Chapter 11
SAWYER
Sunlight sneaks in through the cracks in the blinds, painting golden stripes across the sheets. I blink, slow and a little disoriented, but I don’t want to move.
I just let myself exist, listening to the distant sounds of life moving on without us. There’s a lazy peace in my bones I haven’t felt in years. It’s so easy to pretend that nothing else exists except this bed, these arms, this slow morning after.
We’re not rolling down the highway; the bus hasn’t budged from the lot we parked in last night. It’s our so-called “rest day”, but really it’s just a morning to recover before the chaos starts all over again.
I roll over carefully, trying not to disturb Jasper, and watch the way the sunlight finds his lashes, the relaxed set of his jaw. For once, he looks soft. I could watch him forever.
A knock rattles the door.
“Hey—it’s Silas,” voice too damn cheerful for someone who’s obviously been awake for hours.
“Ya’ll slept most of the morning away, it’s almost 11. You planning to actually get up, or do we need to go to interviews without the lead singer?”
I freeze, the words still ringing. ‘Y’all slept.’
Oh God, he definitely knows.
I squeeze my eyes shut, mortified. There’s no way they didn’t hear me last night. I want to sink under the covers and never come out.
Jasper cracks one eye open, a lazy grin spreading across his lips as he pulls me tighter. “Guess we made an impression.”
I groan, burying my face in his chest. “Do you think they all heard…?”
His laugh rumbles through me. “Let ’em. Not my fault you’re loud, baby.”
My cheeks are on fire, but I can’t stop smiling.
I slap his arm, aiming to be annoyed. “It is your fault! You—” I drop my voice, fighting a smile. “—ruined me.’
He smirks, grabs my wrist, and in one smooth move rolls me onto my back, pinning me with his body. His hair falls over his eyes, messy and stupidly perfect in the morning light. “That so? You sure you don’t want to take some of the blame, Wicked Thing? You’re the one who begged for it.”
I laugh, squirming beneath him, trying to glare, but it’s impossible with his mouth trailing down my neck, biting softly. “Jasper—let me up, we’re already late—”
He holds me there a second longer, possessive, grinning. “They can wait. Let ’em know who you belong to.” He grinds into me, letting me feel how hard he is this morning.
“Pretty sure they figured it out last night,” I deadpan as I try to ignore his cock rubbing me through his sweats.
He finally lets me go, but not without stealing one last kiss.
I grab my sleep clothes, since that’s what I came in wearing and have no other options. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed. Jasper, still wearing his sweatpants, throws on the first shirt he finds. By the time we open the door, I’m praying maybe everyone will be too busy to notice us.
No such luck.
Ash is waiting at the little kitchenette, mug in hand, grinning so wide I want to throw him out the window. “Well, well, well. Look who finally joined the living.”
Jace looks up from his phone, barely hiding his grin. “You two have fun last night? The walls aren’t that thick, you know.”
Silas raises an eyebrow at Jasper, then at me. “Hope you got some rest. We’re on in less than an hour.”
Micah gives me a quiet, sympathetic look, but there’s laughter in his eyes too.
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I hate all of you.”
Jasper swings an arm around my waist, pulling me into him, owning it. “Get used to it, babe. You’re part of the band now.”
***
When I come out of the bathroom dressed in a simple black dress: soft jersey, short sleeves, fits snug through the waist, flares just enough to make me feel like I almost belong at a fancy rockstar interview.
It’s not exactly press glam, but it’s nicer than my t-shirts and shorts. And the little lace-up V at the front gives it just the right amount of attitude. Black fishnets, my combat boots, and a swipe of dark lipstick make it mine.
I glance at my reflection—pale, blue eyes, ink showing on my sternum from the deep V. Hair a wild mess that I twist up with a few pins, letting the lime green tips fall over one shoulder. I look like a girl who belongs in a band. Or at least one who refuses to apologize for surviving the night.
I tug my camera strap across my body, give my lips one last smudge, and head for the door.
When I step out of the bus, the sunlight nearly blinds me.
The guys are already waiting by the curb—Ash balancing a coffee he probably stole from catering, Silas checking his watch with the patience of a man who’s already had to herd a band today, and Jace, sunglasses on, scrolling his phone like he’s not just as nervous as the rest. Micah stands a little apart, camera case at his feet, giving me a nod that feels like silent solidarity.
