I’m some kind of fragile doll —like I can’t even stand to hear you say what happened.” “Lennon—” “Just stop tiptoeing around it!” I yell. “If you want to say something, fucking say it.” “Fine,” Daltrey cuts in, looking up at me at last. His eyes are flashing, and he’s angrier than I’ve seen him in a long time. “You want me to say it? I will.” He turns his gaze to Dad and then to Reed and finally to Cash. “I don’t think we should be doing this tour at all.” “Daltrey—” Dad starts, but Daltrey talks right over him. “I think it’s insane that we’re even considering it.” He stands, glaring at me again.

“You shouldn’t even be here, Lennon. None of us should. We should be back in Nashville where your doctors are.” He shakes his head. “We’re going to Europe? Seriously? This is crazy.” It’s strange. His words should be sending that familiar flash of guilt and shame through me, but they don’t. I’m relieved, actually. Relieved that someone is finally being honest about how messed up the whole situation is. Relieved that someone is finally treating me like a grown-up, instead of a child they wouldn’t dare upset. “I want to go to Europe,” I say. “I don’t care!” he yells. “You tried to kill yourself three months ago!” The room goes very quiet. All the relief I felt only a moment ago disappears as swiftly as it arrived. It’s a long moment before I break the silence. “I didn’t try to kill myself.” “Don’t,” Daltrey says, voice shaking. “I mean it, Lennon. Don’t you fucking dare.” “I didn’t.” But I know it’s pointless to argue. No matter how many times I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to make them understand what was in my head the night I wrapped that motorcycle around a tree. I’m not even sure I can understand it, and I’ve had plenty of time and plenty of therapy to try to figure it out. “We should not be going to Europe,” Daltrey

says. “We should stay home.” No one says anything. No one seems to know where to look. I want to tell him that he’s wrong, but I have no idea how to diminish that fear in his eyes. It feels beyond me. All of it feels beyond me, suddenly, and I’m exhausted. “Staying home is absolutely an option,” my dad finally says, voice soft. But he’s looking right at me, his gaze steady. “It would take two minutes to postpone this tour, and I would be happy to make it happen. No one would care.” “Of course people would—” “No one would care,” he repeats, raising his voice. “No one who matters, anyhow.” I know what he’s telling me. My brothers wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care. The other boys might not believe that. They’ve always thought of him as work obsessed. The rock band version of a stage mom, fully consumed with our careers to the point of not caring much about us as individuals. But I know that’s not true. When he tells me he wouldn’t care, I believe him. For one moment I let myself think about the possibility. We could cancel the whole thing, try the European tour again in the spring, after Daisy has the baby. It would mean pushing back our plans for Asia and South America, not to mention the full US tour we were hoping to do the following summer. But it was possible.

Six months, maybe. Six months to relax and work on getting better. Six months without anything to worry about but myself. The panic hits me out of nowhere, so strong I think I might not be able to breathe. I can’t do that. I know I can’t. Six months. It’s too long. I look around at my brothers and Levi. They’re all still watching me, the way they’ve been doing since that night in the hospital. That’s how it would be, I tell myself. Six months of those looks, of that fear, with absolutely nothing to distract you. Six months of guilt and embarrassment. Six months to think about what you did. To try and figure out why. Hell, if I wasn’t crazy before, six months of this would be enough to get me there. “Listen,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm even while the panic chokes me. “Please, listen to me and try to understand.” I wait for Daltrey to nod. “I want this. I want to go on tour. I need to be doing something.” Reed looks like he’s about to argue, so I hurry on. “I love playing. It’s the thing I love the most in the world. I need it right now. Can you understand that? I need it.” If there’s anything that might convince them, it’s an appeal to their love of the music. “We can play together right here,” Cash points out. “We don’t need to go on the road in order to play music together.” He grins. “Hell,

Daltrey has a garage at that monstrosity he calls a house in Tennessee. We can hang out there, jam all the time. It would be like the old days.” I’m shaking my head before he’s done talking. “There would be too much down time if we hang out here. I need to be doing something. I need to be busy.” I look at Reed, knowing that he, more than anyone else, will understand the need to work. “I’ve had three months to sit around and think, and it’s driving me crazy.” I clear my throat. “Well, more crazy than I was already.” No one laughs. “You guys, come on—” “I don’t like it,” Daltrey says. “I think it’s a really bad idea.” I’m starting to get pissed now. Is it too much to ask that they actually listen to me? “Well, you’re not the one making my decisions for me, Daltrey.” “No. But I do get to make my own. And I’m not sure you’ll get very far without a lead singer.” Apparently sensing that I’m about to blow up, my dad stands. “All right, that’s enough. Lennon, I think we should take some time and think about—” “I don’t need to think about it!” I yell. “I have thought about it. The tour is the only thing I’ve been looking forward to over the last few weeks. Which, in case you’re wondering, have really sucked for me.” None of them will meet my eyes, so I plow ahead. “First I was stuck in that

place, then I was stuck at Dad’s. I’m bored. I’m tired of sitting around. I want to go fucking do something.” My voice is shaking by the end, I’m so frustrated. Why can’t they just get it? “Okay,” Reed says softly, and I feel weak with relief. If my oldest brother is on board, I’m home free. The others might complain, but they’ll go along with it if Reed tells them to. “If you think going on tour will help, that’s what we’ll do.” Our eyes meet across the room, and I can see the struggle there. He’s scared, really scared. He’s looked that way ever since August. But he’s trying too. Trying to trust me, trying to have faith that things might get back to normal. God, I don’t want to disappoint him. “Reed,” Cash says, but Reed waves him off. “Lennon is right. He’s the only one that has a right to decide what he’s ready for. He’s had a rough few months, and if he thinks getting out of here will make him feel better, that’s his call.” His gaze hardens as he turns back to me. “But if anything about being out there makes you feel shitty, we call it off. Immediately. You got that?” I nod quickly, and his gaze turns to a scowl. “I mean it, Len. You have to talk to us.” “I will.” Daltrey looks between Reed and me. “Are you kidding me?” “Dalt—”

“Come on, Reed! You can’t think this is a good idea.” Though he addresses Daltrey, Reed never drops his gaze from mine. “I think I trust Lennon to make his own choices.” He looks as tired as I’ve ever seen him, as if we’ve just finished a massive tour instead of being about to start one. But the corner of his mouth tilts up just a little in a half smile. “Besides, he’s into all that art and museum crap. Europe is probably just what he needs.” Cash laughs. “That’s true. I bet Europe has a ton of museums. It’s, like, Len’s version of Vegas.” I don’t even try not to roll my eyes. “Yes, Cash. Europe does have a ton of museums.” He’s laughing at me, a very welcome sound after weeks of treating me like a fragile toy. “You’re going to drag us around to half of them, aren’t you? Dear God. Hours and hours of paintings and whatever the hell else you like to look at. At least I’ll be able to get some sleep.” The idea of taking my brothers to the Louvre or something is so ridiculous I can’t help laughing myself. Reed is grinning too. Only Daltrey looks unmoved. “I need some air,” he mutters, standing so abruptly he knocks his chair over. “Son—” Dad begins, but Dalt silences him with a glare. “I’ll go along with whatever the rest of you

say,” he growls, halfway to the door. “But I still think it’s a really stupid idea.” “We have rehearsal,” Reed calls after him. “I said I needed some air.” He slams the door behind him. “Some air sounds good,” Dad mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Why don’t you all take fifteen and we’ll meet in the rehearsal space after.” “Guess I better call Sam and tell her what we decided,” Cash says, stretching as he stands. I realize belatedly that Cash would have another reason to want to take a break before touring. His girlfriend, Sam, is in the middle of a year-long internship in Seattle. They won’t be seeing each other too much once we’re overseas. It’s a short tour, I tell myself, trying to push back the guilt. We’ll be home for Christmas. “I’ll see you in there?” Reed asks, coming to stand in front of me. “Yup.” But he doesn’t leave, just stands and looks at me until I start to feel uncomfortable. “What?” “You will talk to me, right? About, you know, how you’re feeling and stuff.” I can’t help snorting. We might have three multiplatinum albums, but shit, our family sucks at communication. Especially when actual emotions are involved. “Yes, Reed. I promise to talk to you about all

of my feelings. We can have nightly gab sessions over cookies and milk.” He smiles. “You better hope Paige doesn’t hear you say that if you want it to stay a joke.” Since a nightly gab session over cookies and milk is exactly the kind of thing his girlfriend Paige would think is fun, I shudder. “Good point. See you in there.” My dad’s cell rings as Reed leaves, and Levi turns to me. “Want to grab some coffee?” I wave at Dad as we go, but he’s already consumed by whatever business is on the other end of the phone. “You were pretty quiet in there,” I say as Levi and I make our way down to the lobby in search of coffee. My best friend shrugs. “It’s not really up to me. I go where you guys say.” “Don’t be stupid. You have a say too. That’s why you come to band meetings, Levi. Plus you’re the tour manager now.” He doesn’t respond, and a flash of annoyance runs through me. “You could have at least backed me up, then, if you have no opinion of your own.” “Didn’t say I don’t have an opinion. Just said it wasn’t up to me.” We’re steps away from the lobby and I can see the receptionist from here so I stop abruptly, not wanting to be overheard. “What, Levi? You agree with Daltrey?”

“Didn’t say that either.” Everyone thinks that Levi’s easygoing nature is his best quality. They’re all crazy. He might keep his mouth shut about things and he might have a talent for smoothing over my and my brother’s violent tendencies, but Levi is no pushover. “You obviously want to say something. Why don’t we just get it over with?” He rubs the back of his neck absently, staring hard at the wall. “It was just a little bit like déjà vu, that’s all.” “What was?” “Listening to you in there. Talking about how you needed to be active. How the tour would help.” He finally looks over at me. “Pretty sure you fed me that same bullshit at the beginning of the summer.” “What?” “Before the last tour. When I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out the way you were feeling. When you told me that your doctor thought it was a bad idea too. That was the excuse you gave me. That it would help you to keep busy.” His gaze is hard as he stares at me, and I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe very well. I have a vague recollection of saying that to him when he came to see me in Ohio all those months before. It feels like a lifetime ago. The thing is, I meant those words when I said

them then just as much as I mean them now. I did think that it would help me to have some work to focus on, something to get me out of my head. I was sure of it. Was I wrong then? Am I wrong now? “The same exact words,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I believed you.” He turns away, begins to walk to the lobby. But then he pauses, barely turning his head over his shoulder. “Same words, Len. Just look at how that turned out.”

Chapter Three Haylee With only a few minutes left before our big audition, my bandmates and I are doing what we do best—snacking, drinking beer, and ragging on each other. “Haylee, stop hogging all the Doritos.” “What’d you say?” I ask, grabbing another handful. “You want me to eat all the Doritos? You’re so sweet.” James glares at me, and I grin, shoving a few more chips in my mouth before passing the bag off to him. “Thank you,” he says, voice heavy with sarcasm. “You do realize your teeth have turned bright orange, right? Minutes before the biggest audition of your life.” I roll my eyes, adjusting the pillow behind my head. “You sound just like Louis.” “Ooh, James,” Dylan says, pushing my feet to the side so he can join me on the couch. “She compared you to Louis. Need some lotion for that wicked burn?” James grunts something inaudible and tosses a

few chips in my direction. “Hey!” Dylan complains, brushing Dorito crumbs from his sleeve. “Watch it, man.” “Who’s talking about the biggest audition of our lives?” Lance asks from the doorway. “James is shaming me about having Dorito breath before the amazing Ransome brothers show up,” I say. Lance rolls his eyes and flops down on the rug in front of the couch. “Anyone else think this is stupid?” he asks. “The whole pseudo-rehearsal-audition bullshit?” Dylan shrugs. “I don’t know. Louis might actually have a point this time.” “Boo!” Lance and I shout in unison. There’s a strict band rule forbidding agreeing with our manager about anything, even on those rare occasions when he happens to be right. Dylan holds up his hands. “I’m just saying. If the band wants to sign off on the label’s decision to bring us in as the opener, that probably means they want to hear us.” “Then they should have asked us straight up to audition,” Lance says. “But they didn’t. They asked for a meeting. This whole scheduling it in the middle of rehearsal so they would just happen to hear us is one of Louis’s lame ideas.” He nudges my knee. “I know you agree, Hay.” I shrug. “It feels pretty contrived. But what are we gonna do? I, for one, am not in the mood to

go eight rounds with Lou today.” Dylan peers at my face. “You do look a little rough, babe.” I glare at him. “Thanks. Between you and James I’m definitely feeling confident enough to sing in front of the biggest rock band in the country.” “Told you to lay off the Doritos,” James says. “Don’t worry, Hay,” Lance says, grinning up at me. “Cash Ransome was pretty into you the last time we saw them. Just bat your eyes a little.” He squints at my chest. “Maybe lose the flannel so he can get a glimpse of the girls.” I grab the pillow from behind my head and throw it at him. “Fuck off, Lance.” He laughs, catching the pillow easily and tossing it behind his own head. “Thanks, babe.” “Obviously if someone is going to be slutty to get their attention, it’s going to be Layla,” James says, peeking across the room at our sleeping drummer. How she can sleep with our asshole bandmates in the room is beyond me. These boys never shut up. “I heard that,” she says, not opening her eyes. “Notice she doesn’t say I’m wrong,” James says in a loud stage whisper. “No one is going to be slutty to get their attention,” I say firmly, pulling myself up into a seated position. Not much point lounging now that

I’ve lost my pillow. “We’re just going to play our songs and be polite at the meeting.” Of course Dylan chooses that moment to burp loudly. “Sometimes I think Louis is right,” I say. “You’re all hopeless.” “As opposed to you, Haylee,” James says, rolling his eyes. “The queen of class and refinement. Who just so happens to have challenged me to a farting contest the other day.” “Which I totally won.” I grin smugly. “Pathetic effort from you, by the way.” “You’re all gross,” Layla mutters, opening her eyes and stretching. “Can’t a person even catch a nap in here?” “Not our fault the two of you went out drinking until all hours last night,” Dylan says, pointing at me. “The rest of us were good little boys and got to bed at a decent hour like Lou told us to.” I snort. “Yeah. You’re so virtuous.” “What’s this about Cash Ransome flirting with you?” Layla asks me. “Where was I when this was happening?” I wave my hands dismissively. “It was at that Houston festival, two summers ago. We talked to the band for approximately five minutes. And Cash wasn’t flirting—” “Bullshit,” James says. “I was standing right there.”

“Fine. But Cash Ransome flirts with everything that moves.” “He’s never flirted with me,” Layla says, frowning down at her clothes. “Maybe I should change into something a little more slutty.” “He never flirted with you because you ditched us after our set at that festival to hook up with the guy from that shitty techno pop group,” I remind her. “And that was the only time any of us have met Ransom. I promise you that if you were there, Cash would have been a chauvinist pig to you as well.” “I certainly hope that you don’t let him hear you talking like that,” Louis says from the doorway in his familiar, disapproving tone. Every single one of us groans. “What are you all doing, anyhow?” he asks, frowning around at us. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” “Fun time’s over,” Dylan says. “Nothing kills fun nearly as fast as Louis Pander,” Layla agrees. “You’re all so funny and mature,” he says, glaring around as we stand, James shoving the Doritos behind a chair cushion so Louis won’t confiscate them—along with his half-full beer. Louis was pretty clear on his no-drinking-whenRansom-comes-to-the-building rules for the afternoon. I follow the rest of the band from the makeshift lounging area in the corner over to our

rehearsal space, sighing when Louis comes with us, clearly ramping up for his version of a pep talk. Sure enough, he stands before us as we take our spots by our instruments, his stance wide, arms crossed as he looks us over. Definitely in speech mode. “I just want to reiterate how important this is.” I wonder, not for the first time, if Louis can sense the amount of hatred directed his way in the looks of my bandmates. If so, he clearly could not care less. Either that or he’s an excellent actor and missed his calling by going into band management. “This tour would be huge for Intrigue,” he continues. “Huge. The label is always looking at our overseas record sales, you know that. And, even better, it could lead to expanded opportunities here in the States. I hardly need to tell you that Ransom is the hottest rock band—” “If you hardly need to tell us, then why are you so insistent on telling us?” James asks. “Seriously, Louis. This is about the tenth time I’ve heard this speech.” It appears to be taking everything Louis has to keep calm. I can actually see his chest rise and fall with the deep breaths he’s taking, presumably to keep himself from going off on mouthy bass players. “It’s a big meeting,” he says, his voice a touch more tense than before. “I just want to make sure

that you’ll all take it seriously.” “Of course we’ll take it seriously,” Dylan says from behind his amp. “You think we don’t want Intrigue to be successful? You think we like playing in these shitty dives night after night? I would fucking love to go to Europe with our label’s topselling artists. They probably stay at, like, real hotels.” Layla laughs, taking her seat behind the drum kit. “As opposed to the prime one-star accommodations you’re so fond of booking us, Lou.” “If you want to tour with a successful band, you need to earn some success of your own. And success takes more than hard work, Dylan,” Louis says, his teeth gritted now as he glares at our smirking guitarist. I catch Layla’s eye and can’t hide my own smirk. Maybe it’s immature, but I can’t help but be amused by the guys’ efforts to get under Louis’s skin. There’s just something so satisfying about the way that vein in his forehead throbs when they get him going. “We know, we know,” James moans. “It takes an attention to image and a drive to chase down opportunities. Jesus. I could quote your damn speech in my sleep.” Louis’s face turns a dangerous shade of red, and Layla snorts. “This band—” “I thought it was a done deal, anyhow,”

Lance interrupts. “You said the label wanted this.” “The label doesn’t have final say,” Louis snaps. “The band does. Or, rather, their father does, if I know anything about Will Ransome.” “Didn’t the band get the same CD their management did?” Lance asks. “You said they wanted to meet with us—why do we have to be playing when they get here if they didn’t ask us to audition?” “Because it won’t hurt for them to hear—and see—you live. So if you would all please just shut the hell up and get started, we could drop this whole—” “Excellent idea,” James says, pulling his bass over his head at once. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Since I’m pretty sure Louis’s head is about to explode, I turn away to plug in my guitar. Even though the band knows, from months of experience, that it’s almost always easier to just shut up and let Louis get his little speeches out of his system so we can play, we can never seem to manage it. It’s just too easy to wind Louis up. And, damn, do the boys in my band love winding him up. “How are you feeling, Haylee?” Louis asks, appearing at my mic stand. “Voice feel good today?” “Feels pretty good, Lou.” I try to ignore him so I can concentrate on tuning my instrument. The

last thing I need before an audition—even a faux one like this—is Louis in my face, straining my nerves. “And… everything else? Everything else feel okay?” I look up from the guitar strings to glare at him. “Everything else? What on earth could you mean?” He at least has the decency to look slightly ashamed of himself. But the lines on his face harden quickly. “You know what I mean.” I shake my head in disgust. He really is an asshole. “I’m fine. Thanks so much for your concern, Lou. It’s so nice to know you have my back.” He blows out a long breath, his face falling a little. “I do have your back. That’s what this is all about. I don’t know why the five of you seem to insist on ignoring that.” He stomps away, earning me raised eyebrows from Layla across the room. “Can we get started?” Louis calls from the glass-enclosed control room at the front of the space. “Remember—when the band gets here, don’t stop what you’re doing. I’ll call you when we’re ready to talk.” “In other words,” Dylan mutters, adjusting his guitar strap, “just keep playing until the grown-ups say stop, little monkeys.”

“All right, enough of the moping,” I say, turning to my bandmates. Everyone has taken their position behind me, and I try to forget about Louis sitting on the other side of the glass. Try to forget about the fact that one of the biggest rock bands in the world is on their way at this very minute to decide whether they want us on tour with them. Try not to think about the ways this could change our career—or about how it’s my fault we’re in need of the shot of life in the first place. “Let’s start with “Safe Shelter”, okay? We need a little work in the middle section—might as well be productive if we have to go through with this anyhow.” “Got it, boss,” Dylan answers. The others nod, and I feel myself relax. Louis doesn’t matter. Ransom doesn’t matter. This is what’s important —my band. The music. With my back to the glass, I can pretend that the rest of it doesn’t exist. “Count us off, Layla,” I say, nodding at her before turning back to my mic. She crashes her drumsticks together as she counts off the beat. I take a deep breath, close my eyes—and we’re off. If I felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist a minute ago, it’s nothing to the way it feels to play. My hands know the chords without any input from my brain. Dylan comes in on lead guitar, and then Lance is there on his keyboard. And behind their notes, Layla’s steady, pounding drum keeps the

time while James’s bass line pulls it all together. We sound good, I think, allowing myself one smile before I start to sing. We get through “Safe Shelter” and three more songs before Ransom bothers to show up, twenty minutes late. Even if Louis hadn’t directed us to keep playing, I have no intention of stopping for their late asses. I’m in the zone, feeling better than I have all day now that we’re playing, and I don’t plan to let anyone—famous rock band or not—pull me out of that. The song ends, and before Louis can call out to us, I turn to Layla. “Firefight?” She nods, and we go right into the next song. Through the glass I can see Louis schmoozing with an older man—the famous Will Ransome, I would guess. The other guys are shaking hands with some suits in the booth, including Finn, our own A&R guy—who never even bothered to come in and say hi to us when he got to the building. Next to me, Dylan starts his guitar solo, and damn, he sounds good. He’s on right now, and I love it. I grin at him briefly before something in the booth catches my eye. The tallest Ransome kid, the drummer, I think, is laughing about something Finn said. None of them are even looking at us. None of them are listening to Dylan’s amazing guitar solo. Suddenly, I’m pissed. Probably not a good thing when we’re only a few measures away from

my part. But fuck them, seriously. I get it coming from Lou and the executives—the whole pretentious, kiss-ass thing is second nature to guys like that. But you would think that the band, at least, would be conscious of fellow musicians playing their asses off ten freaking feet away. I step up to the microphone and open my mouth. The first verse is supposed to be pretty soft, a break after the harshness of the guitar open. But hell if I’m going to sing softly right now. I attack my guitar much harder than I’m supposed to, ripping out the chords. There’s a moment of disconnect as the band fumbles to match my intensity, but then I’m singing and who the hell cares. I close my eyes and just let go, belting out the notes as loud as I know how. I lied to Louis before —my voice has been pretty scratchy all day, the natural consequence of staying out too late and drinking too much the night before. But it works for this sound, I think. A little raspiness never hurt anyone when they were belting their guts out. When I open my eyes I’m pleased to see every face in the control room is watching us now. Louis looks irritated, and I grin before jumping into the chorus. By the time we’re done, James is laughing at my side and I’m completely out of breath. And sweaty. Exactly how you want to look when you’re about to meet some serious rock stars. “The hell

was that, Hay?” James asks. “I mean, I’m not complaining. You killed. But it’s not exactly the way we practiced it.” “Sorry if I threw you off,” I say, turning to the rest of the band. They’re all wearing expressions pretty similar to James’s amusement, and I shrug. “Guess I got a little mad.” They laugh, only cutting off when Louis’s voice filters through the sound system. He sounds polite, but I can hear the anger under the polished veneer. He’s never been a fan of us going off book. “Guys, you want to take a break? Ransom is here.” “Like we didn’t know that,” Dylan mutters, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “It’s a fucking glass wall, idiot.” I grab a bottle of water and follow the rest of the band toward the sound room, which is pretty crowded with the guys from Ransom and all of the suits. As I’m wondering how in the hell they expect us to all fit in there, the tall Ransome kid I noticed laughing leaves the booth to join us in the rehearsal space. “Hey, I’m Reed,” he says, shaking James’s hand before turning to Dylan. “That was freaking awesome, you guys.” He shakes hands with everyone, reaching me last. “Shit, you can wail,” he says, laughing as he shakes my hand. I feel a little bad for getting so pissy about his laughter a minute ago—he seems pretty genuine.

“Thanks,” I say. The other members of Ransom are filing out into the room behind him, the suits and Louis still talking to their dad in the booth. “Hey, I’m Daltrey,” the blondest one says. He doesn’t shake hands, but he grins at us. Holy crap, he’s good-looking in person, I think, automatically making eye contact with Layla. She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I stifle a laugh. “That was kick-ass,” Daltrey says to me. “Wish I could sing like that.” “You hardly have anything to worry about in the pipes department,” I say. I mean it too. I wouldn’t call myself a huge Ransom fan, but it’s impossible to live in this country and not have heard them a fair number of times. Daltrey Ransome can sing. “We should totally work out some duets,” he’s saying excitedly. “For the tour.” “Assuming you guys pick us,” James says cheerily. I wonder if they can hear the edge under his voice. He doesn’t trust them, I realize. He thinks the audition thing wasn’t just Lou’s idea. And if there’s one thing James hates, it’s any kind of pretension. If someone isn’t straight with him, it’s impossible for him to respect them. I watch our manager talking to Will Ransome through the glass, and I wonder if he’s right. “Well, if we have any say in it, you guys are definitely opening,” Cash says, laughing. He shakes

my hand. “Cash Ransome.” Out of the corner of my eye I see Layla gesturing at her cleavage, a clear sign for me to lose my flannel shirt. I meet Cash’s eye instead. “We’ve actually met. At the Houston Festival, summer before last.” His eyes widen. “Oh, yeah. I totally remember.” James makes a scathing noise, and I hope the Ransomes don’t hear. “You guys played a set, right? You were really good.” He grins. “I mean, you were good just now too. Obviously.” It’s funny, but he doesn’t seem to be half as flirty as I remember. He actually seems about as respectful as his older brother. Maybe I should have lost the flannel. There’s one Ransome who hasn’t said a word yet. He’s standing behind the oldest one, practically hidden from view. I struggle to think of his name— he must be the bassist. That would be… Lewis? No, that’s not right. They’re all named after rock legends. Reed seems to sense where my attention is, and he takes a step aside to reveal his brother. “This is Lennon,” he says, shoving the guy’s shoulder a little bit. Now that Reed is out of the way, I can get a good look at him. Definitely the bassist. While Reed and Daltrey are fair and blond,

Lennon favors Cash. A little shorter than his fairer brothers, stocky but not quite as muscular as Cash. He’s smiling, his expression polite, but there’s something drawn about his face. He looks… sad, I think, before telling myself I’m being ridiculous. He’s smiling as he shakes hands with my bandmates, whatever sadness I thought I detected long gone. “You have a beautiful voice,” he says when he gets to me. He shakes my hand, the way he did with everyone else. Am I imagining it, or did he hold on for just a second longer than he had with the others? Up close I can see that his eyes are dark brown, his lashes long enough to make most of the girls I know jealous. What in the hell, Haylee? Analyzing this guy’s eyelashes? “I was so stoked when the label said they had you guys in mind to open,” he says, releasing my hand. But he doesn’t turn away, addressing his words to me. “I remembered you from Houston. You guys really killed it that night.” I don’t remember meeting him that night, and I’m surprised to hear that he remembers us. Unless, of course, he’s bullshitting me. But somehow I don’t think he is. “You guys were supporting a new album then, right?” Daltrey asks. “Your debut?” “Yeah,” Dylan says, shooting me a glance from the corner of his eye. “That was our first

record.” “I figured you guys would be headlining by now,” Cash says. “The crowd was super into you.” Lennon frowns at him, shaking his head, and Cash seems to realize belatedly that what he said might be offensive. “I mean, you should be headlining,” he says quickly. “I hope you didn’t get mired in endless label bullshit.” “Nothing better for stalling a career than putting a label in charge of it,” Reed agrees. “Nah, the label has been good to us,” Dylan says, throwing a glance to the control room. “We took a little time off after our first tour and…” Four sets of eyes move in my direction, and I tense even though my bandmates look away quickly. A little time off. That was a cheery way of putting it. “Well,” Reed says, looking between us. He’s clearly picked up on the awkwardness. “Hopefully we’ll get a contract worked out with the label and the European tour will be a good way to come back from the break.” I can feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, and I want nothing more than to run from the room. No one is looking at me anymore, but I can still feel their eyes. I wonder if the Ransome boys noticed where the others were looking. I wonder if they will put two and two together. “Hey, you guys want a beer or something?”

James asks suddenly, and I’m sure he’s responding to the panic he can surely read on my face. Better than anyone else, James would know exactly what I was thinking in that moment. He nods at the booth. “Looks like the suits are content to talk among themselves for the foreseeable future.” “I never say no to beer,” Cash says, following James over to the mini fridge. Dylan grabs some folding chairs from the side of the room, and we gather in the lounge space in the corner, each taking a beer. “This isn’t bad for rehearsal space,” Daltrey says, looking around. “We’ve been holed up in this concrete dungeon over in West Hollywood for the past week.” Dylan snorts. “We don’t usually get such nice accommodations. They wanted to impress you, I think.” Cash holds up his beer. “Little did they know all they had to do was provide a few Heinekens.” “How long have you guys been playing together?” Reed asks. “James and I have been together… what?” I look at my oldest friend. “Ten years?” “Sounds about right. We met up with Dylan and Layla after high school. And Lance joined us when we signed.” “I’m the ringer,” Lance adds. “They brought me in to class them up a bit.” Layla and I snort. “Yeah, you’re super classy,

Lance,” I say. “What about you guys?” Dylan asks. “You been playing long?” “Since we were kids,” Daltrey says. “We were playing together pretty much before we could walk or talk.” “That’s sweet,” Layla says, batting her eyelashes at him. He smiles at her in a way that tells me she’s barking up the wrong tree. I have a sudden recollection of there being some big drama in the paper about him and a girl a few years back. I wonder if she’s still around. It takes a lot for a guy to ignore Layla Kerry when she turns on the charm. “Have you guys ever played in Europe?” Cash asks. “Nah,” Lance says. “Just the States and a few stops in Canada.” We were supposed to tour Europe, I think. That’s what they told us when we signed. A debut album supported by a huge tour in the US then ride that buzz all the way across the ocean. It hadn’t panned out, of course. Nothing had. “You’ll love it,” Reed is saying. “We get great crowds over there.” “I’m surprised the tour is so short,” Layla says. “You guys are huge overseas.” There’s a sudden quiet in the room, and I think I see the Ransome boys glance at Lennon. It’s funny—he has the same expression on his face that

I’m sure was on mine just a moment ago—slightly panicked, more than a little nauseous. But it all happens so fast I can’t get a read on the rest of them. “That’s my fault,” Daltrey says quickly. “Daisy—that’s my girlfriend—she’s having a baby this winter, and the doctors don’t want her flying past December. So we want to be back in the states before we get to that point.” “Wow,” Dylan says as I shoot Layla a sympathetic look. Definitely barking up the wrong tree. “That’s awesome. Congratulations, man.” Daltrey’s resulting grin is so cute it’s like a punch to the ovaries. If there was ever a guy excited about becoming a dad, it’s him. Lucky girl, I think. Whoever she is. “Thanks. We can’t wait.” “And the rest of us,” Cash says, punching his brother’s arm, “can’t wait until he’s up to his elbows in diapers.” He nods toward the guys in my band. “Lead singers, you know? It’s good when they get dragged down to earth every once in a while.” He grins at me. “No offense.” “None taken.” With that blond hair and those icy-blue eyes, I have a feeling his brother does need to be brought down to earth on occasion. Everyone laughs—except Lennon. He’s sitting directly across from me, idly playing with his beer cap. I don’t think he’s said a word since he

introduced himself before. As the guys and Layla continue to talk about the tour, I find myself watching him. He’s a lot quieter than I would have thought. Everything I’ve ever heard about Ransom painted the brothers as the loud and boisterous types. Guys who play hard and party harder. Our brief meeting with Cash and Reed back in Houston confirmed that impression. If I remembered correctly, they both were pretty drunk. Of course, so was I, making it a little hard to remember the details. Was Lennon always the quiet one, or was he having an off day? Suddenly he looks up from his beer bottle, his eyes going directly to mine. I freeze, and it feels like the rest of the room goes quiet, though from the corner of my eye I can see Layla still talking. Her words don’t register, none of them do. All I can think about is the look in Lennon Ransome’s eyes. I thought he was sad before. Now I knew that sad doesn’t begin to cover it. He looks exactly the way I always do when I happen to catch sight of myself in the mirror. His eyes are dark and filled with an emotion I know all too well. Lennon isn’t just sad. He’s broken. Just like me.

Chapter Four Lennon Before we head overseas, the label throws us a huge party. They rent out a club in Manhattan, inviting all kinds of industry people and all of our friends. It’s a good party, even if I’m not really in the mood for it. They get some celebrity chef to cater, and there’s an excellent bar set up. They clearly spared no expense. My first order of business after arriving is to find a quiet spot, preferably near an exit, to relax and enjoy my beer in peace. I get my wish—for approximately three minutes. That’s how long it takes for Reed to find me. “How ya doing, man?” I close my eyes briefly before turning to my older brother, forcing some semblance of a smile onto my face. It’s a struggle. I never realized how annoying four little words could be. Then again, I never thought I would hear those words so many damn times. Every day. From every brother. Not to mention my dad. And guys from the label. And Paige and Sam and Levi and, and, and…

“Great,” I say. “How are you, Reed?” “Fine, fine.” He looks out over the room. “Pretty good crowd.” I nod. “Looks like the label’s going all out.” “Dad says they’re really pleased with the sales volume so far. The album’s been holding pretty steady into the fall.” He doesn’t have to fill in the blanks for me to know that they’re relieved by that. My little shenanigans this summer meant cutting the US tour early, not to mention starting Europe late. Though no one in the family would ever admit it, I was pretty sure the label wasn’t the only ones to wonder if the revised schedule might slow down our sales. On the other hand, entertainment media likes nothing better than a little speculation. And they devoted plenty of ink and airtime to wondering what in the hell we weren’t telling them about me after my motorcycle accident. “Len?” Reed asks, and I shake my head, realizing that I was zoning out. I need to watch that. It’s bad enough they’re constantly asking me how I feel—it will only get worse if I start showing obvious signs of brooding. “I’m fine,” I say, my voice a little sharp. He watches my face long enough to make me want to scream. “Reed.” “Okay,” he says, but I know he doesn’t believe me.

“Where’s Paige?” “Around somewhere. She was talking to Karen and Daisy the last time I saw her.” “Won’t she be looking for you?” Translation: please walk away. “Nah. Daisy had an ultrasound today. None of them have been able to shut up about it for hours.” “What about Dad? Have you seen him?” “You trying to get rid of me, Len?” He gives me a quick grin. “Yes. Is it working?” He laughs, slapping my back. “Not even close.” To my great relief, I catch sight of Daisy and Paige heading our way across the room. Paige is talking a mile a minute while Daisy nods. “Looks like she can’t get a word in,” I say. Reed sighs. “I know the feeling.” But as his girlfriend approaches, his smile grows. He might tease her about her motormouth as much as the rest of us, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that Reed is every bit as crazy about her as he was from the start. I feel a pang of something like loneliness somewhere deep in my chest and look away. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says as she sidles up next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Hi, baby,” Paige says in that cheery way of hers. “Hey, Len. How’s it going?”

I should really start keeping track, I think. We have to be nearing some kind of record for number of times someone can be asked a variation of that question. “Fine, Paige. Just like I was when I saw you in the limo earlier.” Daisy offers me a sympathetic smile. “Len, I want to introduce you to someone.” She slips an arm through mine. “If Reed can spare you for a second.” “Oh, he can,” I say quickly. Daisy smirks a little and leads me away. “Who do you want me to meet?” “No one. I just wanted to get you away for a minute. You looked like you were about to punch your brother.” I blow out a breath, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. “It’s like having a babysitter following me around all the time.” She opens her mouth, and I cut her off. “Don’t say they’re just worried about me. I know, okay?” “Wasn’t going to say that,” she says mildly. I blow out another breath. “Sorry, Daisy. I don’t mean to snap.” She pats my arm. “God, Len. You don’t have to apologize to me.” We walk around the perimeter of the room, and I try to let myself relax. Daisy is about the only person in my life right now who might understand how I feel. I offer up a small

prayer of thanks that my little brother got his head out of his ass long enough to keep her around. “They should lay off a little after tonight,” she says. “I talked to Daltrey about it. He said he was going to talk to the other guys.” “Thanks, Dais.” I doubt it will actually pay off. It’s way too much to hope for that my brothers will stop driving me crazy. But I do appreciate the effort. “I hear you had an ultrasound today.” I look down at her. “Everything going okay?” “Baby looks totally healthy.” A little look of satisfaction comes across her face. It’s getting familiar, that look. I see it on her and Daltrey’s faces all the time. Like they couldn’t possibly be happier about the direction their lives have taken. A part of me feels a little jealous about that look, about that certainty that life is good and happening the way it’s supposed to. But mostly I’m happy for them. No one deserves that kind of happiness like Daisy does. “Are you going to spill the beans?” I ask. “Can I look forward to a niece or a nephew?” She laughs. “I’m not finding out. I want it to be a surprise.” She grins. “Which is killing your brother, let me tell you.” “Then by all means, keep it a secret. Anything that tortures Daltrey is a damn good idea.”

She tilts her head a little so it’s resting on my shoulder. “I’m so excited, Len. We’re all going to have so much fun with this baby. Can you even imagine?” I try to, I really do. My brothers and Daisy, Paige, Sam, maybe Levi and Karen, all hanging out in Tennessee or on a tour bus somewhere with a kid. It’s hard to picture it, though, even with the evidence of her pregnancy becoming clear in her midsection. Then again, it’s hard to picture anything beyond the next few weeks. When I try to see my life after this tour, everything seems hazy, blurred. Whatever the future holds, it’s not showing itself to me. I wonder if that should scare me. “Oh, look,” Daisy says, her eyes on something across the room. “I think your opener is here. That guy Daltrey is talking to has to be in a band. Normal people don’t just go walking around with hair like that.” “Are you saying people in bands aren’t normal?” She merely rolls her eyes before redirecting her attention to Dylan, Intrigue’s keyboardist, who, admittedly, is rocking a particularly bright shade of blue streaks in his spikey hair. “I’ve never heard of these guys, but Dalt said they were really good?” “They’re awesome.” I scan the room to see if the rest of Intrigue has joined the party as well.

“Are there really two girls in the band?” she asks. “I’m totally in favor of that. We need a little more estrogen backstage.” “Hey, your best friend is coming with us. And Karen and Sam are meeting up with us in Paris. It’s starting to feel like girls are completely taking over —” I don’t remember how I was going to finish the sentence. I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Every bit of space in my brain is completely occupied by the sight across the room. Haylee. Haylee in a dark purple leather mini dress, her long black hair pulled into a messy pile on top of her head. The dress is strapless, showing off miles of bare ivory skin, vivid tattoos stretching across her right shoulder and halfway down her arm. She’s standing with her bassist—James, I think —by the bar, laughing at something he says, and I’m pretty sure there’s no air left in the room. “Lennon?” Daisy asks, sounding worried. Belatedly I realize she’s tugging on my arm. “Len?” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” But my voice is shaky, and it still feels hard to breathe. Holy shit. “Len—oh.” I finally manage to tear my eyes away from Haylee long enough to look back at Daisy. Her gaze has followed mine to the bar, and her eyes are

wide. “Who’s that?” “That’s, uh, Haylee Hunt. The singer. For Intrigue. The opener.” She looks up at me as I ramble on, and I know that she can see everything on my face. To my very great relief, she doesn’t smirk, though her eyes do seem to flash. “Want to go say hi?” Before I can answer, she’s half dragging me across the room. I’m still trying to catch my breath, still trying to make my brain work. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, why the sight of her has me so worked up. It’s not like I’ve never seen her before. I’ve been following Intrigue ever since we saw them play back in Houston. Hell, it was my idea for them to open for us in Europe. It wasn’t like it was a secret that she was gorgeous. If I needed any reminder of that, I got it a few weeks ago when I saw her in the rehearsal space. I was even more sure of it when I heard her sing. But none of that prepared me for seeing her now, and I have no idea why she seems so different. The clothes are part of it—she’d been dressed in jeans, Doc Martens, and an unbuttoned faded flannel shirt over a tank top that day at the rehearsal space. About as far from the purple leather dress in front of me as possible. There’s no denying the fact that her body is insane in a dress like that. But it’s not her body that has my palms

sweating and my chest feeling tight. It’s her face, I realize. She’s laughing, and it somehow transforms her. That thing that I saw in her eyes at the rehearsal space, that indefinable but so familiar, broken down something that I recognized immediately—it’s gone now. She’s laughing with her friend, her eyes bright, face relaxed, whatever secret worry that haunted her forgotten for a moment. She’s so beautiful. “Wait,” I tell Daisy, pulling on her hand as I stop dead in my tracks. “Daisy, wait.” She turns to face me, confused. “What?” “I… I can’t do this.” “You can’t go say hi?” She’s smiling, her tone light. She has no idea how close to freaking out I am. “No.” The smile immediately vanishes. “Lennon?” “I just… I just need…” I’m having trouble breathing again, for entirely different reasons this time, and Daisy’s eyes go wide. “What’s wrong?” I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. How can I explain to her that the idea of standing so close to something so beautiful makes me sick to my stomach? She’ll think I’m crazy. I am crazy. “I’m getting Reed,” she says, pulling away. “No.” The word is loud enough to cause

several heads to turn in our direction. “I just… I’m going to go outside.” “I’m coming with you.” “Please don’t.” The hurt and worry in her eyes sends a stab of guilt through me, but I’m turning away from her before I can even think of apologizing. I just want to get some air, try to get ahold of myself. Try to swallow the damn lump that’s lodged itself in my throat. “Lennon!” I ignore her and push through the crowd. Cash catches my eye from across the room, and I curse under my breath. He’ll follow me. Or Daisy will. Deal with them later, I tell myself. Just get out of this room. But then Levi is standing in front of me, and I really think I might start screaming. He takes one look at my face and grabs my arm, pulling me through the crowd. We’re probably causing a scene, but I don’t even care. When we reach the lobby, I move to the doors, but Levi tugs on my elbow. “There’s press outside.” Instead he pulls me in the opposite direction to a door marked Staff. He leads me through without knocking, ignoring the stares of the club employees we pass. Down a long hallway, through another set of doors, and we’re finally outside. It’s just an alley, and a pretty grimy one at that, but the fresh air is exactly what I needed, and

I take huge, gulping breaths. Levi stands a few feet away, watching me, silent. “Sorry,” I finally mumble. “I don’t, uh, know what that was.” “It’s okay.” He looks away, rubs his face. “You feel better?” “Yeah. A lot. Uh… thank you.” Levi shakes his head. “Nothing to thank me for. You… want to talk about it?” “No. Really, I’m fine.” He stares at me for a minute, clearly trying to decide if he should believe me. “Cash saw you,” he finally says. “Yeah. Daisy too.” “Want me to go in and head them off?” I’m so relieved I could hug him. The only thing I want in that moment is to be left alone. “Thank you.” He opens the door but pauses before walking through, turning back to me. “It’s not too late to call this off.” “Levi—” “I’m just saying, man. It’s never going to be too late, okay?” “I don’t want to call it off.” He nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced. Thankfully he doesn’t push it. “You’re not going to take off, are you?” “I’m going to sit right here in this shitty little

alley like a good boy, Levi.” He ignores my sarcastic tone. “I’ll see you in a while.” Once he’s gone, I grab a nearby milk crate, turn it over, and collapse onto it, trying to get myself under better control. I’ve had a lot of weird reactions to shit over the years, but this one has to take the cake. Never before has the sight of a pretty girl sent me into freak-out mode. I rub my forehead, wondering if I should call my shrink. That would be Daisy’s advice if I told her what set me off. I could practically hear her voice, the way it sounded when she was scared but trying to stay calm. “Dr. Jacobs can talk you through it,” she would say. I close my eyes, hating the idea of some therapist knowing my brain better than me. “Then talk yourself through it,” I mutter aloud. What the hell just happened? I was looking at Haylee and thinking how gorgeous she was. Thinking how happy she looked and how different it was from the way I saw her at our meeting. And that made me feel… Unworthy. Broken. I draw in a ragged breath, knowing I hit it on the head. The idea of talking to her freaked me out because I knew I didn’t deserve to talk to someone like her. I would just fuck it up, the way I fucked up

everything else. Seeing her in LA I thought, maybe, that we had some things in common. Thought she might be someone who could understand some of the sadness that seemed to plague me. But to see her so happy… I would just bring her down. I bring everything down. I can’t help her either. The errant thought startles me, making me sit up straight. Where did that come from? I can’t help her… either? Who else hadn’t I helped? There’s an itchy feeling in my chest that I don’t like, and my skin is warm. I close my eyes again, taking deep breaths. There’s a memory at the edge of my consciousness, trying to break through, and it scares me. I’ve had this struggle before, and it always freaks me out, this feeling that my brain is trying to remember something I would much rather leave forgotten. “Oh,” a soft voice says, making me jump. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” I spin on the milk crate to see Haylee standing there in the doorway, the light from the hallway beyond throwing her face into shadow. I feel a momentary panic—what if being close to her has me freaking out again? I don’t want to experience that in front of her. “I’ll just go back in,” she says, hesitant, and I realize I’ve been staring at her for a good twenty seconds without responding.

“No, it’s okay,” I say even though I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea. “Do you want to… sit?” She doesn’t answer for a minute. “You don’t mind?” “Not at all.” I grab another milk crate and turn it over a few feet from me. “Thanks,” she says, sounding relieved as she sits. “I just needed to get out of there for a minute.” “I know the feeling.” I realize that she’s added a bulky leather jacket over her dress to combat the cool air. The sleeves trail down over her wrists, way too big for her. It’s not her jacket, I think. One of her bandmates’? A sudden rush of jealousy has me shaking my head. You’re crazy, Lennon. “So, who are you running away from?” she asks. You, actually. “My brothers. They get a little… pushy.” Haylee pushes some loose hair out of her eyes. “I know the feeling.” “You have brothers?” She shakes her head. “No. But pushy bandmates is something I can relate to.” We sit in silence for a moment. “Is that why you needed to get out of there?” I ask. “Bandmates bugging you?” She shakes her head but doesn’t answer. It’s dark in the alleyway, but I somehow get the feeling

that if I were able to see her face better she would look a lot more like the girl I saw in the rehearsal space than the one whose beauty just took my breath away. She clears her throat. “Crowds sometimes are… hard for me.” “Me too.” She snorts. “We picked a damn good career to go into then, huh?” I find myself chuckling, a reaction I never would have imagined myself capable of only a few moments ago. Haylee laughs too, and the sound makes my breath catch. “Your brothers don’t seem to mind the crowd.” “Are you kidding me? My brothers are attention whores. They freaking love the crowd. Any crowd.” She laughs again, and I’m reminded of the feeling I got when we got nominated for our first Grammy award. “So you’re the quiet brother?” she asks, her voice playful. “Is it that obvious?” “There’s always a quiet brother,” she says. “Then I guess that would be me.” “That’s good to know. Before the tour starts.” “So you can avoid me and my maudlin ways?”

My eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and I can see that she’s smiling. “On the contrary. I like quiet.” “Me too.” And we sit there in the quiet for a long time, a few feet away from each other, the alley dark around us. A lot of people would be uncomfortable, just sitting there with a near stranger without talking. But Haylee doesn’t seem to mind. As for me, I’m feeling better than I have all night. There’s something comforting about it. Sitting in the dark without having to say a word. Without the pressure to fill the silence. “Why didn’t I meet you before?” she finally asks. “Back in Houston. I only remember Reed and Cash.” “We did meet. But I was by myself. And I didn’t tell you who I was.” She’s watching me, squinting at my face like she’s trying to remember. “Why not?” I shrug. “You were standing on your own, drinking a beer. And you’d just finished your set. I didn’t want to bug you. Sometimes… people get a little weird when they realize who we are. Who my brothers are, at least. Lots of times they don’t recognize me and…” I realize that I’m babbling. “Anyhow. I told you that you played a good set, and you thanked me. Not very memorable.” She’s still watching me. “I wish I had known.”

I shrug. “No big deal.” She makes a funny noise in the back of her throat. “Well, the only thing I do remember is Cash. I was pretty wasted, to be honest. But I remember Cash—” “He hit on you.” It’s not a question. I already know the answer. It was before Sam. Of course he hit on her. “Yeah.” “And that’s all you remembered about us.” I have a sudden memory of her face at the rehearsal space, how pissed she looked when she started that last song. I’d gotten the feeling then that she didn’t think very much of us. “He’s gotten a lot better,” I assure her. “He was fine.” I sigh. “Knowing how Cash was, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t.” “Believe me, I’ve seen much worse.” Her voice has suddenly gone hard. “How much worse are we talking?” I blurt out, the thought of some guy pushing beyond Cash’s brand of creepy flirting making my stomach sink. “It’s no big deal.” But it’s obvious she’s lying. Whatever she’s referring to, it most certainly was a big deal to her. She had some kind of problem with security. The thought comes from nowhere, the recollection

as hazy as it is sudden. I scan my memory, trying to come up with the details, but little surfaces. I definitely remember people from the label mentioning her name a few years back, some kind of fan situation. They’d gotten really concerned about security. A stalker? I think it happened shortly after we met her in Houston, around the time Daisy and Daltrey were going through all of their drama. I would have been distracted… “You can just ask me,” she snaps, and my eyes go to her face. Even in the dark I can see her scowl. She looks mad. “I know what you’re thinking.” “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. And I am. I know what it feels like to have people wondering about you, trying to piece together all the details of some sordid little scandal in your life. “What you said, about seeing worse, it made me remember that I heard something about you, but I can’t really…” From the look on her face, I’m not doing a very good job appeasing her. “I’m sorry,” I say again, feeling lame. “You really don’t know?” she asks, her tone disbelieving. I shrug. “I try to ignore most of those industry rumors. And if I’m remembering the timing right, one of my brothers was having his own share of drama at the time…” She narrows her eyes, searching my face, and

I get the sense she’s trying to decide whether to believe me. “It’s a shame you didn’t pay attention.” Her voice is so bitter it actually sends a chill down my spine. “It was a great story. Lots of drama and excitement—everyone was talking about it, you know. Up-and-coming singer gets held at gunpoint by a crazy stalker.” I wince—the wrong move, apparently. Her eyes narrow further. “That’s not even the best part. Because after it was over, I completely lost my shit. And there’s nothing our business loves to gossip about more than a girl who can’t deal, right?” “Haylee—” She stands. “On second thought, maybe air wasn’t such a good idea.” She’s at the door before I can even move, pausing to look back at me. She’s bathed in neon light now, her expression clear for the first time since she came outside. She may as well be wearing a mask, her features are so tight, her eyes so empty. “Don’t worry, you can always ask your contacts at the label for all the juicy details.” Then she’s gone, leaving me alone in the dark, wondering how I managed to screw that up so badly.

Chapter Five Haylee “I hate this,” Dylan mutters, hunching his shoulders up as he slumps lower in his seat on the plane. “Whose idea was this, anyhow?” He shudders. “Flying across an entire ocean. Insanity.” “That’s how you get to Europe.” Lance’s tone resembles that of someone explaining something very simple to a small child. “How did you not realize there would be flying and oceans involved?” “Fuck off, Lance,” Dylan says, shutting his eyes tightly as he grips his arm rests. “We haven’t even taken off yet,” I point out from my seat across the aisle. “We’re just, like, sitting here.” “But we’re going to,” Dylan moans. “Oh, for God’s sake.” Layla pulls out her phone and reaches over me to point it in Dylan’s direction. “What are you doing?” Lance asks. “Recording this so I can shove it in his face the next time he annoys me.” “Your support means so much, Layla,” Dylan

snaps. “You’re all incredibly helpful, just what a guy would want in his bandmates. Assholes.” “Hey, I offered you some of my drugs,” I say, but unfortunately Louis chooses that moment to walk by on his way up to his seat. He glares down at us. “Would you all please shut up,” he practically growls. “Swearing and talking about drugs on a public airplane—what are you thinking? The Ransomes are right up there.” Lance affects an expression of mock horror. “Imagine—rock stars talking about drugs.” “And swearing!” I add as Layla laughs next to me. “The rock stars on this plane are not sitting back here,” Louis says, silencing every one of us. He grins, clearly enjoying putting us in our place, as we all glare up at him. “Now behave yourselves.” “Asshole,” Layla says under her breath. “He kind of has a point,” I say. “The real rock stars are up in first.” “Which is kinda lame, if you think about it,” James says, sticking his head between our seats. “Why do they get all the perks?” “Um, maybe because they have three multiplatinum albums?” I ask. He waves his hand dismissively. “But we’re supposed to be their guests.” “We’re not their guests, we’re here to do a

job.” I gesture around the cabin at the assorted roadies sitting back in coach with us. “Just like everyone on their crew.” “Whatever. You’re a much better singer than Daltrey. We’re totally due for some first-class perks.” “The man has a point.” I look up to see none other than Lennon Ransome standing in the aisle next to my seat. “Shit,” Layla mutters under her breath. I kind of wish I could see James’s face—from the dead silence behind me I’m sure he’s gaping wordlessly at the rock star, probably opening and closing his mouth that way he does when he’s at a loss for words. It would be kind of funny—if his screwup didn’t affect all of us. Getting overheard talking shit about the headlining band—by a member of that band, no less—was firmly in the territory of Louisis-going-to-kill-us. But Lennon doesn’t look angry. In fact, he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Dude, I am so sorry,” James finally manages to get out. “We were just messing around and—” Lennon holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually why I came back here. We didn’t realize that the label put you guys in coach. Dad took care of it—we have seats for you up front.” Layla gasps. “Seriously? In first?” Lennon shrugs, his eyes meeting mine.

Definitely trying not to laugh. “Of course. You are our guests, after all.” I feel a sudden stab of guilt. The last time I saw him, I lashed out at him because he had the audacity to bring up the stalking situation. He hadn’t deserved my ire—he was completely polite about it, and he clearly felt awful for bringing it up. I knew I’d behaved childishly by the time I got inside the club, but I was too embarrassed to go back out there to apologize. Which was totally like me—get pissed, go off on someone, feel bad about it. Some patterns are harder to break than others. Lennon has turned his attention to the others, who are all looking up at him like he’s some kind of deity come to life. The patron saint of compassionate airline seating. “Come on,” he says, making a hurry-it-up motion with his hands. “We’re taking off soon. You need to get settled.” My bandmates practically trip over themselves to get out of their seats and gather their things, thanking Lennon profusely as they do so. Even Dylan seems to have momentarily gotten over his fear of flying at the promise of first-class accommodations. Lennon merely laughs off their gratitude. “It’s not really a big deal. Hurry up, come on.” We dutifully file up the aisle behind him. I don’t see Louis, and I wonder if he’s being afforded the same courtesy. I hope not. It would serve him

right to be back here all cramped while we live it up at the front. “God, I feel like such an asshole,” James mutters behind me. “You sounded like one too,” I say helpfully. He pokes me in the back, hard. I’m about to retaliate when we step through the curtains into the front of the plane. The label has put us up in first a few times over the years—but never on an international flight. On those occasions we’d always joked around about how cool and high class we were. But those experiences had nothing on this. “Did you know there would be beds?” Dylan hisses. “God, play it cool, Dylan,” Layla says, flouncing toward the seat the flight attendant indicates. She perches at the edge, looking up at me. “I look good in first, don’t I?” I laugh and take the seat across the aisle from her. “I guess this isn’t too bad.” James lets out a snort of laughter that sounds almost hysterical. It is kind of funny, the five of us enjoying digs like this. We didn’t even have a proper tour bus the last time we were on the road. Before I can tell him to get it together, the flight attendant comes over the speaker informing us takeoff is imminent and we need to buckle in. My friends quickly take the seats the other flight

attendant indicates. We’re more spread out in this cabin than we were in coach, probably because our tickets were last minute add-ons. Layla is in an individual seat across the aisle, James one seat ahead of her. Dylan and Lance have disappeared somewhere up near the front. I catch sight of Cash Ransome a few rows ahead. Everyone else is hidden by the privacy booths surrounding the seats. I feel a little giddy—this is definitely cool. Until someone slides into the previously empty seat right next to me. “Hey,” Lennon says, buckling his seat belt. “I guess we’re neighbors.” I raise an eyebrow at him, wondering how much of a coincidence this can be. He definitely seems like the type to want to make amends for the awkwardness of our alley encounter. “If that’s okay with you,” he says, sounding uncertain. “Yeah, ’cause I’m going to tell the guy that got us seats in first class to fuck off.” He grins. “I’m not above using my dad’s generosity to get on your good side.” “You don’t need to get on my good side. You aren’t on my bad side.” His face clouds over. “What happened at the party was—” “Not a big deal. Really.” His eyebrows go up. “It seemed like a pretty big deal when you stormed inside.”

I give him my most winning smile, the one I usually save up for meetings with the label or interviews. “I have a tendency to overreact.” He smiles, starts to say something, and suddenly cuts off, gripping the arms of his seat a little. I realize that the plane has started to move. “You okay?” He nods, looking straight ahead. His face is almost blank, no obvious signs of fear like I could see on Dylan earlier. But he’s breathing through his nose, big, steady breaths that look very intentional. I’m not sure what to say. Should I try to distract him? He looks pretty methodical in his breathing, like it’s a practiced thing. Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt him— “I don’t really like flying,” he says, not turning his head. “Don’t you do a lot of it?” He nods. “I’ve gotten a lot better. It’s just the takeoff that bothers me now. And the landing.” “That makes sense. I think I read once that most plane crashes occur during the climb or descent.” He winces, the next few breaths even larger than the last ones. “Sorry. That was kind of dumb.” He nods, closing his eyes briefly as the plane gains speed. It looks like we’re getting to the runway, about to taxi. Lennon is completely still next to me, save for those deep, regular breaths that

move his chest up and down, up and down. Steady and rhythmic. I feel like any remaining nerves I might have about the flight could be calmed just by watching his chest move like that. “I’m not a fan of flying either,” I say. He grimaces a little, eyes still closed. “You seem to be handling it better than me.” “I took something,” I say. “I have extras if you—” “No thanks.” There’s something so decisive in his tone that I feel a little chastised. “They’re legal,” I say, defensive. “Just Xanax.” Of course, I also have a variety of not so legal, or, more precisely, not so legally obtained, medical aids in my purse, but I don’t mention that. “It’s not a good idea for me,” he says. “Thanks, though.” There’s something in his tone I don’t like. Something… self-deprecating, maybe. Or shameful. I watch his face, his expression tightening as the plane begins to taxi, picking up speed, bumping across the runway. His breathing isn’t so steady anymore, and I wonder just how scared he is, hidden behind the tight, blank expression on his face. “Hey,” I blurt out, not really thinking about what I’ll say, just knowing that I don’t want him to look like that anymore. “Want me to distract you?”

He opens his eyes, actually turning his face to look at me. His eyes are dark, definitely afraid, but a little hopeful too. “What’d you have in mind?” “We could… um… play a game?” His eyes snap toward the front of the plane. I think the slight panic on his face might have to do with our imminent takeoff, but then he says, “I wouldn’t say that word so loud if I was you.” “What word?” “Game.” He whispers it, like it’s some kind of dirty word. “Why?” The plane lifts off, but Lennon seems pretty calm as he faces me again. “Did you by any chance meet Paige at the party?” I scrunch up my face, trying to put a face to the name. “Black-haired chick?” I ask. “Nose ring?” He nods. “She does graphic design for the band. And she’s dating Reed.” I can picture her clearly now, hanging on Reed’s arm, smiling broadly as we were introduced. “She seemed nice.” “Oh, she’s nice,” Lennon says, something wry in his voice. “But believe me when I tell you that you don’t want her to ever hear you say the word game.” “Why?” “Just trust me. You’ll find out soon enough.”

I shrug. “Whatever you say.” As the wheels come up, the plane shudders slightly before turning sharply. Lennon clutches the armrests again. “So what kind of… game… did you have in mind?” Even in his obvious fear he still manages to whisper the word game. Apparently he was not joking around about whatever danger would occur if Paige heard us talking about such things. I search my mind for an appropriate game to play on an airplane with a near stranger. Having experienced the need to waste time on dozens of road trips, rehearsals, recording sessions, and meetings, the band has developed quite a repertoire of silly games. However, most of them were of the decidedly… vulgar variety. “How about I Spy?” He raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?” I shrug. “Too babyish?” “There’s also the fact that we’re stuck on an airplane. Not a whole lot of variety to spy around here.” I glance around the cabin and see that he’s right. With the privacy booths, I can barely make out the tops of people’s heads. “Hmm.” The band and I actually played a game on the shuttle ride to the airport, but I highly doubt playing Chuck, Fuck, or Marry with Lennon Ransome is a good idea. “What about Never Have I Ever?”

He scrunches up his face. “I think I know that one.” I quickly go through the rules. “Of course, we’ll need some alcohol.” Lennon stills a little. I remember what he said about Xanax being a bad idea for him, about the shame I heard in his voice. Maybe he doesn’t drink, either. “Or,” I say, reaching into my purse and pulling out a bag of M&Ms, “we could play the PG version.” He smiles. “I don’t usually say no to chocolate. Besides, they won’t serve alcohol until the seat belt light turns off.” As if on cue, the plane gives another shudder, and Lennon winces. “Well, if I’m supposed to be distracting you from takeoff I guess we shouldn’t wait until we’re at cruising altitude, huh?” He smiles, and I feel something flutter in my chest. Careful, a voice in my head whispers. The quiet ones are always the most dangerous. I sling the M&Ms onto the armrest. “Okay, I’ll go first. Never Have I Ever… played a show in Europe.” He rolls his eyes, reaching for the bag. “You already knew the answer to that one.” “I’m just warming up.” He shakes a few M&Ms into his hand and pops them into his mouth. “Okay, my turn. Never Have I Ever… gone skinny-dipping.” I immediately

reach for the candy, and his eyebrows go up. “I’m gonna need to hear that story.” “There’s not much to tell. We were singing at this fundraiser for an art museum outside of Detroit. Real swanky, boring thing, you know?” “I’m having trouble seeing how you guys fit in.” I roll my eyes. “Louis managed to get us cleaned up enough to not look out of place. We played jazz standards for two hours.” I shudder, and Lennon laughs. “Anyhow, when our set was over we had to stick around and schmooze with everyone. So lame. But there was an open bar…” I shrug. “I’m sure you can see what happened.” He laughs. “Actually the connection between a boring museum party with an open bar and skinny-dipping isn’t very clear to me.” I grin. “The museum had a sculpture garden. With a rather large duck pond in the middle.” Lennon laughs harder, and I join in. “I hadn’t thought about that night in a while.” “Europe has a lot of art museums,” he says. “Maybe you’ll get to relive the glory days.” “Oh, God. Louis would kill me. We’re under strict orders to be on our best behavior on this tour.” “Why’s that?” “Probably because we usually aren’t.” Lennon laughs again, and I decide I like the sound.

It’s low and rumbly, and I can almost feel it vibrate in my own chest. “And because he thinks this is a good opportunity for us.” “Well, I won’t encourage shenanigans then.” “You guys aren’t the type to find yourselves skinny-dipping in art museum ponds?” “We used to get into some trouble.” He leans back in his chair, and I notice that he’s no longer clutching the arm rests. “Mostly of the drunk and stupid rock star variety.” I nod. “A condition I know well.” “Most of that was before Cash got his act together. He was the ring leader.” Lennon shakes his head, his eyes gleaming. Another warning bell goes off in my head, my own gaze glued to those gleaming eyes. “Always been a troublemaker.” “Why’d he go straight?” “Usual reason.” Lennon grins. “A girl.” Ah. So that was why he stopped being so flirty. “Is she nice?” “Very nice. And good for him. She’ll be coming over when we’re in Paris.” Toward the end of the tour, Ransom will be performing in a live-streaming concert in Paris. It’s a pretty big deal, the label expecting it to air for millions of people. So we’ll be staying in Paris for an entire week for rehearsals. I’m really looking forward to it. From the looks of the jam-packed schedule in the other stops, it will be our only real

chance to explore a European city. “I take it you’ve been to Paris before?” Lennon nods. “It’s probably my favorite city in Europe.” “What’s so good about it?” He looks a little embarrassed. “Well, there are a lot of art museums.” “And you’re excited about that?” He narrows his eyes a little, but he’s smiling. “You sound like my brothers. I happen to like art.” “Really?” “You don’t believe me?” I shrug. “I’ve just never met many rock stars who look forward to spending their time in a quiet museum.” There’s a chorus of raised voices near the front, followed by loud laughter. Sounded like Cash. I raise an eyebrow and make a face that clearly says, See? “Didn’t we discuss this, Haylee?” he asks. “I’m the quiet brother.” His voice is light and playful, but something in his eyes tells me those words have more meaning than he wants to let on. “I wonder what that’s like,” I muse. “To be quiet, I mean.” He grins. “I take it you’re not the quiet one in your band?” I snort. “I don’t think there is a quiet one. We’re all pretty loud and obnoxious.”

A flight attendant appears at Lennon’s side, startling me. “Your menus,” she says, handing one to each of us. I flip mine open and read through the options. Filet of beef with truffle-infused fingerling potatoes… sea bass with rosemary asparagus… vegetarian potato gnocchi with sweet potato coulis. “Um,” I say after a moment. “I thought airline food was supposed to be awful?” Lennon looks up from his own menu. “Another first-class perk,” he explains. “The food is actually pretty good.” He grimaces a little, stretching his leg. “You okay?” “I broke it this summer,” he explains, stretching again. “It’s still pretty achy.” “Oh, that’s right. I read you had an accident.” I raise my eyebrows. “Motorcycle accident? That sounds pretty rock and roll. I thought you were the quiet brother.” He smiles, but it looks rather pained. Before I can ask him for the details, the attendant returns to take our order. Having no idea what many of these foods are, I opt for the beef, and Lennon follows suit. “To drink?” she asks. “Wine? A cocktail?” I knew if I was sitting with Dylan or James we’d be giggling about the free booze, pretending to be big-shot rock stars. But Lennon calmly orders a beer, so I order red wine, trying to play it cool. “I wasn’t sure if you drank,” I tell him once

the attendant’s gone. “Why’s that?” “You seemed a little… tense when I said Never Have I Ever was a drinking game.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve offended him. Finally he looks up, and I’m struck by how tired his eyes look. “I drink a little. I just try not to overdo it, I guess. Drinking games… that feels like overdoing it. For me.” He clears his throat. “Right now, at least.” Okay, so clearly there’s more to that issue than he’s letting on, but I have no intention of pushing it. I know what it’s like not to want to share more than you’re willing. I gesture at the candy between us. “We’re kind of slacking in the game department.” “Ooh, did someone say game?” I look up to see the black-haired girl from the party smiling down at us, and Lennon groans. “I warned you,” he mutters. “Hush, Lennon,” the girl—Paige—says, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m only asking.” “We’re just messing around, Paige,” he says, pushing the bag of M&Ms into my lap, as if wanting them out of view. “No big deal.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Lennon Ransome, I was just asking a question. You don’t have to get all secretive.”

“Okay, babe,” a male voice says, coming up behind her. The drummer. Reed. “Let’s just move along, all right?” “Fine.” She crosses her arms and heads back up the aisle. “I don’t understand why no one ever wants to play games with me,” she says, her voice trailing off as she leaves my hearing range. “I’m awesome at games…” “Sorry,” Reed says, watching her go. “She gets a little… intense about games.” “That’s one way to put it,” Lennon mutters. “Anyhow.” Reed looks down at us, smiling. But it’s a strange kind of smile. Guarded. Or maybe… his eyes flick between his younger brother and me, and the smile tightens. Worried. That’s what it is. “How’re you guys doing?” “Fine, Reed,” Lennon says. His voice is perfectly pleasant, but I detect a warning note in there somewhere. Again Reed’s eyes flick to me. “I thought you were sitting with Levi,” he says, eyes on Lennon now. “Levi is sitting with Dad.” Yeah, definitely a warning note. “We were going to have a band meeting,” Reed begins, but Lennon cuts him off. “Dad said we were supposed to get some rest on the flight. If you guys decide to have a meeting, I guess Levi will come get me, won’t he?” Reed is staring hard at his brother now.

“Okay, Len. I just… okay.” “See you around, Reed.” “Um, it was nice talking to you,” I say. Reed manages a tight smile in my direction before following his girlfriend up the aisle. “Well,” I say after a moment. “That was kind of weird.” Lennon releases a huge breath, his eyes on his feet. He takes another breath, then another, doing that deliberate, calming thing he was doing before. After a few seconds, he looks up at me. “I’m sorry. He was kind of a jerk.” “No, he was fine—” But Lennon waves me off. “He’s just…” He groans, running his hands through his hair. “He’s just suffocating me.” It seems a strange thing to say. “Why?” Lennon looks down at the M&Ms. “I’m sorry, Haylee, that question wasn’t in the correct Never Have I Ever form.” Okay, so he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. I’m good at distraction. I pick up the bag of candy, narrowing my eyes. And for the next ten minutes I toss out the most outrageous behaviors I can think of, drawing from my own history of shenanigans, as Lennon called them. By the time the flight attendant returns with our dinners, he’s laughing, the dark, angry look finally gone from his eyes.

As we eat, he tells me about other trips to Europe, what they did in various cities, what he hopes to get a chance to see this time. I, in turn, regale him with tales of our last half-assed tour in the States, staying in shit motels and searching daily for different ways to torture Louis for putting us through it. I’m surprised when Lennon offers stories of his own about less glamorous tours. Apparently Ransom had performed in half the dives in the Midwest, traveling in a broken- down van for weeks at a time. It’s strange to think about them before they hit it big. It seems like they’ve been such a huge name for so long. Our dinner is cleared and the cabin lights dimmed. On the other side of the aisle, Layla watches a movie on the small touch-screen TV attached to her seat. She’s bundled up in a blanket, her seat lowered until it’s practically horizontal. One by one, the other passengers in our section recline their seats, some wearing sleeping masks, some watching TV. “You want to get some rest?” I ask Lennon, and he visibly blanches. “Uh, nah. I’m not that tired.” He gestures at the blankets behind the armrest, wrapped up in their protective plastic bags. “But you can feel free.” “I’m not really tired either.” It’s true, of course, if only half the story. But

what’s the point of telling him the rest? Actually, I’m never all that tired. And when I am, I can’t sleep anyways. Unless I have a hell of a lot more liquor in me than a glass of red wine. That would make me sound real good. And why are you so concerned with sounding good to him? I ask myself. “We could watch a movie,” he says, gesturing at the TV in front of him. His eyes meet mine, dark and clear, and something in my chest lurches in response. He has beautiful eyes. “Or we could just talk.” “Sure,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. This is probably a bad idea. I should shove some headphones over my ears, focus on a movie. Anything but sit here in the dark, talking to Lennon Ransome. He’s a nice guy—that’s obvious. But nice guys are too easy to hurt. And I really don’t want to hurt Lennon. When I look in his eyes—it’s obvious it wouldn’t be the first time. Something else has hurt this guy, something else has broken him down. If there’s one thing I can recognize, it’s someone who’s seen the same kind of darkness that I have. He obviously doesn’t need more darkness in his life. And that’s exactly what I would be. But I don’t turn away, despite the warnings in my head. I don’t turn on a movie. I don’t find some other way of distracting myself. When Lennon

reclines his seat a little, I do too. And when he hands me my blanket—a surprisingly comfortable feather duvet—I wrap up in it, mirroring his posture when he lies on his side so that we’re facing each other. And then we talk. We talk about our bands and our families. I find myself telling him about my mom, about the old days back in Detroit when she would drag me from dive to dive or set me up busking on a street corner. I tell him about meeting James in that coffeehouse all those years ago, about how forming a band with him had been like finding freedom from my mom’s constant, suffocating stage mothering. In turn, he tells me about his brothers, how they’d been playing since they were kids, how they were raised by their dad—who sounds like he could actually give Jess a run for her money as a stage parent. He tells me about Daisy, Daltrey’s girlfriend and one of Lennon’s best friends. About Levi, a friend so close he sounds more like a brother, their former head roadie and current tour manager. We don’t talk about the dark stuff. We don’t talk about why neither of us desires sleep as it grows later and later. We don’t talk about the look on Reed’s face earlier or about the reason Lennon looked so tired when we ordered our dinner drinks. We don’t talk about the stalking bombshell I dropped on him at the party. We don’t talk about

his breathing technique or my purse full of Xanax. And somehow, as our plane continues east over the Atlantic, as the sun begins to rise in front of us, I realize that Lennon Ransome has kept the darkness at bay. At least for a little while.

Chapter Six Lennon “So. This is Newcastle, huh?” Daisy asks, staring out the window at the steady drizzle of rain and fog. “Isn’t it charming?” Levi asks, his voice flat as he reaches for his coffee cup. “It actually has its high points,” I say. Before I can expound on what those points might be, my attention is distracted by the sight of Haylee crossing the hotel lobby into the small restaurant where we now sit. Her bassist, James, is with her, talking rapidly, gesturing with both hands. Haylee is wearing sunglasses despite the rain—and the fact that she’s inside. As James’s voice rises, she visibly winces. I grin to myself, knowing the signs of a monster hangover when I see one. “Wow,” Levi says, and I tear my attention away from Haylee to look at him. His eyebrows are raised, a knowing look on his face. “The singer, huh?” he asks, his smirk widening. “Not a bad choice.” “Shut up, Levi,” I mutter, reaching for my

own coffee cup and trying to ignore the look my two oldest friends share across the table. “I think she’s nice,” Daisy says, her eyes on the pair as they find a seat. She focuses on my face. “You guys have been spending a bit of time together.” “Not really,” I say quickly. After that flight— God, that amazing flight—I had hoped we could explore our connection, spend some time together. But in the week and a half we’ve been on the road, Haylee has been distant. Friendly. Social with the band and the crew. But that fleeting connection we found—or, at least, I thought we found—flying across the ocean seemed to have been silenced. I don’t like how much that bothers me. “You’ve been hanging out after every show,” Levi points out. “Yeah, with the rest of the band and half the crew.” “You had breakfast together in Manchester.” I glare at him. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Levi?” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Len. I have absolutely nothing else to do besides babysit your lame ass.” He gestures at the thick folder in front of him, filled, I know, with details about our itinerary. Levi’s recent promotion from head roadie to tour manager has added to his workload considerably. The fact that he’s separated from Karen for the first

time in weeks doesn’t seem to be helping his mood. “Why don’t you talk to her?” Daisy asks, ignoring our sniping. “You guys seemed to hit it off so well on the plane.” She smiles. “I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and you were still up talking.” If I close my eyes, I can see her face, the way it looked that night in the darkened cabin. We reclined our seats and turned our heads to face each other—and sat like that all night, talking about pretty much everything. Well, not everything. I didn’t tell her about the accident. Or any of the other bullshit that currently has my brothers and Levi so worked up. And that was the problem, really. I sigh, running my hands through my hair. What in the hell do I have to offer a girl like Haylee? Daisy frowns, as if she’s reading my thoughts. “You should talk to her. You’re a catch, Len.” “You really think I’m in the best shape to be… I don’t know. Wooing someone?” Levi snorts but covers his mouth when I glare at him. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one who heard me. “Who are you wooing?” Paige squeals. “Oh, dear God,” I mutter, closing my eyes. This was just what I needed. “Shh,” Daisy tells her, shooting a glance over at Haylee’s table. Which is just fantastic, because

Paige’s head turns to follow Daisy’s glance. “Oh my God,” she whispers, as excited as I’ve ever heard her. “You like Haylee!” “Shut up, Paige,” I say as Daisy reaches over and grabs her friend’s arm, pulling her into a chair. “She didn’t hear me,” Paige says easily. She can see Haylee’s table from her vantage point. “She’s just talking to James. I think she has a hangover.” She turns back to me, eyes flashing. I’m in so much trouble. “When did this happen?” “Nothing happened, Paige. Daisy and Levi are just giving me a hard time.” Paige is stroking her cheek, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You do stare at her a lot.” “I do not!” “And you guys talked, like, that entire flight.” “I hate my life.” I reach for my mug. Of course, it’s empty. Perfect. A conversation with Paige about my love life and there isn’t even any coffee. “I think it’s great,” she’s saying. “She seems really nice, and you deserve someone nice, Len.” “Paige, please don’t make a big deal of this,” I say. “There is nothing going on, okay?” “But if you like her—” “I didn’t say that I liked her.” She waves away my words. “Please. I totally have an eye for this. I can tell.” Levi tries to cover a laugh, and I turn to him,

glaring. “This is your fault, ass.” “Oh, come on, Len.” He pushes my shoulder lightly. “It’s not a big deal. So you like a girl. We’re not in kindergarten anymore.” “No, we’re not,” I say, voice strained. “We’re at work.” “Oh, don’t be so uptight,” Paige says. “I hooked up with Reed on tour, and look at how well that’s turned out!” “I’m not feeling like it turned out so well for me at this particular moment, Paige.” “What we need,” she says, reaching for Levi’s notebook, “is a plan.” “No,” I say firmly. “Please. No plans.” I look to Daisy for help, but she’s clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry,” she says, straightening. “Paige, I don’t think Len is really ready—” “You know what I think?” Paige interrupts, crossing her arms and looking at me. “I think you’ve spent enough time feeling bad about things. You deserve to have a little fun, Lennon.” I sigh, wondering how it’s possible both to want to strangle her and to feel touched at the same time. That was Paige for you. “If something was going to happen, Paige—” I hold up my hand at the look of joy on her face —“and I’m not saying that it will,” I add quickly. “But if it was, I would want it to happen naturally,

okay? No plans.” She pouts. “But plans are so fun.” “Oh, God,” Reed says, appearing at the side of our table. “What’s she trying to drag us all into now?” But he’s smiling at her as he takes the empty seat next to his girlfriend. I, on the other hand, couldn’t feel less like smiling. It was bad enough that Paige overheard us talking about Haylee. I have no desire for my brothers to get in on the topic. I try to get her attention, scowling, but she ignores me. “I’m trying to convince your brother that he should make a move on Haylee.” Great. Just great. Reed’s gaze flickers across the room to Haylee, his eyes narrowing before he turns back to me. “Haylee?” “It’s nothing,” I say. But even as I hope he’ll drop it, some emotion in my chest is pricked by the look on his face. The narrowed eyes, the worry lines in his forehead. It couldn’t be clearer that Reed, at least, thinks Haylee and I would be a very bad idea. “I don’t think it’s nothing,” Paige says primly. “I think you should butt out,” I snap, my voice much harsher than I intend. Her eyes widen a little bit, and I immediately feel bad. “I’m sorry.” I sigh. “Just drop it, okay?” “Okay,” she says, her voice small. “I just

wanted… you know I just want you to be happy, right?” “I’m fine, Paige.” “Sweetie,” Reed says, his voice tight. “Why don’t you take Daisy and Levi upstairs so Lennon and I can talk.” Paige’s eyes flash between me and her boyfriend, and I’m not sure which one of us has hurt her feelings more. “Okay,” she says again, standing. “I’ll… see you later then.” Levi stands to follow her, but Daisy remains in her seat, arms crossed. “Daisy,” Reed says, a little louder. A little sharper. “I need to talk to Lennon.” “It’s fine,” I say, feeling exhausted before the lecture even starts. I nod at her, and she sighs a little, standing. “You be nice,” she mutters to Reed as she passes, hand on her belly. Pregnancy seems to be making Daisy a bit more defensive than normal. Or maybe she’s just more worried about me than she lets on. “I’m sorry I snapped at Paige,” I say the moment they’ve gone, hoping to head off the reaming that I’m sure is coming my way. But Reed waves my apology away. “I’m not worried about that right now.” That would be a first. My brother is usually fiercely protective of Paige. But his eyes remain

narrowed as he searches my face. “I want to talk to you about Haylee.” “Jesus.” I rub my hands roughly across my face. “Not you too.” But from the look on his face I’m fairly certain that Reed’s intention is not to help me get the girl. He clears his throat. “Do you really think you’re ready for something like that?” “Something like what?” I don’t bother to keep the edge out of my voice. His gaze is steady, and I’m suddenly struck by how much he looks like Dad. “A relationship, Lennon.” “There’s no relationship, Reed,” I snap back. “That was just Levi giving me a hard time and Paige getting carried away.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches my face. “I saw you with her on the plane.” “We sat together.” My temper is rising. “We talked.” “Lennon—” “And it’s none of your goddamn business, Reed.” I’ve had enough of the condescension in his voice, enough of the judgment. He really does think I’m some stupid kid who needs looking after. “It is my business. I’m worried—” I stand up so fast I knock my chair over. “Do you have any idea how fucking tired I am of

hearing you say that?” He stands too, eyes blazing. “We all agreed that if we came on this tour we were going to be open with each other.” “I didn’t agree to you babysitting me for six weeks, Reed. You have no right to tell me what to do.” Heads are swiveling in our direction at our raised voices, but I couldn’t care less. “Lennon, I’m just trying to help you—” “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it,” I say, pushing past him. I need to get away from my oldest brother, and fast. It’s been a long time since any of us got into a punching match, and I doubt the hotel restaurant is a good place to renew the pastime. He grabs my arm as I pass. “Please just talk to me.” Something in his voice has me staring up into his eyes. He looks the same way he’s looked for a while now. Scared. The familiar mix of guilt and annoyance bubbles in my chest. “You know what, sometimes I wish I could,” I say. “But I find it difficult to talk to someone who so clearly has lost all respect for me.” “Lennon!” I ignore his cry, pulling my arm away and striding from the table, willing him not to follow. I really will punch him, I think, ignoring the stares of the other diners as I go. I push through the glass front doors out into the misty afternoon, taking

deep breaths of the cool air. And walk straight into Haylee and James, who appear to be sharing a cigarette under the overhang. “Shit,” I mutter, reaching out to grasp James’s shoulders after nearly knocking him over. “Sorry, man. Wasn’t watching where I was going.” “It’s okay.” He shoots a glance at Haylee, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. “Ready to head up?” But she’s watching my face, her eyes concerned. “You go on,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll be up in a minute.” James doesn’t move. “You sure?” he finally asks, his voice heavy. It occurs to me that my older brother might not be the only person who doesn’t want me hanging out with Haylee. The thought has my heart pounding in anger all over again. “I’m fine, James,” she says, her voice sharp. “I’ll see you in a little while.” He stands next to her for a minute, and I try to ignore the way he’s looking from her to me. Finally he sighs. “I’ll be in my room.” He goes, and I slump against the brick wall of the hotel. Haylee mimics my pose. “You doing okay?” “My brother,” I say, by way of explanation. She peers at my face for a minute as if she can sense there’s more to the story. For a second, I’m tempted to tell her everything. The accident, the

horrible scene in the hospital when my brothers found out about all of my secrets. The weeks I spent at Horizons, trying to get my shit together. But then I think of the way Reed just looked at me, worried, scared, certain of my inability to take care of myself. I think of Haylee looking at me that way and suppress a shudder. “You want to get out of here?” she asks, surprising me. “Yeah?” She grins, bumping my shoulder with hers. “I’m pretty hungry. And you clearly need a break from the Ransom machine.” I’m surprised to hear the sound of my own laugh. I thought I was beyond laughing today. “Come on,” she urges, slipping her sunglasses up on top of her head. Her eyes are red rimmed and small. Definitely a hangover. And she still looks gorgeous. “I need some food.” “Then let’s get some food.” I hold out my hand, holding my breath. But then she takes it, grinning, and I suddenly feel a hell of a lot better. *** Three hours later, Haylee and I sneak down the hall toward her hotel room. I’m pretty hammered, to be honest, and from the way Haylee needs to stop every few minutes to giggle, I think she might be too. “Shh,” I say, leaning against the wall. “I told

you my brothers will totally kill the vibe if they see me.” I laugh a little myself. “That’s kind of funny. That they’ve turned into the vibe killers. And I’m the one who has a vibe.” Haylee giggles again, holding my arm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I snort, clapping my other hand over my mouth, and she slides her hand down from my arm to my fingers, clutching them tightly. “Let’s go.” Somehow we manage to get down the rest of the hall and into her room. It’s smaller than mine, just an armchair, a desk, and a bed. A really comfortable-looking bed. Haylee is standing against the door, breathing heavily, a huge grin on her face. “I feel better,” I say. “I know. You’ve been saying that for the last two hours.” I probably have. After we left the hotel, we found an open pub serving food. We ate bangers and mash, washing it down with the brown ale the city was famous for, and talked about anything except for my brothers. Something about being with her made me forget how shitty I felt only an hour before. Something in how she smiled at me, the way her eyes sparkled up at me when I made her laugh. I have spent so much of my life being the quiet one, the sullen one. What did Cash always say? Emo. It was nice to be the one making the

pretty girl laugh for once. And the beer helped too. Once our tipsiness turned to sloppiness, Haylee suggested we go back to her room to raid the minibar. I didn’t tell her that getting wasted in the middle of the afternoon—on a show day, no less—was out of character for me. And definitely something my doctors at Horizons would have frowned upon. Because I didn’t want to think about that, not when Haylee was holding my hand, leaning into my shoulder, her body warm and close to mine. Not when she was laughing like that. “So,” she says. “So.” We stand on opposite sides of the room, watching each other. Something seems to crackle in the air between us, some energy I haven’t felt in a long time. Something like wanting. “You ready for that drink?” I finally ask, my voice husky in my ears. “I’m ready for something else.” I’ve crossed the room to her before I can even think about what I’m doing, and then she’s in my arms, her hands in my hair, and I’m kissing her. Holy shit, I think, the force of the current that runs from her lips to mine strong enough to cut through the alcohol haze. Her lips are soft and full below mine, but they turn insistent almost immediately, pressing back against mine as if

impatient. I can barely think straight, she feels so good. Her body is soft and seems to fit against mine as if it was made to be there. My hands are in her hair, that glorious long hair, and it’s like silk between my fingers. “Lennon,” she murmurs against my mouth, her voice making my heart speed up. I run my tongue lightly along the edge of her lips, and she moans, and it’s probably the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life. “Is this okay?” I ask, pulling back enough to look down at her face. Her eyes are wide and a little wild. “Are you kidding?” she asks, her voice like a growl, and I can’t help but grin. She’s adorable. “You’ve been drinking.” “So have you.” “I don’t want to take advantage—” She grasps my shoulders, pushing me away from the door. Pushing me toward the bed. “Lennon, I want this.” There’s no way I can argue with that. I want it too, want it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. And then she slips her shirt over her head, and my brain turns off entirely. I don’t really do relationships. Sure, I’ve had my fair share of hookups over the years. It would be hard not to, being single in a rock band as popular as ours. But those have been few and far between in the last year, and there hasn’t been

anyone that I really cared about for much longer than that. There was a girl in high school, one of those super angsty teen obsessions, that broke my heart pretty bad. My brothers and Daisy always thought that was what turned me off from trying again. I let them go with that assumption—it sounds a lot better than the truth. The truth is that I’m pretty sure I’m way too fucked up to ever really be happy with someone. To make someone else happy. But looking down at Haylee, at the smooth column of her neck arched to meet my lips, the vivid color of her tattoos burning into my peripheral vision, I realize that I don’t feel so fucked up. I feel… alive. For the first time in ages, I feel alive and awake. Happy even. How could I not feel happy when this woman—this gorgeous, passionate woman, this woman who somehow seems to understand just what I need even though she barely knows me—is here with me, wanting me? We’re on the bed in a matter of seconds, our clothing tangling in hurried hands, her lips never leaving mine. “You feel so good,” I mutter, and she sighs a little, a contented sigh that makes my stomach clench. I want to hear that noise again, want to be the cause of it, so I bring my lips to her collarbone, kissing every inch of her skin I can reach, my fingers rushing to bare more of her body to me. Suddenly the impediment of clothes is gone as

we’ve somehow managed to free each other of jeans and shirts. I look down at her, trying to catch my breath. She’s only in her bra and underwear now, both of them dark red, and I have to close my eyes before my brain explodes. “Lennon?” It’s her voice that kills me. While a moment ago she was laughing, excited, growling almost, now she sounds different. Vulnerable. Like something important rests on my reaction right now. I open my eyes and look into hers, and the haze of alcohol disappears completely. I’ve never felt more sober in my life, more awake and aware of every detail around me. Her perfect body, her skin pressed against mine, her hair fanned out on the pillow behind her head. Her lips are reddened from our kissing, her lashes impossibly dark against her pale skin. And her blue eyes are open, fixed on me, waiting. “You’re perfect.” A flush comes to her skin, and she looks away, a smile tugging on her lips. She’s shy, and it’s so cute I can’t stand it. “Haylee.” She looks back at me, and her eyes are different now. No longer vulnerable, no longer unsure. She looks up at me like I might be the best thing she’s ever seen too. “I want you,” she says. I’m barely breathing as I remove the last of

our clothes, as my lips run across her chest, as I reach into my pocket for a condom. The look on her face as I slip it on makes me crazy, and I can’t decide if I want to go back to kissing her or— “Please.” I don’t need to hear anything else. I slide into her, and she shudders around me, her head tilted back. I’m almost afraid to move, afraid to do anything that might shatter this perfect moment. For once in my life, my body takes over, silencing my always overworking brain. I’m moving inside her, kissing her face, her neck, everything I can reach, and she’s holding me so tight, whispering my name, and I basically decide I could die right here. When she comes, her chest arches into me, and I decide against dying after all. Because I’m definitely going to need to do this again, as soon as possible. I follow her a moment after, and we lie there, wrapped up in each other, neither of us moving. “Wow,” I finally mutter, peering down at her. She grins at me, the most self-satisfied grin I’ve ever seen, and I laugh, rolling to my side and pulling her with me. “That was pretty fantastic,” she murmurs into my chest. Fantastic doesn’t really cover it. I’ve never felt anything like that, not ever in my life. She snuggles in a little closer, and my throat feels tight

with some unknown emotion. I wonder, fleetingly, if I might freak out. Heavy emotional experiences are something I try to avoid at all costs. But before I can worry too much, the sound of Haylee’s even breathing carries me off to sleep. *** I wake up to the sound of knocking on the door. Pounding would be more accurate. Whoever’s out there really wants to get in. I reach for Haylee and realize that she’s already off the bed. The room is dim now—what time is it?— but I can make out the shape of her as she moves to the door, picking a shirt up from the floor. “What the hell, Haylee?” an angry voice asks when she opens the door. “Shut up,” she hisses, her voice low. She must think I’m still sleeping. “You want me to shut up? You disappear for hours with that guy—are you drunk?” “I’m not drunk.” Her voice does sound perfectly steady. “Do you need something?” “Why are you whispering?” There’s a pause, and then the guy—it sounds like James—swears. “Are you kidding me?” “It’s none of your business.” “Like hell it isn’t.” He sounds really pissed, and I’m halfway sitting, thinking I should go to the door.

“It’s not a big deal.” Her words hit me like a punch to gut, but her tone is even worse. Completely nonchalant, unaffected. “Of course it is,” James snaps. “We work for him, Haylee.” “We work for the label.” “And you think the label won’t kick us right back to the States if you do something to piss off the Ransomes?” “We just had some fun, James, Jesus. Are you seriously going to be on my case?” There’s a long moment of silence, and when James speaks again his voice is more controlled. “We have sound check. We need to get to the venue.” “Fine. I’ll be right down.” “Haylee—” She sighs loud enough for me to hear her from here. “What?” “You know this is a bad idea. And you know that has nothing to do with what’s good for the band. I don’t want you getting hurt.” “I’ll deal with it,” she says, voice flat, then the door is shutting and she reappears in the room. She stops when she sees I’m awake, her entire body freezing. “Hey,” she finally says, her voice even. “Sorry he woke you up. I guess I’m late for sound check.” “That’s okay.” I swallow, trying to dispel the

fear that’s risen up in my chest. Why is James so concerned about her being with me? Why does he think that she’ll end up hurt? Haylee gathers her clothes, dressing quickly. “Hey, come here,” I say, but she turns her back to me. “Haylee?” “I really have to run.” Her voice is bright, and it sounds all wrong. “Can we talk after sound check?” “Sure.” I feel a rush of relief, but then she continues. “I mean, we see each other every day, right? I’m sure we’ll talk at some point.” “I meant… talk about this. About us.” I feel stupid saying the words, but she finally turns to face me. She looks so sad my breath catches, her expression not matching her bright tone of voice at all. “This was really fun, Lennon, but I think it’s better if we’re just friends.” “What? Why? I mean—” “We both have a lot on our plates right now.” She scoops up her hair into a ponytail, not meeting my eyes. “I really need to focus on the band, you know?” “I would never ask you to lose focus on your work.” “Good.” She comes over and kisses my cheek, her lips barely making contact at all. “Then we’re on the same page.”

