Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dean
Drive
Incubus
We’re leaving Orlando before the sun’s fully up, the buses already humming in the lot like they’re impatient to swallow us. The crew is ahead on their own rigs, which means today is just the band, family, and whoever was smart enough to be quiet.
Atlanta is a few hours away, which on tour time means “blink and you’re there” and also “enough time to ruin your own life if you’re not careful.
” I should be thinking about the venue specs, the size of the stage, the way the humidity in Georgia screws with strings.
I should be thinking about the new riff I want to try in the bridge of track six.
Instead, I’m thinking about what happened in Sadie’s room last night. Her mouth on mine. Her voice when she said she wants to try. It’s fucking scary as hell, but I’m not running.
Sadie comes out of the hotel with her gear bag and a travel mug and that “I’m awake but don’t test me” expression. She looks good in a casual way that should not be legal before breakfast. Hair in a loose braid, hoodie slung over one shoulder, little sleep-crease on her cheek like a secret.
She spots me waiting in front of our bus. Our eyes lock. No flinch. No retreat. Just that quiet, charged line between us that keeps getting stronger no matter how hard I fight it. I take two steps toward her without thinking. “Morning.”
She studies me the way you study the weather, trying to decide if it’s safe to step outside. Her response is hesitant, but she smiles. “Good morning.”
I nod toward the bus. “You riding with us today?”
Her brows lift. “Us meaning… you?”
“Me, Mikey, Hayden.” I pause. “And you?”
She watches my face, looking for the trap. There isn’t one. “Okay.” She nods, like she’s choosing trust again. It lands in my chest harder than it should.
“Cool.” I take her bag without asking. “Come on.” She opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, then closes it and actually lets me carry it. That tiny surrender does something to me I’m not prepared for.
We climb onto the bus. Mikey is on the main couch, half-horizontal, eating cereal from the box like a gremlin. Hayden’s at the table with a laptop and headphones, already in his own world. The TV is on mute, some old action movie playing with subtitles.
Sadie steps in behind me. I’m painfully aware of her presence in my space now. Her scent, the soft weight of her footsteps, the way the air shifts when she’s close. She gives Mikey a polite wave. He grins at her like she’s his favorite person.
“Yo, camera girl,” he mocks with a chuckle, “you decide to come back to the dark side?”
Sadie smiles. “As long as you don’t make me watch motorcross videos again.”
“Rude.” He points his spoon at me. “You’re sassy today.”
Hayden lifts a hand in greeting without taking off his headphones.
Sadie perches on the bench seat by the table. I don’t like the distance. I sit across from her like it’s normal, like I didn’t spend the morning deciding I was done being a coward.
The bus rolls out, Orlando shrinking in the rearview. Mikey turns the TV volume up enough to be noise but not enough to interfere with a conversation. A professional skill he has somehow mastered.
Sadie unwraps a granola bar and glances at me like she’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.
“Just say it,” I drawl, giving her a lazy smile.
She blinks. “What?”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking.” I tap a finger against her head. “Because I know something is going on up there.”
Her mouth twitches. “Okay, mind reader. I was just wondering how you’re doing today.”
There’s no edge in it. No accusation. Just a check-in that doesn’t make me feel trapped. It’s different.
I hold her gaze. “Yeah. I’m good.” It’s true. Truer than it’s been in a while.
She nods, like she can tell. “Good.” She takes a bite. “Because I don’t want to do the whole, ‘Dean disappears into the void’ thing again today.”
A laugh erupts from me. Mikey jerks his head up like he found religion. “Oh, hell yes.”
Hayden pulls one headphone off. “What’d I miss?”
“Sadie just threatened Dean,” Mikey relays proudly. “I’m in love.”
“I didn’t threaten him,” she spouts in defense.
“You absolutely did,” I challenge, nodding over at her.
She lifts her chin. “Well, maybe you need it.”
“Maybe I do,” I admit, my voice low. The air shifts. Not tense. Warm. Like sunlight after a thunderstorm.
Hayden makes a satisfied sound and puts his headphone back on.
Mikey resumes his cereal like a man watching tennis.
Sadie turns toward the window, a smile lifting her mouth longer than she intends.
Watching her be happy like that, casual and real, makes something loosen in me.
And for once, I don’t let it scare me. I just let it be.
We ride in that easy rhythm for a while.
Highway noise, coffee sips, Mikey narrating random facts about Atlanta that he’s absolutely making up.
At some point Sadie pulls her knees up on the bench, tucking herself into the corner like she’s settling into home base.
She yawns and tries to hide it, which is useless because the whole bus sees it.
“Tired?” I ask.
“A little.” She shrugs. “It’s tour life.”
“You can crash in the back if you want.”
She glances at the bunks. “I’m okay here.” The bench is narrow, not built for napping unless you’re Mikey, who can sleep upside down if given ten seconds and a pillow.