Ash is the first to spot me. His grin is wide, wicked, all teeth. “Damn, Sawyer. Trying to put the rest of us to shame. Didn’t know we had to compete with the photographer for best dressed.”
Jace glances up, lifts his sunglasses, and whistles. “She’s just here to make us look better, right?”
Silas shakes his head but gives me an approving nod. “Glad you’re ready. The press is inside. You’ll have to catch the candid stuff—no one’s allowed to run off until after the first round of interviews.”
Micah shoulders his own gear, and our eyes meet. At least I’m not the only one who’d rather be behind the lens than in front of it.
Jasper steps out last, dark gaze sweeping over me. His hand lands on the small of my back, thumb stroking possessively. “You’re not interviewing, right?”
I shake my head, nerves twisting. “Just taking photos. I’ll stay out of your way.”
He leans close, his mouth at my ear. “Don’t. I want to see you everywhere.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile, and tug my camera strap tighter across my chest.
Silas is already moving, herding the group toward the doors. “Let’s go, boys. Try to pretend we’re functional adults for thirty minutes.”
I follow, heart pounding, camera ready—just another shadow behind the chaos as they step into the lights and questions.
The press tent is brighter than I expected, crowded with folding chairs, cables snaking underfoot, and enough ring lights to make everyone’s sweat look like highlighter.
Reporters shuffle their notes, a few of them side-eyeing the band as we file in.
Someone offers a half-hearted “Welcome, Her Last Confessional,” and suddenly I’m invisible—exactly the way I like it.
I slip off to the side, camera raised. The band lines up on a threadbare couch, Ash and Jace instantly fighting for the middle.
Silas sits at the end, already fidgeting with his drumsticks, and Micah melts into the background, sitting on a stool, like he was born for it.
Jasper shoves Ash over and takes the center.
He’s sprawled with that signature ease, black tattooed arm stretched along the back.
The first reporter barely glances my way. “Let’s start with the new album. What was the inspiration behind the lyrics?”
I move around the perimeter, snapping quick shots. Ash hams it up, grinning like he’s on a late-night talk show. Silas smirks at a dirty joke. Jace flashes his best smolder, only to break when Ash elbows him.
I keep my lens trained on Jasper, the way the lights catch in his hair, the unreadable smile on his lips as he listens—bored. Every time I risk a glance over the camera, he’s already looking at me. Watching like I’m the only thing worth his attention.
It’s distracting as hell.
I duck behind a light stand, trying to focus. Micah catches my eye, tilts his head as if to say, ‘You okay?’ I nod, forcing myself to concentrate on getting the shot—the way Ash’s laugh fills the tent, how Jace runs a hand through his hair, Silas leaning forward just as the next question lands.
Jasper answers something about the band’s “bad boy” image with a crooked smile. “We’re not as wild as everyone says,” he lies, deadpan, and the reporters all laugh, scribbling notes. Under the table, his hand drums on his knee, fingers restless.
He looks over again, and this time his gaze lingers, dark and hungry, a private promise. My cheeks burn. I snap a photo, nearly drop the camera, and force myself to move on. If anyone’s watching me, I’m just working—just here for the candids.
The interviews drone on, but I only half-listen. Every few minutes, Jasper finds me with his eyes, and it feels like a secret only we share—one no amount of noise or questions can break.
When the last flash pops and the publicist signals “time’s up,” the band is on their feet, running hands through hair, talking trash like nothing happened. I catch Jasper’s eye one more time before I slip outside to breathe, heart thundering.
I didn’t come here to be seen. But somehow, he sees me anyway.
I’m packing up my camera when Ash flings an arm over my shoulders.
“You survived,” he grins, shaking me just enough to make my camera bag bounce. “Which means you earned lunch. And you’re not allowed to say no.”
Jace is already halfway to the door, sunglasses on, phone out. “If we don’t feed Ash, he’ll start eating the roadies.”
Silas snorts. “Like they’d notice. Half of them look like they haven’t seen food since the tour started.”
Micah shrugs, quiet but amused. “There’s a diner a few blocks over.”
Jasper’s hand lands low on my back, steady and possessive. “Let’s go, Trouble. You need to eat. And I need not answer any more dumb questions for at least an hour.”
We file out into the sunlight, the heat a slap after the air-conditioned press tent.
Ash leads the way like he owns the street, waving at a couple of fans who linger near the venue gates.
The city smells like hot pavement and cigarettes, but somehow it feels new with all of them around me—loud, messy, alive.