“Haylee, wait.” “I really have to go,” she says, already halfway to the door. “Stay as long as you want, okay? Feel free to use the shower. I’ll see you around.” Before I can say another word, she’s gone. “What the hell?” I mutter, lying back against the pillows. I can smell her perfume in the sheets, something sweet and vanilla that surprises me. She doesn’t really seem like the vanilla type. I lie there for a long while, trying to figure out when in the hell I screwed this up. I couldn’t have imagined that connection, there’s no way. She was right there with me, I would bet everything on it. So what has her running so fast? You know this is a bad idea… I don’t want you getting hurt. What did James mean by that? Why did he think that being with me would hurt her? A cold fear slithers into my chest. Did he know something? Was it possible that he’d heard rumors about me, about what I did? Did he think… Don’t be stupid, I tell myself, standing and searching for my clothes. No one knows about Horizons except for the family. And the label. I try to push the fear away as I get dressed. My brothers are going to be freaking out, seeing as how I’ve now been unaccounted for for a good five

hours. But I can’t seem to make myself care. All I can hear, over and over again in my head, is James’s voice, telling Haylee that I’ll hurt her. It would be a lot easier to ignore if I weren’t pretty sure he was right.

Chapter Seven Haylee “Hay, that was your cue.” “Damn it,” I mutter, then I drop my pick, kicking my frustration up another level. Rehearsal is not going well. And so far that’s pretty much entirely my fault. “Shit.” Dylan gives me a sympathetic grimace. “No biggie. Let’s just start again.” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. Starting again isn’t going to help me much. “How about we take five,” James says, once again demonstrating his uncanny ability to read my thoughts. Usually I find it pretty annoying, but today I’m merely grateful for the break. I follow my bandmates to the minuscule sitting area to the side of our rehearsal space, accepting the beer Layla hands me with thanks. “So,” she says, sitting in a folding chair across from me. “What has your panties in a twist?” I scowl at her. “You know I hate that expression.” “Deal with it.” She takes a long sip of her

beer before pushing her red hair out of her face. “You’ve been in a pissy mood ever since Newcastle. What’s up?” “You have been kind of pissy, Hay,” Dylan says from the floor in front of me, where he’s stretched out, hands behind his head. “You need to get laid?” “You offering?” He makes a big deal of shuddering. “You’re way too tough and intimidating for me.” I grin down at him. “That’s right. Don’t forget it.” “You’re still not talking,” Layla points out. “Maybe I just forgot how annoying it was to be on tour with you assholes.” I take another sip of my beer, blowing Lance a kiss when he flips me off. “Yeah, this tour has been so annoying,” Dylan says. “Packed crowds in the biggest venues we’ve ever played, flying across Europe, staying in fivestar hotels, all our meals comped. God. It’s the worst.” Lance laughs, pointing at our guitarist. “Kid has a point.” Layla crosses her arms, glaring at me. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think you can distract me.” “Yeah, Hay,” Dylan says, kicking my shin. “She’s got her scary face on. Better just tell her what’s bothering you.”

“It’s the weather. Who knew the U.K. would be so rainy?” It’s not even a lie. The tour opened in Stockholm, and I’d been too jet lagged and stressed about doing well to really get my bearings. After a stop in Copenhagen we’d flown over to England, making our way through the north of the country, stopping in Manchester, Liverpool, and Leeds before heading to Glasgow. The cities were cool— we had a lot of fun being Beatles tourists in Liverpool—but it had rained steadily since our plane touched down in Manchester. I’m looking forward to the following week when we’ll move on to Spain. The weather has to turn at some point. Layla clearly doesn’t believe me, but she drops it when James brings up the show tonight. “What do you think about switching the set list?” he asks the group. “I think we’d get more impact on “Cry Heart” if we put it after the first break.” I tune out as James and Lance debate the set list order. The two of them could argue song placement for hours. I never really saw the point. Just tell me what song to sing, and I’ll do my best to nail it. But James and Lance both believe, very strongly, that song order is an art form. Unfortunately, they rarely agree on the shape that art form should take. “I need a ciggy break,” Layla says, standing. “I’ll come with,” Dylan says, but Layla places the tip of her boot on his leg, holding him in place

on the floor. “No you won’t.” She points at me. “You can keep me company.” I don’t bother to stifle my groan. I should have known she would hassle me until I gave in. “Fine,” Dylan says as Layla and I head out. “Smoking is a filthy habit anyhow!” he calls after us. “He has a point,” Layla says, opening the door for me. It’s drizzling and gray—a vast improvement from the steady rain of the morning, and we huddle under the building’s minuscule awning. “You really should quit.” “I barely smoke. I don’t even carry cigarettes.” “Yeah, you just bum off me or James.” “Every once in a while. You’re the one with the habit.” She shrugs. “I’m not the singer.” I laugh, accepting her lighted cigarette. “I love how your concern has nothing to do with my health and everything to do with my voice.” She grins at me. “What can I say, babe, you’re my meal ticket.” We stand in silence for a few minutes, passing the cigarette back and forth. “I slept with Lennon,” I eventually say, not really needing any prompting to talk to her about what’s been bugging me now that the boys aren’t around.

If she’s surprised she doesn’t show it, merely nodding to indicate she heard me. “Last week. In Newcastle.” I take another drag of the cigarette, thinking about how he came outside the hotel to see James and me smoking. How I immediately recognized the anger and frustration in his eyes. That’s what led me to send James inside without me. I didn’t have any intention of sleeping with the guy, at least not then. But I found I just couldn’t look at those eyes and do nothing. I was sure my own eyes have looked that way countless times. “How was it?” I release a breath that’s more than a little shaky and grab the cigarette from her. “Amazing.” She gives me her most sly grin. “Really?” I nod, staring out at the depressing gray parking lot. “It’s always the quiet ones,” she says. “You have no idea.” “I’m confused. Amazing sex usually puts you in a good mood.” “There’s no usually about sex like this,” I murmur. She waits for me to elaborate. “James caught me. He… didn’t approve.” Layla makes a scathing noise at the back of her throat. “James is altogether too involved in your decisions.”

“He worries about me.” It’s true. Ever since the thing with my stalker, Randy… I close my eyes at the thought. Funny how after all this time I can’t even think his name without a physical reaction. “We all worry about you, Haylee,” Layla says, and I look over at her, surprised. She’s staring hard at the far end of the parking lot, and I get the feeling she’s intentionally avoiding my gaze. I swallow, a slow trickle of guilt moving through me. “But we also trust you to make your own decisions. And it’s about time James did the same.” “I don’t know that my decisions are all that trustworthy,” I say, thinking about the drinking Lennon and I did at the pub before stumbling back to the hotel. It wasn’t that I regretted what happened. But how many times have I found my direction at the bottom of a bottle? It wasn’t like that with Lennon, a voice in my head whispers, and I have a sudden flash of him in bed, looking down at me, his eyes so intense I felt like they might burn me. In that moment, I felt so focused, so sharp, that I almost couldn’t believe there had been any alcohol involved in the first place. “You like him.” Layla’s voice is knowing, with a slight undercurrent of surprise. I look at her with raised eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have slept with him if I didn’t like him.” “No, you really like him.” She peers at my

face in that searching way of hers. “And it wasn’t just the amazing sex.” “You’re being silly.” I try to ignore the warmth spreading to my cheeks. “I hardly know him.” “You spent that entire flight talking to him.” At her mention of the flight, my mind immediately goes back to the way he looked that night. It was dim in the cabin as everyone slept around us. But Lennon’s eyes were clear to me even in the darkness, steady and focused on my face as I told him about my mother. “He’s a nice guy.” I turn my overheated face away from Layla. She’s quiet for a moment, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know.” “What wouldn’t?” “You. Liking a boy.” I snort. “Come on, Layla. You of all people know that I have no problem liking boys. You’re my wingman for God’s sake.” She tosses the cigarette to the ground and steps on it with the toe of her leather boot. “I don’t mean the way you like the boys we meet when we go out.” She pushes on my shoulder until I look at her. “And you know that.” “Layla, it really isn’t—” She holds up her hands to stop my objections.

“All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be a big deal. If you wanted to be in a relationship.” She smiles. “It might actually be kind of nice.” I try to picture it, for just a moment. What it would be like to be in a real relationship with a guy. Someone to care about me, someone who wants to spend their time with me. Someone who listens to what I have to say. Who worries when I don’t come home at night. And that right there is why it would never work. Because I’m really not the type who wants to come home every night. Before I can respond, there’s a slamming of a nearby car door, followed by the sounds of male voices arguing. “You’re the one who wouldn’t get off the phone with Sam, so stop blaming me for being late.” I squint through the fog to see the Ransome boys and Levi piling out of a dark van. “Can we just get inside?” Daltrey asks, pushing Reed out of the way. “What’s the matter, Dalt?” Cash asks. “Scared the rain is going to mess up your hair?” “God, they really never stop fighting, do they?” Layla asks. I smile, remembering what Lennon told me at the bar back in Newcastle about his brothers and their arguing. “They have three multiplatinum albums, and they’re massively rich,” she continues as the boys troop up to the building.

“What in the hell do they have to argue about?” “Hey, girls,” Daltrey calls out when they’re close enough to see us through the rain. “What are you doing out in this weather?” “Avoiding work,” Layla replies, and I notice that she still bats her eyelashes whenever she talks to Daltrey even though it couldn’t be more clear that the boy is infatuated with Daisy. I guess old habits die hard, and for Layla, flirting with a cute boy is definitely an old habit. A big part of me wants to look away when Lennon comes into view behind his brother, to pretend I don’t see him, but I’ve never been that kind of girl. So instead I plaster on a smile. “Haylee,” he says, nodding. I feel a sharp stab of disappointment. That’s all I’m going to get? Isn’t that the way you want it? I ask myself. “You guys feel like going out after the show tonight?” Reed asks. “We’re going to check out the local nightlife.” “Oh, I don’t—” I begin, but Layla steps on my foot hard enough to shut me up. “Hay, weren’t you just saying that you wanted to get out and see what Glasgow had to offer?” she asks, smiling broadly. A quick glance at her sharp, calculating eyes tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Actually, I was saying that I was tired,” I say, but she ignores me completely, turning back to

Reed. “We would love to. All of us.” I release a frustrated breath, knowing there’s nothing I can do to get out of it without sounding like a baby—and proving her point that my feelings for Lennon are slightly more complicated than those of a one-night stand. As the boys file into the building, Lennon stops at my side, a knowing look on his face. “It’s okay, Haylee,” he tells me in an undertone. “You can come hang out without worrying about me making a scene.” “I didn’t think you would—” He shakes his head, his eyes searching mine. “You deserve to have a nice night out. I’ll see you later.” He follows his brothers into the building, leaving me feeling like an ass. He was really great to me the other day, and all I’ve done since is avoid him and act like hanging out with him and his brothers would be torturous. Not exactly my best behavior. “Thanks for that,” I mutter, as Layla slings an arm around my shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she says cheerily, leading me into the building. “We need to work on your sarcasm detector, Layla.” She laughs, squeezing me a little closer. “And we need to work on your poker face.”

“What does that mean?” She rolls her eyes. “You should see the way you look at him.” “I don’t look at him like anything!” “Like I said, we need to work on your poker face.” Before I can argue any further, she pulls me back into our rehearsal space, where the guys are waiting for us to get back to work. *** The show goes well. It’s strange, sometimes when I’m feeling on edge I end up performing better than normal. Like the show gives me something to focus on, a way to collect and focus my anxious energy. That’s definitely the case tonight. Toward the end of our set, I could swear the fans are cheering just as loudly for us as they do for Ransom. The band is pretty jubilant as we make our way backstage. “That was kick-ass,” Lance shouts, fist bumping Dylan. “Best show yet!” “I think we’re hitting our stride,” Dylan agrees, slinging an arm around me and kissing the side of my face. “Good job, babe.” “I’m all sweaty, Dylan.” I push him away, but I’m smiling. It does feel good, those nights where everything just comes together, almost like it’s outside of our control. Supernatural. “That was really great, you guys,” a voice

says to my left, and I turn to see Lennon and Reed passing down a side hallway. It was Reed who spoke—Lennon is merely watching me in that quiet, wide-eyed way of his, like the rest of my band isn’t surrounding me. “You were watching?” I blurt out. “We were up in the family box,” Lennon says. “It was a great set.” “Thank you,” I mumble, feeling heat come to my cheeks, though I couldn’t say why. Reed and Lennon both wave as they continue on their way. “Wow, Hay,” Dylan says, shooting me a strange look. “What’s up with you?” “What do you mean?” “You’re all mumbly and red-faced. It’s weird.” I shove him. “I’m red-faced because I’m hot, idiot. The stage lights are brutal.” “Can we stop bickering?” Louis calls from the door of our dressing room, earning a chorus of muted moans from all of us as we file into the room. I pause at his side, knowing there’s a good chance I’m going to regret asking this question. “Hey, Lou,” I say, in the friendliest voice I can muster. “Are we allowed to use the family box to watch the headliner?” “Sure,” he says, shrugging. “Grab a roadie, they’ll show you where to go.” When I turn back into the room, both Layla

and James are watching me knowingly, though their reactions couldn’t be less similar. Layla is smiling, James is scowling. Story of my life, I think as I grab a beer. “Hey, Dylan. You want to check out Ransom’s set with me?” “Sure,” he agrees easily, collapsing into a chair. “I think we’ll all come,” Layla says pointedly, and I offer her my most exaggerated eye roll. Let her think what she wants. Twenty minutes later the whole band is sitting high above the theater in the family box. Daisy and Paige are already there, and they both welcome us —Paige a little more eagerly than Daisy. “The crowd is good tonight,” Daisy says as I take a seat next to her. “You guys really got them going.” “It was a pretty good set,” I say, leaning over the railing a bit to get a better view of the stage. It feels like ages since I’ve watched a rock concert. Daisy was right—the fans are already going crazy and the lights haven’t even gone down yet. They scream and chant, stomping their feet in unison until the entire venue feels like it’s going to come apart. When the lights abruptly cut, the noise raises substantially. Daisy and Paige are both cheering, along with most of the members of my band. But I sit still, waiting and watching. There’s a thudding of drums before the stage lights begin to flash, and then the Ransome boys all

come into view, Daltrey at his piano, Reed behind the drums, Cash strumming his guitar and gazing out at the crowd in that cocky way of his. And there’s Lennon, standing to the side, his head bent over his bass as he plays. Even from this distance, his fingers are mesmerizing. The bass line in this song must be fast, because his hands seem to fly across the strings, his head nodding slightly in time to the beat, dark hair covering his forehead. And then he looks up at me. I don’t know how he found me in the crowd. Don’t know how he even knew I would be up here. But there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s looking at me—not Daisy, not Paige, not my bandmates. Me. And I can’t look away. The song ends abruptly, and I take a shaking breath, wondering what in the hell has gotten into me. The crowd is still going crazy as the band launches right into the next song, and I feel breathless, my cheeks warm. Lennon is still looking at me. And he’s smiling. Ransom is good. That’s about the only cognizant thought I can come up with as I stare down at him. They play off each other brilliantly, completely in synch—not the easiest feat when the crowd is cheering loud enough to bring the house down. Daltrey can really sing, his voice bluesier live than I was expecting. Cash seems to have good

reason for the cocky swagger—he can play guitar like nobody’s business. I’ve always considered him a mere pretty boy, assuming the guitar fills in their albums were helped along by some studio trickery. I was wrong. Cash is good. And behind them all, Reed keeps the beat, his arms a blur on his drum kit. These thoughts come to me as if through a haze. Because really, all I can focus on is Lennon. Lennon with his broad shoulders, the strength in his arms visible from here. With his dark hair and dark eyes, so beautiful he makes my chest hurt, standing so still to the side of his more exuberant brothers. Lennon, whose gaze rarely drops from my face. As the show continues, as the fans scream themselves hoarse, as the girls and my bandmates chatter happily in our box, one thought runs through my mind again and again—why in the hell did I think I needed to stay away from this man? I can feel Layla smirking at me as we finally make our way back to the dressing room, but I can’t make myself care. I’m sure if I turned to James I would see him watching me, that concern, so familiar these days, on his face. But I don’t turn to James, and I don’t look back at Layla. Instead I go straight to the showers, washing my hair quickly. I’m too excited to spend much time on drying it, instead pulling it up into a messy bun. As I hurriedly apply my makeup, I can’t help but notice

that my hands are shaking. It should frighten me, probably, that he’s having this effect on me when we’re not even speaking, but I can’t make myself care. All I want to do is get ready, make myself look good, and go find him. I don’t have to look far. He’s standing in the hallway right outside our dressing room, waiting for me. His dark hair is damp and curling at his neck, fresh from the shower, and I suppress a little shiver at the thought. “Everyone’s about to head out,” he says, holding out a hand. “I thought I’d wait for you.” I take his hand without a second thought, knowing that I’m smiling like an idiot as he leads me down the hallway through the chaos of roadies and venue staff. “You watched,” he says, his voice soft amongst all the noise. Somehow I have no trouble hearing him. “I did. You guys were…” I release a long breath. “You were good.” “Yeah?” He sounds a little shy, a little proud. God, it’s cute. My brain is still functioning enough to remind me that I don’t normally go all soft and gooey for adorable, but I firmly ignore it. “Really good.” He squeezes my hand a little, and I feel a flutter deep in my stomach. Then we step through the stage doors, and the noise and flashes surprise

me so much I stumble. Lennon’s hand slides up to my elbow, steadying me, and he leans in close to my ear to shout over the noise. “You okay?” I nod, trying not to wince as the crowds of fans push against the barriers that provide a narrow path for us. Up ahead I can see Daltrey and one of the other boys—Cash I think—ducking into a van. I remember what I said to Lennon back in that alley in New York, about not liking crowds. How he admitted that he felt the same way and how we laughed about our choice of career. As if thinking the same thing, his hand tightens against my arm. “Come on,” he yells in my ear. “I’ve got you.” I nod again and step down to the pavement, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. I can do this. It’s no big deal. Even if the fans are close enough to touch. Even if they do look completely determined to break down the barrier and— I take a deep breath, trying to still my racing mind. Get it together. I try to remember my earlier excitement, how eager I was to go out with Lennon and have a good time. Suddenly Lennon pauses, leaning down to me, so close I can feel his breath against my neck. “You look really good tonight,” he says. It’s so unexpected in the middle of my near panic that I laugh. He grins down at me. “You’re laughing at my compliments?” Lennon’s smiles,

I’ve come to find, are kind of a rare thing. Maybe that’s why it makes me feel so damn good when his lips tilt up at me. Of course, it would happen when I was happy. When I was laughing, when my fear and anxiety are eclipsed by Lennon. When my guard is down. A hand reaches into our path, grasping my free arm, pushing against me so I’m trapped between Lennon and the metal barrier. For a fleeting second I can see that it’s a girl, not much younger than me. She’s not screaming for Ransom. She’s screaming my name. “Haylee, I love you! I’m your biggest fan!” And then her face is gone, replaced by towering height. Dirty blond hair, watery blue eyes. The crowd disappears, and I’m back in my house, the old house, cowering on my chair, and I know, I know, that this time it ends differently, this time no one comes to find me, this time Randy manages to — “Haylee!” Lennon’s voice seems to come to me from very far away. I’m vaguely aware of him pulling on my arm, trying to get me to cross the last few feet between us and the car. Between us and safety. “What’s the matter?” You’re not in the house, I tell myself desperately. You’re outside. You’re okay. But Lennon is pulling on my arm, and I don’t feel like I’m okay. He’s stronger than me, bigger,

and I feel like I’m about to lose it, like I’m seconds away from falling to the ground. Cowering in a ball sounds really good right now and— “Haylee!” That voice isn’t Lennon’s. I spin, panicked, and there’s James, coming toward me. I’m so relieved I could cry. He throws his arm around my shoulders, and my face automatically goes to his chest, the same place I’ve found refuge countless times before. “I got you,” he whispers into my hair, pulling me along. I’m vaguely aware that Lennon has released me, but I have no idea where he is, only that James is here now and he’s pulling me into a car, pulling me to safety. The door closes behind us, and the sound dims a little. “You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve got you.” “Who else is here?” I whisper into his jacket, not wanting to look up, terrified all over again that Louis will see me like this or, God, the Ransomes— “Just Dylan and Layla,” James says, and I release a shuddering breath. They’ve seen it before. “You’re fine, Haylee,” James says, and I hear Dylan say something to the driver. Then we’re pulling away from the curb, away from the crowd that continues to scream. Away from Lennon. I didn’t hear where Dylan told the driver to go, but it doesn’t matter. I know that we’re not going out tonight after all.

Chapter Eight Lennon For a guy who has a well-known problem sleeping, it’s probably no surprise to anyone that I barely sleep that night. For once, my insomnia can’t be blamed on my own bullshit. Instead, I’m haunted by the image of Haylee in the middle of that crowd, eyes closed, hunched down as if to protect herself, terror radiating from her. I go over it a million times in my head. What in the hell happened to cause that kind of reaction? I can’t figure it out. She told me, once, that she wasn’t a fan of crowds. But she seemed to do so well with it, following me out to the cars, even laughing when I told her how great she looked. So what went gone wrong? Was it somehow related to her stalker? I picture her icy anger when she threw those words at me back in the alley, about what he did. She hasn’t brought it up once since then. But that was the kind of thing you didn’t just forget about, right? If I wanted to ask her, she wasn’t going to make it easy. You would think that it would be

simple to find someone when your band is on tour with their band—we were, after all, occupying the same hotel, but Haylee apparently had other ideas. She’s nowhere to be found when I come downstairs the next morning, but she somehow manages to get on the opener’s bus just in time for us to leave Glasgow. When we arrive in Edinburgh that afternoon, she again disappears, leaving a warylooking James to intercept me in the hall outside her hotel room. “She’s resting,” he explains, arms crossed. He’s a lot taller than me, and the way he’s standing seems designed to take up as much hallway space as possible. “Can I just—” “I’ll let her know you stopped by,” he says, turning to go. “Hey, James?” I call. He doesn’t turn, just stops in the middle of the hallway, waiting for me to go on. “Is she okay? What happened last night was —” He sighs, his shoulders slumping a little, but when he responds, his voice is firm. “She’s fine. Tired, that’s all. I’ll see you around.” “Yeah,” I mutter to his retreating back. “See you.” I could probably push it. I could wait outside her hotel room door until she gets up, or plant myself in their dressing room at the venue until she

shows. But something in the way she shut down the night before was familiar. I had the sense that whatever it was she was feeling, it wasn’t all that far removed from my own experiences. Haven’t I spent hours hiding away in a hotel room somewhere, hoping no one would come looking for me? Was I really going to do that to Haylee? So I allowed her to keep her distance. Even though it sucked. We were scheduled for two shows in Edinburgh with a day off in between. As was becoming practice on the last two tours, Dad and Levi worked with the booking manager to make sure we have decent time off between shows on this tour, even though we are already operating on a condensed timetable. Another thing they have to thank me for, I think to myself as I make my way downstairs the next morning. Levi, Daisy, Paige, and my brothers are all there in the restaurant already, waiting for me. I take one look at Paige and know exactly what’s coming. “I think I’m going to take a walk,” I say before anyone else can speak. “See the sights. Edinburgh is a great city for walking.” “Nice try,” Cash says, grabbing my jacket sleeve and pulling me into the seat next to him. “Paige has plans.” “Of course she does,” I sigh, earning a glare

from Reed. “Okay,” Paige says, sounding excited. “This is what I was thinking.” Before she can begin to tell us, I’m distracted by the sight of the members of Intrigue coming into the restaurant. They’re practically huddled together as they walk, and I’m struck by the sense that they’re in protective mode. Or maybe that’s just my imagination in action when I see Haylee in the middle of the group. Her eyes look red, and dark shadows mar her pale cheeks. I wonder if she hasn’t been sleeping either. She glances at me, and her eyes widen a little before she quickly looks away. “Hey, you guys!” Paige calls, waving. “Over here!” “Paige,” I mutter, seeing Haylee wince. “I don’t think it’s a good—” But Layla is waving and leading the rest of the band over to us, though James’s face has gone rather tight. “Hey!” Layla says. “How’s it going?” “Come sit down!” Paige urges, holding up the plate in front of her. “We have pastries!” “I’ve never said no to pastries,” Dylan says, pulling up a chair. The rest of the band follows suit, Haylee sitting as far from me as possible. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “We were just talking about how to spend our day off,” Paige explains.

“Talking,” Levi mutters. “Yeah, because you were going to let anyone else get a word in edgewise.” She spares him a single disdainful raised eyebrow before turning back to the others. “You guys should hang out with us!” “Uh,” Dylan says, gaze shooting toward Haylee. She doesn’t meet his eyes, staring steadily at the ground. “I think we were just going to go out and explore.” “Exactly!” Paige says. “That’s what we’re doing too! Come with us.” I can tell that Dylan and James are looking for a way to refuse, their gazes shooting toward Haylee. But Layla puts an end to that. “That sounds awesome!” she says. Under the table I think I see her squeeze Haylee’s hand. “Just what we need today, a little fun.” “That’s settled then!” Paige says happily. “I think we should start at the castle, obviously, because it’s pretty much the center of town and, like, totally famous.” “I feel as if a warning is in order before you agree to spend your day with us,” Cash interrupts. “Paige, uh, gets a little carried away with her planning.” “That’s not true!” Paige cries. “You always have fun when you hang out with me, buddy.” “Like in the old-timey village?” he asks.

“That was Levi’s idea,” she argues. “And you had fun anyhow!” “The neon museum.” His voice is flat as he holds up a finger, ticking off the places she’s dragged us over the last few years. “The cat museum. The largest ball of string. The salt and pepper—” “Okay, okay.” She slaps a hand over Cash’s mouth, and Reed snickers. “You made your point. But all of those things were fun!” She glances at Haylee’s friends, who now seem a little alarmed. “We’re not doing anything all that strange today,” she assures them. “Just a little normal sightseeing.” I don’t think Paige has ever been satisfied with normal sightseeing in her life, but I don’t point that out. I’m too busy shooting furtive glances at Haylee, trying to judge how she’s feeling about all of this. But she doesn’t argue, doesn’t complain, just continues to stare at the ground until the rest of us stand to go. She follows almost robotically, something about her jerky movements making my stomach clench. I step to her side, trying to ignore the glare I get from James, and nudge her shoulder a little with mine. “Hey.” She winces, and my stomach clenches again. What upset her so much? “Haylee.” “I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, and her voice is much more fierce than I would have thought her capable of right now.

“We don’t have to,” I say quickly. “I just wanted to tell you that Paige…” I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one can overhear me. “She can be a little overenthusiastic sometimes, but we do usually have fun with her. Even when she’s making us do something ridiculous.” I take a deep breath. “There have been some days when, uh, I’m having a rough time. And Paige can usually take my mind off whatever shitty thing is bothering me.” Haylee looks up at me for the first time, and it takes everything I have not to pull her into my arms. Whatever protective streak I might have is set off big time by the look on her face. Her pale skin makes it obvious she hasn’t slept any better than me, and her eyes are huge and dark, filled with something that looks a lot like shame. A lot like pain. She watches me for a minute, as if searching for something in my face, before she finally nods. “Thanks. I guess it’s worth a try.” Relief flares in my chest as we follow Paige outside, where she confers with Frank, one of our bodyguards. “Okay, here comes the transportation,” she says brightly, sounding a lot like a kindergarten teacher. “There should be room for everyone.” I follow Haylee into the waiting van. Even faced with the evidence of how rough things are for her right now, there’s a part of me that feels better than I did yesterday. Maybe it’s seeing her, being

near her. Maybe it’s the fact that she isn’t pushing me away. At least not right now. The drive to the castle is short enough that we could have easily walked had security not been an issue. It’s situated in Old Town, perched on the top of a towering, dormant volcano. “That’s pretty sweet,” Cash says, looking up at the ancient structure. “Very Lord of the Rings.” I’ve been to the castle before, on our last tour of Europe, but I was on my own then, my brothers satisfied with hanging out at the hotel, probably recovering from a night of heavy partying. I enjoyed it then, the historical aspect appealing to what my brothers would term my nerdy nature. And Cash wasn’t joking—it does look like it belongs in The Lord of the Rings. But my feelings that day were nothing compared to how it feels touring the castle with Haylee. To my very great surprise, and to James’s seeming annoyance, she sticks by my side when we pile out of the van. Paige, ever diligent in her planning, arranged to have sections of the castle cleared out as we walk through. For once in my life, the special treatment doesn’t rankle. Unlike Daltrey and Cash, I can usually get away with being in public without recognition—at least I can when I’m on my own. When we’re all together, it’s virtually impossible to avoid detection, but when it’s just me, I rarely have a problem. Who’s going to

recognize the bass player? That’s probably one of the many reasons I’ve earned such a reputation for being a loner. It annoys me to no end that we have to be surrounded by security when we go out together. But today the security doesn’t seem like such an imposition. From the corner of my eye I watch as Haylee slowly relaxes. Her arms straighten out, her shoulders becoming less hunched, as she looks from side to side, taking in the sites, her gaze no longer solely focused on a spot on the ground directly in front of her. When we take a minute to lean against the outer ramparts, looking down at the entire city stretching before us, the blue waters of the Firth of Forth beyond, she actually smiles. Expecting my brothers to spend hours touring a historical site—even one that does look like it might be attacked by orcs at any minute—is asking for way too much. After an hour or so, Paige hurries us off to the next stop on her plan. “What in the hell is this?” Daltrey asks, looking up at the brick building. “It’s supposed to be really cool—” “Paige.” There’s a warning note in his voice. “What is it?” She huffs. “It’s a kind of museum, okay, Daltrey?” “I knew it was a museum.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought we had an

agreement after the neon museum in Vegas.” “This isn’t a weird one—” “Camera Obscura,” Daisy reads from the sign, squinting. “And World of Illusions.” “It’s a magic museum?” Cash groans. “Paige.” “It’s not a magic museum,” Paige argues, looking to Reed for support. He holds up his hands in defeat, and her eyes narrow. “Coward,” she mutters before turning back to the rest of us. “Look, it’s rated highly on all the travel sites online. There’s supposed to be tons of cool stuff in there to look at. And if you would just be openminded for five minutes—” “I think it sounds fun,” Haylee says. When Paige turns to her, wide-eyed, she shrugs. “We’re here, right? Let’s give it a try.” “You, Haylee,” Paige says, slipping her arm around the singer’s shoulders, “are clearly a woman of great taste and intelligence.” “Good job,” I whisper in Haylee’s ear. “She’s recruited you for her madness now.” But Haylee’s smile in response is enough to make me thankful for Paige Brennen and all of her silly event planning. “I’m in.” Everyone else follows us into the building, though Daltrey and Cash do plenty of grumbling about it. Their sour moods don’t last long. As is so often the case with the random sites Paige picks for

us, World of Illusions is actually really cool. The museum is a series of optical illusions spread across different rooms. There are light displays that immediately transfix Reed and Daltrey, holograms, trippy mirrors, and several places to take pictures, one of which uses forced perspective to make people in the same room appear to be vastly different heights, providing an excellent opportunity for us to rip on Cash for being short. “You sure you don’t want another picture, buddy?” Reed asks. “This is your last chance to even come close to being as tall as me.” “Fuck off, Reed,” Cash growls. “I might be shorter but I’m stronger. And I’m feeling the strangest urge to use that strength to punch that smug look off your face.” “You guys always like this?” Haylee asks me. “Mostly. Don’t ever tell him I admitted it, but Cash has a point.” I make a face at her. “I’ve been on the receiving end of both of their punches. Cash is definitely stronger.” “You hit each other?” She sounds vaguely shocked. “Well… yeah. We’re brothers.” “Idiots, actually,” Daisy says, joining us to watch Daltrey and Reed, who have teamed up to get Cash into a headlock. “You might start throwing punches if you had to live with all three of them your whole life,” I tell

her. “I lived close enough,” she says drily. She looks at Haylee. “I grew up next door. You should have seen how messy they kept that kitchen.” She shudders. “On second thought, idiot was too kind. What’s a word that means immature and animallike?” “What’s that, Cash? You want a noogie?” Daltrey asks, ignoring his older brother’s curses to the contrary. “Are you sure? I might ruin the hair you spent twenty minutes carefully messing up this morning. I guess if you insist…” “See what I mean?” Daisy asks, shaking her head. “And I’m having a baby with that manchild.” Haylee laughs as Daisy heads over to break up the scuffle, hissing something about them getting us kicked out. “I didn’t realize you guys have known Daisy for so long,” Haylee says as we wander away from the commotion of my brothers. “Oh, yeah, she’s practically family. I was seven when we moved in next door to her and her dad.” “Where did you live before that?” It’s a simple query, totally the natural question to ask next. But it still has my spine straightening before I can stop myself. “California. We lived there, uh, before my parents split.”

“I’m sorry,” she says simply. I look over at her, relieved more than I can say to realize that there’s no pity in her eyes. “My dad was never around, so I’m totally used to the single parent thing.” This is new information. “Your mom raised you?” “Raised me, sponged off me, however you want to look at it.” She grimaces. “Sorry. That sounded bitter, huh?” “You’re allowed to sound however you want when you talk about your parents.” We pause in front of one of those plasma globes, watching the beams of light that appear when we touch the glass. “She was really into the idea of me making it,” Haylee says, staring at the globe. We broached this topic a little bit on the plane when we commiserated on having stage parents, but Haylee sounds a lot more dismal about it now. “She had me out busking and playing in cafés and stuff by the time I was twelve—” “You were busking when you were twelve?” I ask, unable to imagine a little-girl Haylee sitting on a street corner somewhere with her guitar. “And your mom was okay with that?” “My mom facilitated that. It was all her doing.” She pushes her hair behind her ears, taking a deep breath. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling again, even if it looks a little wistful. “Like I

said, she wanted me to make it.” “Sounds like your mom could give my dad a run for his money.” She laughs. “The difference is my mom didn’t really know anything about the music business. So her stage mothering days dropped off when things actually started happening.” For a second it seems like she’s going to go on, but then she shuts her mouth with an audible snap of her teeth. “Is she still in Detroit?” Haylee nods. “Yeah. I send her money, of course, but…” She shrugs. “She doesn’t really do much these days. Turns out she was more interested in trying to find me a career than finding one of her own.” I try to choose my words carefully. This is obviously a touchy subject for her, no matter how casual and unconcerned she tries to keep her tone. “A lot of people think that about my dad. That he’s just demanding and constantly driving us for his own sake. They don’t see how much he cares about all of us—” “Then your dad is nothing like my mom.” Her voice is tight, but she offers me a quick, small smile. “Change the subject?” “I… Sure.” I catch sight of Paige down the hallway, waving at us. “Ready for some lunch?” she calls. “How much you wanna bet she makes us eat

haggis?” I ask Haylee in an undertone. She smirks and starts off down the hall. “Come on, Ransome,” she calls over her shoulder. “Don’t be a chicken.” As I follow her I pass by one of those carnival mirrors, the kind that stretches out your face to the edges of the glass. I catch sight of myself as I pass, and I have the feeling my smile would have been that huge regardless of the mirror. *** Paige doesn’t make anyone eat haggis. Instead she finds us a comfortable restaurant just off the Royal Mile where we eat fish and chips washed down by ice-cold hard cider. It’s one of the nicer lunches I’ve had in a while. Haylee sits on the other side of the table, a few seats down, and while I would have liked the chance to talk to her more, I can’t complain given my view of her. Even better, though, is my brothers’ moods. Everyone enjoyed World of Illusions, as Paige knew we would, and conversation flows freely between the two bands as we eat. Cash and Daltrey tell the others about some of Paige’s more off-the-wall destinations on previous tours, and they, in turn, tell us familiar horror stories of traveling by van to dive bar after dive bar. There’s a lot of laughing around that table. And no one looks at me strangely. That’s the best part. I don’t say much, happy to sit back and follow the conversations around me, and no one seems to think it’s weird. No one seems to think

they should be worried about me. It’s almost like things are normal. I kind of wish lunch would never end. Paige’s next stop is a tour of a local whiskey museum. “I picked this just for you, Cash,” she tells him sweetly as he slings an arm around her shoulder. “So be nice about my outings, or next time I might not be so considerate.” “You really straddle that line between sweet and terrifying, Paige, did you know that?” She nods seriously “It’s one of my gifts.” The whiskey museum turns out to be a hit with everyone. The guide teaches us about the different whiskey regions in Scotland. “The Islay region produces a whiskey that is much more peaty than its compatriots,” he explains, handing out a chunk of peat moss for us to pass around and smell. “In contrast, you’ll see that whiskies from the Lowlands have much fruitier notes.” “Now I’m always going to be picking up notes of dirt in my whiskey,” I hear Layla mutter as she passes the moss off to Haylee. “Like your whiskey ever sits in a glass long enough for you to pick up notes of anything,” Haylee says. After the lesson, they bring us to what is billed as the world’s largest collection of whiskey, where Daisy gives Cash a stern warning against touching any of the decades-old bottles of priceless

liquor. The museum experience finishes with a completely cheesy, Disney-wannabe, dark boat ride through the process of brewing. There’s even a cartoon ghost narrating the ride. Daisy and Paige giggle at the ridiculousness, but Daltrey and Cash both declare the whiskey museum totally awesome and Paige and Daisy too ignorant of good liquor to know better. When Paige announces dinner reservations followed by a ghost tour, our numbers start to diminish. James, Lance, and Layla all decide that they’re tired of sightseeing. “Really?” Paige asks, crestfallen. “But we’ve barely gotten started.” “Sweetheart,” Reed says, wrapping an arm around her. “You’ve had us going since ten this morning. Not everyone has your stamina.” She pouts, but it’s Daisy who gets really upset when Daltrey suggests they go back to the hotel to rest. “What do I need to rest for?” Daisy asks. “Babe, you’ve been on your feet all day.” She crosses her arms, a clear sign of danger. “So?” Drop it, man, I try to silently communicate to my brother. But he presses on, and I realize Daisy was right. He is an idiot. “You’re seven months pregnant,” he says, his voice just a shade too condescending. Daisy’s face reddens, another sign of danger. “Let’s go say goodbye to the others,” Paige

says quickly, and we all scurry after her to the street. Behind us I hear Daisy start in on Dalt. “Are you under the impression my pregnancy is some kind of illness, Daltrey?” I shiver a little at the anger in her voice. “He should have dropped it the second she crossed her arms like that,” Reed says, and I nod. Out on the pavement we say goodbye to Lance, James, and Layla. I’m more than a little pleased when Haylee tells her friends she’ll stay with Dylan and the rest of us. They’re a few feet away, but I can tell even from here that James doesn’t approve. When Haylee crosses her arms, I stifle a smile. Apparently James didn’t learn from Daisy’s warning signs. Once Daisy and Daltrey (very red-faced and sullen) join us, we grab a quick dinner before heading for the ghost tour. “What exactly is involved in this, Paige?” Levi asks. “I’m not telling.” “Why not?” “Because not knowing is part of the experience.” “Paige is big on the experience,” Daisy murmurs to Haylee. “It’s best not to question it.” We meet our tour guides in front of a church on the Royal Mile. I expected silly costumes and feel a little let down when they greet us in simple, dark suits. Though one is wearing a pretty sweet

looking cape. Paige has arranged for a private tour for us, so we follow the guides down the high street to the entrance to the underground vaults. “We’re going down there?” Cash asks, his voice a little high pitched as he looks down the stone stairway to the dark beyond. “Oh, don’t be a baby,” Paige says, following the guide down into the darkness. “Come on, Cash,” Daisy says, holding out her arm for him. “You can walk with me.” “Fine,” he says, taking her arm. “But I’m only doing this for your protection, you know. So you won’t get scared.” “Of course you are, dear,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as they head down the stairs. “After you,” I tell Haylee then follow her down. We meet the others at the bottom of the steps in a room with rock walls. It’s lit only by torches, the effect pretty creepy. The guide explains how we’re standing in a portion of the city only recently excavated. The streets and buildings below have long since been built over. As we follow him deeper into the tunnels, I can’t help but feel a little let down. The vaults are creepy and dark, but the guide mostly focuses on historical details, only occasionally mentioning reports of hauntings. “I thought this would be scarier,” Levi says when we emerge an hour later. “Just wait,” Paige says knowingly. The next

part of the tour takes place in a cemetery called Greyfriars Kirkyard. The guide explains how the graveyard is famous for the story of a loyal dog who guarded his owner’s grave for years after his death. “And,” he says, his voice dropping several notches, “there’s also the matter of all the ghosts.” Nothing jumps out at us, there are no strange noises. But that doesn’t lessen the fear one bit. There’s something about walking through an old graveyard, in the middle of the night, listening to ghost stories, that is simply frightening. I notice as we walk farther through the headstones that our group in closing in, each of us subconsciously wanting to get closer to the others. Cash is still holding Daisy’s arm, but he seems to be clinging tighter than she is now. “You know what would be awesome?” Paige whispers loudly. “Playing Ghost in the Graveyard in here.” All of us who have played this particular game with Paige groan loudly. “What’s Ghost in the Graveyard?” Dylan asks. “Oooh, we’ll have to play sometime,” Paige says. “I can totally show you, it’s really—” There’s a rustling in the trees, and Paige lets out a little shriek. “What was that?” “Perhaps a crow,” the guide says. “Or perhaps… something else.” No one talks much after that. My own heart is

beating much faster than I would want to admit. The guide brings us to a stone mausoleum. “Within these walls,” he whispers, and I notice everyone in the group leaning in to hear him better, “dwells the most well-documented poltergeist in the world.” “A poltergeist?” Cash asks, his voice decidedly squeaky. The guide nods. “The Mackenzie Poltergeist has been haunting visitors to this spot for decades. Many unexplained things have happened here.” “Like what?” Haylee asks. Is her voice shaking? “Many men and women will find their skin marked by this spirit,” he says. “Scratches, bruises, all unexplained. Others will feel a presence, a brush of cold air on their skin. Hands pushing their bodies. Some will hear screams. Pictures taken here have shown shadowy figures standing near our guests.” Daltrey immediately spins around, as if to catch sight of a shadowy figure. “I can allow you into the tomb,” the guide says, looking from face to face. “That is… if you aren’t too afraid.” “Shit,” Cash mutters, and I release a little laugh, needing to break some of the tension. Haylee looks up at me, smiling, eyes flashing. “Let us inside,” Paige says, her voice shushed.

“As you wish,” the guide says, opening the wooden door to allow us entry. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The guide gestures us through the stone doorway but doesn’t follow as we step into the silent tomb. Does the air feel colder? It’s pitch dark, no light from the moon filtering through the stone walls. When Haylee leans toward me and her hair brushes my ear, I jump a foot in the air. “How much will your brothers tease me if I admit that I’m terrified?” she whispers. Her breath on the skin of my neck makes me shiver, and I can only hope that if she notices, she’ll write it off as a symptom of the cold. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” I say. “Not that I’m scared or anything.” She laughs softly. “Sure you aren’t.” “I’m scared as hell,” Daltrey says from behind us, making me jump again. I had no idea he was back there. He laughs at my reaction. “You sure you aren’t?” “I feel something in here,” Paige says suddenly, her voice loud in the quiet. Somewhere far above there’s a fluttering of wings. “I swear I do.” “Like what?” Daltrey asks, his voice tight. Paige’s eyes grow a little larger in the darkness. “Like… a spirit.” “Come on, Paige,” I say, trying to tamp down

the little rush of fear her words have stirred up in my chest. “You’re just being dramatic.” “I know what I feel,” she says, tilting her chin up in defiance. “What, uh, does it feel like?” Daltrey asks, and I can’t help but notice he takes a half step closer to me. I would give him shit about being so obviously freaked if I could just get my heart to stop pounding so hard. “It’s very… cold. I feel… it’s angry.” “Shut up,” Cash says. “You’re making that up.” “I think it wants us to go,” Paige says, grabbing Reed’s hand. “I really think we should get out of here.” “Fine by me,” Daltrey says, heading for the door. “Where’s Daisy?” I ask, looking around the dark room. Reed shoots Daltrey, already standing over by the door, a withering glance. “You know, your pregnant girlfriend?” “Dais?” Daltrey calls out. “Babe?” “We need to go,” Paige says, her voice panicked. “Daisy?” Fingers brush mine, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. “Sorry,” Haylee says, slipping her hand into mine. “It’s okay,” I whisper back.

