Chapter 3
3
SAM
"Watching from the wings while you run the show
Catching every detail we need to know
Taking care of things that others forgot
But who's taking care of you?"
- The Wild Ones, "Stage Manager"
F aye glared at me from across the tour bus.
She’d been doing that a lot since we’d woken up with rings on our fingers and a marriage license on the bedside table.
Fuck. That’d been a shock. Waking up in Faye’s bed with her looking like fucking smoke show even after a full night of drinking and drama with smudged make up and a crumpled dress? Damn. Happy New Years to me.
Her immediately fainting and knocking her head on the side of the bed? Not so great.
The memories of last night were hazy, like the edges of an old photograph, but I’d managed to recall a few details—her laughing as we danced, the flash of a neon-lit chapel, my own voice slurring out a “Fuck yes!” as someone slipped a ring into my hand.
I glanced down at the band on my finger, feeling the cool, solid weight of the medal. A sharp ache had taken up residence in my chest, a reckless kind of satisfaction that felt both irrational and persistent.
I glanced back up to find Faye still glaring at me, her eyes narrowed as she told me silently that she didn’t find our situation funny at all.
“Don’t give me that look,” I told her, unreasonably amused by her reaction. “You’ve done this to us more times that I can count.”
She crossed her arms across her chest, arching a delicate eyebrow. “This is my job.”
“Not today,” her assistant, Liz, said cheerfully. “Today you’re the story.”
I ignored the snickers from my fellow bandmates as Faye’s cheeks took on a dark flush.
Joining us were Justice, Felix and Radley—my fellow Wild Ones. Not too long ago, we were a pack of ramshackle kids who happened to strike it big. Now we were about to undertake the next leg of our world tour.
Our appearances certainly reflected the change in our circumstances. Where before we were all rough edges and cheap clothes, now we were primped and prodded, dressed in designer gear from the top of our heads to the tips of our toes.
“Have to say I’m enjoying sitting on this side of the table,” Justice drawled from where he lay sprawled across his bunk in the bus—a guitar in one hand as he absently plucked at strings. Tattoos decorated each arm and peeked out the top of his V-neck shirt. A shirt for which I’d given him shit more than once. Though our lead singer didn’t care, he’d had simply smoothed a hand over his dark hair, and grinned at me, throwing his arms out as he’d proclaimed he was giving the fans exactly what they wanted.
Based on the explicit fan emails I happened to read occasionally—he wasn’t wrong.
“How are you not hung over?” I asked him, tossing a guitar pick at his head.
He ignored it, strumming slowly. “When one doesn’t drink, one doesn’t get drunk.”
Radley ignored him. “It’s certainly a treat to see Faye on the receiving end of one of these,” she said, tossing her curly brown hair. “And Sam as well? Christmas has come late—or is it early?—this year.”
I made an ‘aw shucks’ gesture.
“Should we be documenting this?” Felix asked, grinning widely when Faye turned her glare on him.
“Hush,” Liz admonished, finally getting her ipad to connect with the TV screen hanging from the roof of the bus. “What does Faye always say in these moments?”
“We’re here to help, not judge,” we recited in unison.
“Gonna admit, you should all call me Judge Judy cause I certainly am.” Felix held up two fingers about an inch apart. “But only a little.”
“You are all terrible and I hate you,” Faye sniffed.
“Children, quiet! It’s my time to shine.” Liz hit the screen of the iPad then cursed under her breath when the TV didn’t do anything.
“For goodness sake, sis. Let me.” Felix reached across the table to pluck the iPad from his sister’s hand. The twins shared the same dark red hair, freckled skin, and big bellowing laugh.
“Thank you,” she said primly when he got the slide deck to appear on the screen. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
I crossed my ankles and leaned back in my seat, already amused by the whole situation.
Who would have through one little marriage would cause so many issues?
“In the last eight hours you’ve been trending across most major news outlet—and that includes internationally.” Liz clicked to her first slide—a sample of the different media stories.
“The good news is, most of the articles are positive and generating sales for the tour.” She clicked to the next slide showing the increase in sales.
“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” I said.
“But,” Liz echoed. “Some sites are spreading salacious rumours in what appears to be a clickbait effort.”
She moved to the next slide, and I winced. The headlines implied Faye had been injured in a fight with me. No surprises given her injury, but damn if it didn’t hurt to see them accusing me of hurting Faye—one of the most important people in my life.
They could smear my name as a dick or a diva or a drunk all they wanted, but to accuse me of that? Fuck.
I glanced over at Faye in time to catch her touching the thick plaster they’d applied to her forehead. Seeing turned the possessive, protective ache in my chest into a full-blown blaze. And there was nothing I could do to elevate the throb.
She’d been released an hour ago, and security had hustled us out of the hospital and onto the bus as we had to head to our next gig. I didn’t mind the bus life—despite the lack of privacy. It gave us all a chance to collaborate and connect without cameras or fans.