Sadie tries anyway. She leans her head against the window for a second, then shifts because the vibration’s annoying. She aims for the wall behind her, then gives up and sits straight again.
I watch her fight sleep for two minutes. Then I stand and tug my hoodie over my head and toss it to her. “Use that.”
She catches it, eyes widening as she stares back at me. “Dean…”
“Don’t make it weird,” I mutter, settling back into my seat. “It’s clean.”
Her eyes go soft. “Thanks,” she murmurs.
She folds it and puts it against the wall, then lies down with her head on it. Not on me. Not close to me. Just letting me help. It’s progress, even if it’s in baby steps.
She closes her eyes. Her breathing slows. And for a while, I just sit there listening to the bus hum and the low crackle of the TV and Mikey’s spoon clinking like an idiot.
Sadie sleeps and the sight of her on our bus, in our world, trusting the space around her, trusting me - hits me in a place I don’t normally feel things. Somewhere around my ribs. Somewhere around the old fear. I don’t poke at it. I just breathe.
Mikey leans in, stage-whispering like we’re in a library. “Bro.”
I flick my eyes to him. “What?”
He nods toward Sadie. “You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you care and pretend you don’t.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “Just saying. It’s a nice look.”
“Eat your cereal.”
“Already did.” He smiles sweetly. “I’m a free man now.”
“Go away.” I growl in frustration.
“Have you decided to stop being a dumbass?”
I lower my voice. “I’m not being a dumbass.”
Mikey makes a face like sure, Jan. “You gave her your hoodie, you didn’t run, and you laughed at her threat. That’s like three emotional steps forward for you. Major props, man. I’m proud of you.” He says it lightly, but there’s something careful under it. A friend watching me not drown for once.
“Shut up,” I grumble as I try to contain a smile. He grins and turns back to the TV.
An hour later Sadie stirs. She blinks like she’s orienting herself in a foreign country, then finds me watching her. Her cheeks pink just a shade, as I place a fresh, hot coffee on the table in front of her.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Her lips curve up just a fraction.
“I know.” I slide the cup closer to her.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “You’re not going to add a sarcastic insult after that?”
I tilt my head. “Why would I?”
“Because you usually do.”
The honesty of that lands like a soft punch. I hold her gaze. “I don’t want to do ‘usually’ with you.”
Her breath catches. Not dramatically. Just a little hitch. “Well, alright then.” She nods, like she’s not sure what else to say to that.
“Alright then,” I echo.
We sit in the quiet after that for a beat. We lock eyes. The bus is suddenly too small. Her voice drops. “Why does being seen make you so nervous?”
Because every time I was seen before, I got taken apart. Because wanting someone gives the universe a target. Because I don’t trust good things to stay. But those are my old answers. I’m trying something else this time. “Because I don’t know what happens next,” I sputter truthfully.
Sadie studies me. “We don’t have to know next. We just have to know now.” It feels too simple.
“What’s now?” I ask, voice lower than I mean.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes like she’s caught. “Now is just us spending time together.” She pauses. “Us not pretending there isn’t something here.”
The way she says us should scare me. This time, it steadies me.
Before I can overthink it, I reach under the table and hook my pinky around hers.
She freezes at first, but then her finger curls back, tightening.
The contact is tiny, but it feels like a damn bridge.
Neither of us says anything. We just hold on while the highway unspools under us.
Hayden takes a phone call up front. Mikey complains about Georgia traffic.
The bus rolls on. Sadie’s hand stays with mine.
At a gas stop, Mikey and Hayden hop off for snacks.
Sadie and I stay seated, still linked like we forgot how to stop.
She glances at our hands with a shy edge to her mouth. “You’re being bold today.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I smirk, arching a brow.
“I might want to.” The flirt lands clean and warm.
I grin wide because I can’t help it. “Yeah?”
She tilts her head. “Yeah.”
I should say something slick, but for once I feel brave enough to say the truth. “Good.”
Her smile softens. God, I’m in trouble.
We pull into Atlanta just before noon, the skyline rising through heat haze.
The venue is already a hive, crew visible in the distance like a moving engine.
The tour machine never stops. It just shifts gears.
Sadie lets my hand go when the bus slows.
Not because she wants to, but because we’re back in the world now.
I stand, grab my guitar case. She shoulders her camera bag. We step down onto Georgia asphalt together. Close. Not touching, but no longer pretending. Sadie glances up at me, eyes bright, a question there. “You good?”
Different question now. Not are you okay with your demons? But are we okay? I answer with a brush of my knuckles over the back of her hand, and smile.
Her mouth curves wide enough to hurt me in the best way. “Cool,” she whispers.
We head toward the arena. Toward soundcheck. Toward the next few days with me trying to keep choosing her without freaking out about how much I want to.
I’m not fixed.
But I’m walking beside her.
And for now? That’s forward.