“Daisy?” Paige calls again. “Oh, God, where is she?” “Shh,” Dylan says, holding a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?” We all freeze. Sure enough, there’s a sound in here. Like something sliding across the floor. “Oh my god,” Cash says. “Shit. What is that?” “We need to go!” Paige cries. “We need Daisy!” Daltrey shoots back. “Oh, sure, now you’re concerned,” Levi says. “A minute ago you were halfway out the door without her.” “Shh!” Dylan says again. “It’s getting closer.” The slithering noise does sound louder. Leaves crinkle against the stone floor and— “Ahhhh!” Someone—or something— screams, and we all take off running to the door. Daltrey is through it first, Cash close on his heels. I run with Haylee, holding her hand. She lets out a little shriek, followed by a laugh, and suddenly I’m laughing too. “Why are you laughing?” Paige screams, running past me through the door. “The poltergeist is here!” We reach the relative safety of the graveyard beyond the tomb, and I stop running, leaning over to catch my breath, still holding Haylee’s hand. From the corner of my eye I see Cash still running past our waiting tour guide, dodging tombstones as

he puts as much distance between himself and the poltergeist as possible. “What are you running from?” We all spin to see Daisy standing in the door to the tomb, grinning at us. “Was that you?” Daltrey cries. “Guess I’m not such a helpless pregnant lady after all, huh?” she asks, leaning against the doorway. “I scared the hell out of all of you!” “Shit,” Reed mutters, leaning on Paige. “You scared me!” she cries, and Daisy laughs. “I figured you of all people would want the full experience, Paige.” Paige looks like she’s trying to decide if she wants to scream or cry. Finally she lets out a long peal of laughter. “Okay, Daisy. That was pretty good.” “That was terrifying, Daisy,” I say. “Definitely,” Haylee says, laughing shakily. “I think Cash is still running,” Levi points out, smirking. “Good one, babe,” Daltrey adds, joining her in the doorway. The smile drops from her face. “Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to get out of there without me,” she says. “You didn’t even know I wasn’t next to you!” “I’m sorry,” he says, hanging his head. “You really scared me!” “Remember this the next time you’re acting

all condescending about my pregnancy,” she says, jabbing him in the chest. “I am kick-ass and strong.” “You are,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around her. “And what are you?” she presses. “A giant man-child.” She kisses his cheek. “Don’t forget it.” The walk back through the cemetery is no longer so scary, now that we’re all laughing. We catch up with Cash a few hundred yards from the tomb. “I knew it was Daisy all along,” he says. “I was just trying to add to the experience for you guys.” “You know what, Cash?” Haylee says. “You’re kind of full of shit, aren’t you?” “Haylee, dear,” Levi says, grinning at her. “You’re fitting in beautifully.” As we make our way back to the hotel, it doesn’t escape my notice that Haylee never releases my hand. “This was great, Lennon,” she tells me at her door. Everyone else has made their way into their own rooms, leaving Haylee and me alone in the hallway. “It was, wasn’t it? That’s Paige for you. She has a way of taking something silly and making it fun.” “She’s definitely fun,” Haylee agrees. “They

all are.” She pauses, her eyes falling from my face to my chest. “I think that’s what I need right now, you know?” “Fun?” I ask, and she nods. “Fun and… friends.” She meets my eyes again, and hers are wide and pleading, like she’s hoping I’ll understand something. “If you couldn’t tell the other night, I’m pretty fucked up.” “Haylee, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself to unload my secret. “I’m definitely messed up myself —” She holds up a hand. “Let me finish, okay? I’m pretty fucked up, Lennon, about a lot of things. And probably the last thing I need right now is some big, emotional attachment.” My throat feels dry. What she’s saying makes sense—it’s what Reed has been telling me since that morning in Newcastle. So why does it hurt so much to hear it from her? “I like you, Len,” she says, her voice softer. “I think we could be really good friends.” She pauses, searching my face. God, she’s so beautiful. “Is that okay with you?” “Of course it is,” I say without thinking, even though it isn’t. I don’t know exactly what I want from Haylee Hunt, but it sure as hell isn’t friendship. But then she smiles at me, and there’s no

more worry or fear on her face. She doesn’t even look tired anymore. “Thank you. I think that will be… that will be really good for me, Lennon. Having you as a friend.” How in the hell am I supposed to argue with that? When she leans up to hug me, I hug her back, trying not to think about how great she feels in my arms. Trying not to notice that amazing smell that still clings to her hair. “So,” she says, pulling back. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” “Absolutely.” My voice sounds strangely husky, but I smile, hoping she won’t notice. “Great. Thanks, Len.” “No problem, Haylee.” She gives me one last grin before disappearing behind her door, leaving me to wonder how it’s possible to feel so good and so awful at the same time.

Chapter Nine Haylee I tell myself that I made the right call as we travel to Dublin. And then again when we fly to Madrid, Lennon sitting next to me on the flight, just the way he did when we flew across the Atlantic. It becomes something of a mantra, I repeat it so often. Just friends is the best thing for both of us. If only repeating the words could take away the sharp stab of longing in my chest every time I’m within two feet of him. It’s strange, this feeling. I’ve never been one to yearn for a guy. Then again, I’ve never really let myself get this close to a guy like Lennon. A guy who actually seems to care about me, instead of focusing only on getting me into bed. A guy who can cheer me up without even saying anything. It’s not like Lennon is some effusive, cheerful person (I’m learning that Paige covers that role for the entire band). He’s quiet more often than not, sitting back and watching while his louder, more extroverted brothers act like idiots in the dressing room after shows or when we go to loud bars or

restaurants all together. Even when it’s only the two of us, he still seems to prefer quiet to incessant talking. And I like that. Which is totally weird for me. “Hey,” James says loudly, snapping a finger in front of my face. “Did you hear anything I just said?” I shake my head, trying to clear it, and look over at my friend. He’s frowning. “You’re totally distracted, Hay. What’s going on?” “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just, you know, soaking it all in.” James and I are walking down a tree-lined boulevard in Barcelona, ducking through the tourists. It’s just the two of us sightseeing today. Ransom has promo work all day, and the other members of our band are sleeping off what I’m assuming are pretty wicked hangovers from the night before. We hit some tapas bars on our arrival to the city, and some people just can’t hold their sangria. I can see James still watching me from the corner of my eye, so I stop to bend over a display of little sketches. La Rambla is one of the main tourist centers in the city, stretching down from Placa de Catulunya, where our hotel is located, all the way to the water. The boulevard is filled with stores, restaurants, and countless little stands hawking everything from art to cheap T-shirts to

what looks to be pretty amazing gelato. But to be honest, it isn’t my favorite place we’ve been so far in Europe. There are people everywhere, crowding in on me, often brushing against me as they pass, and I’m starting to get a headache from the strain of it. “You want some lunch?” James asks, and once again I marvel at his ability to sense I need a break—until I realize that I’m rubbing my forehead. I smile at him. “Lunch sounds great.” We find a little sushi bar a block off La Rambla and order, James massacring a few words of Spanish with help from his iPhone translation app. “We’re going to end up with octopus or something, aren’t we?” I ask once our waiter leaves. “Would serve you right,” he says, taking a sip of his water. “You didn’t even try to help.” “Because it was so much fun watching you.” James leans back into his chair, wiping his forehead. “I wasn’t really expecting it to be so warm.” I nod. “It’s even better than Madrid, and that felt warm to me. Lennon says there are some really good beaches here.” James doesn’t say anything, but his eyebrows tilt up just a fraction. I struggle not to make a face at him. Sometimes it’s so annoying, that little gift for reading my mind.

“You guys have a good time in Madrid?” he asks, voice measured. “Where’d you go—the palace?” “We had lunch in the park by the palace,” I say, my voice a lot less controlled than his. I hate it when he acts like this. It would be so much easier if he just came out and said what he was thinking so I could call him a dumb ass and move on. “A picnic,” he says, eyebrows raising another notch. “How nice.” Somehow the word nice sounds decidedly not nice when he says it in that tone of voice. “What, James?” He holds out his hands. “Nothing. I’m just catching up with you.” I roll my eyes. “We’re together eighteen hours a day. I don’t think we really need to catch up.” “I’m not the one spending a ton of time with Lennon Ransome.” “I’m not spending a ton of—” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath. “I told him we’re only going to be friends, James. I actually agree with what you said that day in Newcastle, okay, so you really don’t need to be on my case.” “I’m not trying to be on your case, Haylee,” he says, sounding offended. He leans toward me. “I’m trying to help you.” “You do help me. And I need you to. But that

doesn’t mean you shouldn’t just trust me sometimes.” He doesn’t respond for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet. “I do trust you. I just…” He doesn’t have to finish. I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s seen me fall apart way too many times to really believe things will be different now. “He’s a nice guy, James,” I say, looking away, not wanting him to see the shame I’m sure is in my eyes. “I know he is,” James agrees quickly. “I like him. I like all of them.” I smile a little. “They’re not quite like we thought, are they?” He snorts. “You could say that. I was imagining debauchery and flagrant wealth. Not visits to a hedge maze in Madrid.” It’s my turn to snort. “Apparently being in a major rock band means you spend seventy percent of your time playing video games and the other thirty percent going on ridiculous sightseeing expeditions. We can definitely out-party them.” I laugh, trying not to notice the way James’s face tightens. “Anyhow,” I continue quickly, not really wanting to get onto the topic of partying when he’s looking like that. “I was going to say that I don’t

think you have anything to worry about with Lennon. When I told him we should just be friends, he was fine with it.” A fleeting memory of the hurt on his face flashes through my mind, but I push it away. “He’s a nice guy. I really don’t think he would ever hurt me.” James stares me right in the face. “That doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt. It doesn’t really matter how good his intentions are.” “Because I’m crazy either way, right?” I snap. James’s face tightens some more. “I did not say that. I would never say that—” “It’s what you were thinking.” “Haylee—” Luckily the waiter reappears with our food, giving me a chance to hide my flushed face in a glass of water for a few seconds. By the time he’s gone—leaving no octopus behind, thank goodness —I’m a little more in control. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” I say. “But it feels like that sometimes, James. Like you all think I’m just a ticking bomb waiting to go off.” “We do not think that,” he says. Then he does something he never does—he reaches across the table and takes my hand. James is pretty adverse to any display of sentimentality, and the simple act of holding my hand, in a public restaurant no less, hits me hard enough to bring a lump to my throat. “Haylee,” he begins, his voice a little rough.

“You’ve been through a lot. And it’s been hard for you to come back from all of that. I feel like things are getting back on track lately, you know? The band has this great opportunity. All the feedback from the label is really positive. The fans are crazy about you.” He squeezes my hand. “But none of that would matter if I didn’t think that you were really feeling better. You seem… Hay, you seem so much better.” The certainty, the hope, in his eyes makes my stomach twist. Am I doing better? Maybe I’m just getting better at hiding it. James releases my hand, but he doesn’t drop my gaze. “I just don’t want anything happening that’s going to derail you. That’s all.” I nod, staring at the bottle of soy sauce in front of me so I don’t have to look at him anymore. I’m sure he’d be able to read the lie in my eyes if I did. “That’s why I don’t want to be in a relationship with Lennon.” “Really?” His tone makes it pretty clear he doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame him. I don’t believe me either. “Really,” I say anyhow, reaching for my salmon roll. “Can we eat now, or did you want to interrogate me some more?” “Quit your complaining,” he says, grabbing the soy sauce. “At least you have people who care about you enough to bug you. Unlike, say, Louis.” I laugh. “Poor old Louis.”

We make fun of our manager a bit while we eat, the conversation flowing naturally now that we’ve dropped the subject of my fucked-up neurosis. From Barcelona we’ll be heading to Paris for an entire week so the Ransomes can prepare for their live concert special. We’ll have two shows, and a bit of promotion to do for the European divisions of the label, but we’ll also have plenty of time to relax and enjoy the city. “Daltrey told me that Paige has the entire thing planned out already,” James says. “So we should probably steer clear if we don’t want to get sucked into all that.” I shrug. “It might not be so bad. The illusion museum was pretty cool.” I think of standing next to Lennon in the cemetery, my heart pounding, his hand warm in mine in the dark. “That was a good day,” I murmur. If he picks up on the change in my tone, he doesn’t have time to mention it. My phone rings, and a quick look at the screen has me groaning. “Remember when we talked about how fucked up I am?” I ask, raising the phone. “Here’s the original source of my crazy.” He grins, wiping his mouth, and holds out his hand. “Want me to answer it? She loves me.” “Of course she does,” I mutter, handing him the phone. “You pulled me out of the hell of busking and got me booked in real venues.”

James presses the screen and brings the phone to his ear. “Jess,” he says brightly. “It’s James. How are you?” Whatever she says is loud enough that I can make out the excited squeak of her voice from here. I grimace at James, but he merely grins, leaning back in his chair while I play with the wrapper of my straw. “Mmm hmm,” he says. “Really?…Wow…You don’t say!” I roll my eyes, waiting for him to finish buttering her up. This is one of the best things about having James as a best friend. Whenever my mother calls in his presence, he’s willing to talk to her first. By the time he gets done—he wasn’t lying, she really does love him—she’s usually calmed down significantly, and the subsequent conversation is nearly bearable. “Well, everything you’re reading seems to be matching up with our experiences here,” he says, and I look up sharply. “The crowds are great, and they seem really into us. Some of the venues have been pretty packed by the time we start, which Louis says is unheard of for Ransom’s openers.” I automatically make a gagging motion at the mention of Louis’s name, and James appears to fight off a laugh. “She’s handling it beautifully,” he says into the phone, and I stiffen. Of course she would be asking if I’m managing to keep from going off the rails. Heaven forbid she have any

faith in me. “Yeah, she’s here,” he says, and I groan audibly. I would have preferred he talk to her for a few minutes longer—enough time for me to make an escape, at least. He holds out the phone to me, and I make a face at him before taking it. “Hi, Mom.” “Haylee!” she cries, and I hold the phone away from my ear a little. “Sweetie, how are you?” “I’m good, Mom. The tour is going really well. Did James tell you we’re in Barcelona today? It’s so sunny Mom, you would really—” “I was just telling James,” she interrupted, and I wondered if she heard a word I said, “that the press you’re getting over there seems to be very good.” And we’re talking about the band again. Of course. “We’re getting press?” “Of course you are!” She sounds disapproving now. “How are you not following yourself online?” “I guess I just figured I could count on you for that, Mom.” She ignores the edge in my voice. “You really should be on top of these things, Haylee. It’s important. Anyhow, everything seems really positive. They loved you in England, you know. And Dublin! And your radio play over here is up significantly.” I lean back into my chair, letting her

words wash over me. I know I won’t get a word in edgewise. Once she gets going on my success—or lack of it—it’s nearly impossible to stop her. It’s been her obsession from the day I first opened my mouth and sang “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” “Anyhow, you really should get some things lined up for when you get back,” she’s saying now. “Ride this momentum.” “That’s all up to Louis and the label, Mom. You know that.” “Hmm. I wonder if I should call Louis.” I brighten a little. “Oh, you should definitely call him,” I say happily. If there’s anyone who deserves to be tortured by my mother, it’s Louis. And vice versa. “Okay, I’ll do that then, sweetie. I should let you go.” And that’s that. No questions about how I am, how I feel about the tour, what we might have seen or experienced. Except for her query to James about how I was managing—a reference, I was sure, to how my problems might be affecting the tour—she hasn’t shown the slightest interest in me. “Really nice to catch up, Mom,” I mutter, hitting the end button on my screen. I toss the phone on the table, glaring at James. “That woman is as bad as ever.” “Oh, come on.” He pulls out his wallet, dropping a few bills to the table. “She’s not nearly

as bad as she was when we were teenagers. Remember the Blue Parrot?” I wince, remembering the smell of cheap beer and acrid smoke that had filled the little dive bar in one of the sketchier neighborhoods of Detroit. She’d booked that gig for us when I was seventeen and had refused to let us back out even when we passed what appeared to be a meth sale near the front door on our way in. “A gig is a gig,” she had trilled, her oft-repeated mantra. “You ready to go?” he asks, drawing me from the memory. “We have two hours before sound check, and I wouldn’t mind taking a shower first.” “Sure.” I stand, slipping my arm through his as we reach the door. “Thanks for talking to Jess.” “It’s one of the perks of the job, babe.” He holds the door for me. “And by job I mean the role of best friend, of course.” “And you also meant one of the many perks, right?” He snorts. “The perks are few and far between, let me tell you.” *** The show in Barcelona is the biggest crowd yet. Louis told us, in one of the many strategy sessions he subjected us to prior to the start of the tour, that Ransom’s fans were primarily concentrated in England and Scandinavia. Of course, they were popular everywhere, but the

centers of that popularity were pretty easy to predict based on their record sales and fan club membership. So far, the tour seemed to be proving many of those assumptions wrong. The two stops in Spain and Dublin both saw sold-out crowds and long lines stretched around the buildings. The better part of the surprise, as far as we are concerned, is that the fans seem nearly as eager to see us as they do the Ransome boys. Seeing people in the audience singing right along with me is a thrill I didn’t think I will ever get used to. Seeing it happen on a different continent is even trippier. “Awesome job,” Dylan says as we meet in the wings. “Best show yet, I think.” Louis is waiting there for us, and to my surprise, he’s grinning. “Agreed,” he says. “Really well done.” Since Louis’s praise is generally nonexistent —or, at the very least, buried by his incessant criticisms—we’re all taken aback. “I have some news,” he says, gesturing us toward the stage exit. “Let’s go to the dressing room.” Five minutes later we’re gathered on the raggedy couch in the dressing room, bottles of water or beers in hand. “What’s up?” Dylan asks from his spot on the floor. “The label called during your set with a fantastic opportunity.” It’s a little freaky, seeing

Louis this happy. “You gonna keep us in suspense, Lou?” Layla asks, rubbing a towel over her sweaty brow. “You all know that Ransom’s show in Paris next week is going to be broadcast in the States.” He pauses, his eyes going to each one of us. “I hardly need to tell you the magnitude of this concert. The label is expecting viewership in the tens of millions. It will be simulcast on satellite radio and streamed live on the internet—” “Louis,” Dylan barks. “Ransom is amazing, we get it. What does this have to do with us?” Another long pause, his smile smug. “They’ve decided to broadcast your opening set as well.” You could hear a pin drop in that room. We all sit stock still, staring at one another. Lance is the first to speak. “What did you just say?” Louis is clearly enjoying his role as the deliverer of good news. “Your opening set is going to be broadcast to millions of viewers in the United States and Canada.” “Holy shit,” James whispers, and then we’re all screaming and jumping around. Dylan grabs me, swinging me off my feet, his voice shrill in my ear. Then Layla throws her arms around us, and I think she might be crying. “Are you serious?” Lance yells above the noise. “Are you fucking with us, Lou?”

Louis laughs. “Of course not. I worked my ass off on this deal, you know.” Dylan releases me and grabs our manager instead, pulling him off his feet in a bear hug. “Louis, you asshole, you’re good for something after all!” I realize that I’m laughing, a head-thrownback, full-throated cackling that I just can’t control. I don’t believe this. The Ransom Paris show has been talked about for months. MTV is predicting it will be one of their largest audiences ever, rivaling that of the VMAs. You can’t pay for this kind of exposure. And we’re going to be featured as well. Everyone is hugging everyone, yelling and laughing, and then James is in front of me. We just look at each other for a long moment, and that lump comes back to my throat. “What were you saying about that dive bar in Detroit?” I ask, and his face breaks into the biggest grin. Then he’s hugging me, and I bury my face in his shoulder, letting a few tears escape. I figure I’ve earned them.

Chapter Ten Haylee “Oh my God,” Paige yells a few hours later, barging into our dressing room. We skipped the Ransom sets for tonight, preferring to stay backstage and celebrate together. Apparently the show’s over, because Paige never misses a set. “I just heard about the concert!” she cries. “Congratulations!” I allow her to pull me into a hug before she turns to the others, hugging each member of the band with equal enthusiasm. “The boys are so stoked about this! And it’s so well deserved!” She beams at us. “We’re going out to celebrate, and you’re all coming with us. No exceptions!” “Paige, I don’t think you have to strong-arm us into celebrating tonight,” I say, laughing. “We’ll be there.” “Excellent! Barcelona is supposed to have an amazing nightlife. We’re going to have so much fun!” “I’m all about fun,” Dylan says, to a chorus of raised beer bottles from the rest of us. We’ve

been toasting pretty much every word out of our mouths tonight, and I don’t see the practice dying down. “We’ll meet you in our dressing room in twenty minutes, okay?” Paige says. She grabs me for one more hug. “I’m really so excited for you, Haylee. You deserve this.” “Thank you,” I say, taken aback, and more than a little touched, by her sincerity. We putz around for the next twenty minutes, Layla reapplying our makeup, until it’s time to meet the Ransome boys. They’re all waiting for us in their dressing room along with Levi, Paige, and Daisy. “Hey!” Daltrey calls when he sees us at the door. “Congratulations!” “Kick-ass news, you guys!” Cash calls. And then they surround us, giving us high fives, Daisy hugging us, Paige hugging us again. They’re genuinely excited for us, I think, remembering what James said that afternoon about them not being the way we expected. I file this under that same heading. “The label thinks this is going to be a really big deal,” Reed says. “I’m so happy you guys get to be a part of it. You really deserve it.” “Absolutely,” Lennon agrees, grinning down at me. My stomach flips at the expression on his face. He seems so happy, thrilled really. And he’s

standing so close. “I can’t think of anyone else who better deserves an opportunity like this.” “Thanks, Len,” I say, and I find I have to look away. Paige has scouted out several clubs for us. “This is my special gift,” she tells me in the van, her voice very serious. “Going to clubs?” “Finding clubs.” As soon as we’re inside, I know she had a point. The club is expansive, the majority of the floor space taken up by the dance floor. The ceiling towers high above us, a maze of catwalks and wire works, colored lights spinning madly over the crowd below. Platforms are set up around the room, housing professional dancers in black dresses doing their thing. “Is it just me,” Dylan calls in my ear, “or is everyone in this room exponentially more attractive than we are?” “Speak for yourself,” Layla calls, waving to us over her shoulder as she steps out into the crowd, her attention set on one of the many Mr. Dark and Handsomes currently on the dance floor. I glance over at Dylan’s crestfallen face and laugh. “Sorry, Dyl. I think you’re gonna have to give up the ghost on that one.” He sighs. “She’s way out of my league.” “Nonsense. She’s just a little too…

distracted.” He doesn’t look much cheered, so I sling an arm around his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. And we can people watch all the gorgeous Europeans from the bar.” But Paige has other ideas. Apparently Ransom doesn’t hang out at the bar like some group of plebs. She leads us all over to a roped-off VIP section where a tall table awaits. “This is pretty swanky,” Lance says, sliding up onto the neongreen plastic barstool. “I could get used to this.” “Me too,” Layla agrees, having rejoined us the moment she heard the word VIP. She adjusts her black corset top and takes the glass of champagne the waitress offers. “A toast is in order, I think,” Reed says, holding up his glass. “To Intrigue. Congratulations, you guys.” “To Intrigue,” the rest of them echo. “I have a feeling you’ll be giving us a run for our money in no time,” Cash adds, and we all clink glasses before drinking. “I want to dance,” Paige says, the moment she finishes her champagne. “Daisy, will you dance?” Daisy makes a face over her sparkling grape juice. “My feet are killing me,” she says. “And I’m super bloated.” “Thanks for sharing, Dais,” Cash says. “You try being seven months pregnant and

running across Europe with a bunch of rock and roll buffoons.” She smiles at me and Layla. “Female company excluded, of course.” Paige is pouting. “I’ll dance with you,” Layla says, laughing at Paige’s forlorn expression. “Really? Oh, thank you! Reed will never dance until he gets a few drinks in him.” She slides a bottle of tequila toward her boyfriend. “Get a move on, mister.” Then she grabs Layla’s hand and pulls her toward the dance floor. “What about me?” Dylan asks, sliding off his bar stool. “I’m an excellent dancer!” “He really is,” I tell the Ransome guys, who all laugh—except for Cash. He sighs and pours more tequila into his glass. “Don’t mind him,” a voice says close to my ear. I look over to see Lennon has slid into the seat vacated by Dylan. “He just misses Sam.” “Sam is his girlfriend?” Cash must overhear us because he looks up, his expression a little hopeful. “Did someone say something about Sam?” Lennon stifles a laugh, and I step on his foot under the table. “I haven’t heard too much about her,” I tell Cash, and his entire face lights up. “She’s the best,” he says, not looking at all like the international womanizer his reputation paints him to be. “She’s working for this awesome

charity in Seattle right now. They help wounded soldiers and their families.” “That sounds like a pretty worthwhile job.” “She’s amazing. Here.” He pushes Lennon off the chair next to me and pulls out his wallet, opening it to a shot of a pretty woman with long brown hair. She’s laughing into the camera, looking both fed up and completely enamored with the photographer. “She’s beautiful,” I say honestly. “And this is her son.” He flips to another picture, and a smiley, gap-toothed kid with spiked hair smiles up at me. “Wyatt. He’s hilarious.” “Is he coming to Paris too?” Cash sighs again. “No, he’ll have school, so he’s staying with his grandparents.” “You must really miss them.” “You have no idea.” I glance over at his wistful face. It couldn’t be more obvious that he does miss them, that’s he’s crazy about both of them. I try to reconcile the picture I have in my head of the leering, drunk guy hitting on me at that festival with the man who sits next to me now. Cash Ransome, a father figure. I guess people really do change. “Karen is coming, though,” Daisy says from across the table. “She’s Levi’s girlfriend—and Paige’s best friend.” “Oh, God,” Lance mutters. “There’s two of them?”

Daisy laughs as both Levi and Reed glare at Lance. “Karen is very different from Paige,” Levi says. Reed turns his glare to the tour manager, and Levi mutters, “Not that that’s inherently a good thing.” “We all have fun together,” Daisy tells me, ignoring the boys. “You’ll like them both.” “I’m sure I will.” “What you might not like,” Lennon says, “is all of them turning into lovesick teenagers.” I make a face. “Are they gross?” “They’re super gross.” “I resent that,” Levi says, taking a swig of his booze. “Karen and I are not gross.” “They call themselves Kevi,” Lennon says, shuddering, and I laugh. “Consider yourself warned.” “Reed!” Paige calls from the dance floor. “Are you sufficiently tipsy to dance with me yet?” He holds up his mostly full glass, and I get the feeling he’s nursing it on purpose. “Not quite.” “Then I’m just going to dance with Rodrigo over there,” she says, pointing at one of the supernaturally gorgeous Spaniards dancing near Layla. Reed practically falls off his chair in his haste to get to her. “I might feel ready for some dancing myself,” Daisy says, wiggling a little. “I think I need to stretch.”

“Slow dancing,” Daltrey says, helping her down from the stool. “Whatever you say, dear,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as they go. “What kind of sound system you think they got in here?” Levi asks, eyes on the speakers that pulse far above. Lance and Cash immediately join him in an incredibly technical discussion of the merits of surface-mount versus column speakers. “I’m going to fall asleep if I have to sit here and listen to this,” I call over to James. “You wanna dance?” He makes a face at me. “When, in all the years you’ve known me, have I ever once danced with you?” I, of course, knew he was going to say that. He never dances. But his refusal makes it perfectly natural for me to then turn to Lennon, who’s currently looking bored, playing with a bottle cap, and say, “How ’bout you? Feel like dancing?” “Sure,” Lennon says, grinning across at me. I grin back, feeling James’s eyes narrow. Too bad, buddy. I’m celebrating tonight. As we head out to the dance floor, Lennon lets his hand fall lightly on the small of my back, and I shiver in delight. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, a desire to celebrate is only part of why I engineered the dance with Lennon. The truth

is, a part of me has been trying to come up with ways to get close to him again ever since that afternoon in Newcastle. Standing so close to him in that cemetery in Edinburgh only reminded me of how good he felt, even as I promised myself we’d just be friends. But as we reach the dance floor, as Lennon looks down at me with those dark eyes of his, as his lips turn up ever so slightly at the corners, I realize that the last thing in the world I want is to be Lennon’s friend. I want to go to bed with him. I want to feel his lips on mine again, feel them on my skin. I want to look up at him as he hovers over me, his eyes steady on mine. I want him. He pulls me close as we begin to dance, much slower than the music calls for. If I look up, I can see his Adam’s apple in front of my eyes. He swallows a few times, and I feel a swoop of my stomach. He’s affected too, I think, running my hands up his arms to his shoulders. He wants me too. You can’t do this, a voice whispers in the back of my head. My reasons for telling him we’d only be friends were good ones. It wouldn’t be right to let him think I would be capable of something I know I will never achieve. He’ll only end up getting hurt. I’ll only end up getting hurt. We both need to be friends only.

But he feels so good. I take a half step closer, allowing myself to breathe in his scent through his gray T-shirt. A mix of tequila, soap, and a musky aftershave makes me catch my breath. His hand slides a little lower on my back, bringing me another half step closer. I could rest my head against his shoulder now, if I let myself. James is right, I remind myself feebly. You shouldn’t do this. “I need a drink,” I call over the sound of the music, when what I really need is a distraction, an opportunity to take a step back, break the indefinable pull I feel whenever I stand too close to him. Lennon nods, leading me over to the bar. His hand never drops from my back. One of the waitresses from our section is at the bar, and she hurries to grab a beer for Lennon and a Scotch and soda for me when she recognizes us. As soon as the burn of alcohol hits my throat I feel better. It’s easier to focus, easier to silence the chorus of doubts in my head. I down the drink and ask for another, trying not to notice the question in Lennon’s expression. I’m three drinks in by the time he finishes his beer. Add to that the shot of tequila I had at the table, and I’m starting to feel buzzed. I know from experience that the buzz won’t last, that the positive effects of the booze will lessen and lessen as the night goes on. I’ll spend the next hours

chasing the feeling I have right now, drinking more and more as I try to recapture it. I know those things, but I have a great talent for making myself not believe them. “You want to dance some more?” Lennon asks. I grin up at him, allowing myself to inch a bit closer. That’s what people do when they drink, right? Lowered inhibitions and all that. I bring a hand up to rest on his forearm. “Sure.” Before we head back to the dance floor, I signal to the waiter for another drink. “I hate to dance empty-handed,” I explain when Lennon’s eyebrows go up. “Want another beer?” We bring our drinks to the dance floor and join Paige and Reed. “You’re here!” Paige cries happily, hugging both of us. She’s clutching the stem of a cosmo glass, somehow managing not to spill the bubblegum-pink liquid all over the place. We dance with them for a while, and when Paige orders a round of shots, I participate, taking Lennon’s as well when he declines. “Maybe we should sit for a while,” Lennon says when I’ve finished. He steers me away from the others, and I stumble a little. But that’s fine because it gives me an excuse to grasp his arm. “You okay?” “Of course.” I lean in a little closer, loving the feel of his side pressed against mine. “But I don’t want to sit.”

“No? You seem a little unsteady.” I giggle. It doesn’t really sound like me, but I don’t let myself think about that. “I think I just need something to hold on to.” I peer up into his dark eyes, willing him to agree. “Sure,” he finally says, smiling a little. I sigh happily, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling myself flush against him. I wonder if he can feel how hard my heart is beating—it feels like we’re close enough. God, he smells good. And his skin is so warm. “Haylee.” His voice is a little rough, unsteady, and something about it seems to break through the haze of alcohol, piercing me in the chest, and it’s too much. I don’t want to feel this, I think. I don’t want to feel anything. I just want to concentrate on how good it is to be this close to him. I tighten my arms around his neck, closing my eyes. “Can we just dance?” I whisper. Somehow he manages to pull me even closer. “Sure.” I don’t know how long we stand like that, holding each other so tight, barely moving to the music. I want him so much it’s overwhelming, and I try to focus on the little things—the way his fingers are digging into my lower back, the feel of his breath on my neck, the softness of his hair just above my fingers. Anything to keep myself from doing something really stupid—like telling him that

I’m falling for him. Telling him that I can feel him filling up the hole in my chest, feel him fixing me. “Haylee,” he says again, his voice still rough. It sends my stomach flipping in a delicious mixture of nerves and excitement. But the nerves win out— whatever he’s going to say is going to be too much. I’m not sure how I know, but I do. He’s going to say something to me that can’t be taken back. Something that will change us. And I’m scared. “Let’s go back to your room,” I blurt out, pulling back to look at him. His eyes are dark, his gaze intense. I swallow, my throat dry. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way Lennon does. As if he really knows me, can really see me. As if he likes what he sees, even the parts of me that feel messed up or broken. He looks at me like I matter to him. Like his day would be worse without me in it. “My room?” His voice is low, eager. I nod, biting my lip, liking the idea more and more. It’s obvious there’s an attraction between us, a strong connection. Why shouldn’t we be having fun with it? And if we’re having fun with it, maybe I can distract myself from the idea that this man can fix me. No one can fix you, I remind myself. That hole in your chest isn’t going anywhere. But spending the night with Lennon might make me forget about it, at least for a while.

“I want you,” I tell him, meeting his gaze, suddenly desperate for him to agree. “I want to be with you.” The size of his grin makes my breath catch. “I thought you said it wasn’t a good idea?” he asks, brushing his fingers across my cheek. Goose bumps erupt on my skin at the touch. “That we should just be friends.” “We are friends.” I force out another giggle, needing something to break this intensity in my chest. “We could be…” “More?” he asks, the smile slipping away as his eyes darken, making me shiver. “Exactly,” I murmur. “Like, friends with benefits.” The smile slips away entirely, but I no longer feel like shivering. Because the intensity has left his eyes as well. He’s no longer peering down at me like he wants me more than anything else in the world. He’s looking at me like he doesn’t know me. “What?” I ask, a shot of panic coursing through me as he pulls back a little, his hand dropping from my face. “What’s going on, Haylee?” God, his voice has turned so cold. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. “I thought we were… Aren’t we on the same page?” “I’m thinking we aren’t. Let’s just get this clear, okay?”

I swallow, wondering why on earth I’m so afraid of what he might say. “You still aren’t interested in a relationship, right? You’re just talking about hooking up.” “What’s wrong with a hookup?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my face. Maybe I can salvage this— “Nothing,” he says, but his eyes are hard. “Not when that’s what both people want.” I feel the sharp sting of rejection. “And you don’t want me, that’s what you’re saying?” I snap, pulling the rest of the way out of his arms. “Of course I want you,” he practically growls. “But not if you can’t be real with me.” “What are you talking about?” “It would be more than a hookup, and you know it.” “Oh, God.” I cross my arms. “What do you want from me, Lennon? You want some declaration of my feelings? This isn’t a Victorian romance novel.” If I thought his voice went cold before, it was nothing to the way it sounds now. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t do bullshit, Haylee, and I don’t do lies.” “So you’re calling me a liar?” “You’re not being honest about us right now. We’re more than a hookup, and you know it.” “Well, I don’t want more than a hookup,” I say, my voice sharp. I feel like I’m about to start

crying, which is so stupid. This entire thing is stupid. And my buzz is completely gone. “I need a drink,” I mutter, looking around for the waiter. His face hardens. “Why did you start drinking so much tonight?” “Oh my God.” I glare at him. “You don’t get to lecture me.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right. But you don’t get to use alcohol as an excuse to get with me guilt free.” I take a step back, feeling stung. Is that what he thinks this is? Before I can respond, he’s turning to go. “Take care of yourself, Haylee. I’ll see you around.” “Lennon,” I call after him, but my voice sounds strangled, and he doesn’t turn. I watch as he weaves through the dancing crowd, his shoulders hunched. I don’t look away until he’s out of sight, disappearing into the darkness of the club. I have only one thought. He’s completely right about me.

Chapter Eleven Lennon We spend the first morning of our week in Paris at the venue, taking a tour and meeting the production team that we’ll work with for the broadcast. They take us up into the balcony so we can get a sense of the size of the stage. It looks small from up here even though I know that the venue, though not the biggest we’ve ever played in, is larger than what we usually play. I lean against the railing and wonder if Haylee has ever played anything bigger then feel angry at myself for thinking about her so much. “Hey, Len,” Levi says, joining me at the railing. “Karen wanted me to ask you to lunch.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “Really? You haven’t seen her in weeks, and her first full day with the tour—her first full day in the most romantic city in the world—and she wants to have lunch with me?” I smirk at him. “What’d you do to piss her off?” He makes a face at me. “Lunch with you isn’t exactly my top choice, bud, but for reasons that I

can’t quite comprehend, she says she misses you.” I grin at that. I like Karen. Like her for Levi. When she came out on tour with us last summer she changed him, transforming him from an uptight worrier (mostly my fault) to someone who could actually have some fun once in a while. “Sure,” I say. “Lunch sounds good.” We meet Karen back at the hotel and walk the few blocks to a cafe the concierge recommended. We’re staying in the Latin Quarter, and the neighborhood is littered with restaurants, patisseries, and cafes. The smell of baking croissant is pretty much ubiquitous. “I can’t believe I’m in Paris,” Karen says, looking around happily. “You know, before I met you guys I’d never been farther away from home than Atlanta.” “I’m just happy we have the chance to actually spend some time here this time,” Levi says. He has his arm wrapped loosely over her shoulders, and every once in a while he’ll reach up to finger her hair. I wonder what it would feel like to be that comfortable with Haylee. Stupid to think about, I tell myself. She would never want to be in that kind of relationship with you. “You’re spacing, buddy,” Karen says, reaching for her wine glass. “Sorry.” I blink a few times to clear my head. “What’d you say?”

“I asked if you had the chance to see much of the city on the last tour.” “A little bit,” I say, determined not to think about Haylee anymore. It’s nice that Karen is here. Levi looks happy, and God knows he deserves a little happiness. I don’t want to waste the day being mopey. “It’s a really cool city. Probably my favorite in Europe.” “What’s the best thing to do?” “If you like art museums, this is the place,” I say. I expect her to make a face, the way my brothers do when the subject comes up, but she sits a little straighter. “Do you think they have anything showcasing photography?” “I’m sure they do. Why?” “Karen’s really getting interested in photography,” Levi says, his chest puffing out a little bit. “She’s great.” She looks down at the table. Is she blushing? “Karen Simpson,” I say in mock shock. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shy.” “Shut the hell up,” she mutters, and I grin. “That sounds more like you.” I grab another piece of bread from the basket. “I’m sure we can find something.” “To be honest, I bet Paige already has the entire week planned out,” she says, grimacing at me. “I heard her saying she was picking something

special for each of us.” “Oh, God,” Levi says. “We have a lot of work to do,” I remind him. “I don’t think we’ll be able to run around the city with Paige every day.” “I’m sure she’ll find a way.” Our food arrives, and we eat in silence for a minute. This is one of my favorite things about Paris, even more than the museums. Their culture of food—the predominance of restaurants, the focus on good wine, the way they linger over their meals, talking for hours—I love that. “So, Len,” Karen says after a few bites. “What’s with this girl you’re in love with?” I choke on my croque monsieur, and Levi pounds me on the back while I cough. “Sorry,” Karen says, pushing my glass of water toward me. But she’s smiling. “Who told you I was in love with her?” I ask when my eyes finally stop watering. “Because I’m not. We barely know each other.” “You’ve hung out about as long as Sam and Cash did,” she points out. I scowl, not really having an answer for that. “Come on,” she says. “It’s just us.” “I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to talk about my love life with the girl who tells Paige everything.” “I do not tell Paige everything. I wouldn’t tell

her this.” “You haven’t really talked about it, man,” Levi adds. “And you’ve seemed a little down about it.” I sigh, pushing my sandwich away. “Fine. She’s… I like her. We get along and…” I have a fleeting thought of the way her lips felt on mine and swallow. “Anyhow. She’s not interested in a relationship, so it doesn’t really matter.” “She told you that?” Karen asks. I nod. “She didn’t look not interested in the club the other night,” Levi says, and Karen’s eyes light up. “Flirtations in a club? Details. Now.” “You really are as bad as Paige and Daisy,” I say. “Fine. We slept together back in England, and it was… it was pretty great.” I rub a hand across the back of my neck, uncomfortable. I was never really the type to share information like this. Probably a reaction to being grossed out by Cash’s oversharing in his really bad man-whoring days. “Pretty great, huh?” Karen asks, waggling her eyebrows. “You want to elaborate?” “No,” I say sharply. Then I sigh. “But after that she pulled away. Said we should just be friends.” “Which still doesn’t explain the club,” Levi says. “We went out dancing in Barcelona the other

night—” “God, I’m jealous I didn’t get to go to Barcelona,” Karen interrupts. “Was it amazing?” “You want me to talk about this or not?” “Sorry, sorry,” she says quickly. “Go on.” “So we were out dancing and… I don’t know. There was a spark.” I think of the way she felt in my arms, the way her eyes remained so fixed on my lips as we danced. The way her skin felt like it was burning my palms whenever I touched her. “Definitely a spark,” Levi adds. “They looked like they were gonna go to town on each other in the middle of the dance floor.” “So what happened?” Karen asks. “She asked me to take her back to my room.” “What?” Levi practically yelps, sitting up straighter. “Why didn’t you go?” I give him a withering look. “You look like a pre-teen at a slumber party right now, Levi. Chill.” “I don’t even care.” He shoves a piece of bread in his mouth. “You Ransome boys are better than a soap opera.” I direct my attention to Karen so I don’t have to see my best friend talking with his mouth full. “And then, in the next breath, she told me it would just be a one-night thing.” What words did she use? Friends with benefits. I grimace at the table. “And you wanted more,” Karen says. “Well, yeah. But it wasn’t just…” I sigh. “I

mean, I’m a guy. She’s totally hot, and you know, the sex was…” I rub my hands over my face. “God, this is uncomfortable. I probably would have hooked up with her, honestly. But…” “But what?” Karen asks, her voice soft. I stare out at the people passing the cafe, the city vibrant and crowded around us. “It was like… she wanted me, you know? I could tell. But as soon as that became clear, she started drinking. A lot.” Karen frowns. “You didn’t want to take advantage?” “No, it wasn’t… I mean, of course I didn’t want to take advantage but…” It’s hard to describe what it felt like out on that dance floor. “It was like she wasn’t drunk,” I finally say. “Like, I was watching her drinking—really drinking, she could put Cash under the table—but she didn’t really change.” I shake my head, knowing that isn’t exactly right. “I guess she was laughing a little harder, maybe touching me more. But it… it didn’t feel real.” “She was pretending to be drunk?” Levi asks, frowning. “I don’t know. It felt like she was using the booze as an excuse.” I look between them. “Does that make sense? Like she couldn’t let herself want me otherwise but once she had some drinks in her, it was okay to flirt.” “Hmm,” Karen says, a thoughtful expression

on her face. “I wonder why she would feel like she couldn’t just be with you if that’s what she wanted.” I take another few bites of my sandwich, thinking. “When we hooked up, her friend James— the bassist,” I tell Karen, “he came to the door later, woke us up. He wasn’t very happy about the situation.” “Why? Do they have something going?” I shake my head. “No. Not that I can tell. But… I don’t know. He told her she could get hurt, and I guess she agreed with him, because when she came back to the room she could hardly look at me. And then she pulled away after that.” I take a sip of water, not wanting to voice the thing that’s been bothering me. “Do you think it’s possible she heard about… August? You think that’s why she doesn’t want to be with me?” “If that’s true, then she’s a bitch and I don’t want you to be with her,” Karen says, her voice harsh. “I wouldn’t blame her,” I mutter. “I mean, come on. Who wants to date the crazy guy who—” “Do not finish that sentence, Lennon,” Karen says. “I’m not going to let you talk shit about yourself.” “Besides, man,” Levi says. “I really don’t see how she could find out.” “You don’t think there are rumors?” I ask,

eyebrows high. “Come on, Levi. We’re on tour with them. Roadies talk. Fans talk. I bet there are a dozen websites dedicated to figuring out what happened in August.” “There’s a ton of talk,” he concedes. “But none of it has come close to hitting on the truth.” When he speaks again his voice is kind. “We monitor this stuff, Len.” My stomach sinks at the thought of some intern somewhere whose sole job is to scour the internet to see what people are saying about me. “I don’t think she could possibly know,” Levi continues. “But even if she did find out somehow… Len, does she really strike you as the type of person who would judge you for that?” When I met her back in Los Angeles, my very first thought was that this was a girl who understood pain. There was something in her eyes then, something I’d been catching glimpses of ever since, something that told me she would understand what I’d done if I ever came up with the courage to tell her. And then, at the party, when she told me what happened with her stalker, it was obvious in her tone and behavior that the incident had a profound effect on her. And of course there was that night after the show in Glasgow, the way she went to pieces when that fan touched her. What did she tell me in Edinburgh? I’m really fucked up. “No,” I finally say. “I guess I don’t.”

“Look, Lennon,” Karen says, leaning across the table a little to better meet my eyes. “If she’s someone that you care about, someone that might make you happy, then she’s worth an effort. A relationship like that is worth it, it just is.” I think Levi must squeeze her hand under the table because she shoots him a quick smile before returning her gaze to mine. “But if she’s not someone that can be honest with you—or if you feel like you can’t be honest with her—then this probably isn’t what you need right now, you know?” I nod. Everything she’s saying is true. I worked too hard to get to the point where I am to risk my recovery on someone who can’t be open with me. Even if the thought of shutting her out makes me feel completely numb. “I hear you’re doing really well these days.” I glance up at her, ready to laugh, but her face is completely serious. “Who told you that?” “I did,” Levi says. “Why?” The corners of his mouth tug up a little bit. “Because you are. You can’t see that?” I shrug, feeling uncomfortable. I’ve been playing the role of the fucked-up one for so long now, it’s hard to imagine someone seeing me in any other way. “You’re obviously sleeping better,” he says.

“Because you don’t have those shadows under your eyes anymore. And you’ve put on weight, so you don’t look so scrawny anymore.” It’s his turn to shrug. “And you just seem like you’re enjoying yourself more.” Am I enjoying myself more? The thought crosses my mind that any positive change he might be seeing in me might have something to do with proximity to Haylee. “If you think she’s someone that can make you happy,” Karen says, as if reading my mind, “I’m all about you going for it.” Her voice lowers a little, intense. “And if that’s the case, there’s no one more capable of helping you than me.” “Really?” Levi asks, smirking. “You make it sound like you’re part of some kind of relationship special forces.” “If there’s one thing Paige and I know,” she says, shooting him a withering glare, “it’s how to get the girl.” “And how would you know that?” “Because we have watched every romantic comedy ever made,” she says simply. “We’re experts.” She turns away from a still smirking Levi to look at me. “I mean it, Len. You want this girl, I got some game. That’s all I’m saying.” I can’t help laughing, she looks so entirely serious. “Thanks for the offer, Karen. I think I would want to try to practice my own game first.” I

sigh. “Or not. Because I think you might have been right about this not being the time.” She nods, looking a little sad as she reaches across the table for my hand. “The time will come, Len. Maybe not with Haylee and maybe not right now. But it will come.” Before I can respond, her phone rings. “I thought we had a no phones at the table rule,” Levi complains as she reaches into her purse. “We do, but this is Paige,” she says, as if that changes everything. “Hey, what’s up?” I can hear Paige’s excited squealing from here. “That was today?” Karen asks, grimacing. “I thought—no, of course I trust you to keep track of your own schedule.” She sighs. “No, I did not mean to imply that you’re bad at planning. Fine. We’ll be right there.” She hangs up and looks at us apologetically. “Guess who made plans for us today?” “Why do we have to go?” Levi asks. “Because she made plans for all of us,” Karen says, her voice turning dangerously sweet. “And you don’t want to be rude to my very best friend in the world, do you?” “Of course not,” Levi sighs, reaching for his wallet. “I got this,” I say, throwing down some bills. “You know that paying for my lunch isn’t going to get you out of coming with us, right?”