Or potential stalkers. I’d once come back from a gig to find one of the hotel concierge sniffing my underwear. Not cool.
The tour bus was a beast of a double-decker, painted jet black with The Wild Ones logo emblazoned on the side in silver and electric blue. The bus looked like it had seen its fair share of highways, with a few subtle dings here and there that only added to its gritty charm. It was a rolling fortress—a mix of comfort and chaos—tailored for the long, unpredictable months on the road with a rock band.
Inside, the lower deck opened into a small but surprisingly cozy lounge area. Worn leather couches lined the walls, creating a semi-circle around a low table, which was currently littered with crumpled setlists, half-empty coffee cups, and a pair of drumsticks that one of the roadies had forgotten to pack. Across from the lounge was a compact kitchen, equipped with a mini-fridge crammed with soda, a microwave, and a coffee maker that looked like it had survived a war. The walls were decorated with posters from past tours and taped-up Polaroids of the band and crew, each capturing memories from life on the road.
Up a narrow staircase, the sleeping quarters took up the entire second deck. Ten bunks were lined up in tight rows along the walls, each with a curtain for privacy. The bunks were compact but surprisingly comfortable, with just enough room for a person to stretch out, stash a phone and book, and plug in a set of noise-cancelling headphones. The ceiling was low, giving the whole space an intimate, almost cocooned feel. At the very back was a small but functional bathroom—an undeniable luxury in their world of endless highways and dive bars.
I would have preferred Faye to be upstairs resting than working.
“You sure you’re okay to be discussing this nonsense?” I asked Faye.
She nodded, brushing aside my concerns. “We need to get ahead of the story. We’re already hours behind. If we leave it much longer, we lose the narrative.”
I gestured at the table. “We can handle it. You should rest. Take some more of those pain pills.”
Faye shot me an annoyed look. “I’m fine. Now, can we please get on with the briefing.”
I bit my tongue to keep from pressing her further, gesturing at Liz to continue.
“It took me a few minutes to work out where the leak came from, but let’s just say you guys weren’t exactly subtle when it came to hitching your wagons.”
She clicked to the next slide, and I winced as the rest of the table burst out laughing.
“Oh, good lord,” Faye muttered, covering her face with a hand.
We’d been married by a guy in a unicorn suit.
“It seems,” Liz said, her tone dripping with amusement, “the Little Chapel in Chars is famous for their eccentric celebrant options. And apparently you two decided on an Urma the Unicorn rip off.”
The adult cartoon we were all obsessed with. It had started as a sarcastic comic strip a few years ago, before moving to become a webcomic then a fully animated streaming show.
“Definitely off-brand,” I agreed, touching the ring nestled on my third finger of my lefthand. I hadn’t ever been one to wear jewellery, but the weight of it felt good, heavy, solid.
Real.
Unfortunately, the unicorn wedding photo wasn't the worst of it.
"Please tell me there isn't more," Faye groaned, as Liz just clicked to the next slide with barely contained glee.
There we were, standing outside the chapel, my arm around Faye's waist as she brandished a bouquet made entirely of drumsticks.
"I have to admit," Radley said, leaning forward to study the image. "That's actually kind of genius."
"The fans are going crazy over it," Felix added, scrolling through his phone. "Someone's already started an Etsy shop selling rip-off bouquets."
I couldn't take my eyes off Faye in the photo. Even with her sophisticated red dress wrinkled from hours of celebration and her braids slightly mussed but still elegant, she looked radiant. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was breathtaking. The kind of breathtaking that hit you right in the chest, leaving you stunned and slightly off-balance.
I swallowed, forcing myself to don the same mask I’d work every day for the last five years. I had to pretend this didn’t get to me. That she didn’t get to me.
But hell, how could I not notice her?
The high-definition photo had captured in loving detail every part of her that drove me insane—the smooth lines of her collarbone, the way that dress hugged her curves, her full lips curved in a smile that I wanted to think was just for me, even though I knew better. I’d seen the smile that lit up her face only a few times—at her brother’s wedding, at our signing with the label, and now at our sham of a wedding.
She reminded me of a butterfly—always moving. You got a sense of beauty from watching her, but it wasn’t until she paused long enough to let you near that you understood just how breathtaking she was.
She always had been. Always would be.
I’d gotten used to admiring her from a distance, trying not to notice the way her brown eyes sparkled when she teased, or the curve of her lips when she smiled, or the soft slope of her neck that I’d found my gaze lingering on too many times to count.
My gaze dropped to where our hands were linked in the photo, and I could practically feel her warmth, a ghost of the way her body had leaned against me, as if, for just that one moment, she was mine.
You’re friends, I reminded myself for the billionth time. Just friends.
But putting her back into that box when a ring sat snug against my finger felt almost sacrilegious.