Karen asks. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to bribe you.” Karen grins, standing. “Good. ’Cause Paige said Intrigue is coming with us.” *** Half an hour later we’re crowded into the tiny lobby of a building right across from the Seine. The amazing smells of food cooking drifts up to us from the basement, but my enjoyment of the atmosphere is dampened by the fact that there are thirteen people in a room obviously built for a much smaller number. “What are we doing here, Paige?” Daisy asks, rubbing her swollen belly. “That smell is making me hungry.” “You’ll get to eat soon,” Paige says happily. “Just wait!” We don’t have to wait much longer. A woman Reed’s age enters from the basement and greets us. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she says in accented English. “Welcome to Paris Cuisine. I’m Marie, and I’ll be getting you set up today.” “We’re taking a cooking class!” Paige explains excitedly. Suddenly the aprons hanging behind the desk make a lot more sense. “We’re cooking?” Daltrey asks, sounding skeptical. “Baking actually,” Marie tells us. “We have you signed up for our French pastry class. You’ll be

learning to make a variety of breakfast pastries as well as fillings.” “We’re going to make croissants!” Paige says, clapping her hands. “Yummy, buttery croissants! Doesn’t that sound like the perfect French experience?” “Paige, I don’t know how to cook,” Cash groans. “Can’t we just go out to eat if you want croissants?” “Don’t you want a French experience?” she asks, sounding shocked that he might disagree. “Croissants, Cash!” “We could eat croissants at a restaurant,” he mutters. “Don’t be silly. This is going to be fun!” “And you will get to eat everything you make,” Marie says. “If everyone would just follow me downstairs…” “You’re going to light the entire building on fire,” Daisy tells Daltrey as we begin to make our way down the stairs. They’re twisting and narrow, and I have to duck in order not to hit my head. “I can’t promise anything,” I hear Daltrey say. “Maybe this time you’ll make sure your pregnant girlfriend is out of the room before you run for your own life,” Daisy adds. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?” “Not if I can help it,” I say, jabbing him in the

back. Once on the lower level, Marie leads us to a large room filled with counter-high tables. The far wall is lined with ovens and stovetops. In the front of the room is a pair of sinks and a man in a white chef’s coat standing beside them. “Here’s your group, John,” Marie says before turning back to us. “John will take good care of you. Enjoy your class!” The chef, a tall, dark-haired man, greets us in an American accent. “Take a seat, take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the tables. “There should be a spot for each of you.” “Holy crap,” I hear Daisy mutter. “That guy is hot.” “Hey!” Daltrey cries, and she shushes him. “I’m sorry, but there are some things a girl just can’t help but notice.” From the way Layla practically throws herself to the front of the room to grab the table closest to John, I don’t think Daisy is the only girl who noticed. Karen and Paige are looking at the chef with open mouths even as they take their seats, and Reed shoots him a glare, apparently picking up on the object of his girlfriend’s fascination. “Pathetic,” Haylee murmurs, and I turn to see that she has taken the seat next to me. My stomach drops. I’m not sure I have it in me to sit this close to her for the duration of the class, not when I

know how she feels. Or, rather, how she doesn’t feel. “I wanted to apologize,” she says. She’s looking at me sheepishly, and it’s an unfamiliar look on her. She’s usually so confident, so brazen. The complete opposite of me, I think, feeling even worse. “You don’t need to apologize.” “I do.” John starts to speak at the front of the room, and she drops her voice. “Lennon, I don’t know what got into me the other night—” “Don’t worry about it.” I know I sound short, but I can’t help it. Being this close to her is another reminder of how beautiful she is—as if I needed one. At the table in front of us, Cash and Sam are sitting close together, laughing about something. I’ve barely seen them since she arrived yesterday. The sight of them, so happy and comfortable with each other, sends a dull shot of pain through me. I’m not going to get that with Haylee, I remind myself. And sitting here with her is just another reminder of what I don’t have. “Lennon.” Her voice is soft, and she sounds pretty miserable. “Let’s just…” I sigh, turning back to John at the front of the room. “Let’s just take this class.” She doesn’t say anything else, but when John instructs us to grab our ingredients, she complies. “Today we’ll be making the classic French

puff pastry dough,” he explains from the front of the room. “With this dough you can make a variety of pastries including croissants and pain au chocolat. We’ll be making both, as well as a few others. But first we need to make our custard so it can set. This custard can be used as a filling or a sauce for the pastry.” He passes a few vanilla bean pods around the room and shows us how to scrape the insides to collect the seeds. He has Paige add the vanilla to a bowl of milk and instructs her to crack a few eggs into the mix. “Very good, Paige,” he tells her, and she beams at him. “Paige is crazy competitive,” Karen mutters from the table next to us. “So watch your back. She’s not beyond sabotaging someone.” “For a cooking class?” Haylee asks, leaning over me so she doesn’t have to raise her voice. I try not to wince as her arm brushes mine. Why does she have to smell so good? Why does my skin have to feel like it’s burning—in the best possible way— every time we touch? “Cooking class, scrapbooking, sandcastle building. Doesn’t matter. Paige takes these things very seriously.” “Let’s divide our custard into two pots,” John says. “And then we can gather around the stoves.” Once we’re standing in front of the cooking top, John hands a whisk to Cash. “Here you go,” he

says. “Let’s see what you can do.” “Oh, I can’t cook,” Cash says quickly, trying to hand the whisk back, but the chef only laughs. “Which is why you’re taking the class.” He holds out another whisk. “I need another volun—” Before anyone can respond, Paige is grabbing the whisk and walking to the other stove at Cash’s side. “Okay,” John says, sounding slightly bemused. “The goal here is to keep the custard in constant movement. If you allow the mixture to be still in any one spot, we’ll get burns. We want zero burns.” He grins at Cash. “So you’re going to have to use all your arm strength.” Cash snickers. “Dude. I play guitar. I think I’ll be fine.” “Let’s get started then.” John turns the heat on under the pans and instructs Paige and Cash in how to stir the custard. “Good,” he says. “Now you only have to do that for two more minutes.” “No problem,” Cash mutters. But after thirty seconds or so, his face starts to tighten. “What’s the matter, babe?” Sam calls cheerfully. “Your arm getting tired?” “No,” he says, his voice tight. “It’s just… a repetitive movement.” Daltrey snorts. “Then you should be really good at it.”

Daisy smacks his arm. “Don’t be crude.” Now that Cash has hinted that he might be having difficulties, the guys have no choice but to trash talk him. Paige happily joins in. Her face is smooth and unlined as she whisks her custard, apparently having no issues with her arm aching. “Okay, twenty more seconds,” John says. “Think you can handle it, Cash?” Reed calls. “You look tired, buddy,” Levi says. “Sure you don’t want to give up? There’s no shame in losing to a girl.” Paige smiles at him over the stove. “No shame at all.” “Will you all please shut up?” he growls, right as John calls time and pulls the two pans from the heat. “Okay, here’s the moment of truth,” he says, pouring the custard from the pans into two glass bowls. “If we see any scorch marks on the side of the pan we’ll know that we have some burning.” As Paige’s mixture fills the bowl, he smiles at her. “Good, Paige. Very little scorch mark right here, but nothing major. This will be a good custard.” She beams and turns to Cash, eyebrows raised. “Now, Cash,” John says, pouring his custard into the next bowl. “Well, look at that. Not a single scorch mark. That’s just about perfect.” Cash gives Paige a huge smirk. “Don’t worry. There’s no shame in losing to a rock star.”

She’s still glowering at him when we return to our seats. “He’s asking for trouble,” Karen mutters. John gets the custard in the cooler to set then instructs us on how to mix and knead our dough, a process which consists of rolling the dough into a ball before slamming it into the counter top. Soon the room is filled with the noise of dough slapping against marble. “Your brothers seem to enjoy this part,” Haylee says. It’s the first thing she’s said to me since her attempted apology earlier, and I feel a flash of guilt for being so cold. But then I follow her eyes around the room, and I have to laugh. She’s right—my brothers are taking great glee in slamming their dough around. “Dylan and Lance are into it too,” I say, nodding at their table. She smirks. “Guess it’s a guy thing.” Once our dough is properly elastic, John shows us how to layer it with the butter we rolled out earlier. It’s an involved process including a lot of rolling and layering. To keep our dough from sticking, he teaches us a method of flinging flour to the counter surface. It involves a little flick of the wrist to get the flour to spread evenly, and I’m terrible at it. “No, like this,” Haylee says, laughing. She has the flicking movement down pretty good, and I try again, attempting to copy her, but my flour lands on the table in a clump.

“Daltrey!” Daisy squeals. “You’re getting flour all over me!” She isn’t exaggerating. She has a huge swath of flour down her shirt. Daltrey takes one look at her and starts laughing, causing Daisy to take a handful of flour and flick it right into his hair. “Hey!” he cries, his hands patting his hair. “You’re making it worse,” she says, laughing so hard she has to bend over. “Your perfect, rock star hair!” “I’m so sorry,” I hear Reed telling John at the front of the room. “We can’t take them anywhere. I’ll make sure they clean up.” “John doesn’t seem too worked up about it,” Haylee says. “I bet Paige paid a pretty good bonus for putting up with us.” Haylee laughs. “Reed wasn’t joking about not being able to take you guys anywhere.” The layering of dough and butter isn’t as easy as it sounds. John explains that touching the dough too much will cause the butter to melt, but layering it correctly requires a lot of folding and rolling it into precise rectangles. “Good shape, Cash,” John says as he walks up and down the aisles to examine our work. “Paige, you need to even out those corners a little.” “I’m pretty sure there’s steam coming out of her ears,” Haylee mutters, and I snort.

Once we have the dough layered, John shows us the shapes to cut it into to create our pastries. We roll up several croissants, pain au chocolat, a pinwheel, and a little basket shape that Haylee cuts in two accidentally. “Oops,” she says, trying to piece it back together. “Does that look okay?” “Uh, you want the polite answer or the honest answer?” She laughs. “I guess that was answer enough.” She points at my tray. “But look at your croissant!” “What’s wrong with it?” “It’s wonky.” “I’d rather it be wonky than cut in two.” “Okay,” John calls. “Let’s get these into the oven.” Our tray, wonkiness and all, is one of the better showings in the room. Daisy and Daltrey appear to have given up shortly after the flour incident. “We’ll try yours,” Daisy says when Paige protests. “I’m pregnant, Paige, I didn’t feel like rolling out all of that dough. Sue me.” To my great surprise, the pastries on Cash’s tray look perfect. He’s beaming as he slides them into the oven while Sam stands next to him, arms folded. “He didn’t let me do anything,” she complains. “He’s obsessed.” “Maybe we found his calling,” I say. She shrugs. “I guess it’s my gain if he turns

out to be some amazing cook.” The only pastries that come close to Cash’s are Paige’s, of course. Reed is suspiciously free of flour and has his phone out—I have a feeling Cash wasn’t the only one who refused to let his partner help. “While those are baking, let’s get our stations cleaned up and finish this custard,” John says. “This was kind of fun,” Haylee tells me as she wipes flour from the counter. “We got to see Dalt covered in flour,” I say, nodding in agreement. “I couldn’t ask for a better way to spend a Tuesday afternoon.” Since Paige and Cash appear to be locked in mortal combat to create the best pastries, the rest of us hang back while they help John finish the custard. “What else do you have planned for Paris?” Haylee asks. “I’m not really sure. Probably Paige will have some ideas.” She nods, looking away. “What about you?” “I don’t know. I never really thought I’d end up in Paris, you know? It wasn’t really a dream of mine.” “Where did you dream of traveling?” She shoots me a little grin. “Somewhere warm and tropical. Probably sounds lame to someone as cultured as you.”

“Cultured?” I bark out a laugh. “I’m hardly cultured. Have you met my brothers?” “You’re not your brothers,” she says, and something in her voice makes my chest feel tight. “I was with you in Edinburgh,” she continues, sounding more like herself. “I heard you going on about the castle and the Royal Mile and all of that stuff. You obviously knew what you were talking about.” I feel a little uncomfortable. It’s a strange feeling, knowing someone was listening to me, paying attention. I’m usually the one who stands in the back, unnoticed, especially when my brothers are around. You’re not your brothers, her voice seems to whisper in my ear. “Okay, these should be ready to come out,” John says. “If someone wants to—” Cash and Paige are across the room with oven mitts before he can even finish. They pull out the pastries, which smell pretty amazing, and place them on the front counter. “These look great,” John says. “Which ones would you say are best?” Paige asks. John looks taken aback. “I don’t… they’re all very nice.” “Yes, but which are best?” Cash presses. “If you had to choose.” “Oh my God, you guys,” Karen snaps. “Sit

down so we can eat.” John divides the pastries onto plates and passes them around as Marie joins us again, bearing a tray of coffee and tea. “You all did very well,” John says as we start to dig in. “So now you can enjoy the fruits of your labor.” “Except for Daltrey and Daisy,” Levi calls out. “Who did virtually nothing and shouldn’t be rewarded.” “Except for Daltrey and Daisy,” John agrees, smiling. “But we’ll let them eat as well.” “Holy crap,” Haylee mutters, mouth full of pastry. “That’s good.” “It is good. I kind of can’t believe I made this.” “I helped,” she says, poking my arm. “You did. Even your pathetic little basket turned out okay.” “It turned out delicious is what it turned out.” She’s smiling at me, and I can’t help but smile back, even though a little voice in the back of my head is warning me that this isn’t smart. Sharing food and coffee with her, both of us tired and messy, our guards down… what good could come of this? As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Haylee looks away. “Thanks for this, Lennon.” “For what?” She looks back at me, and my breath catches.

Her eyes are wide and pleading. “For being so nice to me, after… well. After I was so awful.” “You weren’t awful,” I say automatically, wanting to make her pleading look disappear. She smiles sadly. “You don’t have to say that. I know what I did.” “Haylee…” I trail off, not really knowing what to say. “It’s like you said,” I finally continue. “We could both use a good friend, right?” She’s quiet for a moment, watching me. When she finally responds, her voice is wistful. “Yeah. Good friends.” As we finish our pastry and thank John, I can’t help running her words over and over in my head. Good friends. It was what she asked for, what she says she wants. So why did she sound so sad when she said it?

Chapter Twelve Haylee “So I hear we have plans tonight,” Layla says, plopping down in the chair across from me in the lounge of our hotel. “That’s the rumor.” “I also hear the male contingent of our band is opting out.” “Lucky them.” She squints at me. “You sound super excited about the evening activities.” I sit up a little straighter. “I’m sure it will be fine.” “Any idea what we’re doing?” I shake my head. “I mean, it’s Paige doing the planning, so it could be anything.” She smirks. “Good point. Well, she said we didn’t have to dress up, so I’m assuming it’s not clubbing.” “It’s also only seven,” I point out. She’s eyeing the coffeepot in front of me. “You want some?” “Sure.” She fixes herself a cup, and we sit in

silence for a few minutes, people watching. Finally she sighs. “Haylee, why are you doing this to yourself?” “Doing what?” She fixes me with that knowing look of hers, the one where she raises one eyebrow and I become convinced she knows every last one of my secrets. It’s kind of scary, that look. “You like Lennon,” she says. “Of course I like Lennon. He’s a great guy and—” “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.” I sigh, consider arguing with her, and decide there’s no point. She knows me too well. “I really messed it up.” “Why?” “Because I don’t think we should be together. I think it could be a huge mistake for both of us.” “Haylee.” She sets down her coffee cup and faces me across the table, holding my gaze. “You have to stop punishing yourself for what happened with Randy.” I try not to wince at the name. “I’m not punishing myself.” “You are. You don’t see it that way, you see it as protecting people. But all you’re doing is holding yourself back. You’re missing out on so much because you’re scared.”

“Of course I’m scared,” I snap. “It was a terrifying experience. I was practically kidnapped, Layla. He had a gun.” “I know that.” Her voice is icy, and I have a sudden flash of memory—Layla at the police station, leaning towards me, her eyes wide and terrified. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, closing her eyes for a second. “All I’m saying is that you’re scared of getting close to someone because you think you don’t deserve to be happy. Because of how you handled things after Randy. And that’s just not true.” “I think he deserves to be happy,” I whisper, feeling tears prick at my eyes. I look away, hating how vulnerable it makes me feel. Even Layla, one of my best friends in the world, is not allowed to see me cry. “And you don’t think you can do that for him? He’s crazy about you.” “I think I could hurt him.” She sighs, reaching for her coffee again. “Shouldn’t he be the one who decides if he wants to risk that? I don’t think you give him enough credit.” “What are you saying? I should tell him how things have been since… the incident?” It’s kind of funny—even after all this time, none of us knows how to refer to what happened to me. The day my stalker held me at gunpoint doesn’t exactly roll off

the tongue. “I think it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world for him to know how difficult things have been for you since then.” “No,” I say immediately. “I’m not talking to him about it.” “Maybe he would understand.” “How could anyone understand that?” I close my eyes, knowing that the images are coming. The way Randy had looked when he pushed into my apartment, the feel of his hand on my arm. The terror of being trapped there with him for hours, sure he was going to hurt me or— “It’s okay, Haylee,” Layla says, her voice clear. I open my eyes and focus on her face, reminding myself that I’m safe here. Randy is in jail. I’m safe. “I just… I just don’t think he could possibly understand what that feels like. To feel so… broken down by something. Like your whole life is controlled by this thing that happened to you. How could I make him understand that?” “Maybe he’ll surprise you.” Before I can answer, there’s a commotion at the door. The Ransomes are in the lobby, their bodyguards pushing a swarm of fans away. Soon hotel security joins them, and they manage to get the fans back onto the sidewalk. “Hey,” Daisy says, seeing us in the lounge. The boys join her as she

walks over to our table. “How’s it going?” I hope any trace of tears is gone from my eyes. I know, without looking, that Lennon’s gaze is on my face. “Good,” Layla says easily, nothing in her voice betraying the seriousness of the conversation they walked in. “Just talking about what Paige might have planned for tonight.” Daltrey groans. “I know it’s going to be something weird.” “He’s just tired,” Daisy says, stepping on his foot. “They’ve been doing interviews all day.” Cash collapses into a seat across from us. “Interviews in French,” he clarifies. “Trying to listen to the reporter and the translator at the same time. I have such a headache.” “Unfortunately you don’t have time to go rest,” Paige says, appearing at our side, Sam and Karen trailing her. “We’re heading out.” “Already?” Reed asks, his normally professional veneer slipping a little. “We’re tired, Paige.” “Sorry, babe,” she says, kissing his cheek. “We’re on a schedule here.” “Can we at least eat first?” Lennon asks. “This is your night, buddy,” she tells him. “So no complaining. Besides, we’re going to eat later.” “What do you mean, my night?” he asks, something close to panic in his eyes. “Are you going to make me do something weird?”

She crosses her arms. “Like what?” “Like sing karaoke or—” Paige rolls her eyes. “Stop being such a worrywart. I picked this especially for you because I knew you would love it. Now let’s go.” So the boys trudge back through the waiting crowds of fans, Layla and I following. To my relief, she hangs onto my elbow without me having to ask, pulling me through the crowd without incident. We pile into the waiting black van, Paige handing the driver a card with an address on it, and then we’re off. “This is pretty close,” she says as we crawl through the early evening traffic. “Just have to cross the river.” I stare out the window as the buildings of Paris, so different from anything at home, pass by. It looks like a movie set, a fairy tale. “You’re doing it, you know,” Lennon says from behind me, leaning over my bench seat. “Doing what?” “You’re trying to guess what she’s planning, aren’t you?” I laugh. “Just enjoying the view, actually.” “It’s pointless to guess,” he says. “Paige is always surprising.” But apparently I’m not the only one trying to figure it out. As we slow along the river, Cash leans forward to peer out the front window. “Is this a train station?”

“It’s not a train station,” Lennon says, and it’s my turn to lean over to face him. He’s staring out at the building next to us, his eyes a little wide. Paige is next to him, smiling knowingly. “This is a museum.” “Oh, God,” Cash says. “A museum. Because I wasn’t exhausted enough.” Lennon and Paige either don’t hear him or they choose to ignore him. Paige is still watching Lennon, smiling, when he turns to face her. “This is what you picked for me?” She nods. “I know that you were really looking forward to the art here, and you haven’t had a chance to go to a single museum with all your rehearsing.” For one moment she looks less sure. “I did a lot of research. I know that the Louvre is, like, totally famous. But I did a Google image search, and all the paintings seemed… well.” She clears her throat. “I know they’re, like, classics, and everything, but they didn’t really seem like you.” He smiles. “They didn’t?” Paige shakes her head. “They were all… Oh, I don’t know. Old and stuffy. Portraits and religious stuff and… I don’t know. It didn’t feel like you.” “But the Musee d’Orsay did?” “Oh, yes. I read that this is the Impressionist museum, and that seemed much more your thing. And the building itself is supposed to be great, all

open and beautiful and full of light. Perfect for you.” Lennon lets out a self-deprecating little snort. “You think that’s me?” His voice is full of laughter. “What’d you say? Beautiful and full of light? That doesn’t really sound like it describes me, Paige.” Paige doesn’t laugh. She just looks up at him, her face serious. “It describes your heart.” I expect him to snort again, to make some little joke at his own expense, something about her being overly dramatic, but instead he snaps his mouth closed, swallowing a few times. Then he reaches over and squeezes her hand, and I suddenly feel like I’m invading a private moment. I duck back over the seat and stare out the window at the glass dome of the building in front of us. “Thank you, Paige,” Lennon whispers, his voice very rough. “You’re welcome. Now are we going in or are we going to sit out here all night?” He laughs, and I hear the door open. “After you.” I don’t know how much of that conversation his brothers heard, but I figure they might have gotten the gist of it because none of them says another disparaging word about spending their evening in an art museum as we make our way through the pavilion to the glass door. “Are you sure it’s open, babe?” Reed asks. “Looks pretty

empty.” “Oh, I had the label call the museum,” Paige says easily. “We have it to ourselves tonight.” “We have the Musee d’Orsay to ourselves?” Lennon asks, incredulous. “Holy shit, Paige.” She grins at him, slipping an arm through Reed’s, who kisses the top of her head and looks down at her like she just did him the biggest favor. I wonder what that’s about. But then I’m falling into stride next to Lennon, and I stop thinking about his older brother entirely. “This is pretty cool, huh?” I ask. He shakes his head. “I told you she was surprising.” “So what’s so amazing about this place?” He holds open the door for me, and we pause in the entryway to greet the museum staff. An associate director tells us that there will be docents milling around should we have any questions and to enjoy ourselves. “So?” I press as we leave him. “You didn’t answer me.” “Just wait,” he murmurs, leading me up a set of marble stairs and into a long gallery. I stare at the room stretched out in front of us. “Oh.” I can’t really think of anything else to say. “Oh.” “Yeah.” He grins down at me. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

Beautiful and full of light, Paige said, and man, that wasn’t the half of it. “This is a renovated train station,” Lennon explains. The domed ceiling is glass, as are the arched windows stretching up the upper walls. The light and the massive height of the ceiling give the gallery a bright, open feel. “This is really beautiful,” I say. “Wow.” “I know.” Lennon sounds happy. “It’s my favorite museum.” “Did Paige know that?” He’s quiet for a moment. “She guessed.” I look up to see a strange expression on his face. It’s almost like he’s happy and ashamed at the same time. “Lennon?” “Come on,” he says. “There’s so much to see.” We wander through the main gallery for a while with his brothers, taking in the sculptures. On either side of the main gallery are smaller rooms filled with paintings and more sculptures. At the far end of the museum, Cash and Daltrey stand on a glass floor looking down at a model of a Paris neighborhood. We see Paige and Sam admiring a statue. As we pass, I hear Paige explaining something about the artist. “Is Paige into art?” Lennon shrugs. “She has a surprising number of hobbies.” “This is a pretty museum, Lennon. I can see why it’s your favorite.”

His eyes flash. “We haven’t even seen the good stuff yet. Come on.” He heads up a set of stairs, and I follow. “Could you slow down a little?” I ask, already out of breath after one flight. “Come on, Hunt,” he calls over his shoulder. “Don’t wimp out on me yet.” On the third floor he stops, turning to grin at me. “This is the good stuff?” I ask, huffing a little bit. “The Impressionists,” he says. “Come on.” My first thought is that the Impressionists must have liked color. On every wall, I see paintings full of color and light. I have no idea what I’m looking at, no idea who any of these are by, but that doesn’t seem to matter so much. They’re beautiful. “Look around,” Lennon says, his voice soft. “We’ll catch up.” I nod, not sure where to look next as I wander through the gallery. I come up short a few minutes later. “Oh, wow,” I whisper, approaching two tall paintings of a man and woman dancing. Their clothes are from another era, her skirts long and seeming to sway as they dance. A quick glance at the placard tells me that these are by Renoir, though the titles are in French. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that name before, and I decide to go ask Lennon if he knows these paintings.

It’s quiet and still in the Impressionist exhibit as I search for him. A docent stands nearby, arms folded over his chest, and he gives me a little nod as I pass. I wander into one of the side rooms and once again come up short. I recognize these, I think, excited. I lean in and see the name Van Gogh, just as I guessed. The painting that caught my attention is a church set against blue sky. The church itself is certainly interesting, but it’s the sky that takes my breath away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a vibrant blue. I wander down the room, recognizing other paintings by Van Gogh, famous paintings that I’ve seen on posters and on TV. And here I am, in front of the real things. As I reach the end of the room I realize with a start that I’m not alone. Lennon is right in front of me, staring at a portrait. “I didn’t know you were in here,” I say, coming up to his side. “I just saw the most beautiful painting.” “Yeah?” His voice sounds far away, like he’s not really here with me. “Lennon?” “Sorry.” He turns away from the painting. It’s a portrait of a man, and even I can tell the style is the same as the painting of the church I just admired. “Is that him?” I ask. Lennon turns back to the portrait. “Van Gogh,

yeah. A self-portrait.” “Hmm.” Behind the man is a background of blue swirls, not as vibrant as the blue in the church painting, but beautiful in a different, softer way. They make Van Gogh’s eyes even more striking. “Sorry,” Lennon says again. “You said you saw a beautiful painting?” “Oh, yeah.” I tear my eyes away from the portrait. “By, uh, Renoir, I think it said his name was.” “Oh, yeah.” Lennon smiles. “Was it the garden party?” “No, dancers. They were… I don’t know. They were beautiful. It was like I could feel them moving.” I blush. “I clearly know nothing about art.” “Who cares?” he asks, his eyes steady on my face. “I like art because it makes me feel things, not because I’m some expert. I haven’t studied any of this.” He makes a sweeping gesture of the room. “I don’t need to know the textbook part to enjoy it.” I smile, taking a step closer. There’s something about him when he talks like this, when his brothers aren’t around and he isn’t worrying. He’s so captivating. “So what does this one make you feel?” I ask, nodding at the portrait. “You were staring at it pretty hard.” He turns back to the painting, and his entire

demeanor changes. “Uh, actually, I was thinking about the artist. Van Gogh.” His voice sounds strained. “He was mentally ill, did you know that?” I swallow, my skin feeling colder for some reason. There’s something in his tone that I don’t like the sound of. “I thought you said you didn’t know a lot about art,” I say, trying to lighten the somber tone. He flashes me a little smile before turning his gaze back to Van Gogh. “I know a bit.” We stand there in silence for a minute, and I stare into those blue eyes of Van Gogh’s. So very different from Lennon’s dark eyes. What does he see there? Is that pain in the artist’s eyes? Does Lennon find it familiar? I remember that first day we met back in LA, how my very first thought about Lennon Ransome was that he looked broken. “Strange to think about him being so depressed,” Lennon says softly. “When he made such beautiful paintings.” “Did he ever get better?” In the moment’s silence that follows, I regret asking. I know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “No. He killed himself.” The air suddenly feels very cold. Those broken eyes, I think. His brothers’ protectiveness. The accident this summer. “Lennon.” I barely recognize my own voice. How is it so calm? “Is that something you have

experience with?” He blows out a gust of air while I hold my breath. “Yes,” he finally whispers. “Your accident?” “It wasn’t an accident.” I want to throw up, and I want to grab him and hug him, and I want to force away the pain and shame I hear in his voice. But instead I reach over and take his hand in mine. “You crashed on purpose?” He nods. “You wanted to kill yourself.” The very thought of Lennon giving up like that makes my throat close up. Don’t cry, I order myself, swallowing desperately. That’s the last thing he needs. It wasn’t really a question and I wasn’t expecting an answer, so when he breathes out a yes, I start. “And I’ve never admitted that to anyone. I’ve never even said that to myself.” “Your brothers don’t know?” I cry, before slapping a hand over my mouth, the sound echoing in the silent museum. “How is that possible?” “They know it wasn’t an accident.” He sighs and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. Then he laughs, a short, depressing sound. “I’m so fucked up, Haylee.” I don’t consciously decide to tell him. It just feels like the most natural thing to do in that

moment. “Remember that party, before the tour started? We talked about my… experience with that stalker?” “Yeah?” His eyes snap to my face, sharp and focused. If he thinks it’s strange that I’m interrupting his confession with a random conversation point, he doesn’t mention it. “So that guy, Randy. He was a fan. Someone who followed us from day one. He came to all our shows when we were within driving distance of Detroit. We thought it was cool, you know? That we had a real fan. Sometimes we let him come out with us after the gig. Bought him a beer. Stuff like that.” I take a deep breath. “When we started touring, we would see him in other cities. That’s when it started to seem a little weird. Like he was following us, you know? And then he started to focus in on me.” I swallow, trying not to remember how scared I started to get when I would see him in the crowd. “Well. He started to do the normal stalking stuff, I guess. Sent me letters. Followed me around. Called all the time. Waited outside venues. We reported it, got a restraining order. I was scared, but I told myself he couldn’t hurt me, that he was just a little off. But then he managed to get into my house one day.” Don’t think about it. “I guess you know the rest.” “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I can’t

imagine.” “He didn’t hurt me,” I say quickly. “Didn’t even touch me. But he had a gun, and he threatened me, and it was… well, it was terrifying.” “Of course it was.” “I haven’t done the best job healing from that. I have a lot of nightmares, and I barely ever sleep and… I drink way too much so I don’t have to think about it. And sometimes…” I sigh. “You saw what happened in Glasgow. I freak out. I remember seeing him in the crowd, before everything got so bad, when he was just a normal fan, and I freak. I panic and I can’t deal. I ruined our last tour, nearly ruined the band. The label is giving us one last chance, so we’re pretty much on our last legs here. And it’s all because I’m fucked up, and I can’t seem to get better.” We’re both still facing the painting, not looking at each other, but Lennon squeezes my hand, and I feel like I can picture exactly what his face would look like right now. Calm and still, those eyes of his understanding and unflinching, holding my gaze. “I’m not saying I understand what you went through,” I continue, my voice stronger. “Or what you’re going through now. But I do understand feeling fucked up. Like you’re broken and you can’t figure out how to just get over it. I get that. So you don’t ever have to be ashamed of that, okay? Not around me.”

He releases a huge breath, and it’s my turn to squeeze his hand. “I’ve done things to, uh, hurt myself,” he mutters, and despite what I said, the shame is palpable in his voice. “Over the years, a few times. I just get… really overwhelmed by certain things, by this shit in my brain and I…” He swallows a few times. “I want to turn it off. That’s the best way I can describe it. And I told my brothers this accident was the same way. That I wasn’t consciously trying to do anything except to turn that shit off.” “It was more than that though,” I guess. From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “This time I wanted everything to stop. I wanted to stop.” “But you didn’t.” Thank God, I think. “Because I got lucky.” “What about now, Lennon? Do you still want to… stop?” “No.” His voice is fierce. “I don’t.” “And you have people helping you?” He nods. “I was in a hospital, and I talk to my doctor every day.” We both stand there, letting the quiet build back up around us. A part of me feels faint with fear at the thought of him acting on those feelings. But the other part, a bigger part, is strangely calm. Like now that the words have been spoken, they won’t have the same power. For either of us.

One thing is for sure—out of anyone else in this world, Lennon Ransome is the one person who might actually understand what it feels like in my head. Our experiences haven’t been the same—I have no idea what could have driven him to feel like he needed to end things. But we both understand being broken. And we both understand what it’s like to desperately want to be fixed. “Okay,” I finally say, breaking the silence. Only then does he turn to me. “Okay?” I nod, meeting his eyes. Just like I thought, they’re unblinking. Calm. Whatever horrible things exist in his head, they’re not controlling him now. “Just okay?” he presses. I shrug. “It seems to cover it.” And then he laughs, and I’m pretty sure it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Because he can still laugh, even after telling me all of that. “Okay then,” he says. “I want to show you something.” I pull on his hand, and he follows me back down the wall to that first Van Gogh painting that caught my eye. “Look at this church. Isn’t that the most gorgeous blue you’ve ever seen?” He nods, but when I look up at him, his gaze is on my face, not the painting. The pain of the last few minutes doesn’t disappear; I know as well as anyone that life doesn’t work like that. But it does lessen a little bit. And that’s something.

“Okay, your turn,” I say. “You have to find something gorgeous for me now.” He grins. “Challenge accepted.” We wander through the gallery for another hour. Eventually his brothers, Levi, and the girls come upstairs, and we pass them, sometimes stopping to admire the same painting. But I never let go of his hand, not even when Reed’s eyes narrow when he sees us. He shows me Monet’s water lilies, and I show him the Renoir paintings I’d found before. He shows me the garden party one he mentioned, and I decide I like that even better. We look at Degas’s dancers and Seurat and Matisse. So many amazing paintings, and like Lennon said, it doesn’t matter that I don’t know what I’m looking at. All that matters is that they make me feel something. And what I feel, standing there next to Lennon, my hand in his, looking at the most beautiful paintings I’ll ever see in my life, is hopeful. For the first time in ages, I feel hopeful. When the docent tells us our time is almost up, Lennon takes me over to a clock that dominates an entire wall. “This is the back of the clock you can see from down on the street,” he says as we peer through the glass at the lights of Paris below us. The city stretches on and on as far as I can see. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at a white church way off in the distance. Even though it’s tiny from

here, I can see that it looks almost like a wedding cake. “That’s Sacre Coeur. It’s up in Montmartre. I’m sure Paige is planning an afternoon up there.” “Good.” We stand there for a few more minutes, looking out at the city, and that feeling of hopefulness grows in my chest. “Hey, Lennon?” I finally say. “Yeah?” “You know what I said about us being friends?” He turns away from the city to look at me, and all I can think is that he’s once again showing me something amazing. “I think I was wrong,” I whisper. “I think we should be a lot more than that.” When the grin breaks over his face, I know that I’m taking the most beautiful thing in this museum back with me.

Chapter Thirteen Lennon “I gotta tell you, Len, I never thought you had it in you.” I continue clearing our gear off the stage after rehearsal, refusing to acknowledge Cash and wishing, for the millionth time in my life, that there was a way to mute my older brother. He bumps my shoulder with his. “I mean, really, dude. She’s pretty hot.” “She is quite attractive,” Daltrey adds, joining us by the amps to help us roll some cords. “What’s she doing hanging out with you?” “She’s also a lot cooler than you. I mean, she’s a proper rock star. Adventurous. Fun. Not some lame-o book-reading dork.” “Do you try to sound like a Neanderthal, or does it happen naturally?” Cash snickers, and I finally give in to the urge to glare at him. “Hey now.” He holds up his hands as if in self-defense. “Give us a little leeway here, Len. You never tell us about the girls you’re into.” “He’s right,” Daltrey says. “We never get the

chance to mess with you about this shit. We’re overdue.” “Which is why I never tell you about the girls I’m into,” I say. “Hmm.” Cash rubs his chin. “Good point. But it’s too late now. I saw the two of you sucking face in the elevator last night.” “Not to mention how you spent all your time in the museum alone together.” Daltrey waggles his eyebrows at me. “Doing God knows what upstairs where no one could see you.” “This is a banner day for you, Dalt,” I say as I stand, finished with the cords. “I actually want to punch your face more than Cash’s.” He grins. “I’m honored.” “What’s going on?” Levi asks, joining us. “Why am I loading all your instruments for you?” “Because it’s your job?” Cash earns himself a jab in the ribs from our tour manager for that. “We’re just giving Lennon a hard time,” Daltrey says. “You know. Because he has a girlfriend.” He uses an exaggerated whisper on the last word. “Because they’re so mature,” I add. “I don’t know, Len,” Levi says, resting his elbow on Cash’s shoulder as he appraises me. “You never really give us a chance to mess with you about this stuff.” “That’s exactly what I said!” Cash agrees

excitedly. “So maybe it’s kind of your turn.” As annoying as they all are, the truth is, I’m having trouble making myself care too much. It’s hard to get worked up about people teasing me for the thing that’s making me happier than I’ve been in ages. “You too, Levi?” I ask, shaking my head in disappointment. “I expected more.” “Daltrey!” Reed barks from the other side of the stage. “What the hell is your guitar doing on my stand?” Dalt rolls his eyes at us. “You think he’s ever going to get the stick out of his ass?” “What are you guys doing?” Reed yells. “Why is no one working?” “I doubt it,” Cash says to Daltrey. “Come on, better get the rest of this cleared before he loses his shit.” They cross the stage to help Reed while I bend to put my bass back in its case. “You okay with that?” Levi asks, kneeling next to me. He answers my questioning look by gesturing at the retreating backs of my brothers. “The teasing, I mean. I know they can be kind of annoying—” “They? You’re leaving yourself out of this?” He shrugs sheepishly. “I just kind of figured it was better than them worrying, you know? Treating you like normal.”

“Messing with each other is pretty normal Ransom behavior,” I agree. “You have a point. I would take that crap over the incessant worrying any day.” “You about done here?” Reed asks, coming up behind us. “Just about.” I stand and dust off the knees of my jeans. “We heading back to the hotel?” Levi glances at his watch. “You guys have two interviews this afternoon,” he says. “The reporters are coming here.” I groan. The last thing I feel like doing today is sitting in a room with my brothers answering questions. We only have three more days in Paris, and I want to spend them out in the city. Preferably with Haylee. Her face flashes through my mind, the way she looked when I left her room this morning. She was laughing as I went in for one last kiss before the door closed, dressed in nothing but one of my old band shirts, her hair loose around her face. On second thought, maybe we didn’t need to spend time out in the city after all. Her room would suffice. Or mine. “Sorry,” Levi says sympathetically. “We’ll try to get them out of here pretty quick. And I’ll order some lunch so you’re not starving while you wait.” “Thanks, Levi.” He pulls out his phone and walks away, presumably arranging our meal,

leaving me standing with Reed on the side of the stage. “How’s it going?” he asks, voice careful. I suppress a sigh. “It’s going really good, Reed. How about you?” He doesn’t answer, his eyes on my face. “I heard about you and Haylee.” “Yeah?” If he detects the warning in my voice, he ignores it. “Yeah. You, uh, sure that’s what you want to be doing right now?” “I’m sure it’s none of your business.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I’m just—” “Worried? How shocking.” “Lennon, come on.” “No, Reed. I’m so fucking tired of this.” I realize that I’m clenching my fists, and I force myself to relax. “I’m happier about this than I’ve been about anything in a really long time. If you think that’s a problem, something to worry about, well, you can keep it to yourself, okay?” “Lennon—” Rescue comes from an unlikely place. “I think that’s enough, Reed,” my dad says, coming up behind us. “Why don’t you head back to the dressing room. I want to talk to your brother.” Awesome. So now he’ll lecture me instead of Reed. But, to my surprise, he smiles once Reed has

left the stage. “You look good, son. You’ve been getting some rest?” Caught off guard, I nod. “Yeah. The schedule has been pretty great. Especially this week. Uh, thanks for that.” He waves his hands dismissively. “I want you boys to enjoy this experience. Besides, what’s the point of all that hard work all these years if we never get to enjoy the fruits of our labor?” Wow, is this really my dad? I study his face, noticing that he seems better rested as well. The worry lines, so prominent since my accident, have faded a bit, the dark circles under his eyes gone. “So. Haylee Hunt.” I don’t think I’ve ever discussed girls, any girl, with my dad before. He’s avoided any hint of emotional stuff for as long as I can remember. “Uh, yeah,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from fidgeting. “She’s, you know. Pretty great.” “I’m sure she is.” His slightly strained voice betrays his words a bit. He’s never been very good at letting women into our circle, though he’s done a better job at hiding his displeasure since Daisy and Paige decided to stick around. “Does she… does she know what happened?” I can’t meet his eyes. “Yeah. I told her.” He nods. “I’m glad. That you can talk to her, I mean. I think that’s important.”

My head snaps up to look at him, but he’s looking away now. “Yeah?” “I do,” he says. “I don’t want you to bottle things up so much. And I know your brothers aren’t always the easiest to talk to.” I can’t help sniggering at that, and he grins, the awkwardness disappearing. “None of us has ever done emotional maturity very well,” he says wryly. “I’m sure you have me to thank for that.” I shrug. “I don’t know. We could always get better.” The grin slips from his face as his expression becomes more serious. He watches me for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah. We could definitely get better.” He shakes his head, and I can tell he’s uncomfortable with the double meaning of his words. Emotional maturity indeed. “All right, you should get back there. I’ll be in for the first interview.” “Thanks, Dad.” But as I turn to go, he reaches out and grasps my shoulder. “Lennon… you know you can talk to me too, right?” I turn back to face him. “Sure, Dad.” “I mean that. I know I might not seem like the best person to confide in—” “You’re fine, Dad. You’ve always been fine.” I take a deep breath. “I mean, that’s why I asked you for help before, right? Because I knew I could

trust you.” He draws in a ragged breath, and I realize, not for the first time, how much it must have hurt him, to have my brothers turn on him so fiercely. He’s been keeping a low profile on this tour, barely around when we hang out in the venues or out in the cities. I assumed he was trying to make it easier for them. But maybe it’s easier for him too. He swallows a few times, and I get the distinct impression he’s finding it difficult to talk. “I’m gonna head back,” I tell him, my voice soft. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods, eyes on the floor. If we were different people, I would hug him. But when it comes to family stuff, my emotional maturity is about as stunted as my brothers’. Luckily my phone rings, saving both of us from any more embarrassing displays of emotion. “Gotta get this,” I say quickly. “See you.” “See you,” he says, his voice a lot more steady now as I head to the wings. A quick glance at the screen tells me it’s Haylee. I’m grinning when I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey.” “Hey.” Just the slightly raspy sound of her voice makes my heart rate pick up. “Whatcha doing?” “Heading to a lame interview,” I say. “Which means hanging out with my brothers for the

foreseeable future. Aren’t I lucky?” “Damn,” she says. “I was hoping you’d be free. We just finished our rehearsal.” Something about her calling me right after rehearsal makes me grin like an idiot, and I lean against the wall, feeling stupid and happy at the same time. “I’ll definitely try to hurry,” I say. “We still on for dinner?” “Yeah.” A pause. “But that’s ages away.” If I thought I was grinning like a fool before… “I’ll get out of here as soon as I can,” I say. “I’ll call you when I’m done.” “Okay. Talk to you soon.” I slip my phone back into my pocket and turn in the direction of the dressing room, practically jumping out of my skin when I see Cash leaning against the same wall just a few feet away. “Oh, man, it’s worse than I thought,” he says, shaking his head. “You should see the soppy look on your face right now.” “Whatever,” I say, way too happy to care. He grins back. “Why don’t you get out of here?” “What are you talking about?” “Just go. Hang out with your girl. We can handle a couple interviews without you.” “I don’t think—” “Dude, you’re just the bass player.” He smirks. “No one gives a shit about the bass player.”

“Thanks,” I say, but I’m laughing. “I mean it. You should go see Haylee.” It’s tempting, definitely tempting. But I’m also not really in the mood to deal with Reed right now. “What do you think our drummer would have to say about this plan?” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll handle Reed. I’ll tell him you’re sick or something.” “You know, now that you mention it, my head has been bugging me.” He laughs. “Which is totally understandable, considering you’ve been listening to all of our shit today, right?” “Right.” He takes a step toward me. “Seriously, Len. Just go. What I said about her being more adventurous than you?” “Yeah?” “I think that’s really good for you, to be with someone like that. I think she’s good for you. So go have fun.” He shakes his head. “God knows you deserve it.” Wow. I’m actually a little touched by that. “And you’ll take the heat for me?” He shrugs. “I figure I owe you one.” “For what?” He thinks for a moment before grinning. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ve bailed me out more than once.”

“When you put it like that, I’m sure you owe me several.” He laughs, pushing my shoulders. “We’ll start with this one. Go have fun. Enjoy your day. And tell Haylee I said hi.” Then he turns to go, leaving me still grinning like a fool, this time for totally different reasons. “Thanks, Cash!” I call after him, and he responds by flipping me off over his shoulder. Typical. I’m still laughing when I pull out my phone to call Haylee back. *** “Isn’t this illegal?” Haylee asks many hours later as we sit on the embankment next to the river. “What?” I ask, and she holds up our bottle of wine. “They don’t have open container rules over here?” “I actually have no idea.” I grab the bottle from her and take a swig. “But I’m willing to risk it.” She grins, reaching for the wine. “Look at you, Mister Reckless Behavior.” I laugh, leaning back on my elbows to look up at the stars, dim in the light of the city around us. “I just figure you can’t have bread and cheese by the Seine in Paris without wine.” “It does add to the experience,” she says, mimicking my pose. Her fingers are close enough to

reach over and touch, so I do, loving the barely audible sigh that escapes her lips at the contact. I wonder if that will ever get old, our physical reaction to each other. It’s hard to imagine. “This was a good day,” she says quietly. “Remind me to thank Cash.” “Oh, he’ll remind you. It’s not that he never does anything nice for someone else, but when he does, he thinks he should brag about it for months. Years, sometimes.” She laughs softly. “I’ll be happy to thank him for this. It was perfect.” Since my premature escape from band responsibilities, we’d enjoyed a few hours of catching up in my hotel room before embarking on an afternoon of lazy wandering around the city. We’d been to Notre Dame, walking through the nearly silent cathedral, the soaring ceilings and gorgeous stained glass stretching far overhead. After that we’d wandered through the maze-like bookshelves in the English-language Shakespeare and Company bookstore, Haylee humoring me for a good twenty minutes before declaring herself too bored to breathe. By then it was getting dark, so we grabbed a nighttime cruise down the Seine, where we could see the city all lit up around us. The views of the Eiffel tower from the boat were pretty perfect, and I kissed her as we passed underneath. She called

me cheesy and romantic, but she smiled while she said it, and that was good enough for me. She sighs, the sound drawing me from my thoughts. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just thinking about how close we are to the end of the tour.” I frown, not wanting to think about that. After we finish in Paris, we’ll head to Amsterdam and Berlin before going to London for four shows. And that will be it. We’ll be heading home so Daisy can be near her doctors as she heads into the last weeks of her pregnancy. And Haylee will… “Let’s not think about that yet,” I say. “We still have two weeks.” “True. And I am really excited for London. Think we’ll go to Abbey Road?” I sling an arm around her shoulder. “I think we’ll do whatever you want.” She nestles her head against my chest a little. “I like the sound of that.” We sit like that for a few minutes, watching the water rippling in the light from a streetlamp above. “We’ve done so much since we got to Stockholm,” she says. “I kind of can’t believe I’ve been to all these places.” “Just imagine how much better you’ll be at Never Have I Ever.” She sits up straight and turns to me, her eyes glittering. “What about you, buddy? You haven’t upped your Never Have I Ever abilities at all.”

“What does that mean?” She waves her hands as if to encompass Paris around us. “You’ve already been here. You’ve been to all these places! You haven’t added any brand new experiences since you left the States.” I let my gaze run down her body. “I’ve added a few new experiences.” She rolls her eyes, smacking my arm. “I highly doubt sleeping with Haylee Hunt is going to be a question. You need to have new universal experiences.” I raise my eyebrows. “Really. And what did you have in mind?” She thinks for a moment, and then a grin stretches across her face. Her eyes travel from my face to the water and back again. “I recall you not taking candy for the skinny-dipping question.” “We’re not skinny-dipping here.” “Why not?” She waggles her eyebrows. “Scared?” “Of swimming in this river? Yes, I am, actually. It’s deep, and it’s dark, and I have no idea what kind of current there is. And there are boats to maul us with their motors.” Her face falls. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” “Plus, we could get arrested.” “There’s that…” She watches the water for a bit before her face lights up. “But we could still go skinny-dipping.”

“What about—” “Not here.” She jumps up and grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Where are we going?” I’m a little nervous. I shouldn’t have brought up that damn game. “We’re going back to the hotel.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. “So we can go skinny-dipping in the shower?” She laughs, the sound more than a little wicked, and my relief fades a little. Maybe this whole hanging out with someone more adventurous than me wasn’t such a positive thing after all. “No. In the pool.” *** After a perfect day with Haylee—including skinny-dipping in the hotel pool, which we miraculously didn’t get caught doing—we fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. And that night, I dream of my mother. The dream is familiar to me, one I’ve had a hundred times before. As soon as I see where I’m standing—the middle of our living room back in California, the green carpet scratchy beneath my feet—I know what this dream will entail. It’s always the same. I’m in the living room, playing with one of those ball and paddle toys, the kind where the rubber ball is attached with a string and you have to keep it bouncing on the top of the paddle. It’s

Cash’s toy, and I know he’ll be mad at me if he sees me playing with it, but he’s out in the woods behind our house with the other boys. I was going to go with them, but I knew Cash would want to catch frogs in the creek, and I hate catching frogs. Not because they’re gross or scary—I actually really like frogs. Besides, I’m big now, and only babies are scared of stuff like that. But I hate catching them, hate taking them from their cozy homes, hate scaring them. I know my brothers would never hurt a frog—they don’t do things like that. But whenever I look down at their little faces, their eyes wide and blinking, their chests moving so fast, I just know that they’re scared. And it makes my tummy hurt. Besides, Mom is in a good mood today, and I thought if I stayed with her we might get to do something fun. Maybe she would take me on one of her errands, to the bank or the grocery store or some other boring adult place. But it wouldn’t be boring because I’d be with Mom. I’m the only one she ever takes with her on her errands. The other boys are too loud—I’m the only one who can be quiet. She comes out into the living room, her purse in her hand, and I stand, excited. She looks over at me, and she’s not smiling. Her eyes are kind of wide, her hair coming out of its ponytail. Her hands are shaking. For a minute I think I should sit back

down, play with Cash’s toy. Or maybe run out to the woods and find my brothers. Because I don’t really like how sad Mom looks right now. And I don’t like how she’s not saying anything. But then she holds out her hand to me, and I go right to her. No matter how many times I have this dream, I always go right to her. Even as my stomach tightens in fear, even as my conscious brain argues that I do not want to go, I do not want to get in that car, still I go with her. Every time. I jerk awake, my heart pounding, my body drenched in sweat. It’s dark in the room, and for a moment I can’t breathe. “Lennon?” I jerk again at the sound of Haylee’s voice. I’ve forgotten all about her, have forgotten she stayed with me. I try to focus on what happened here in this bed only a few short hours ago, try to focus on the happiness I felt, on how right it was. Anything to escape from the dark, terrified something that seems to claw at my chest, wanting to get out. “Lennon?” She’s more awake now, sitting up in the dark, reaching for me. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I manage, but my voice is strained. Shaking. “Did you have a nightmare?” Haylee leans over me, brushing hair from my face, and I can see her eyes in the darkness. They’re wide, a little

afraid. “You’re freezing cold.” Funny, I felt so hot. But then, I always feel hot in that dream. Not just warm, not just uncomfortable. I feel hot— burning hot. “Lennon?” “I’m fine,” I say again, my voice a little more normal. “Nightmare.” “I thought so.” She kisses my forehead, brushes my hair back some more. I love her so much at night, in the darkness. All the hard, rockchick walls come down and reveal something softer. Something sweeter. She kisses my head again, her long fingers rubbing lightly across my shoulder. “Want to talk about it?” What would I even say? How could I explain to her the way the dream filled me with such terror when absolutely nothing had happened? My mom had offered to take me out on her errands. Real scary. “No, it’s fine.” Her fingers move up to my head now, the motion comforting. Almost maternal. “You’re okay now.” You’re okay now. Her words hit me with all the force of a freight train, and I’m sitting up straight in bed, hardly noticing that I’ve pushed her away. There’s no air left in this room, and my skin feels so hot again, as hot as if it’s burning, and I can’t breathe.

Because for the first time in my life I remember more of that dream. It didn’t end when I took my mom’s hand and left the house. And I’m pretty sure it isn’t just a dream. “Lennon?” Haylee sounds scared now, terrified really, and I feel her hands at my back, reaching for me. There’s a terrible gasping noise in the room, and it takes me a minute to realize that it’s coming from me. Haylee jumps from the bed, and a few seconds later I hear the unmistakable sound of the window opening, and then there’s a sudden gust of cool air, right across my face. I breathe in as deeply as I can, the air like water to a dying man. But it’s not enough. I stumble from the bed, tangled in the sheets, and go straight to the window, sucking in the fresh air. “Lennon.” Haylee’s voice is still scared, but there’s something else there too, some note of authority. “Do your breathing exercises.” Funny, I had no idea she knew about my exercises. I try to remember what Daisy told me, how she managed her panic attacks. In through the nose, hold. Out, slowly. Repeat. It seems impossible to take slow, even breaths when I am sure I am suffocating. Then Haylee’s hand is on my back again, her fingers cold against my burning skin, and I find I can focus a little better. In through the nose, hold. Out, slowly. Repeat. I don’t know how long I stand there, trying to

get my breathing under control. I know that when I finally step away from the window, far from being hot, I’m shivering. Then I look up and see Haylee, still standing inches from me, dressed only in my Tshirt. Her entire body is shaking. “Shit,” I mutter, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to the bed. I fling the quilt around her, rubbing her arms through the thick material. “You shouldn’t have stayed by the window like that.” “As if I was going to leave you,” she says, her teeth chattering. A sick wave of shame rushes through me. I did this to her. Because that’s what you do, a voice in my head whispers, quiet and dangerous. You make things worse for people. “I’m sorry,” I say, determined to ignore those words. It’s a common enough refrain in my head, and certainly nothing good has ever come from indulging it. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she says, and she seems to be warming up because she’s no longer visibly shaking. “Lennon, what just happened?” “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I had a nightmare.” “But you freaked out after you woke up.” “I know.” I have no idea how to explain what I just experienced. What I was pretty sure I

remembered about that day my brothers went to catch frogs. Because it didn’t make any sense. Why would my mother taking me to run an errand end that way? Me in a hospital bed, my dad crying and saying the same words over and over. You’re okay now. I was never in the hospital as a little kid. Never had my tonsils out or broke a bone or any of the other dumb kid stuff that happened to my brothers. I’ve spent my fair share of nights in a hospital bed in the last few years, the product of my own stupid decisions, but never as a kid. Right? “Lennon?” Haylee asks, shaking my shoulder a little. “I’m scared. Should I call Reed—?” “No.” “Your dad? I mean, has this ever happened before?” Has it happened before? Have little bits and pieces of dreams come back to me in those few suspended moments between sleep and waking? Is that what I was feeling all those times something seemed to be fighting to break loose in my brain? Were those memories? “That dream really shook me up,” I say, forcing my voice to be calm. Because if I let myself get upset right now, if I let myself think about this, I’m going to lose it. If those are memories trying to break through,

I know only one thing—I don’t want to remember. “I think I wasn’t really awake yet,” I say. “So it made me jumpy.” “That was more than jumpy.” “Can we just lie down?” I ask, and it occurs to me that I’m not meeting her eyes. “I just want to go back to sleep.” “Lennon—” “Please, Haylee.” She sighs, and it’s a long moment before she relents. “Okay.” I collapse back into my pillow, pulling the sheets smooth over my legs. Haylee unwraps the quilt from around her shoulders and spreads it over us both, resuming her place in my arms. For the first time since we met, I’m barely aware of the fact that I’m touching her. I feel numb. “I wish you would tell me what you dreamed about,” she says in the darkness. “I’d rather not think about it. Maybe some other time. I really just want to sleep now.” She presses a kiss into my shoulder, her hand warm on my chest. I can feel its pressure, but that’s all. There’s no warmth, no spark. Nothing. “Then sleep well.” “You too.” I don’t know how much time passes before her breathing evens out and I can be sure she’s

asleep. I only know that I’m awake for it, just like I’m awake for the sun rising a few hours later. In fact, I don’t sleep again all night.

Chapter Fourteen Haylee “We are so lost,” Daltrey mutters, peering through the tombs of Pere Lachaise cemetery as if he thinks the grave we’re looking for will just jump out. “Who thought it was a good idea for us to go tramping through another cemetery?” Cash asks, crossing his arms. “Uh, you did,” Levi says. “In fact, you insisted.” “I did not insist—” “‘The only thing I freaking want to do in Paris is visit Morrison’s grave,’” Levi says in a surprisingly good imitation of Cash. “You did say that,” Dylan points out. “Well, someone should have told me how stupid that was,” Cash replies. “Especially after what happened in the last cemetery.” “How were we supposed to know that this cemetery was like a maze?” Reed asks. A quick glance up the cobblestone lane we’re on proves his point. Many of the tombs and gravesites in the Pere

Lachaise are ancient and crumbling, mixed in with newer headstones and slabs of marble. They stretch back from the road in uneven rows, too many to count. And the little lanes and alleys that cut through the cemetery are winding, many without street signs. We’ve been looking for Morrison’s grave for the past hour, and I’m pretty sure we’re no closer to finding it then we were when we got dropped off. “You do realize why you’re lost, don’t you?” I ask, plopping down to the curb to stretch my feet out in front of me. “Why?” Lennon asks. “Besides the fact that Cash is a horrible planner and assumed someone else would do the work for him?” “You’re lost because Paige isn’t here,” I say. “She has a point.” Levi sighs. “Paige would have brought a map or something.” “Basically your whole operation falls apart without her,” I say. “And maybe you should remember that the next time you want to tease her.” Cash makes a face at me, but he doesn’t disagree. When we left the hotel this morning for our last day of Paris sightseeing, Paige informed everyone that we’d be visiting the Champs Elysees first. When pressed, she admitted that the famous street was well known for its shopping. That, of course, led to the Ransome brothers, including

Reed, teasing her about her propensity for shopping and her sneakiness in thinking she’d get them to participate. And that led to Paige sending us off to navigate the cemetery on our own while she spent her morning shopping. Daisy, Karen, and Layla had joined her in a show of solidarity—or, more likely, out of a desire not to spend their morning looking at old broken gravestones. And here we are. No Paige. No map. Lost. “I’ll call her,” Reed says, sighing. “She probably has a map in her itinerary.” “I think Cash should call her,” I say. “Since he was the one giving her such a hard time in the first place.” Cash grimaces at me, but Lennon joins me on the curb and leans in close to my ear. “Do you have any idea how sexy it is when you give my brothers a hard time?” I snort and push him away. “You’re all terrible.” He grins, taking my hand, and I push down the wave of worry that’s been pulsing just below the surface for the past two days. It was just a nightmare, I tell myself for the hundredth time. A nightmare that looked an awful lot like a panic attack or a breakdown or… “Paige?” Cash is saying in his most polite voice. “I was wondering if you might be able to give me some directions?” Whatever she says

makes him wince. “You’re doing it wrong,” Reed hisses. “You need to compliment her, dude! Tell her we don’t have a chance without her stellar organizational skills.” Cash parrots what Reed said then breathes a sigh of relief, snapping his fingers for his older brother to take down directions. Once we’re on our way again, Lennon and I walk hand in hand in silence. Daltrey and Cash are bickering about something, and Reed keeps glancing at us out of the corner of his eye. I’m starting to wish we’d come here by ourselves— without the other Ransomes and my bandmates. “Here it is,” James says after a few minutes. “I told you it was this way,” Cash mutters, pushing Daltrey. His attempt at being the tough guy falls apart when a crow lands on the closest tomb, cawing loudly and making Cash jump back into his younger brother with a rather high-pitched shriek. “I don’t know what you saw in that other cemetery, dude,” Lance says, shaking his head, “but you’re all a bunch of babies now.” “Are we looking at this, or not?” Reed asks. Stepping off the road, I’m no longer surprised it was so hard to find the marker. Morrison’s grave is tucked behind a rather large tomb several plots off the road and nestled between two headstones. The most identifying characteristic is the row of

metal barriers to keep people from getting directly to the grave. Of course, that hasn’t stopped fans from leaving all manner of things there from flowers to wine bottles to balloons to a mystifying number of brightly colored hair ties attached to the barriers. “How’d he end up here, anyway?” Cash asks, his voice quiet, apparently inspired to show some respect at the grave of one of his idols. “Was he living here?” “I don’t think so,” Reed says. “I think he was just visiting when he died. Or performing, maybe. There was some controversy about his death, Paige was telling me last night.” “Didn’t listen to many of the details though, did ya?” Daltrey mutters half under his breath. “He was so young,” Lance says, shaking his head. “Only twenty-seven. Why does that always happen to musicians? Is it a curse?” From the corner of my eye I see every Ransome turn his head in Lennon’s direction before turning quickly back to the gravestone. He immediately goes tense, and I clutch his hand tighter. “It’s drugs, man,” Dylan says, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter who you are, you start down that path, it’s pretty easy to end up here.” James’s gaze flicks in my direction, and it’s my turn to get tense.

We stand by the grave for a few minutes, the boys taking some pictures, Lennon and me standing in silence. When it’s time to go, I’m relieved. I don’t want to think about all the mistakes a man like that must have made to end up buried in a halfhidden grave thousands of miles from home. I don’t want to think about all the ways I’ve made the same mistakes. And I certainly don’t want to think about Lennon anywhere near that path. “Paige and the girls are on their way with the cars,” Reed says, reading something on his phone. “I guess we’re going to head up to Montmartre now.” “Is that where that church is?” I ask Lennon. He looks down at me, his expression almost surprised. Almost like he forgot I was standing at his side. “Yeah,” he says. “Sacre Coeur. We saw it from the clock at d’Orsay.” “That will be nice to see,” I say, not liking how tight his face is. He barely manages a smile. “Yeah.” The cars are waiting for us at the front entrance, Paige and Karen leaning against one of the doors. “Did you have fun?” Paige calls as we approach. “Yeah, peachy,” Levi says. “We wandered around for two hours, lost and freezing.” “We had a great time,” Karen tells him.

“Did you spend all your money?” She kisses his cheek. “Most of it.” “Well, we’ll all have fun this afternoon,” Paige says. “I have everything planned for Montmartre. We have that concert tonight, of course. But we can do plenty of sightseeing during the day. First we’ll have lunch, then we’ll go to Sacre Coeur and see the views of the city. And then I booked Le Petit Train de Montmartre for a tour and—” “Wait, wait,” Levi says, holding up his hands. “You booked the what now?” “Le Petit Train de Montmartre.” “The little train?” he translates. “What the hell does that mean?” “It’s this adorable little train that drives you around the neighborhood so you can see everything without having to walk up so many hills!” She sounds thrilled by the very idea of riding around in a miniature train with the members of Ransom. “Apparently it’s very hilly there. I saw pictures online. It’s so cute!” When she’s met by nothing but blank—and, in Cash’s case, slightly horrified—stares, she crosses her arms. “Or you could plan your afternoon activities yourselves, since you had such good luck with that this morning.” “Of course we’re going to join you,” Reed says quickly. “That, uh, little train sounds… nice.”

She beams at him. “It will be.” I look up at Lennon, grinning, sure that he’ll be as amused by this entire exchange as I am. But as soon as my eyes find his face, my heart drops. Because Lennon looks every bit as blank as he did back at the grave. “Len?” I say. Again, he looks almost surprised to see me. Wherever his brain is, it’s not here with us. “You know what,” I say, making up my mind immediately. “I’m really tired, Paige. Would you be mad if Lennon and I went back to the hotel? I barely slept last night.” She seems to deflate a little bit, but then her eyes land on our still-joined hands, and she grins. “Of course! You guys just started dating. Obviously you want time together.” She winks at me. “Especially when you’re going to be spending the night with us girls tonight.” “Wait, what girls?” Daltrey asks. “I know Daisy told you about our sleepover,” Paige says. “We’ve been planning it all week.” “You’re taking my girlfriend away all night?” he asks, turning to the car. “Where is she? Dais?” “It’s one night, Daltrey.” Karen rolls her eyes. “We’ll take good care of her, I promise.” He doesn’t seem appeased, but when Paige motions for everyone to get in the cars, he follows. “We’ll drop you off on the way,” she tells me, but I shake my head. “It’s the opposite direction. We’ll

get a cab.” She shoots Lennon a worried look, like there might be rabid Ransom fans waiting in random cabs for him. “Are you sure?” “Definitely. We’ll see you at the concert tonight, okay?” She brightens at my mention of our plans tonight. “Okay, see you then. Bye!” Once they’re all gone, I direct my attention back to Lennon. He’s staring at the ground, frowning. “You didn’t have to do that.” “You weren’t arguing while I was doing it.” He sighs. “I didn’t really hear what you were saying until Paige was agreeing. Sorry.” He gives me a small smile. “I’m pretty out of it.” “I think you’re tired,” I say, tugging on his hand so we can go to the corner to hail a cab. “Which is why we’re going back to the hotel to rest.” “You sure you’re okay with that? I know you wanted to go up to Montmartre. You shouldn’t miss it because I’m zoning out today.” I shrug. “We’ll go another time.” “We leave Paris in two days, and we have the show tomorrow.” “Well, we’ll just have to come back some day then, won’t we?” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and I

walk into him. Before I can steady myself by grabbing his arms, he’s pulling me into a kiss, his lips hard and insistent on mine. Without thinking, my hands go up to his hair. Something happens to me when he kisses me, even when we’re on a public street and I’m more than a little worried about his mental health. All that—everything— fades away when his lips find mine. There’s nothing but the kiss, but the feel of his mouth, the way he pulls me so close, as if he can’t get me close enough. “Sorry,” he whispers, pulling away, his breathing heavy. “You don’t have to apologize for that.” I laugh, breathless. “Never apologize for that.” He grins, his mouth only inches from mine, and I look into his eyes. They’re alight, intense, glued to my face. “I just really like that idea,” he whispers. “What idea?” “Us coming back here someday. I like that you’re thinking about somedays.” It hadn’t really occurred to me that I was making some major statement about our relationship when I said we’d come back for Montmartre. It was just automatic, the idea that we’d still be together. In fact, it seems almost impossible for me to imagine a world without Lennon.

That should terrify me. I never get this way about boys, make it a point not to get this way about boys, not to let feelings like these influence my decisions. But looking into Lennon’s eyes, I can’t feel anything even close to fear. Not when he’s smiling like that, as if I made him unbelievably happy. So I simply smile back. “I like thinking about somedays too.” He kisses me once more, softly this time, and then we catch a cab back to the hotel and go to sleep in each other’s arms. *** We meet the others at a café near the concert hall for dinner before the show. They all seem pretty tired from their day of sightseeing, and I’m grateful Lennon got some rest instead. “How was the little train?” he asks Cash, his grin snarky. He’s a lot more himself after our nap. Cash grimaces. “There was a crying baby right behind us. So that was awesome.” “What else did you do?” I ask Daisy. “We went to Sacre Coeur,” she says, rubbing her belly. “Which was gorgeous but, God, so many steps.” “It wasn’t that many—” Cash begins but stops himself when she glares at him. “But, of course, I wasn’t carrying a baby in my belly while

climbing them, as you so helpfully pointed out ten times, so I’ll just shut my mouth.” “Smart move,” she says before turning back to me. “Then we went down to see the Moulin Rouge.” “Which was in a really nice part of town,” Sam adds, leaning toward us with a grin on her face. “There may have been some strip clubs,” Daisy explains. “And sex shops,” Sam adds. “And sex shops. And they, uh, had some colorful names.” Sam giggles, and Daisy sends a guilty look down the table at Paige. “I think she was pretty upset about it,” Daisy whispers. “She had this idea in her head that we could walk around and take pictures. Without, you know, a place called Good Vibrations in the background.” I snort into my water glass. “But it was a fun day, porn shops and tiny trains included.” “I’m glad.” Her eyes go to Lennon on my other side. He’s talking to Levi, and I’m relieved to see he still seems happy enough. “How’s he doing?” she asks, and something in her tone tells me she’s asking about more than our afternoon.

“He’s, uh, tired, I think.” She nods, her gaze still on his face. “But he took a nap today, and I think that helped.” “I don’t want to put you on the spot,” she says, her voice barely discernible over the restaurant noise. “Or make you uncomfortable or…” She smiles, shaking her head. “I’m doing this badly. I just want you to be aware.” “Of what?” The kernel of worry from earlier reappears. “If he stops sleeping, that usually means he’s not feeling great.” She sighs, looking down. “So, just, you know. Not that you need to, like, keep an eye on it or anything. But if you notice he’s not sleeping, then…” She shakes her head again. “I feel terrible even saying this. I don’t want him to think that I don’t trust him or that I’m talking behind his back or—” “It’s okay, Daisy,” I say, even if only to get her to stop babbling. She’s obviously very uncomfortable. “If he’s not sleeping, I’ll talk to him about it, okay?” She nods, looking relieved. “Thank you. I’m sorry for being so…” She sighs again. “I’ll just blame pregnancy hormones making me crazy.” “You care about him. I appreciate you letting me know what to look out for. Because, you know.” Apparently it’s my turn to be uncomfortable. “Because I care about him too.”

Her face brightens. “I can tell. I think you guys are so good together. It really makes me happy, Haylee. To see him so happy.” “I keep forgetting how long you’ve known each other.” “Oh, God,” she says, laughing. “You should have seen him when we met—” “Uh uh,” Lennon says, leaning over me to face Daisy. “We’re not having the Lennon-as-alittle-boy conversation, Daisy. There are rules.” She sticks out her tongue at him. “You’re no fun.” She winks at me. “But he was a really cute little boy.” He sighs, taking my hand. “I think that’s enough of memory lane with the girl from next door, okay?” After dinner we walk down the street to the concert venue. It’s much smaller than the massive theater where we’ll be performing the live show tomorrow night. In fact, it’s a lot more like the kinds of places Intrigue is used to performing. Paige says something to the bouncer and he lets us in past the line of people waiting to have their ID checked. The interior is a little grimy but painted in bright purples and reds. We immediately head downstairs into a cave-like room. It’s narrow and long, the stage at one end, the bar at the other, and it’s already mostly filled with people. Frank and Benny, Ransom’s security guys, clear a path for us, and I

can’t help but feel relieved to know that they’ll keep the crowd from pressing on us too much. “Who wants beer?” Cash calls over the sound of the crowd. When every hand goes up, he grabs Daltrey by the elbow. “Come help, kid.” “I haven’t been in a place like this in ages,” Paige says, looking around the room. The walls are painted purple down here too, making the space feel even smaller than it is. Then the lights suddenly cut off, and the crowd starts to cheer. “Who are we seeing, anyhow?” I shout up to Lennon. He shakes his head. “No idea. Someone Daltrey found.” With that kind of recommendation, I’m not expecting much. Therefore I’m surprised when the band turns out to be pretty damn awesome. It’s obvious from the opening verse of their first song. The lead singer has command of the crowd from the get-go, and his voice is excellent. Even better, they’re tight, not always the easiest feat when playing live “Who is this?” I ask Daltrey when he returns with our beers. “Grand Panic,” he says, handing me a flimsy plastic cup. “Out of England. They kick ass.” “I’ve never heard of them,” I tell Lennon as Daltrey moves past to bring Dylan and James their beers. “They’re good.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says. “Daltrey is really good at this—finding bands. It doesn’t matter what city we go to, if we want to hear live music, Dalt finds it. And they’re usually really good.” “That’s a helpful trait to have around.” Lennon slips his arms around my waist, pulling me against him so my back is pressed into his chest. “He’ll make a good A&R guy when his looks go and the girls stop screaming his name.” I laugh, leaning into him. “And what about you? What do you think you’ll be doing when the glory days are over?” “That’s the good thing about being the overlooked one,” he says into my ear, and I shiver at the closeness of his breath on my neck. “We outlast the screaming girls.” I reach up to pull his head down so I can speak into his ear, knowing he wouldn’t hear me over the music otherwise. “I never overlooked you,” I say. “I saw you from the beginning.” He tightens his arms, resting his chin on my head, and I decide I could stay like this all night. I’d forgotten what it felt like to watch a show in a venue like this, where everyone is right on top of each other. The way the noise of the amps and the crowd bounces off the low ceiling, loud enough to make my ears ring. Or how the entire room seems to vibrate with the pulse of the music and the movement of the fans. There’s something nice in

knowing that this is how people have felt when they came to see our shows, that the experience is being shared right now, in thousands of venues just like this one all over the world. “Nothing like live music,” Lennon says when the show is done. He’s grinning, all the distance in his eyes from this morning gone. “Nothing at all,” I say, and I know I’m grinning just as wildly. Because Lennon gets it, the way that I feel about music and performing. He feels the same way. “That was kick-ass,” Reed says, joining us. He has the same exhilarated, happy look on his face. They all get it, I think. “Daltrey is going to get Frank to see if we can go back to say hello.” “Do they know you guys are here tonight?” He shakes his head. “We just want to tell them how much we enjoyed it.” I can’t help but laugh. I wonder if they have any idea what that moment will be like for the four guys who’ve just left the stage. For one of the biggest bands in the world to randomly show up in their dressing room to tell them that they enjoyed the show. “What?” Lennon asks. “What’s funny?” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him full on the mouth, not caring that Reed is right there, probably shooting us those concerned looks of his. It’s still surprising to me how unaffected the Ransomes all

are. And it’s awfully cute when they don’t seem to notice how important they are. “Nothing,” I say. “I just like you.” “Haylee!” Paige calls, running over to us. “The boys all want to go backstage, so we’re gonna take off and start our party early. Sound good?” Shit. I totally forgot about the damn sleepover. Who has sleepovers at this age anyhow? Lennon squeezes my waist. “Sorry, babe. Guess you better go get your nails painted and stuff.” “Have fun with the band. I’m going to tell the girls all about your performance in bed.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Just make sure you make me sound good. I have a reputation to uphold.” I snort. “Oh, yeah, you’re definitely the one with a reputation.” As Paige ushers all of the girls into the car, I can’t help feeling disappointed. I like the girls, particularly Daisy, but I would much rather stay here and meet the band. “Oh, you have that look on your face,” Karen says, laughing as she points at me. “What look?” “That lovesick, brand-new-relationship, can’t-stand-to-spend-a-minute-apart look.” I make a face, but Daisy responds before I can. “Don’t worry, it will fade with time. And then you’ll spend half your day putting up with all the

boring crap they want to do and wish you could spend several dozen minutes apart.” Paige gasps. “When do you ever feel like that?” “All the time,” Daisy says. “It doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about the boy. It just means that I’m sick and tired of watching extreme fishing shows on cable.” “Am I the only single girl in this car?” Layla asks. “Yes,” Karen says. “And that means we all have to live vicariously through you. So spill. Who was that cute guy you were talking to at the Prada store this morning?” As Layla launches into the story of one of her many conquests, I let my mind wander to what Karen said. Was it just a stage, feeling this way about Lennon? Can’t stand to be apart for a minute. That pretty much summed it up. Was it too early for those kinds of feelings? Or were they harmless because it was so early—was it merely the first days of relationship flush that Karen predicted? Back at the hotel, we all gather in Paige’s room. Lennon wasn’t too far from the truth when he predicted nail painting. It’s your basic, girly sleepover from middle school—everyone in their PJs, lots of food, silly rom-coms on TV, and boy talk. So much boy talk.

“It’s so nice to see Lennon with someone,” Paige says from behind me as she attempts a complicated French braid in my hair. “I can’t even tell you.” “Why’s that?” “Because he always seems so lonely!” “Nice, Paige,” Karen says. “Tell his new girlfriend that the guy is a loner.” “I didn’t say loner!” Paige cries, horrified. “You make it sound like he’s all creepy or something—” “It’s okay,” I say, hoping she’ll stop shouting and spare my hearing. “I knew what you meant.” “Of course you did.” She sighs happily. “Because you get him.” “She’s a little overdramatic with the romance stuff,” Karen says. “Sorry.” “Anyhow,” Daisy says firmly when it’s obvious that Paige is about to argue. “We’re all very happy to see Lennon happy. But we mean that in a totally non-pressuring kind of way.” “It is strange,” Karen muses. “To think about all of the Ransome boys being taken.” “It was weird when it was Cash,” Paige says drily. “Nothing will ever be as weird as that.” She shoots a look at Sam. “Sorry.” Sam laughs. “It was weird for me too, believe me.” “How’d you guys get together?” Layla asks,

and Sam recounts the story of her meeting Cash, infused with lots of happy sighs from Paige at the romance of it all. As they talk, I let my mind wander. Would I be in their shoes someday? Telling the story of how I fell for Lennon Ransome? And what would I say? We got drunk and slept together, but we didn’t start dating until he told me about his suicide attempt and I told him about my abduction by a stalker. I cover my mouth so no one will hear me snicker. It certainly doesn’t sound very romantic. But I find that I don’t really care. Lennon and I understand each other. And all of that crap—from getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon and sleeping with a near stranger to the terrible things we shared in that museum—that’s part of us. Maybe that makes us broken, and maybe it makes us different from the other people on this tour. But it’s real, and it’s honest, and it’s who we are. And maybe that’s why I know, later that night, long after the girls have gone to sleep, that I’m in the wrong room. Something is keeping me from sleeping even though I know I need my rest. Tomorrow is a huge day for the band. But sleep doesn’t come, and finally, around three, I get up to go see how Lennon is. I find him sitting by the open window, shirtless, a glass of something dark and amber in his hand. He barely looks up as I enter, and I wonder if

he was expecting me. I pull the blanket from the bed and climb into his lap, wrapping it around both of us. “Another nightmare?” He shakes his head. “Just couldn’t sleep.” “Me neither.” He rests his head on top of mine and sighs, the sound exhausted. “I missed you.” “I missed you too.” I might not know what’s keeping him from sleep, but I do know that what he needs right now isn’t the glass of booze in his hand. What he needs is exactly what we’re doing—for the two of us to sit together, keeping each other company, keeping each other warm. It’s like I said—I understand him. Is that such a good thing? A voice in my head wonders. For two people so fucked up to be relying on each other? I think back to what Daisy said, about me being good for him. Is that true? A little shudder of fear goes through me, and Lennon tightens his arms. Is it possible to help someone when I’m such a mess myself?

Chapter Fifteen Lennon I’m sitting at a little bistro table in London, lost in my thoughts, when Haylee appears in front of me. “Lennon? Hey, Len?” I shake my head to clear it, wondering how many times she called my name. “Sorry. Daydreaming. How’d it go?” She tries to hide a smile by ducking her head as she joins me. We had arranged to meet at this restaurant a half hour ago, but Haylee had to postpone slightly when Louis assigned her an interview with an entertainment website back home. When she looks up again, she’s still smiling. “That good, huh?” “It’s just weird,” she says, the smile turning to a grin. “I’m doing a phone interview. In London.” “You’re a hit. I knew you would be.” She shakes her head. “So weird.” “What does Louis say?” She rolls her eyes. “He says we need to pounce on our momentum.” “He’s not wrong.”

“Yeah, but what else can we do, besides what we’re doing? I mean, we’re on tour.” “In Europe,” I point out. “And a lot of this interest is coming from back home.” Again, the attempts to hide the smile. It’s pretty cute. She’s been like this ever since the live Paris concert aired and Intrigue starting getting a lot more attention. From the first time I heard her sing, I knew that all it would take for her to make it big was a little exposure. And it looks like that concert, airing in a record-breaking number of households in North America, has had that exact effect. Suddenly Intrigue is getting a lot more interview requests and radio play back home. It’s pretty fun to watch. Especially if she’s going to keep smiling like that. “So what’s next on the agenda?” I ask, pouring some water from the carafe on the table and passing it to her. “You guys have time off before the next show?” “For now. I should probably get the hell out of London before Louis books us for something else.” “Don’t tempt me. I’d love to get out of here.” She sits up straight. “Yeah? Where would we go?” I think about that. “I’m still bummed we didn’t get to Italy on this trip.” “Ooh, Italy.” She sighs. “But that’s probably too far away for just a night. You know what we

should have done?” “What?” “I was reading that book you got me, the one about the water lilies?” On our last day in Paris, Haylee and I spent an afternoon alone at the Orangery, a small museum that housed six of Monet’s famous water lily paintings. Each huge canvass took up an entire wall in the gallery. And since she also loved the Monet at d’Orsay so much, I bought her a souvenir book on the artist. “Yeah? Are there any paintings you want to see here in London?” She shakes her head. “Not that I saw. But it did talk about Monet’s house. Did you know you can visit it? And see the actual pond where he painted the water lilies? It’s in Giverny, which I guess is pretty close to Paris. We totally should have gone. I wish I’d read it sooner—Lennon? Hey, are you okay?” I try to make myself breathe normally, try to unclench my jaw. She has no way of knowing about Giverny. How could she possibly when my own brothers don’t know? “Lennon?” “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “You’re right, we should have gone down there. I should have thought of it.” From the look she’s giving me, I’m not doing a very good job of proving that I’m fine. “What’s

going on?” “Nothing. I—” “Don’t give me that crap, Lennon.” Her face is getting red, her breathing rapid. She’s upset, I realize. Shit. I scared her. “I’m fine, Haylee.” “You’re not! You’re having nightmares all the time! I don’t think you’re sleeping much at all. Are you?” I sigh, rubbing my face. “I’m not sleeping well, no.” “Isn’t that… something to worry about?” My eyes snap up to her face, my stomach falling when she looks slightly guilty. “Who told you that?” “Daisy,” she whispers. “She just said that I should look out for it.” Her voice strengthens. “But that’s not all it is, Lennon. You’re spending half your day staring off into space. You’re obviously upset about something, and I want you to talk to me.” Well, shit. I thought I’d done such a good job of hiding it. “I don’t know,” I admit, resting my head in my hands. “I’ve been having dreams, and for some reason I can’t make them disappear during the day. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry!” She reaches across the table and takes my hands away from my face. “I

just want you to talk to me about it.” I stare into her eyes, wondering what she would think if I told her. I’m dreaming about my mom. I always dream about my mom. And I don’t know why that’s so scary. I don’t know why it makes me feel like I’m failing someone. “Would you go with me now?” The words are out of my mouth before I even consciously decide to ask. We could take the Eurostar back to France and be there in a few hours. Plenty of time, if we left now. “Go with you where?” “To Giverny.” Her face clouds. “You want to go to Giverny now? Instead of talking to me about this?” “No,” I say quickly. “I want to go to Giverny because…” I breathe out, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I want to go to Giverny because my mother is living there and I think it’s time I went to see her.” *** Four hours later, we’re back in Paris. It feels strange to be here, familiar and totally foreign at the same time, even though it’s only been a week since we left. “You doing okay?” she asks, taking my hand. “Yeah. Definitely. We need to get to platform five, I think.” As soon as I told her what I wanted to do,

Haylee agreed. She didn’t even ask me any questions. “We’ll have to switch trains in Paris, but it shouldn’t be too hard,” she said, studying a travel app in the taxi on the way back to the hotel. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I know you were joking about Louis scheduling stuff, but he probably does have work for you.” “Then I’ll do it when we get back,” she said. “If this is something you need to do, we’re doing it. Besides”—she leaned across the seat to kiss me —“I’m looking forward to our first trip away together.” I laughed at that, feeling strangely free, considering the circumstances. “You do know we’ve been sleeping in hotel beds together since we met.” She stuck out her tongue at me before turning back to the window. And now here we are, back in France, boarding the train to Giverny. “Countryside is pretty,” Haylee says as the suburbs of Paris finally fade into the distance. She’s leaning on my shoulder, and I wonder if the armrest is hurting her in this position. But it’s the way she always sits when we’re close, I realize. She leans into me, like she’s taking strength from my presence. Or maybe she’s giving it to me. Either way, it makes me feel strong, when she leans like that. Makes me feel like I can handle shit after all.

“What do you want to do first?” she asks. “The Monet House or—” I cut her off before she can say anything else. Like maybe, your mom’s house. “Monet. Definitely.” She watches me for a long moment, concern evident on her face. “You sure you’re okay with this, Lennon? Maybe you should have talked to your brothers first. Shouldn’t they be here instead of me?” I shake my head. “You’re the only one I want with me if I decide to go through with this.” I kiss the top of her head, trying to calm myself with her now-familiar vanilla scent. “I just want to enjoy a nice afternoon with you first. That’s what I need right now. Okay?” “Okay.” She nestles into my chest a little before yawning. “How long is the ride?” “Another half an hour. Why don’t you take a nap?” She nods against my shoulder, closing her eyes, and I relax back into my chair. I haven’t slept in days. I know I should tell Levi, tell my dad. They know, better than anyone, what usually happens when I stop sleeping. But then I would have to tell them about the dreams. And I don’t think I can do that yet. I’m not entirely stupid, though. I did call Dr. Jacobs back in Tennessee a few days ago. I’ve been

in contact with her since we left town, but I let the communication lapse since Haylee and I got together. Her advice was simple—tell your Dad. When I told her about the dreams, she got very quiet. “You definitely need to talk to your father, Lennon,” she said, her voice as serious as I’ve ever heard it. “You need to sit down and have a conversation about your mother.” “Why?” “Because there are obviously things there that you don’t want to remember.” I promised to think about it, but I have no intention of telling him. Not yet. I couldn’t explain why, but the thought of talking about those dreams filled me with a dread that made me lose my breath. I couldn’t tell my dad. Not until I knew what I was dreaming about. But maybe it was time to talk to someone else. Someone like my mother. “We’re getting close, Haylee,” I whisper into her ear. “Come on, babe, time to wake up.” She grumbles a little as she stretches, and I wonder if worrying about me has her losing sleep as well. Definitely not what she should be concentrating on right now, not with the band getting so much positive attention after the show. Just like she shouldn’t be running away from the tour to go tramping through the French countryside with me. This is a big break for her, and I’m not

helping. You’re failing, I correct myself. You’re failing her. “You okay?” she asks when I don’t join her in the aisle. I give myself a mental shake. We’ve come too far to go back now. “Let’s do it.” We don’t have any luggage, just my backpack with our toothbrushes and a change of clothes for each of us. We called ahead and booked a room at a small inn in Vernon, the town outside of Giverny where the train stops. The room is miniscule, with a rose-patterned bedspread and an antique writing desk. “This is totally you, Lennon,” Haylee says, smirking. “The flowers really go with that whole emo rock guy thing you have going.” “Me? It’s totally you. Look at how well your leather jacket matches the wallpaper.” “What’s this?” She picks up a color pamphlet from the desk. “It’s about Giverny.” I come to stand behind her to read the information over her shoulder. “Look at how pretty it is,” she says, pointing down at the fields of flowers. “It’s a lot colder now. Might not be many flowers.” “That’s fine. There’s still some color on the trees. It will be nice.” She reads silently for a moment. “It says there’s a shuttle bus right by the train station to get to Giverny. So that’s pretty easy. And we can go to his house with the garden, and

then there’s the museum and…” Her voice fades in my mind as I look down at the pictures in the pamphlet. How close are we, right now? Will we pass her house on the bus? Will I know it when I see it? A wave of fear rushes through me, and I know this was a bad idea. It could change everything. What in the hell was I thinking? “Okay, I fully blame you for how dorky I’m becoming,” Haylee says, her voice cutting through my panic. “But I am totally excited about this.” I want to be excited. I want to go walk around the cute little town with my girlfriend and not worry about anything. I want to not be afraid. Haylee looks up at me, smiling, and I make myself a promise. I’m going to enjoy this, I think to myself fiercely. I’m going to have this day with Haylee. I’m going to have these memories. I’m going to have this one good day. And I try really hard not to recognize the feeling that’s growing in my chest—the one that says this might be the last good day for a long, long time. *** I try. I really do. I hold Haylee’s hand and laugh when it’s appropriate and kiss her on the bridge over the lily pond. But that horrible feeling just keeps growing in my chest, and I know there’s no way she can’t see it on my face.

“Let’s rest here for a minute,” she says, pointing to a bench in the garden. Most of the flowers have died by now, but the plants are still green. I try to concentrate on that. On how cute Haylee looks with red cheeks, her masses of black hair flowing out from under a knit beanie cap. I try to concentrate on the feel of her fingers in mine as she takes my hand. “How are you holding up?” “I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I’m ruining this.” “You’re not ruining anything. This is a tough day for you. Sightseeing first probably wasn’t the best idea.” “I think we should go back,” I whisper, not meeting her eyes. “To the inn? Okay, that’s totally fine with me.” “Not the inn. To London. I think we should forget this whole thing.” She doesn’t speak for a moment, just brushes her fingers across my hands. “I think you might regret that, Lennon. You’ve been having a rough time for a few weeks now, haven’t you?” I nod. “And that has to do with your mother.” It’s not a question. “So maybe this will help. Talking to her. I mean, it was important enough to you to come all this way.”

Because I have no argument against any of that, I tell the truth. “I’m scared.” “Of course you are. You haven’t seen her in what—fifteen years?” “Seventeen.” “I think that would scare just about anybody. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to do.” I swallow a few times, trying to get my heart rate under control. “Do you think we could go see her now?” I ask, even though it’s the last thing in the world I want to do. “If we get it over with, then maybe we could enjoy the morning before we have to head back tomorrow.” “I think that’s a great idea,” she says, smiling at me. It makes me feel a little better, the ease of that smile. “Let’s get it over with.” So we stand and leave the garden, walking down the winding streets of Giverny. It’s a beautiful fall day, the sky blue overhead, the air cold enough to bite but bearable. A few of the trees are still holding onto their colorful leaves high above the little stone buildings of the town, contrasting with the solid green of the pines on the hills in the distance. It really is a beautiful place. I imagine being here with Haylee in some alternate universe where I can just enjoy myself, ignorant of how close my mom is. “Maybe we could come back here too,” I blurt out, my voice sounding panicky. “When we

come back to go to Montmartre.” “Maybe we could,” she says, but her eyes tell me she knows the truth. I won’t ever be enjoying a day in Giverny again. “Do you have the address?” I hand her the scrap of paper from my pocket. I don’t tell her that I’ve been carrying it with me the entire time we’ve been in Europe. But maybe she can tell—the thing is creased and soft with wear, evidence of how many times I’ve unfolded it just to stare at the words. It was a private investigator that found her. It was one of the first things I did when we signed our record deal and I had a little cash. I wasn’t sure why I did it. It wasn’t like I wanted to see her. There weren’t many positive feelings toward our mom in my family. She had left us. She hadn’t wanted us anymore. But it was the kind of thing that got into my head and wouldn’t leave. The idea of knowing. Where she was. What she was doing. What life she had chosen over us. Finding out she had been in Europe was a shock. She had no family there, no friends that I was aware of. But it wasn’t like I would have really known. My dad didn’t talk about her, not ever. The investigator had photos as well, but I didn’t take those. I didn’t want to see her face. Yet here I was. “We’re pretty close,” Haylee says, her voice gentle. “Just down this road here.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and follow her down the sidewalk. The houses on this road are small and tidy. Brick cottages behind brick walls, postcard-sized gardens in the front. They all look fairly similar. I know which one is hers before we see the address. Maybe it’s the wind chime hanging from the front gate. Or the birdhouse in front of the wall. There’s a little sign on the gate, words about home being the window to your heart. I swallow, and Haylee tightens her hold on my hand. I’m grateful she doesn’t ask me if I’m okay, that she doesn’t give me any out. Because I know there’s no way I would have swung that gate open if she wasn’t standing there next to me, silently holding my hand. More wind chimes hang in the small garden, along with several sculptures of wire and glass. The feel is funky, a little eclectic. I have a flash of her walking through the grass at our house in California, barefoot, her sundress swinging around her legs, and I have to stop walking to catch my breath. “I’m right here,” Haylee says softly, and somehow I make my legs move again. Then I’m knocking on the door, and I can’t breathe, and I’m praying that she isn’t home, that the investigator was wrong, that a French woman will open this door and I can run away and pretend none of this ever happened.