But I’d do it. Because Faye meant more to me than a quick lay or some foolish kiss. She deserved more.
"Moving on," Liz interrupted my thoughts. "We need to establish our story and stick to it."
"The truth?" I suggested, earning a collective groan from the band.
"The truth being that you both got wasted and decided getting married by a guy in a unicorn costume was a good idea?" Justice asked, still plucking at his guitar. "Yeah, that'll play great with the press."
"Actually...." Faye straightened in her seat, her PR brain clearly kicking into gear despite the concussion. "Think about it. What's the one criticism we always get? That we're too polished, too manufactured. This...." She gestured between us. “This is real. Messy. Human."
I watched her as she spoke, remembering our conversation in the hospital. The way she'd suggested we stay married until the end of the tour.
I'd thought it was just the drugs talking, but now...
"She's right," Radley chimed in. "Our fans would eat it up. The ultra-professional PR manager and the laid-back guitarist, falling in love right under everyone's noses? A secret romance is just the thing we need right now."
"And the timeline works,” Felix pointed out. “You've been with us for five years. Friends-to-lovers will play well. Forced proximity, maybe one bed in the bus." He wiggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively.
The bus hit a bump, and Faye winced, touching her bandaged forehead. I reached for her automatically, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.
"You okay?"
She nodded, but I could see the pain in her eyes.
"Just need a minute." She sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Liz, pull up any pictures of Sam and I from the last five years that you can find. Post them on socials with an quip like, “Ringing in the new year” or some such shit. Include the wedding picture but get permission from the OG poster, first. Check if the chapel has any pictures as well, and go through our phones to see what else Sam and I might have recorded in our drunken state.” She barely paused for breath.
“I want you to tee-up a few choice quotes from the band about our close friendship. See if any of our family or friends—hell, even the label—are willing to congratulate us. Put out a press release saying how pleased we all are about the marriage, but frame it to focus on the next leg of the tour and note we’ll honeymoon later. We want to make it clear to the fans they come first. Hit up one of our trusted journalists and agree to an exclusive in a few days—a week, if possible. That’ll give us time to work out our stories, and for my head to heal. Address the rumour about my hospital stay directly—release the medical info, if required.”
I frowned. “You’re really going to allow them to print that you hurt your head on the edge of our bed?”
Faye shot me a look. “We’ll get Justice to gently fuel rumours that you’re a sex god and it occurred mid-coitus. So shut it.”
I zipped my lips, grinning.
“I’m not sure I consent to being used like this,” Justice said lightly.
Faye ignored him. “Next, I want you to?—”
The bus hit another bump, and Faye’s face drained of colour. She pressed a hand to her mouth, closing her eyes.
"That's enough for today," I announced, standing abruptly. "We can figure out the rest later."
"But—" Faye began.
"Nope. Doctor's orders were rest." I offered her my hand. "Come on. Liz can take care of the rest of this shit. Trust us, we’ve got this. It’s time for you to get some sleep."
She narrowed her eyes but took my hand. Quietly alarmed by her easy acquiesce, I helped her to her feet, pretending not to notice when she swayed slightly, leaning against me.
"We're not done discussing this," she warned as I guided her up the stairs and toward the back of the bus where the private bunks were located.
"Never thought we were," I replied, helping her climb into her bunk. I reached for her overnight bag, pulling out her silk bonnet – the dark purple one with little silver stars that Radley had gifted her for her birthday last year.
"Here," I said, handing it to her. "Can't have you waking up with your edges all messed up. Your mama would kill me."
That got a small laugh out of her. "Look at you, being all educated."
"I pay attention," I shrugged, watching as she carefully wrapped her braids. "Plus, your mom gave me a whole lecture about it when we were home last summer.”
"That sounds like her," Faye said softly, settling back against her pillows, already looking drowsy. "Sam?"
"Mm?"
"What if this ruins everything?"
I caught her hand before she could pull it away, giving her a gentle squeeze.
"Hey, look at me." I waited until she met my gaze, struck as always by how her eyes seemed to hold flecks of gold in certain lights. "Nothing's ruined. We're still us. Still The Wild Ones. Today you’re a little battered and bruised, but tomorrow you’ll be fighting fit, keeping us all in check while we drive you crazy.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. "You are pretty good at that last part."
"It's a gift." I grinned, then grew serious. "Get some rest, Faye. We'll figure it out tomorrow." I kissed her nose and turned to leave.
Her voice stopped me. "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for not freaking out."
I looked back at her. She seemed so little and unsure in her bed, vulnerable thanks to the plaster peeking out from under her bonnet.
Something shifted in my chest, the ring on my left hand feeling a fraction lighter. "Don’t worry, Faye. We’ll come out of this stronger."
With a small sigh, her eyelashes fluttered, and she closed her eyes. “We’ll see.”
Yeah. We would.