But that’s not how life works. When the door opens, it’s not a stranger standing in the foyer looking out at me with wide, knowing eyes. It’s not a stranger bringing her shaking hand to cover her gaping mouth. It’s my mother. “Lennon,” she whispers. “It’s you.” *** I don’t know what I imagined when I tried to picture her house, but it wasn’t this. The cottage is tiny, the living area smaller than the one on our tour bus. She’s filled the space with comfortable, slightly worn furniture. The walls are painted vivid shades of blue and green, splashed with bright color from paintings and tapestries. She has vases of flowers everywhere and more wind chimes inside. “Can I get you anything?” she asks, once we’re sitting on a creaky little sofa. “Tea or coffee? Water?” “Tea would be good,” I hear myself say, my voice strange in my ears. I don’t really want tea, though a shot of Jack Daniels sounds pretty good. All I really want is her out of the room for a minute. So I can pull myself together. “Of course. Just give me one moment.” She hurries into the kitchen, and as she passes I see that her hands are still shaking. “You okay?” Haylee asks. It’s funny, I’ve been hearing those words for months, so often that they’ve started to drive me crazy. But hearing them

now, from Haylee, while we sit in my mother’s living room, I want to answer honestly for the first time in years. “No,” I mutter, staring at my hands. “I think this was a bad idea.” “It will be fine,” she says, slipping her hand through the crook of my arm. “It really will. We can leave if you need to.” I nod, looking around the room, hardly taking in anything I’m seeing. No pictures stand on the mantle or any of the surfaces. Plenty of art and not one photograph of a real person. “Here we are.” I look up and see my mother standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a tray. A tray that’s shaking in her hands. “Let me grab that,” Haylee says, jumping up to rescue the tray before it can fall. She sets it on the coffee table in front of us. My mother looks adrift now that she doesn’t have a task. She fidgets for a minute then sits on the edge of a purple armchair directly across from us. “I haven’t met your friend,” she finally says, nodding at Haylee. “Oh.” My voice is dull, and I clear my throat. “This is Haylee Hunt.” My mom smiles. The first smile I’ve seen on her face in seventeen years. I feel like I’m going to throw up. “You’re the singer,” she says. “You know who I am?” Haylee asks,

incredulous. “Of course!” She jumps from her chair and walks to a leather trunk in the corner by the fireplace and lifts a large cloth book from inside. It’s the same kind of book that Paige had us use to make scrapbooks this summer. I have a sudden, horrible urge to laugh and bite down on my tongue as my mother brings the book over to us. “Here you are,” she says, turning toward the back of the book. She places it on Haylee’s lap, and I look down to see a clipping from a magazine. It’s a press picture of me and my brothers, a smaller picture of Intrigue in a box in the corner. Ransom announces tour dates for Europe; brothers to be joined by Intrigue. I look up at my mother. “You have press clippings about us?” “I do!” Her voice is a shade too high pitched; she’s definitely nervous and trying to cover it. She flips to the front of the book. “I’ve been collecting since you opened for Grey Skies.” Haylee looks up at me, worried, and it occurs to me that I’m digging my fingers into my thighs. I make a conscious effort to relax them and reach over to take the book from her. “Have you enjoyed the tour?” she asks Haylee, returning to her seat across from us. “It’s been really great,” Haylee says, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and my mother.

“We’ve had really great turnouts at all of the stops and…” I tune her out, focusing on the book in my lap. I flip idly through the pages. Promo photos, magazine spreads, album reviews, sales figures. What did she say? She’s been collecting since the Grey Skies tour. Collecting. Like she’s some kind of fan or something. “Were you at the concert?” I ask, interrupting them. “The concert?” she asks, her voice squeaky. “You mean—” “We played two shows in Paris.” I have no idea how I’m keeping my voice so controlled. I feel like I should be screaming. “It’s a forty-minute train ride.” “I didn’t go to the shows, Lennon. No.” “Why?” I hit the book in my lap with my knuckles. “You’ve been collecting info on our tours for years. Why wouldn’t you want to get the firsthand experience?” Haylee reaches for me, but I brush her off, staring at my mother across the forgotten tea service. She looks different from the way I remember. Was it just my little kid’s brain that painted her as so beautiful in my memories? Her face is lined, much more so than my father’s, four years her senior. She’s thinner than I remember, all boney angles. And her hair is shorter and lank now,

a dull brownish shade. It used to be so long, shining and smooth. Blond, almost white, just like Daltrey’s. Daltrey. Who was five when she left. I feel something like a sob—or maybe a yell—rise in my throat, and I have to dig my heel into my other foot to keep it together. She holds her chin up a little, her voice stronger now. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate,” she says. “Or fair to you.” “Fair.” “Lennon—” I shake my head, the desire to laugh overtaking me again. She didn’t think it would be fair. “Don’t mind me.” I wave between the two of them. “You were talking about the tour. I interrupted.” “Lennon,” Haylee whispers. My mother is staring at me with wide eyes. “What? You don’t want to talk about the tour?” I know my tone is nasty, know that Haylee doesn’t deserve to sit here and listen to me like this. But I can’t help it. “What should we talk about instead?” I gesture down at the scrapbook. “Looks like you know all about how we’ve been, huh? So what about you? How have you been, Mom? Been keeping busy?” She swallows, straightening her shoulders, like she’s walking into battle. “I have been, yes. Giverny is a very nice little town and close enough

to Paris for an afternoon trip once in a while.” “And what do you do here, in this nice little town?” If my tone is affecting her, she doesn’t show it. “I’m an artist.” She gestures at the wall next to the fireplace. “I’ve been selling my paintings for several years now. My garden sculptures bring in more money, but it’s the painting that I really enjoy.” Those wire and glass sculptures outside. She made those. And the painting on the wall—maybe all of them? I squint at the one near the fireplace. A swirling sea of blue and green, a bright, oversized sun above casting light onto the waves. I try to imagine the woman I knew painting that, painting anything, and I can’t. Her life now has no connection to the life we had then. No connection to who she used to be. No connection to us. Except for this book. When I don’t reply, Haylee takes a deep breath. “Lennon and I saw a lot of beautiful art in Paris,” she says, clearly trying to keep things civil. My mother’s face brightens. “Did you go to the Louvre? What was your favorite?” “Uh, no, not the Louvre. We spent a lot of time at Musee d’Orsay.” I can see Paige’s face so clearly in my head, looking at me in the van outside the museum. Telling me that she chose it specifically for me. That it reminded her of me. Because Paige knew

me. Your heart is, Paige told me when I asked her about beauty and light. After my accident this summer, I refused to talk to anyone. Once Levi and my father dropped the bombshell of what had been happening with me, my brothers freaked out. There was so much yelling that night. Cash had broken things. Punches had been thrown. When the doctors finally kicked them out of the room, I refused to let any of them back in for days. Not my father, not the boys, not Levi. I couldn’t face them, not after what I had done. In the end, it was Daisy who finally forced her way in to see me. She sat next to my bed for three hours and talked to me about everything that had happened. Talked to me about her suicide attempt two years earlier and what her recovery had been like. Told me how it felt in her head and her heart back then, how hopeless and broken and worthless she had felt. And then she held my hand and told me that it could get better, just like it had for her. I can’t look at my mother anymore. I can’t think about how Daisy and Paige know me better than she does. How they were with me on the worst day of my life. Or how Haylee was the one with me for the happiest moments. And my mother wasn’t around for any of them. I stare down at the book in my lap, idly flipping through the pages. Toward the back there’s

a magazine clipping, an article from a gossip magazine. It’s Daisy and Daltrey walking into a restaurant back in Nashville, before the tour. He has his hand on her back, opening the door for her. It was still summer then, and she’s wearing a tank top, the material stretching across her slightly swollen stomach. A baby makes three? questioned the headline. On that page my mom had used a paperclip to attach another picture. An old Polaroid of four little boys sitting on a couch. The older two looked a lot more similar back then than they do now, the color of their hair the only really distinguishing feature. The third is barely a toddler, looking up at his older brothers and laughing. A baby is laid across the oldest one’s lap, and none of them seem to know what to do with him. He used to cry all the time, I think, bringing the tip of one finger to Daltrey’s tiny face. That is the first thing I remember about him. That he would cry. And Reed and Cash used to sing songs at the top of their lungs to cover the sound, to make me laugh. I go to the very front of the scrapbook and turn the pages with shaking fingers, looking at every single one, moving faster and faster until I get back to the end. The shot of us with Daltrey the day he came home from the hospital is the only real photograph. “Lennon?” Haylee asks, and I look up,

realizing they’ve both stopped talking to watch me. I toss the book onto the table in front of me, knocking over one of the empty tea cups. “One photo,” I say, unable to stop my voice from shaking. “One photo of us.” Her face crumples. “I didn’t have the chance to take more.” One photo from the day Daltrey came home and then not another reminder of us until we became famous. And all those years in between— moving, starting over, birthdays, crushes, learning to play music, all those shitty gigs we played as teenagers, all those heartbreaks—nothing. Suddenly I want to turn the table over, want to rip the paintings from the wall, to destroy this sunny, happy little room filled with her art and her colors. I understand, for the first time, why Cash likes breaking things so much when he’s upset. I want to break everything. “This was a mistake,” I say, standing. “I shouldn’t have come here.” “I’m glad you came,” my mother says, crossing to me, her face desperate. “I’m so glad you came. Please, let’s talk—” “What’s there to talk about?” I cry, feeling savage satisfaction when she flinches. “You don’t know me, and I don’t want to know you.” “Of course I know you, Lennon—” “Shut up!” I scream, turning to grab the book

and throwing it to the ground at her feet. “A lot happened between that picture and the start of the first damn tour.” “I understand that.” “I don’t think you do! I don’t think you could have any idea what it was like for us after you left.” She flinches. “I can’t ask you to forgive me, Lennon. I don’t deserve to be forgiven. But I am sorry. I’m so very sorry.” I hate myself for the tears in my eyes, hate myself for wishing she would touch me, that she might put her arms around me. “Then why didn’t you come back?” My voice cracks, and I sound fifteen years younger. Like a little kid, left behind, wishing his mom would come home. “You had years to change your mind, to be sorry. Why couldn’t you come back?” It isn’t until she wipes her eyes that I realize tears are streaming down her face. “Because you all deserved so much better than me. I couldn’t come back.” “That’s bullshit. It’s an excuse.” “No, Lennon, it’s the truth.” She reaches for my arm, and the yearning I feel for her touch is so strong it horrifies me. I jerk away from her. “I couldn’t come back.” “Why?” She looks me straight in the eyes and responds with a question of her own. “What do you

remember about me leaving?” We were in the car. She took me back to that place that scared me so much. And when I cried she left me in the car. I reel back, feeling like she slapped me. “Nothing,” I say, my voice shaking. The pity in her eyes makes me feel sick. “We should talk about that.” I’m shaking my head before she’s finished talking. “No. I’m done here.” “Lennon, wait—” “No. This was a mistake.” I turn to Haylee. “Let’s go.” She looks scared as she nods, crossing to my side, but my mother blocks our path to the door. “If you’re not going to talk to me, then you need to talk to Will—you need to talk to your dad.” “So he can tell me what I already know? That you abandoned your children? Thanks, I think we’ve covered that over the years.” She doesn’t grimace, merely watches me with those eyes filled with guilt and pity. “You know it’s more than that.” She blinks, the guilt in her eyes overtaking the pity. “I did abandon you. I was no mother to any of you, and you deserved so much more. But I think you need to hear the whole story, Lennon.” “Why, so I’ll—what? Feel sorry for you?” She shakes her head. “No. So you can get

better.” “Get better?” I yell so loudly that Haylee jumps. “Get better? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through the last few years? Do you have idea what it feels like in my head?” “Yes,” she whispers. “I think I do.” I can’t stand to look at her for another second, can’t stand the pity and the sadness. Can’t stand her pretending like she might actually know something about me. She left me. She doesn’t know anything. I push past her, not waiting for Haylee, not listening to my mother’s calls for me to stop, and cross the lawn in three strides. Haylee catches up with me two houses down. “Lennon.” Her voice is terrified, and I find I can’t look at her either. “I want to go back,” I say. “To London. I want to get out of here.” “Okay. Let’s get the shuttle, and we’ll—” I don’t know what she says next, I can’t focus on anything. Memories are shooting through my head, confusing me, making me wonder what’s real. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick. Or start screaming. “Come on,” Haylee says, taking my hand. “Just follow me.” I hold her hand like a lifeline, following her away from the house, away from the town, follow her to the train station and all the way back to

London where my family is waiting. It’s the middle of the night when our cab pulls up to the hotel. It occurs to me that neither of us has eaten since lunch, and a pang of guilt pierces through the cacophony in my head. What a surprise, I think. Giant screwup, like always. Can’t take care of myself, can’t take care of my girlfriend. You’re failing her too, a voice in my head whispers through the noise as we climb out of the car. And then Haylee is pulling me forward once again. “Let’s get to bed,” she says, sounding tired. “I think I should be alone.” She stops on the sidewalk and turns to me, an incredulous look on her face. “Absolutely not.” “I just think I—” “There is no way I’m leaving you alone after that. You let me come with you or I’m going to get Levi.” She sighs, running her hands through her hair. She’s exhausted. “Look, we don’t have to talk about any of it tonight, okay? But I’m not leaving you alone.” I’m too tired to argue, so I nod and follow her upstairs. She helps me pull off my shoes and sweater, and then we collapse into bed. Haylee pulls the covers over us and wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. “Lennon, we’ll figure all of this out, okay?” I nod even though I know it’s ridiculous.

There’s no figuring this out. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” I don’t bother to nod this time, and she squeezes me tighter. “I love you.” Her words barely register. Some part of me is dimly aware of what she’s saying, of the fact that we’ve never said that to each other before. But there’s too much noise in my head to focus on it, to think about what it means. I only know one thing. I should not have gone to that house. I should not have looked into my mother’s face after all these years. Because now I remember everything.

Chapter Sixteen Haylee I don’t really know how I manage to get through sound check. It’s the last show of the tour. In two more days we’re all going back to the States. When I try to imagine how things will be then, I draw a blank. I assumed that Lennon and I would figure it out together—where we’d be, what we’d do. The one thing I never wondered about is whether or not we’d be together. That, at least, seemed to be a given. But now… the truth is, I’m terrified. Lennon is going through something I can’t understand. And he’s not letting me in. I know he didn’t sleep at all the night we returned from France. He’s not talking to me, not talking to anyone as far as I can see. And his eyes, those beautiful, expressive eyes that I always thought were so familiar—they’re closed off to me. Like shutters pulled tight over windows during a storm. He’s here with us in London, doing promo, eating meals at my side, talking to his brothers, rehearsing. But he’s absent. And it scares the hell out of me.

I don’t know if the rest of them can tell. In the two days after our impromptu trip to France, I’ve been watching his brothers and Levi, watching Daisy and Paige, even watching his dad, trying to figure out what they see when they look at him. Are they worried? They watch him a lot, eyes constantly flicking in his direction at every meal, trying not to be obvious about it. But have they always been like that? Knowing what I know now, about what happened in August, I realize what he meant when he told me they were overprotective and suffocating. They’ve been scared for him. They’re scared still. But are they as scared as they should be? He made me promise not to tell them where we went. I expected everyone to be pissed about our unexplained trip until I realized that we were only gone for a day. We didn’t even spend the night in France. But it felt like we were there for days, not mere hours. “You doing okay?” James asks me as we finish our sound check. I can’t muster the energy to lie to him. “It’s been a rough few days.” His eyebrows come down. “I knew this was going to happen.” I bristle, sure that I’ll lose it if he criticizes my relationship with Lennon right now. I’m surprised when he continues. “I told Louis that we needed to cool it with all the media requests

after the concert went so well. I knew you weren’t ready for that kind of exposure.” He thought I was having a rough time with the increase in fan and media attention. Funny, I haven’t spared a single moment of concern over that. “No, it’s been fine. The attention stuff, it hasn’t been that bad.” “Then what’s wrong?” Before I can answer, Ransom comes out of their dressing room on their way to the stage for their own sound check. My gaze immediately goes to Lennon, all thoughts of my conversation with James flying from my head. How does he look this afternoon? Has he slept at all? Is that terrible bleakness still in his eyes? “Give me a minute,” I say to James after we exchange pleasantries with the band. I grab Lennon’s arm and pull him a few feet away from his brothers as they continue down the hall. “Hey.” I link my fingers through his. He mimics the action automatically, and I squeeze his hand. “How’s it going?” For a moment I think he’s going to brush me off, give me the standard “I’m fine” that I’ve heard him throw at his brothers whenever they ask this question. Instead he closes his eyes, letting his forehead drop down to mine. “I’m exhausted.” “I know,” I whisper, bringing my hands up into his hair. “You haven’t slept since we’ve been

back.” He laughs, a bitter, tired sound. “I wasn’t sleeping before that, either.” I remember what Daisy said, and worry shoots through me again. “We should talk to your dad, Lennon. Or Levi.” “I know. But I just…” He lifts his head and opens his eyes, his fingers coming up to play idly with a strand of my hair. “I just want to get through this show, you know? Get the tour behind us so I can concentrate on… whatever the hell is going on right now.” “I still think they should know.” He sighs. “Haylee, when I tell them that I went to see our mother… it’s not going to be good. I don’t think you understand quite how angry they are at her.” I picture his face on that awful day in the bright little living room in Giverny, his voice ragged and furious. I wonder if he understands how angry he is. “I don’t want to do that to them when we still have another day of work, you know?” “So you’ll just suffer through it alone?” He gives me a ghost of a smile. “I’m not alone. I have you.” But you’re not letting me in either, I think. I can’t read your eyes anymore, Lennon. “I should get going,” he says, nodding toward the door to the greenroom. “When this show is over, you’re going to tell

them? You promise?” He nods. “I promise.” “And you’ll let me be there for you when you do?” He blinks, apparently surprised. “Why wouldn’t you be there?” “Because we’re going home. And we haven’t really talked about what happens next…” Lennon frowns. “I assumed we’d be together. Isn’t that… isn’t that what you want?” A flash of relief goes through me. “Of course it’s what I want.” Before he can respond, Daltrey sticks his head out of the greenroom door. “You coming, Len? Dad’s getting pissy.” “Story of my life,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at me. It’s a small gesture, but it makes me happier than I can say to see him acting a little more normal. “See you later?” “Definitely.” He kisses me softly, just for a moment, and then releases my arms. I watch him go until he’s through the greenroom door. For the first time in the last few days, I feel a little bit hopeful. Maybe this will all work out okay. We’ll be home soon, and he’ll talk to his family. They’ll help him figure out what’s going on, why he’s having so many nightmares. Help him figure out whatever the hell his mother was talking about when she said he needed to remember. He’ll be back near his

doctors, and they’ll help too. Everything will be fine, I tell myself again as I head back to my dressing room. It has to be. I barely manage to suppress a groan as I walk into the room and see Louis sitting on the little couch. He’s alone, all of my bandmates nowhere to be seen. Awesome. I’d been waiting for his lecture about my unplanned trip. But when Louis looks up at me, my stomach drops. He doesn’t look the way he usually does when he’s about to lecture me. He looks… worried. “We need to talk,” he says, standing up to shut the door behind me. “Sit down with me, okay, Haylee?” He’s being too nice. He never talks to me like this. Something bad happened. I don’t know what, but I know something bad happened. “Haylee,” he repeats, taking my arm and leading me to the couch. Why is there pity in his eyes? “Come and talk to me.” “What’s going on?” I ask, trying to fight down the fear that’s rising in my chest. He doesn’t torture me with anticipation. Instead he looks straight into my face, his eyes steady and so sad. “Haylee, your mother gave an interview, and it’s going to be published tomorrow.” My throat goes very dry. “What kind of interview?” “She spoke to one of the gossip magazines.

After the Paris show when you guys started to get so much attention…” Oh, God. “What did she do?” But I already know the answer. I know exactly what my mother is capable of selling for a little fame and some cash. “She talked to them about Randy.” The room seems to go very still around me. I open my mouth a few times, but no sound comes out. Glancing down, I realize that Louis is holding my hand. The sweetness of that gesture brings a lump to my throat. “She told them… everything?” “Mostly everything. She shared details about the stalking and the… abduction.” I hate her, I think dully. I really do. She knew how much that affected me. Knew how impossible I found it to talk about. Knew how hard the label fought to keep so much of it hidden, to keep it away from the press. They tried to protect me better than she ever did, I think. My bosses took better care of me than my own mother. A few details got out, like these things always do. But no one had heard of us back then. It was only a blip. “She also talked about how you’ve… dealt with the stress of the situation.” My head snaps up. The pity in his eyes is far greater now than it was before. “What do you mean?” Louis closes his eyes briefly. “She told them about some of the problems you’ve had since the

attack.” “Like what?” My voice is so cold, so sharp, it hardly sounds like my own. “She said that you had to cancel the tour that year. And that you have panic attacks in crowds. And that… you’ve turned to drugs and alcohol.” You would think after all this time that I wouldn’t be surprised by her behavior. That she couldn’t hurt me. Sure, the effects of her behavior could hurt, but I thought I outgrew being hurt by her. By knowing that my own mother cared so little about me. So I’m surprised by the pain that runs through me at his words. “She told them that?” “Haylee, I’m so sorry. The label is behind you, I want you to know that. They’ll release a statement, downplaying everything she said. We can say that you have little contact with her, that she’s not close enough to the situation to speak with any authority. The label can minimize this, I promise.” Everyone will know. Everyone will know what happened to me. How I dealt with it. It’s entertainment now, something to gossip about. People will read about it in the glossy pages of magazines while they stand in line to buy groceries. The worst thing that ever happened to me is about to be an entertaining diversion for someone. And it was my mother who made that possible.

“I’m going to go back to the hotel,” I say, standing up. Somehow I manage to keep my voice steady, but my hands are shaking. I shove them into my pockets so Louis won’t see. “Let’s sit for a minute,” he says, taking my arm again. “You’ve had a shock, Haylee. Let’s relax, have a glass of water.” He’s being so nice to me. Somehow that makes it all worse, makes it seem so much more real. Because Louis isn’t nice. Louis is demanding and bossy and obsessed with our success. But he still cares about me more than my mother. They’ve both been pushing me to succeed all these years. But, unlike my mother, Louis wanted it for us. He pushed us because he thought we deserved to make it. He wasn’t just interested in coattails. He was interested in contributing, in helping us make our dreams come true. My mother only ever wanted money. “I’m okay,” I say, my voice falsely bright. “It’s like you said, the label will handle it.” “Haylee—” “I’d just like to go rest at the hotel, okay?” He watches my face for a long moment, as if trying to gauge how big of a lie I’m telling. Finally, he nods. “Okay. We’ll go back.” We don’t talk in the car. Louis doesn’t ask me if I’m okay. But he holds my hand the entire way. ***

I almost can’t make myself go on stage that night. The thought of all of those people, looking at me, makes me want to puke. Will they know? The magazine isn’t out yet, but these things leak first, right? There’ll be talk online, won’t there? I can’t bear to look. The rest of the band knows, of course. Louis must have told them before he told me. As they’ve done a hundred times, they shelter me, protecting me. From the moment we leave the hotel to the moment we step on stage, they’re there, surrounding me. Not allowing me to be alone for a single moment. Not allowing anyone else to get close to me. Lennon texts me from their dressing room a half-hour before the show. Stuck in interviews, he writes. Have an amazing last show. I’m so proud of you. He has no idea. No idea the shitstorm that’s going to fall on me tomorrow. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. It’s good that I don’t see him before the show. I don’t think I would hold up so well if he put his arms around me. I don’t think I could tell him I was okay if he asked. And he would have to know, wouldn’t he, if he looked at me? He’d have to be able to tell. Unless he was too much of a mess himself, I think. God, what a pair we are. Before we go on stage, we gather in a circle,

arms around each other, the way we do before every performance. This time, Louis joins us. No one says a negative word to him. Dylan merely puts his arm around his shoulders, including him in our huddle. “Haylee, you can do this,” Layla says, her voice firm and commanding. “We are all behind you on that stage. We all have your back.” “Let yourself get lost in the music,” Dylan says. “Let the music help you.” I nod, unable to meet any of their eyes. “We’ve come such a long way on this tour,” James says, squeezing my arm. “We have so much to be proud of. Let’s finish it strong.” “Finish it strong,” the others echo. “Finish it strong,” I say. “Okay, Intrigue on three,” Lance says, and we break our embrace to put our hands on top of each other in the middle of the circle, just like always. “One, two, three, Intrigue!” “Intrigue!” everyone shouts. And we do finish it strong. I don’t know how, when I want to run screaming from the stage. But I take comfort in the fact that they’re all there with me. Between songs James brings me a water bottle. Dylan hands me a pick, his fingers brushing mine for several seconds as he looks down at me, smiling. Layla makes eye contact behind her drums, nodding at me whenever I turn in her direction.

They have my back. Just like they said. The crowd doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. They cheer for us just as they’ve done at every other show, growing louder ever since Paris. When we finish the last song and go to the front of the stage to take a group bow, I swear they’re as loud as they are for Ransom. “Want to go back to the hotel?” James asks as we make our way to the dressing room. I shake my head. “I think I want to watch their set.” “Are you sure? We could go watch a movie or something. Take a walk, see London at night.” “It’s okay. It’s the last show. I want to see it.” So we sit up in the family box, all five of us, while Ransom does their last show of the tour. They’re tight tonight, sounding strong. And they seem to be in good spirits, Cash and Daltrey jumping around through the set, Reed smiling behind his drum kit. You’d think they’d be more tired after a long tour, but instead they seem energized. Excited. Except for Lennon. He stands behind his bass, head down, for most of the show. His hair is longer than it was at the start of the tour, covering his forehead when his head is tilted like that. I can’t see his eyes. But I have a feeling I know what they look like. Closed off. Broken. Just like the day we met.

How can I tell him? I think, over and over again. He’ll worry about me. He has enough to worry about. For most of this tour, I tried to hold myself back from him. James told me that I need to protect myself, that getting close to him could cause me more pain. In truth, I wanted to protect him as well. Wanted to keep him from the mess and the darkness I felt inside. But ever since Paris, ever since he told me about his accident, I’ve let myself believe that I could help him. That I wouldn’t hurt him because I understood him. That our similarities meant we could help each other. I wanted to give him strength, help him to see that there are bright and good things in the world, that he’d get through everything he faced. Watching him now on that stage, so far away from me, I wonder, for the first time in weeks, if it can really work that way. It seems impossible to me that I could be the one to show him anything bright or good. How can we help each other when we’re both so broken? Paige has planned a night out to celebrate the last show. Part of me wants to skip it, to hide away in my hotel room. But I know my friends will never let me be alone tonight. They’ll pretend they want to stay in too. I can’t do that to them. It’s the last night of the tour, and they deserve to celebrate. So I

paste on a fake smile and assure them that a night out is just what I need. I see my fake smile reflected on Lennon’s face when he tells his brothers that he’s looking forward to it. We sit in the van together, holding hands, neither of us talking. We’re all shoved together in the small space, forcing me practically into his lap. But somehow I haven’t felt so much distance between us since we met. I wonder if he can sense it too. Or if he’s so far in his own head that he can’t see what’s happening around him. The club is awful—crowded and full of fans who recognize Ransom and try to push past security to get to them. The music is too loud, some techno pop crap that I can’t stand. The other Ransomes are in a great mood, jubilant about the success of the tour and excited to get home. Lennon and I don’t dance. We sit at our table in the VIP section, and I assure my bandmates over and over again that they should dance, that they should have fun, that I’m fine. There’s a bottle of tequila on the table. The Ransomes don’t notice how quickly the level of the liquid drops. James sees, I’m sure, but he doesn’t say anything. Lennon sips his own drink, holding my hand but not talking. He’s in his head, a million miles away from me. I don’t try to force my way in to join him.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” James says after I’ve made my way through a good third of the bottle. “You look tired.” His meaning is clear. He doesn’t want me to react to this mess the way I usually do. As ever, he’s trying to protect me. And for once I decide to let him. “Bed sounds good,” I say, extracting my hand from Lennon’s. “You coming?” “I should probably stay for a while,” he says, even though he sounds exhausted. “Cash has this thing about us celebrating together. They’ll be upset if I leave so early.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel, okay?” It’s going to be fine, I tell myself as I nod, trying to tamp down on the panic in my chest at the thought of being without him. He’ll come and find me when he gets in, and we’ll sleep together, the way we always do. He’ll hold me, and I’ll make myself forget how shitty I feel. I don’t have to tell him anything. We can just be. But as I head out with James, I pass Levi. He frowns and pulls me away from the crowd. “Lennon isn’t going with you?” I shake my head. “He said his brothers would be upset.” Levi is still frowning. “How does he seem to you, Haylee?” I meet his gaze, trying to read his eyes in the darkness. He’s worried too, I realize. “Keep an eye

on him, Levi,” I say, the fear rising again. “He’s… not sleeping very well.” Levi’s eyes widen. “I thought he’s been doing so much better…” “Just keep an eye on him.” He nods, and I leave the club, feeling numb. Was that overstepping my bounds, inviting Levi into this mess when Lennon was so adamant about waiting to tell everyone? I can’t make myself care. Leaving him alone when he feels like that is too frightening. And I don’t think I have it in me to help him right now. Back at the hotel, James tries to convince me to come hang out in his room. “We’ll get room service. It’s our last night with Ransom footing the bill. Might as well take advantage of it.” I do my best to smile. “I really am tired, James. I think I’ll just go lie down.” The truth is, I can’t stand to spend another minute pretending I’m okay. I’m tired of the fake smiles, tired of knowing my friends are looking at me, worried, waiting to see how I’ll react. I just want to sit in the dark and quiet of my own room for a few hours. I can tell he doesn’t want to go along with it. “You’ll call me if you need anything?” “Of course. Besides, Lennon will be back soon.” He nods before pulling me into a hug. “I’m really proud of you, Haylee. You’re handling this so

well.” He pulls away, smiling a little even though he still looks worried. “Maybe Lennon was better for you than I thought. You seem… happier. Calmer, you know?” I try to hang onto that as I go into my room. I have gotten stronger since this tour started. I didn’t fall apart today, as much as I wanted to. Even at the club, with the tequila right there, I didn’t completely lose it. I drank steadily, sure, but I didn’t go any further. And when James worried I’d had enough, I agreed with him and came home. “You are stronger,” I whisper. “You’re not going to fall apart.” But then my phone rings. My mother. I shouldn’t answer it. I should turn it off, run after James, tell him room service sounds good after all. But a part of me, a stupid, naive part, thinks that maybe she can explain this all away. Maybe it isn’t as black and white as Louis said. Maybe there is another side to the story, a side that doesn’t include my mother being a horrible person. “Hello?” “Haylee.” She sounds relieved. “Sweetie, I’m so glad you answered.” Tell me it’s not true, I think. Please, Mom. “I need you to talk to your label,” she says. “They keep calling here, and I really can’t deal with them anymore. You know how anxious I get on the phone, sweetheart.”

“Why are they calling?” “Because of that interview, honey. I’m sure they told you.” “They did.” My voice is tight. Please explain yourself. Please make it better. “Well, they seem to think it was some awful thing.” She sighs. “I don’t really see how it was such a big deal. Isn’t publicity a good thing? You’d think they’d be happy.” “Mom.” I feel like I might be sick. Is this actually how she’s going to play this? How can she be so cavalier, so clueless? “This isn’t the good kind of publicity. You had to know they wouldn’t be happy about this. That I wouldn’t be happy about it.” “Oh, sweetie, I knew you would get like that.” She sounds irritated, as though I’m acting like a bratty kid. “It’s a big story, hon. I was just trying to use it to your advantage.” “How could this be to my advantage?” “People love drama, Haylee! This is going to be big. You’re a survivor, hon! You’re strong! Everyone will be talking about this.” “I don’t want them to be talking about it!” I cry. “You know that, Mom! You know what measures the label took to protect me from this. And now you put it out there. How do you think that makes me feel?” “Haylee, don’t be so dramatic.” She’s

impatient now, tired of me. “It was ages ago. You’re fine now.” “I’m not fine, Mom! A fact which you shared with the world!” I take several deep breaths, trying and failing to keep my voice from shaking. “How could you have told them about the panic attacks, Mom? Or the drinking. The drugs! How could you think I would want people to know about that?” “If you don’t want people to know about it, you know the solution, don’t you? Get yourself together and stop doing those things. People love a redemption story, you know.” “I don’t believe you,” I whisper. “I don’t believe that you could be this clueless about your own daughter.” “My own daughter needs to put on her big girl pants and join the real world.” She’s getting upset now. “I’ve been telling you this since you were a little girl, Haylee. It’s a rough business, a rough world. You better get tough real fast if you want to do well. Enough with this sniveling around, feeling bad for yourself. Grow up. So a bad thing happened to you. You think you’re the only one? You think nothing bad has ever happened to me?” “I don’t think your own mother ever threw the bad things in your life to the press like your pain is some kind of entertainment.” “I can see you’re in a mood tonight.” “I’m in a mood because you sold me out!

You’re my mother!” “And I have bills to pay, Haylee Marie,” she snaps. There it is. Her true motivation. Of course it was about money. That’s all I’ve ever been to her— a potential meal ticket. “How much did they pay you?” “More than you ever send me.” “I wonder how much I’ll send you now,” I whisper, wondering why it hurts so much. It’s not a surprise. “You’ve never appreciated everything that I do for you,” she retorts. So now we’re starting her litany of guilt. I’ve heard it enough to repeat it by heart. Exhaustion suddenly crashes over me. I’m so tired of feeling like this. “I have to go.” “Sweetie, don’t be like that,” she croons, switching tactics like lightning. Now she’ll be all buddy-buddy. “We’re a team, you and I. There’s no reason to get upset—” “The lawyers from the label are going to call you back tomorrow.” My voice is flat. “I’d listen to them, if I were you.” “Are you threatening me?” she shrieks. “I’m your mother—” “And I’m done,” I say. “I’m done, Mom.” “What does that mean?” “It means goodbye.”

I don’t hear whatever she cries into the phone because I’m already turning it off. I can’t listen to her anymore, can’t have these same arguments over and over. She’s no different than she was when I was twelve years old, out late on a school night, singing in shitty dive bars in Detroit where the men leered and a cloud of smoke hung heavy over the room. She’s been using me since the moment she realized I could sing. So why does it hurt so bad? If it’s nothing new, why can’t I brush it off? Why does the pain of it seem to open up a hole inside of me, threatening to pull me in? “I’m tired of feeling this way,” I whisper to the empty room. Then again, louder. Again, until I’m yelling it. I throw the phone at the wall, feeling the tears come, so frustrated with myself I can barely stand it. I want to break things, want to scream myself hoarse. I want to drink. You’re stronger than you were. James’s words flit through my brain, and I try to believe them. But I don’t. I’m not stronger. I’m not different at all. At the first shitty thing that happens, I fall apart completely. Just like I always do. Call Lennon, a voice in my head urges. Call Lennon. So I do, praying that he can fix this. That he can fix me. But he doesn’t answer. He’s still at the

club, where it’s too loud to hear a phone. And what would happen if he did answer? What would I even say? Sorry you’re dealing with the mother who abandoned you, Len, but my mom is being super mean to me right now. “What’s the point?” I wipe tears away from my eyes. “He can’t help me. Just like I can’t help him.” I walk to the minibar and pull out all of the little bottles I can hold. Because I’m not any stronger than I used to be. And there’s no sense in pretending I am.

Chapter Seventeen Lennon Haylee isn’t answering her phone. I try to tell myself she just fell asleep, but I’m unsettled. She said she would wait up for me. Didn’t she? Everything feels so foggy right now, like I’m moving through something thick and heavy. But I’m almost sure she said she would wait up. I decide to risk waking her by knocking on her door when I get back to the hotel. No answer. She just went to bed, I tell myself. Like you should. Our last day in London will be filled with CD signings and interviews. And I haven’t slept in so long. Which doesn’t change at all tonight. I lie in bed in the dark, missing the feel of Haylee next to me. I know I’ve been a terrible boyfriend to her since Paris. Know that I’m withdrawn and uncommunicative. But she seems to understand, and I’m so thankful for that. Thankful that I don’t have to explain myself. Thankful that she’s always so close. I wonder if she knows how much strength she gives me? I wonder if she can sense that

without her next to me, I don’t think I would be standing right now. And I’m going to have to tell my family why when we get home. The thought makes me so nauseous that I sit up in bed, unable to be still. I pull on a hoodie and slip into some shoes. The glowing numbers on the clock next to the bed tell me it’s three thirty. Too late to go wandering around outside, but I don’t care. I have to get out of this quiet, still room. I’m halfway down the hall when I run into James—literally. He turns a corner, head down, and crashes into me. “Sorry,” he says quickly, then grimaces when our eyes meet. “Oh. Hi, Lennon.” “Hey, James. Where’re you headed?” “I, uh… nowhere. I just…” He looks uncomfortable. And not at all happy to see me. “What’s the matter?” I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me. My heart rate increases a little. Something’s wrong. “James?” Finally he straightens his shoulders, looking right at me. “I had to take Haylee to the hospital. I just came back to get some stuff.” I feel like my knees might give out, and I reach for the wall. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?” “She had a little too much to drink.” “Wait, what? She came home early. I—how much is too much? Is she—” I can’t finish the sentence, can’t even see

straight. He seems so calm. That has to be a good sign, right? She can’t be— “They said it was mild alcohol poisoning,” James says, voice flat. “They want to observe her overnight.” I straighten. I need to get to her. “Where is she?” “Lennon, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “What are you talking about? You think I’m not going to see her?” “I think she wouldn’t want you to.” That shuts me up. “Look,” he continues, his voice slightly more gentle. “This is something that happens with her every once in a while. It’s not a huge deal. She drinks too much. Not all the time, but when she does…” He trails off. Then, “She’ll be okay. But it embarrasses her. I know she won’t want you seeing her now.” I just stare at him. This happens every once in a while? What in the hell? “I don’t understand what’s going on here, James,” I finally manage. “I thought… she went home early tonight. Weren’t you with her?” Something like guilt crosses his face before his expression tightens. “I dropped her off in her room. She said you would be home soon.” “I was. But she didn’t answer her phone.” He deflates. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.

She just had a shitty day and—” “She did? Why?” He narrows his eyes. “She didn’t tell you?” The panic is rising in my chest. “Tell me what?” “Her mom gave an interview about what happened to her. About… Randy.” Oh, shit. An image of Haylee shrinking into James’s arms that night in Glasgow flashes through my mind. She’s so sensitive about what she went through, so defensive. And her mother told the press about it? “That’s fucked up,” I breathe, and James grimaces. “Her mom isn’t exactly mother of the year, but this was a low blow even for her.” He watches me for a long moment. “All right, let’s go over there. But if she says no visitors, Lennon, I’m going to respect that.” “Of course,” I say quickly. I just want to see her, want to assure myself that she’s okay. The idea that this isn’t a one-time thing makes me sick with worry. Ten minutes later we’re in a taxi heading to the hospital. London is dark and quiet around us, the city asleep. When we get to the hospital, James leads me through the lobby to an elevator. “Listen, Lennon. She’s probably not really herself right now. If she doesn’t want to talk—”

“I’ll feel better being here,” I say, and he nods even though he still doesn’t seem quite sure. I wonder if he had specific instructions not to tell me about this. The thought makes my chest tighten. “She’s right here,” he says, gesturing down the hall when the elevator opens. “Why don’t you wait here?” There’s a small waiting area to our left. It’s empty. “No one else is here?” His face tightens a little. “No one else knows.” Then he leaves me standing there as he goes to ask my girlfriend whether or not she wants to see me. I collapse into one of the chairs, trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening. Haylee’s mom totally sold her out. I can see why Haylee would be upset. But upset enough to drink herself to alcohol poisoning? James said he wasn’t with her. Did she do this by herself? The thought of her alone in her room, drinking, sad, makes me shiver. You should have been there. James doesn’t come back for twenty minutes. When he appears at my side, he looks even more tired than he did before. “I’m sorry, man. She doesn’t want to talk.” “But—” “She’s asleep now anyway. They’re going to release her in the morning. I’m sure she’ll see you then.”

I rub my forehead. She’s so close, and I can’t even see her. I feel impotent and guilty and really scared. “You should head back,” he says. “I can let you know if anything changes.” “I’m not leaving.” He watches me for a minute before sitting heavily in the chair next to me. “She’s okay, Lennon. We’ve been here before.” “You mentioned that.” I sit up straight so I can look at him. “How many times?” He shrugs. “Not really my business to tell you.” “But it’s happened before.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway. “Has this been happening for a long time?” “Just since the, ah, incident.” He sighs. “She has a hard time with it. Nightmares. Panic attacks. She’s stressed, all the time. She keeps waiting for something worse to happen. It was traumatic.” “He really didn’t hurt her?” “He held a gun to her head and threatened to kill her if she didn’t agree to run off with him. I think he hurt her plenty.” I wince. “I didn’t mean—” “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve never seen her like that. Never seen anyone like that. The terror on her face when I got to the police station.” He rubs his hands over his face. “And every time

she freaks out about it, her face is exactly the same. Like she’s still that scared, even after all this time.” I feel like throwing up. She told me how scared she still was that night at d’Orsay. Did I not take it seriously enough? How had I missed her reaction today? “How’d she get away?” “She managed to get to her phone when he was in the bathroom. Called 9-1-1. Then she had to sit and pretend like she hadn’t moved until they got there.” A sad smile tugs on his lips. “That’s like her, you know? To save herself. She’s never been one to rely on anyone else.” “She relies on you.” “She’s my best friend.” His voice is rough. “She’s been my best friend since I was fifteen years old. I would do anything for that girl.” He swallows. “But I can’t ever do enough. I can’t ever make it okay for her.” “She needs help, James. If things are this bad for her, that’s not something that just goes away.” “She refuses to talk about it with a doctor. She barely talks about it with us.” “Then you have to keep trying.” I close my eyes, an image of my dad sitting with me the time I overdosed. Always there, no matter how often I tried to push him away. “I’ve been where she is, James. It might take a while for her to admit it, but if she needs help, you have to keep offering.” He watches me out of the corner of his eye,

probably wondering if I’m going to elaborate. Finally he nods. “You’re right. Well… I guess I should get back there.” “Okay. Look, I’m gonna go.” “I’m sorry, man. She’s just embarrassed.” “I get it.” And I do. I know exactly how she must feel. But for the first time, I’m starting to have an idea of how my dad felt too. How Levi felt, knowing this about me for all those years, never able to tell anyone. How my brothers felt, getting the news dropped on them in August the way they did. For the first time, I understand what it feels like to be the person in the waiting room. “I’m glad she trusts you enough to let you in the room, James. Just tell her I was here and she can call me anytime, okay?” “I will.” He stands with me, shaking my hand. It’s hard to walk away from her. Everything in me is telling me to run down to her room, not to take no for an answer. When you love someone, you’re supposed to fight for them, right? And I do love her. As improbable as it might seem, that I could fall in love with someone in the middle of this mess in my head, I know it’s the truth. In some ways, Haylee is everything I’m not. Boisterous and confident, always ready for the next adventure. She stands at the front of the stage, all eyes on her as she sings, while I’m content to hide behind my bass. Behind my brothers.

But in other ways—the ways that matter— we’re more alike than I could ever have imagined. She doesn’t even have to say a word for me to know that she understands me, that she can somehow read what I’m thinking or feeling in my eyes. She’s the only person in the world who I’ve ever been able to just be with, without the noise or distractions. She gets me. And I get her. So I know better than anyone what she must feel like right now. Embarrassed. Scared. Ashamed. I can’t force her to see me. All I can do is be there when she’s ready to talk. And speaking of talking… I catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall as I board the elevator. Five thirty. My brothers will be up, getting ready for the morning show that we’re supposed to leave for in twenty minutes. I have a feeling we’re going to miss that show. I go to my dad’s room first, wanting to give him as much time as possible to cancel the appearance. The label isn’t going to be happy about this. I find I don’t care. But my dad isn’t alone. My brothers and Levi are in his suite. And every one of them jumps up when I enter. “Where in the hell were you?” Reed yells. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, pulling the door shut behind me so we don’t wake up half the hallway. I have a feeling that won’t be the last time

one of us raises his voice in this conversation. “We’ve been calling you,” Daltrey says, his voice shaking. “I forgot my phone—” “That’s just great, Lennon,” Reed snaps. “You go running off in the middle of the night and you don’t tell anyone about it or bring your phone. That’s fantastic.” “Stop yelling at him,” Cash says. “Can’t you tell he’s upset?” “I’m upset, Cash!” Reed yells. “I’ve been fucking out of my mind here!” “I’m only twenty minutes late,” I say. “We’ve been looking for you for hours!” Daltrey cries. “Why?” “Because Levi was worried so he called you.” I turn to look at my friend. He’s staring at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. He looks exhausted. “When you didn’t answer, I went to your room, but you didn’t come to the door. So I called Will to get the front desk to open the room.” He finally looks up at me. His eyes are blank, like he’s numb, beyond even worrying at this point. “You weren’t there. So we went to Haylee’s room, and you weren’t there either.” “I’m sorry. I had no idea you would come looking for me.” “Where were you?” His voice is so small.

Like he’s terrified of how I might respond. I sink into one of the empty chairs by the dining table. “Dad, you need to cancel our appearance.” “We already did that, Lennon,” Reed mutters. “Jesus, we’ve been looking for you for two hours.” “I’m sorry.” “That’s all you have to say?” he asks, his voice loud again. “Can you stop yelling, Reed?” I rub my suddenly pounding head. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you.” He collapses onto the sofa, his shoulders slumping, all the fight going out of him. “Lennon, I have been scared every second of every day since I saw you in that hospital bed.” “I know,” I whisper, unable to look at him. “I’ve been scared too.” There’s a beat of silence as a tremor seems to pass through the room. “Why have you been scared?” Daltrey asks, his voice shaking. “Do you want to… are you afraid you’re going to—” “No.” I look around the room at them, all so tired. So worried. My dad alone hasn’t said a word. He’s sitting at the desk, his head in his hands. “Levi, can you give us a minute?” He shoots me an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me?” “We need to talk about some things.” I meet

his eyes, willing him to understand. “Fine.” He rubs his face. “I’ll go tell the girls you’re back.” “It’s going to be okay,” I say as he passes me. His eyes are questioning, but he nods at me before leaving. “Why did you make Levi leave?” Daltrey asks, that scared note back in his voice. “Something happened tonight.” I hear several sharp intakes of breath, and I hurry to explain. “Not to me, I’m fine but… someone that I care about is having a rough time. And seeing that… it made me understand, for the first time, really, what this all must have been like for you guys. Not knowing the truth about someone you love.” “Lennon, we understand why you didn’t talk to us,” Cash says quickly. “You don’t have to beat yourself up.” “Just listen, okay?” I manage a weak smile at my bad-tempered older brother. Just listening won’t be the easiest task for him. Cash prefers to yell when he’s mad. And break things. And he has plenty of company in this room when it comes to having a temper. A sudden lump comes to my throat. I love them so much. “I think we keep too much from each other,” I say. “And I think it’s time to put a stop to some of the lies.” “What’re you—” I ignore Daltrey and turn to my dad. “Mom

didn’t leave us, did she?” He finally lifts his head from his hands. He stares at me for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “No. I kicked her out.” There’s several seconds of silence before the room explodes in noise. “What?” “Dad, what’re you talking about?” “What’s going on?” “You guys, please,” I call over them. “It will be easier if you let me talk.” They actually shut up, all of them turning to me, though Reed can’t seem to stop glancing over at our dad. I swallow a few times, not sure how to start. “I… I’ve always had these weird memories about her. Stuff that didn’t make sense to me.” “Lennon,” Dad says in a strangled voice. “What did you—” “They were mostly normal things,” I continue, staring at the floor. Saying this out loud makes it all feel so much more real. “She would take me on errands with her, just the two of us. She used to tell me that I was the only one who could be quiet enough to go to the bank or whatever. And I was so proud of that. That we had these special times together, you know? But now, when I remember those times… I don’t feel proud. I feel really scared.”

“Why?” Cash asks. “What’s scary about that?” I shake my head. “That’s the thing. I never knew what was scary about any of it. Because it seemed so… unimportant. Just normal, everyday stuff. But for some reason, whenever I would think about those memories or… dream about them… I would feel scared. And really guilty.” “I don’t understand.” Reed looks again between me and Dad, who’s staring at me, transfixed. “I didn’t understand either. Until I went to see her.” Dad closes his eyes while the other boys stare at me, aghast. And for once in their lives, speechless. Reed finds his voice first. “You went to see her?” There’s betrayal in his tone, on his face. “When?” “You know where she is?” Daltrey whispers. “She lives outside of Paris. And Haylee went with me a few days ago to find her.” “How did you know this?” Reed asks. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Cash’s eyes are wide and disbelieving. “You took Haylee? You took Haylee instead of us?” “I just needed… I needed to try to understand,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but —”

“How did you even know where to find her?” Reed asks. “I hired a private investigator.” “When?” “When we signed our deal.” “Jesus,” he mutters. “Five years ago?” “You’ve known where she was for five years?” Daltrey asks. “Why didn’t you… Lennon, I don’t understand how you could do this.” He’s staring at me like he doesn’t know me. “It felt like I was betraying Dad, by looking for her. And I was… I was scared.” “I don’t get why you keep saying that,” Reed practically growls. “What in the hell was so scary, Lennon?” “I didn’t know until I saw her.” I rub my temples. My head is throbbing now. “Because I couldn’t remember.” “Remember what?” Reed has had enough of this. His voice is shrill, his eyes wide and desperate. I think he’s about to lose it. “She was a drug addict,” I say softly. I want to look at Dad, want to see if his reaction tells me I’m right. But I can’t take my eyes away from my brothers. “And she used to take me with her when she went to score.” No one says a word. My dad is staring at me in horror, the others in disbelief. To my surprise, Dad is the one who speaks first. “She did that more

than once?” “You knew about this?” Cash yells, turning to him. Reed and Daltrey seem to be beyond words. They look back and forth between me and Dad, openmouthed and silent. “I knew… I knew of one time,” Dad says. “She didn’t tell me there were others.” He turns back to me. “What do you remember?” “There was a house. It was dirty inside, really run-down. She would leave me on the couch while she talked to a man in the kitchen. Sometimes he would yell, and it scared me.” “Fuck,” Cash says. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Our mother? She didn’t do drugs.” “Yes, she did,” Dad says. “God, Lennon. I had no idea she was… I’m so sorry. Is that… all you remember?” I shake my head. “We normally would go home right after. But sometimes she would… she would take something there. And I’d have to wait on the couch until she was ready to go.” “Hang on,” Daltrey finally says. “She did drugs in front of you? What the hell? Why would she do that?” He turns to Dad. “Why would she take Lennon? That makes no sense.” He looks so old when he turns to Daltrey. “She was very sick, Daltrey. Not much of what she did makes a lot of sense to a rational person. She told me…” He swallows a few times. “She told me

it made her feel less like she was abandoning her kids, to take Lennon with her. Like she was still taking care of someone.” His voice catches. “And the two of them always had a special relationship.” My throat hurts when I speak again. “I remember her giving me cookies, cheering me up when the other boys were too wild, when my feelings were hurt. She said I was more sensitive. That I was special.” “I can’t believe this,” Daltrey says, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is crazy.” “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell us this,” Cash says. “Why don’t we remember anything? You’d think we’d have memories of her being on drugs.” “You were very young,” my dad says. “And she was very good at hiding it.” “So how did you find out?” My dad turns from Cash to me. “Lennon…” “One time she took me to that house and I cried. I told her I was scared and I didn’t want to go inside. So she said I could wait in the car. And then…” My dad sounds heartbroken. “Oh, Lennon.” “Did she fall asleep?” I ask him. “Is that why she took so long?” He nods. “How long was it?” “She wasn’t sure. An hour. Maybe more.”

I nod. I had been too little to tell time, too little to judge how long it had been. All I knew was that I was hot and scared and she didn’t come back. “An hour of what?” Cash asks, his voice panicky. “What are you talking about?” “She left him in the car,” Dad says, his voice shaking. “In California. In the summer.” “Oh my God,” Daltrey says. “A neighbor from a few houses down found him,” Dad says. “Passed out on the grass.” “I tried to wait, like she said, but I got so hot,” I say. “I was old enough to get the door open, but I didn’t know what house she was in.” “The neighbor called the police,” Dad says. “They brought you to the hospital. You were dehydrated and…” His voice breaks. “It could have been so much worse. If there had been child locks.” “Did you know, before that?” I ask. “That she was doing drugs?” He shakes his head. “When we were younger, but she stopped before Reed came. She always drank too much. She smoked pot sometimes but only at night. I had no idea that she was…” He comes out of his chair and crosses to me, kneeling in front of me. His eyes are desperate. “You have to believe that if I had any clue that she was doing that in front of you, that she had taken you there… Lennon I never would have allowed it. You know

that, don’t you?” “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I whisper. “The doctors said it was best not to.” Guilt laces his voice. “They said it was better to let you remember on your own, if you ever did. I had you in therapy for a year after she left, and you never said a word about it. We all thought you must not have remembered or even realized that anything bad had happened to you.” “I’ve felt so guilty for so long,” I say, my throat closing up. “I never knew why. But whenever I thought about her, or whenever the boys were sad… I blamed myself. I think I thought if I hadn’t gotten out of the car, she never would have had to leave.” “None of this was your fault,” Dad says. “None of it, Lennon. She was sick, and she needed help—” “Then why didn’t you help her?” Daltrey interrupts. I look over at him in surprise. I was so lost in the memory that I almost forgot they were here. “I tried, Daltrey.” “You said yourself that you kicked her out!” he cries. “How is that helping her?” “Son—” “No, you know what, Dad? Why in the hell should we believe anything you say? You’ve been lying to us for years!”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was better.” “To think she abandoned us? To believe that she didn’t want us?” “She could have killed your brother, Daltrey —” “It would have been better to know the truth!” “Dalt,” I begin, but he cuts me off. “Don’t you try to defend him! How can you even look at him?” “Daltrey, please,” Dad says. “You don’t understand.” “Of course I don’t!” he yells. “Because you’ve been telling me that my mother didn’t want me since I was five years old!” “I never told you that.” “No, I did,” Reed says, and his voice scares me. I’ve never heard him so broken. So lost. “Because you let me believe that. Because I had to step in and take care of them after she left because you were so useless—” “Reed.” “You used to sit in your room for hours. Hours. And I had to make them lunch and try to explain what had happened whenever Daltrey asked me why she wasn’t coming home. And Lennon wouldn’t talk and—” He looks at me, and his face crumples. “You wouldn’t talk. For weeks.” “Because I thought it was my fault,” I say. “If

I wouldn’t have told the police what happened, they wouldn’t have made her go away.” And then Reed is crying, huge gulping sobs, and I’ve never seen him cry, not ever. He was always the strong one, my big older brother, who took care of all of us. “Son.” My dad goes to him, but before he can lift a hand, Reed throws a fist in his face, hard enough to make him stumble backward. “I hate you.” His voice is low and every bit as sad as it is angry. “You lied to us for years.” “I did the best I—” “Shut up!” Cash yells. “You didn’t do the best you could! You kicked her out instead of helping her! You shut down after she left. You lied!” “I loved her.” The room goes still. My dad hangs his head. “I loved her so much. She was everything. I tried to help her, I would have done anything to help her.” He looks up at us, begging us to understand. “I would have moved heaven and earth for that woman… until she hurt your brother. I couldn’t let that happen again. I couldn’t. I told her she had to get help or she couldn’t be near you. What else could I do?” Years ago, back in California, my dad was in a band. He played drums, like Reed. Just as they started to break out, my mom got pregnant. When people write stories about us, they always point this

out. That my dad was forced to give up his dreams for us. That’s why he pushed us so hard, the theory goes. To live through us what he missed out on. But maybe it didn’t happen quite like that. Maybe he didn’t give up his dream for his kids and my mother. Maybe we were his dream. I look up at my dad. He has tears in his eyes, and his face is already red where Reed just punched him. And for the first time I think that maybe I really understand him. “You chose us. Even though you loved her.” He looks over at me, surprised. “Of course I did. You’re my boys.” No one seems to know what to say after that. Reed has stopped crying. Daltrey is sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. And Cash looks completely bewildered, like he has no idea what just happened. “You should have told us,” Reed says again. “You shouldn’t have lied.” “I’m sorry,” Dad says. “I truly am. I didn’t know what to do. I was so lost after she left. I tried —” His voice cracks. “I tried, I really did.” If we were a different family, now might be the time to hug. But we’ve never been those people. I look over at my brothers. “We need to stop doing this.” “Doing what?” “We put all these walls up between us, we

don’t talk. We never say how we really feel. The only way we know how to communicate is when we’re fighting.” No one can meet my eyes. “The only time we really connect in a positive way is through our music. And as great as it is to play together, as much as we all love it, that’s not enough. We have to change this.” I turn to my dad. “You should have told me about what happened. Especially after I started to show signs of being seriously fucked up.” “You’re not fucked up,” Cash says. “I wrapped a motorcycle around a tree because I was having dreams about Mom taking me to the grocery store, Cash. I think that qualifies as fucked up.” “You’re right, Lennon,” Dad says. “I should have told you. I just had no idea that you remembered any of that.” “Because I never told you what I was feeling. We might have avoided all of this if I’d just talked to you about it.” I turn to my brothers. “That’s what I’m saying. We don’t talk about stuff. And I want us to be different.” I close my eyes. “If I’m going to get better, we need to be different.” And then, even though we’re not a hugging family, Cash grabs me and pulls me into an embrace. “I need you to get better, Len,” he whispers in my ear. “I can’t lose you.” “You won’t.”

“If that means talking about my feelings and shit,” he says, releasing me to wipe at his eyes, “then I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.” You would think I wouldn’t be able to laugh at a time like this. But there’s something about Cash crying and talking about his “feelings and shit” that has a peal of hysterical laughter coming from my throat. “Oh, God,” Daltrey says. “He’s really cracking up now.” “Get over here little brother,” Cash says, pulling Dalt up by his sleeve. “We’re going to start being the kind of people who hug each other.” Daltrey rolls his eyes, letting me throw an arm around his shoulder. “I can hardly wait,” he mutters. But then he returns the embrace, clutching my shoulders so hard I can feel his fingers trembling. “I’m going to be okay, Daltrey,” I say, my voice shaking. He only grips me harder. “I’m not going anywhere.” He nods and pulls away, not meeting my eyes. Cash turns to Reed. “You just gonna sit there, ass?” Reed looks up at us, and his eyes are flashing, angry. “So everything is just cool now?” he asks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” “Reed—” “Our father is a liar,” he says, standing. “And

as far as I’m concerned, all of this is his fault.” “That’s not true, Reed,” I say. He cuts me off before I can continue. “Lennon, I am here for you in whatever way you need me to be. You need more communication, you got it. You need someone to talk to, I’m here. But I will not forgive him.” He turns to Dad. “I can’t believe I ever looked up to you.” “Reed, come on,” Cash says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Reed shakes him off. “I’m done with you, Dad. We’re done.” He turns to us. “You guys need anything, you let me know. But I’m done in this room.” “Reed,” I call, but it’s too late. He strides through the door, letting it slam behind him, leaving the rest of us in Dad’s suite, staring at the place where he just stood.

Chapter Eighteen Haylee It’s weird to be home. Well, I suppose I’m not really home, as the label has the band set up in New York City for the immediate future, but it’s weird to be back in the States. I fell into a routine on the tour—practicing every day off, breakfast in the hotel with Ransom and the girls, seeing the sights, sound check, hanging out at the venues. Here in New York there’s no routine, no pattern. We’re shuttled from interview to interview, doing photo shoots, working with new producers. In a week they’re flying us out to LA to do a music video. Like I said, weird. And it’s even more weird, and entirely horrible, not to see Lennon every day. Or any day. I haven’t seen him since I said goodbye to him in the club. The last day in London was such a mess. I can’t think about it without feeling a deep rush of shame. Shit got bad, and I broke down. I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore. I should be used to my own failings. But it felt different this time.

Maybe because I’d been doing so much better since the tour started. Or maybe because Lennon knew. It was almost a relief, finding out that the Ransomes had cancelled their appearances for the day and gone home early. Since we were booked on the original flight that evening, it meant I didn’t have to face him. But then he sent me an email, explaining why they went home, and relief was the last thing I felt. It was short, just a few lines. I talked to my family about our trip to Giverny. Things are a little rough right now. I’m so sorry to leave without a proper goodbye, but James told me you needed a little time. I hope we can talk soon. I hope you’re doing okay. Please call me when you’re ready. I miss you already. And that was that. I couldn’t imagine how that talk must have gone down with his family. Apparently things were bad enough that they were cancelling all their appearances. Daisy sent me a text from the airport, telling me that she hoped we’d be seeing each other soon, and I responded in kind. Even though I’m not sure I’ll be seeing any of them again. I sigh and reach for my phone, checking my messages for the millionth time. I don’t know what I hope to find there. He asked me to call him when I was ready, and as I have no idea what “ready”

could possibly mean at this point, I have no reason to think I might have a new message. I toss the phone back on the table and pace around my hotel room. It’s a much nicer room than the ones we had back in Europe. Much more spacious too. Louis must be right for once—the label is pretty pleased with how things are going. They should be—they’re keeping us busy enough. That’s been the excuse I’ve been holding onto in my head whenever I start to wonder what in the hell I’m doing not calling him. I’m too busy. The label has us running around town nearly constantly. Hardly the time for a heart-to-heart with the boy I love. The boy who must be so completely disgusted and disappointed in me— I’m so full of shit. I haven’t called him because I’m scared. That’s the only reason. Okay, scared and embarrassed. Ashamed of myself. All very good reasons not to talk to Lennon. But none of it stops me from missing him so badly it’s like a constant pain in my chest. I miss his lips, his smile, his laugh. I miss lying with him in the dark, falling asleep in his arms. I miss all the times we simply sat together, quiet, just holding hands. Just being. There hasn’t been a whole lot of quiet for me since he left. At least not the comfortable kind, the kind I shared with Lennon. Instead I’m plagued by the kind of overwhelming, heavy silence that makes me feel like crawling out of my

skin. That makes me feel like the only way to get some peace is at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. “Stop it,” I whisper fiercely. Why can’t I just get my shit together? Why can’t I— A knock at the door puts an end to my selfrecrimination. Thinking it’s probably Louis telling me our morning off is canceled, I swing it open, preparing myself for a fight. And gasp. Because it’s not Louis standing there. It’s Lennon. “Can I come in?” It’s been a week since I’ve seen him, but it feels like so much longer. I drink in the sight of his face, those familiar eyes, his slightly too long hair, his broad shoulders that did such a good job of holding me up. “Haylee?” he asks. “Can I come in?” “Of course.” I flush scarlet and move to let him in the room. What is he doing here? I wonder, briefly, how I look. I didn’t sleep well—surprise, surprise—and I’ve spent most of my morning off trying to muster the energy to take a shower. In other words, I probably look like shit. “How are you?” he asks, eyes concerned. Maybe I look even worse than I thought. “I’m okay.” My voice sounds scratchy, not okay at all. I clear my throat and try again. “How are you?” He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m

pretty shitty, to tell you the truth.” Somehow those words break the tension, and I smile. “Sit down.” I gesture at the little dining table. “I’ll get us some water.” I grab two bottles from the mini fridge and turn back to him, surprised to see his eyes following me. He’s looking at me strangely. Like he’s not quite sure that I’m real. “Here.” I hand him one of the water bottles and sit across from him. “Explain shitty. What’s been going on?” “My brothers aren’t really talking to my dad. Specifically, Reed. He’s…” Lennon releases a sharp breath. “He had a really hard time when I told them about my mom.” “And he took it out on your dad?” “It’s kind of a long story.” I nod, wondering, with a sharp pain in my stomach, if I’m no longer deemed trusted enough to share those stories with. “But I’d like to talk to you about it if you have a minute,” he says. I look up at him, and his eyes are exactly like I remembered. Dark and intense. Expressive. No longer shuttered. No longer closed off to me. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I’d like that.” So he tells me about his mother, about the things he remembered before she left. My mouth drops open as he speaks, my brain frantically trying

to connect the woman we met in Giverny with a person who could take her six-year-old son to her dealer’s house. I reach for his hand. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how scary that must have been. Remembering all of that and wondering if it was true.” “That’s why those last few days were so bad,” he says, his voice tight. “Because all of that was running through my head.” I remember what he told me about the times he’d hurt himself before. How he was always looking for ways to turn off the shit in his head. The thought makes me feel sick, the idea that he might have tried to— “Hey,” he says softly, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay, Haylee. I’m okay.” Tears are coming to my eyes, and I don’t think there’s any way I’m going to be able to stop them. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp. “I should have been there. You needed me, and I was—” “I came here to apologize to you!” he cries. “Haylee, look at me.” I look up, and his eyes are burning into mine. “I was so absent that day, when you were dealing with what your mom did. I had no idea anything was even wrong until I saw James. I can’t believe I was so selfish. So self-involved. I should have noticed you hurting.” I shake my head, pulling my hand away and

standing. “You don’t have to be sorry. You were dealing with shit too.” I wander over to the window, sure I don’t want to be looking at him when I say this. “I think this isn’t going to work, Lennon.” “What?” His voice is sharp, scared. “Look at us. We’re both so…” I let my forehead fall to the window, the glass cool against my skin. “You should be with someone who can help you when shit gets rough, Lennon. Not someone who responds to bad news by going out and getting so hammered she ends up in the emergency room.” “Haylee.” I hear him pushing his chair back, and then he’s behind me, his arms coming out to wrap around me. I let myself fall back against his chest. It feels so good, to be touching him again. How am I ever going to give this up? “I love you,” he says softly. “I should have told you that before.” “I love you too.” The tears are back in my eyes, and I blink them away rapidly. “But I don’t think I’m strong enough for this.” “Then we’ll make each other stronger.” “How can I make you stronger when I can’t even keep myself going?” I turn in his arms and ask him the question that’s been haunting me since he woke up crying from that nightmare. “How can we help each other when we’re both so broken?” “Because people don’t have to stay broken.”

I can see doubt in his eyes, like he isn’t completely sure he can believe that. But there’s hope there too. Hope for me, maybe hope for himself. I close my eyes, wanting to believe it. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad the drinking was?” he asks. “Because I was ashamed of it.” “You don’t have to be ashamed of anything with me.” I shake my head. “I can’t make it go away. I’ve never been able to make it go away. Ever since Randy…” I feel his hands tightening on my waist, and I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep it together. “The fear just won’t go away. And it makes me feel so stupid and so small. Because it’s been ages, Lennon. It shouldn’t still affect me like this. He didn’t even do anything to me.” “That’s not true.” His voice is heavy. “He took away your security. Your independence. He made you afraid. He changed you, Haylee.” My eyes fly open to glare at him. “I shouldn’t have let him!” A sad smile tugs on his lips. “We don’t get to decide what changes us.” “You’re saying it’s hopeless,” I whisper. “I’ll always be like this.” “No.” He reaches up and cups my cheek with his hand, and I lean into the contact, unable to help myself. “We can fight back. Just because something

has changed doesn’t mean it can’t change again. It just takes some work sometimes.” “You think I should go to therapy.” “I think it could help. It helps me. It helped Daisy.” I frown. “What about Daisy?” He looks conflicted, like he isn’t sure he should tell me. But he takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “She attempted suicide four years ago.” I can’t keep the horror and shock from my face. Daisy? That beautiful girl with the shining eyes and the big smile? Teasing all the Ransome boys, complaining about her pregnancy even while it couldn’t be plainer that she was overjoyed about it. “Daisy?” I ask, and Lennon nods, his eyes sad. “But she got better. It’s not perfect for her. She still struggles. But it’s better. She’s happy.” I want that, I think desperately. So why am I still so terrified? Why does it still seem so impossible for me? “I’ve always felt so guilty, Haylee. I thought my mom leaving was my fault. I buried the reasons deep down until I couldn’t remember them, but the guilt never went away.” “Why did you think it was your fault?” “Because if the police hadn’t come, my dad never would have found out what she was doing. And she could have stayed.”

“And she could have hurt you,” I say. “Any of you. Or herself.” He nods. “I have a bigger regret now that I understand. Now that I’m older. I…” He swallows, shaking his head. Swallows again. “If I had told my dad what she was doing sooner, he might have been able to help her.” “Lennon, you were a little boy!” He nods. “I know. Guilt isn’t always rational.” His palm tightens slightly on my face, his eyes darkening as he looks down at me. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you and I didn’t try to get you some help.” “Nothing’s going to happen to me—” “How many times have you been in the hospital for alcohol poisoning?” I try to take a step back, defensive and angry, but he doesn’t release his hold on me. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared as I was in the hospital, waiting to see if you’d let me come in.” “I’m sorry, I—” “I understand, you don’t have to apologize. All I’m saying…” His forehead drops down to rest on mine. We stood like this once, back in London. He’d been so tired then, so sad and scared. And I’d taken that moment as such a good sign. That he wasn’t shutting me out. “I don’t want to lose you, Haylee. I don’t think you have any idea how much

you mean to me. How much you give to me.” I don’t understand. How can I possibly give him anything? I’m about to argue, but he cuts me off. “Everything that happened in Paris and London… if that had happened a year ago, I don’t think I’d be standing right now. I think it would have been enough to destroy me, I really do.” “Please don’t talk like that,” I whisper. “But with you there—Haylee, it never crossed my mind. Hurting myself, shutting off, breaking down. None of that was even a possibility. Because you made me feel so much stronger than I ever have.” I stare at him, dumbfounded. “How is that possible? I didn’t do anything.” “You were there. My life is better when you’re there. I’m better.” “I’m scared.” His forehead creases. “Why?” “Because I don’t think I’m strong enough to be that for someone else. To let someone depend on me.” A sob rises in my throat, and I push it back. “Look at what happened in London. Things got hard, and I went to pieces. The way I always do. How can you rely on me? I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. And Lennon…” I close my eyes, not wanting to see my words hurt him. “You weren’t there for me either. We were both too sad

to help each other.” “I don’t think we can rely on each other,” he says, and even though it’s the argument I’ve been trying to make, him saying the words is painful to hear. Until he continues. “We can’t rely only on each other. We both have a lot of work to do on ourselves. We both need help. Like, real help, professional. But I know my life will be better with you than without you.” “How do you know?” He grins, and a weight seems to lift from my chest. If he can still smile like that… “Because I have a lifetime’s worth of experience to back me up.” He leans in closer, his lips inches from mine. “Everything got better when I met you. You made me happier than I think I’ve ever been.” “Lennon.” His phone rings, and he swears. “I would normally ignore this, but Cash made me pinky swear I would never be impossible to reach again.” “Cash made you pinky swear?” Lennon rolls his eyes. “He’s trying to be the new and improved, more fluffy and caring Cash Ransome. Which is all my fault, and I apologize to the world for unleashing this, believe me.” I’m laughing, which seemed completely impossible a few hours ago. By the time he pulls out his phone, the ringing has stopped. “Damn,” he

mutters. “It was him too. I better try—” Before he can finish his sentence the phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down at the screen, his eyes widening. “Haylee,” he says in a strange voice. “I have to go.” “Right now? What’s wrong?” He looks up from the text he’s reading, and the smile on his face takes my breath away. “Daisy’s having the baby.” “Oh my God!” “I know!” “You have to go!” “I do!” He types out a quick reply and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “I can’t believe this! She’s not due for a few weeks and—” He pauses. “I hope everything’s okay.” “Sometimes babies are early. Cash would have told you if something was wrong.” He nods, taking a deep breath. “Okay. So I should go.” He looks suddenly shy. “Do you, uh, maybe want to come?” I do. More than anything. The thought of letting him leave without me makes my chest hurt. But something stops me. Something that feels like fear. “We have promo all afternoon,” I say, trying not to wince when his face falls. “And I… I’m just not sure yet, Lennon. I’m not sure I’m ready. I

think… I think I’m just too messed up right now.” His face tightens. “I think you’re wrong. But I understand if you need some time to think about it. Will you do something for me?” “Sure,” I reply without a second thought. “Will you promise to call me this time? I don’t… I don’t want this to be goodbye. No matter what else happens.” I’m crying again. Goodbye sounds impossible. “I promise.” He looks relieved. “Thank you.” Then, before I can say another word, he leans forward and kisses me, his lips soft on mine. “I love you.” “I love you too.” He kisses me once more and then releases me, striding to the door. “Hey,” I call after him as a thought occurs to me. “What are you guys doing in New York? I thought Daisy couldn’t fly after last week.” “They’re not in New York. They’re in Nashville.” “You’re here alone?” He gives me a strange look. “I flew up. To see you.” A sudden warmth spreads through my chest, but before I can thank him, before I can throw myself at him and tell him that I’m not letting him out of my sight, he gives me a last wave, and then he’s gone.

Chapter Nineteen Lennon When I finally get to the hospital four hours later, it isn’t to a happy family scene. Instead, I find Reed and Cash standing outside the waiting room, arguing. Yelling is more accurate. Reed’s face is red, and Cash is clenching a fist at his side, probably seconds away from letting it fly. “What the hell, you guys?” “Oh, thank God you’re here,” Cash says, pointing at our older brother in disgust. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” Reed says from between clenched teeth. Cash snorts. “Cash, I swear to God I’m going to—” “Can we please not fight on the day Daisy has her baby?” I ask. “I mean, the kid has to get used to its uncles being idiots, but maybe not on its birthday, okay?” “Hey, I’m just trying to get him to settle down,” Cash says, pointing at Reed.

“Excuse me for not wanting to sit around with him.” “Cash?” “No, not Cash. Will.” Cash rolls his eyes. “You see what an idiot he’s being? Will? Seriously, Reed?” “And here I thought things couldn’t get worse,” I mutter. “You can’t even call him Dad anymore?” “Dads take care of you,” he growls, his fists clenching. “Dads don’t lie to you your entire life and—” “Yeah, we get it, Reed,” Cash says. “He was a major asshole. We’re all pissed. But Daltrey wants him here for the birth of his kid. And that’s his call.” “Doesn’t mean I have to sit there with him.” “But Daltrey wants you here too,” I say. Cash mutters, “God only knows why.” I shoot him a quick glare before turning back to Reed. “So you need to be the bigger person here and go sit in the damn waiting room.” “Fine.” He turns on his heel, punching the wall as he goes. “Fuck,” Cash says once Reed has gone. “He’s messed up, man.” “He’ll get over it.” “I don’t know, but I hope you’re right.” He turns to face me, smiling now. “So, how’d it go?

You get her back?” “We were never broken up, Cash,” I say, trying not to think about her words that afternoon. “She just needs a little time to figure stuff out.” “Figure what out? You’re a fucking catch, man.” I laugh. “Thanks.” I nod to the waiting room. “How’s it going? Daisy doing okay?” “Hell if I know. Apparently having a baby takes a really long time. We’ve been sitting in here for four hours without a word. I’m bored.” “Sorry if it’s not super exciting for you, buddy,” Daltrey says from behind us. “Maybe you’d like to switch places with Daisy?” We turn to see him approaching from the other end of the hall. He grins at me. “You made it! Where’s Haylee?” “She has to figure stuff out,” Cash tells him in a loud stage whisper. Daltrey frowns. “What does that mean?” “I have no idea,” Cash says. “Can we focus on the important stuff here?” I ask. “How’s Daisy?” Daltrey’s face lights up. “She’s amazing. She’s doing so well. The doctor said it won’t be much longer.” “Shit, man.” I look at my little brother, overwhelmed by the change that’s about to happen. “This is really it, huh?”

He laughs, sounding a little shaky. “I guess so. I just came out to let everyone know she’s doing good.” I send up a silent prayer of thanks that we got Reed to behave before Daltrey arrived. “I should probably get back in there.” “We’ll let them know.” He nods. “Thanks.” The three of us look at each other for a minute. “The next time we see you, you’re gonna be a dad,” Cash says, shaking his head. “That’s nuts.” Daltrey laughs. “You’re telling me.” “Good luck, man.” Cash pulls him into a hug, and I hide a smile. He really is coming into this emotional maturity stuff pretty well. I don’t torture Daltrey with another hug, just slap him on the back as he goes. “We should tell the others,” Cash says. “The girls have been freaking out all day.” We head into the waiting room, but before I can take more than two steps Paige launches herself at me. “Isn’t this amazing?” she squeals. “Definitely amazing,” I say, patting her on the back. “We just saw Daltrey in the hall. He said everything is going well, Daisy is good. Probably won’t be much longer now.” “Oh my God!” she cries, and I cover my ear, not entirely sure I’ll still be hearing out of it after this. “Come sit down,” Karen calls. “You’re

strangling Lennon.” I collapse into a chair next to Levi as Cash goes over to sit with Sam. “Things seem nice and awkward in here,” I mutter, and Levi snorts. Reed is sitting alone, anger radiating off him. Dad is on the other side of the room, also by himself. The girls are sitting together, and they alone seem cheerful. “So how’d it go?” he asks. I rub my face. “I don’t know. I think she’s pretty scared.” “Because you’re such a basket case?” I shove him as he laughs. “Yes, actually. She thinks we both have too many problems to be there for each other.” I rub my face again, feeling tired. “Maybe she’s right.” “I don’t know, man. I know I’m just an observer, but it seemed to me you guys made each other stronger.” “We did.” I think about that night in London, the night she needed me and I couldn’t be there for her. “Until the end, at least.” “What does that mean?” “That night at the club, she was having a really shitty time.” I haven’t told anyone about her trip to the ER. I don’t think it’s my business to share. “Some stuff went down,” I say, hoping it will suffice. “And I wasn’t there for her because I was all in my head. And she wasn’t there for me

because she was in her head. It was kind of a mess. And it made her think we couldn’t take care of each other.” I shake my head. “Like I said. Maybe she’s right.” “At the club?” he asks, scrunching up his face in thought. “You mean that last night in London?” “Yeah.” “She talked to me about you.” “What?” “Before she left. She told me to keep an eye on you. Said you weren’t sleeping. That was the reason I went looking for you that night. I was worried.” “She didn’t tell me that.” He shrugs. “I’m just saying, man. Maybe she couldn’t be there for you herself. But she made sure someone else was.” He meets my eyes. “Far as I’m concerned, that’s just another way of taking care of someone.” I nod, turning that over in my head, hoping I get the chance to tell her what he said. Across the room, Paige approaches Reed. She places a hesitant hand on his shoulder and says something to him. He shakes her off, and even from here I can tell he snaps at her. She retreats, crestfallen, and resumes her seat next to Karen. “Okay, that’s enough of that.” I go over to Reed and grab his shoulder. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

“I don’t want—” “Too bad, Reed. Let’s go.” Grumbling, he stands and follows me. He really can act like a little kid when he’s in a bad mood. We head out of the maternity ward and down to the hospital lobby, not speaking. After a few minutes, he stops, turning to me. “Don’t tell me to forgive him, Len.” “I wasn’t going to.” He seems surprised. “Good. Because I won’t.” “That’s your prerogative. But you need to stop taking it out on everyone else.” “I’m not—” “Things going well with Paige?” He slumps against the wall. “Not so much.” I lean against the wall next to him. We’re in a pretty empty hallway, an occasional nurse in scrubs passing us. “Look, Reed. I get that this sucks. Finding out what happened the way you did. But we can’t let it ruin everything else. You have a great thing with Paige. We’re all healthy. Daltrey’s having a kid. That’s a lot to be happy about, you know? If you can’t let go of this anger, you’re going to miss all of that.” He doesn’t speak for a long time. When he does, his voice is low, almost unrecognizable. “I feel like we lost him. I feel like we lost the only

parent we have.” “Reed.” God, what can I even say to that? “We didn’t lose him. He loves us. He might have handled things wrong, but we didn’t lose him. Everything he did, he did to take care of us.” He shakes his head, and I turn so that I’m facing him, even though he won’t look at me, his eyes glued to the floor. “You know what I remember the most? The thing I remembered first? Dad next to my hospital bed. Telling me it was going to be okay. Crying. I can’t… I can’t imagine what that was like for him. To see his kid hurt like that and know it was because…” I can’t finish the sentence. Know it was because of the woman he loved. “I know what it feels like,” he whispers. “To see you hurt. And he knew that was happening, knew you were sick, and he didn’t tell us.” “Because I wouldn’t let him.” “I could have helped you.” “He helped me. All those times when things got bad for me, I went to Dad. And he always helped me.” I pause. “Reed, you need to start thinking of me as your brother.” “Of course I think of you as my brother—” “No, you don’t. You think of me as someone you need to take care of. But I have a father. And whatever his faults might be, he did take care of me.”

Reed shoves his hands into his pockets, still refusing to meet my eyes. “You’re the best big brother any kid could ever want,” I say. “You’ve taken care of all of us for years. But we’re grown up now, Reed. All we need is our brother.” He doesn’t answer, but after a long moment he nods, once. I sigh, knowing that’s the best I’m going to get. “Okay. I’m gonna head back. I’ll see you.” I turn to go but stop when his hand comes out to grab my shoulder. “A couple weeks ago you said I don’t respect you,” he says, his voice still strained. “That’s bullshit, Len. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world I respect more than you. You’re one of the best people I know. And I know you’re going to be okay.” “Reed.” I don’t know how to respond to that. For a family that doesn’t deal well with emotional stuff, that’s a lot to take in. “Haylee would be lucky to have you.” His voice is a lot more like normal, and he finally turns to look at me. His eyes are red, but his face is relaxed, smiling. “We’re all lucky to have you.” Then he slings an arm around my shoulder, and we walk back to the waiting room together. *** It’s two hours before Daltrey comes back out to the waiting room. It’s enough time for Daisy’s

dad to arrive from Ohio and for Reed to make things up to Paige by taking several relationship quizzes in the teen magazines she finds on a rack. When Daltrey pushes through the door, everyone goes silent. He looks exhausted and terrified, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I have a daughter,” he announces to the room, and everyone goes crazy. Paige is crying—even Karen looks teary— and everyone is hugging him, asking questions, slapping his back. “Daisy’s perfect,” he tells Mr. Harris, shaking his hand. “Amazing. I can’t believe her.” “And the baby?” our dad asks. Daltrey just shakes his head, apparently too awed to speak. “Come on,” he says, waving everyone to the door. “Daisy wants to introduce you.” “All of us?” Karen asks, looking around at the crowd in the waiting room, ten of us in total. “Doesn’t she want to rest for a while first?” Daltrey rolls his eyes. “She said, and I quote, ‘Get the family in here to meet this gorgeous child.’” So we all follow him back to Daisy’s room, laughing, all of the awkwardness of earlier long gone. How could anyone be angry right now? There’s a new member of our family. Daisy is sitting up in bed, her hair gathered on

top of her head. She looks exhausted and pale and completely ecstatic, and she’s holding a baby. Everyone immediately hushes as we enter the room, staring at her. “Come in,” she says, grinning. “Come meet Rose.” “Rose!” Paige squeaks. “What a beautiful name!” Daltrey grabs Reed’s shoulder and steers him over to the bed to see his kid. Our oldest brother stares down at her for a minute before putting his arm around Daltrey’s shoulder, laughing through watery eyes. “This is unbelievable,” he says. “Aren’t you still that little?” Cash joins them, kissing Daisy on the head before peering down at Rose. “Thank God she got your looks,” he tells her. “Shut up, Cash,” she says, laughing. “She has Daltrey’s hair and eyes.” “Then she’ll be beautiful,” Paige says, hugging him before turning her attention to the baby. “She is beautiful!” She bursts into noisy tears as Reed laughs, pulling her into a hug. “Glad to see you’re keeping tradition alive with the name,” Cash says, nodding at Daltrey in approval. “Axl Rose is a worthy rock star to name your kid after.” “We did not name her after Axl Rose,” Daisy scoffs. “We gave her a flower name to match

mine.” “Sure we did, honey,” Daltrey says, meeting Cash’s gaze over her head and giving a quick shake of his head. “Totally Axl,” he mouths. Mr. Harris steps forward to meet his first grandchild, kissing her forehead before turning his attention to Daisy. He hugs her for a long time, whispering something in her ear, and when he straightens, her eyes are wet. “Dad,” Daltrey says, turning to our father, who’s hovering near the door. “Come and see.” The others step back, Reed tensing only a little, as Dad takes the spot by the bed. He shakes his head, looking down at the baby. “She’s beautiful,” he agrees, nodding his head several times before slapping Daltrey on the back. I think he might be close to tears, but he just keeps nodding, staring at the baby. Emotional maturity is harder than it looks. Daisy introduces Rose to Levi, Karen, and Sam. I stand by the foot of the bed, content to watch from the perimeter for a while, just like I usually do. Until Daisy looks up and meets my eyes. “Come here.” I cross to her side, and she grins up at me. “Want to hold her?” Before I can say anything, she hands Rose to me. I’ve never held a baby before, and for a second I panic, but Daisy is calm. “Put your hand under

her head,” she says. “Perfect. Support her back. That’s it. Easier than it looks.” “This is weird,” I say, staring at the baby, and Daltrey snorts. “Thanks, man.” “No, I just…” I look down at Daisy. “You have a baby.” She laughs. “I know.” I shake my head, overwhelmed, and return my attention to the baby in my arms. She’s tiny, her nose barely as big as my pinky fingernail. Under the little knit cap that all babies seem to wear, I can see a few tufts of white-blond hair. Daltrey’s hair. We’re going to do better for you, I think. All of us. And then she yawns, and her little eyes flutter open. I know that brand new babies probably can’t focus yet, but I swear she looks right up at me, her eyes wide and blue. And just like that I’m in love. “Hey,” I whisper. “I’m your Uncle Lennon.” I feel a hand on my shoulder and see Cash from the corner of my eye. He stands next to me, looking at her, and then Reed joins on the other side. “I’m your other uncle,” Cash says. “You’ll be able to tell it’s me because I’m the best looking one.” “Also the biggest bullshitter,” Reed says. “Hey!” Paige cries. “You can’t swear in front of babies!”

“Uh oh,” I say to Rose. “Your uncles are going to be in big trouble now.” “Really big trouble,” Reed says. “Because you’re going to have all of us wrapped around this tiny little finger, aren’t you?” I look up to wink at Daisy and see Daltrey has joined her on the bed, leaning on her pillow as he kisses her hair. He smiles at me, shaking his head. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. There’s nothing but love, pure and simple, on his face as he watches his brothers meeting his baby girl. *** Daltrey basically has to force us out of the room an hour later so Daisy can get some rest. I think we all would have been content to look at the baby for the rest of the day. The Ransome brothers have all fallen in love. Embarrassingly, sickeningly in love with a newborn baby. Cash has a surprisingly good talking-to-the-baby voice down already, which Daltrey tells him is lame even though it’s pretty much identical to his own talkingto-the-baby voice. “We should go buy her something,” Cash says, his arm around Sam as we head down the hallway toward the waiting room. “Like what?” she asks, smiling at him indulgently. He scrunches up his nose. “Do they make

baby leather jackets?” “I’m getting her a toy drum,” Reed announces. “I’m sure Daisy will love you for it when Rose is big enough to bang on the thing,” Karen mutters. “No way,” Cash argues. “She’s not playing something lame like drums. She’s going to play a real instrument.” “A bass?” I ask. He makes a scathing noise. “Are you kidding me? The kid is going to play guitar. Who the hell wants to play bass?” “Bass is reserved for people with a little more intelligence,” I say. “So obviously Rose qualifies.” “You guys realize she’s approximately two hours old, right?” Sam asks. “Stop ruining our fun, woman,” Cash says. “Besides, she’s obviously very advanced for her age.” “Obviously,” Reed agrees. “They’ve all lost their minds,” Karen mutters. When we reach the waiting room, I stop dead in my tracks, making Cash and Sam run into me. “The hell?” Cash says, but I barely hear him. “Haylee!” Paige cries. “I’m so glad you made it!” “Hi,” she says softly, her eyes on mine. “I hope it’s okay…”

I’m having trouble processing that she’s actually here. The entire day feels surreal, from flying up to New York to the hurried trip back, all the emotion of meeting the baby… and now she’s here. Am I dreaming? “We’ll just give you a minute,” Reed says, a smile in his voice. He slaps my back as he passes, but I still can’t tear my eyes from Haylee. “A baby girl, huh?” she asks once the others have gone. “How’d you know?” “Paige texted me. That’s how I knew what hospital you were at.” Her words barely register. All I can think is how beautiful she looks. How happy I am to see her right now, on this day, when I met my niece for the first time and felt like my family might just become whole again after all. For her to be here… “I probably should have called you,” she says, fidgeting. She’s nervous. “But I figured you were busy and—” “You’re here.” She meets my gaze. “I should have come with you from the start. I never should have let you go.” “Haylee.” “I started thinking, after you left. You know, I was so worried about us being too messed up to make this work. But then I realized something.” “What?”

“Do you know what the first thing I thought about you was, that day in LA? I thought, he looks broken. He looks just like me.” I frown, not quite sure I like that as her first impression of me, but she continues. “And I think that’s why I trusted you. Why I let myself get close to you. Because I knew you understood.” “I thought that about you too.” She smiles. “So all this shit that makes us feel so messed up—it’s good for something, isn’t it? Because we probably wouldn’t have happened if we were both shiny, happy, normal people.” I let out a snort of laughter. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” She takes a step closer and then another, and my laughter dies. Her eyes are locked on mine, her expression determined. “You said I made your life better,” she whispers. “And that made me realize that my life is so much better than it was back in LA. And that’s only after a few weeks. Think about how much better things might get if we had years.” I don’t know if she planned to say anything else. I don’t really care. I’ve heard enough. I close the distance between us and lift her into my arms, my lips finding hers, relishing the little sigh that escapes her as she kisses me back. “I love you, Haylee,” I whisper against her mouth. “I love you too.”

At that party before the tour started, Daisy asked me to imagine a world with her baby in it. I couldn’t. Back then I couldn’t see life beyond the next day, the next task. But then I’d taken one look at Haylee and everything changed. For the first time in years she made me feel hopeful. She made me believe in somedays. And now I can imagine it all, years and years spreading in front of us. My family finding their way, figuring out how to be whole again. Rose growing up in a world where everyone loves her. And me and Haylee. Making things better for each other. A little bit at a time, every day, for as long as I can imagine. THE END Join the mailing list for new release information! Don’t miss the sixth book in the Ransom series, The Ransome Brothers, coming soon!

Escape Series Escape in You Escape with You Ransom Series Ransom Release Redeem Relent On the Road (A digital short story) Three Girls Series Three Girls and a Baby Three Girls and a Wedding Three Girls and a Leading Man Three Girls the Complete Trilogy The Truth About Ever After Three Girls and a New Beginning Snow Kissed (A digital short story) Love Story Series In Search of a Love Story An Unexpected Love Story An Almost Perfect Love Story Lovestruck Series Lovestruck in London Lovestruck in Los Angeles

Lovestruck Forever Sofie and the Movie Star (A digital short story) Lovestruck at Christmas (A digital novella) Starstruck Stand Alone Persuaded