Chapter 40 Annalise
Annalise
The hotel lobby smells like citrus and money. The kind that gets you rooms with blackout curtains, velvet armchairs, and showers the size of a studio apartment.
Rock spins slowly in place, taking in the upper-class clientele and the giant Christmas tree that nearly reaches the ceiling. “This place has robes.”
“And real pillows. Not those travel ones shaped like deflated doughnut failures,” Kenna mutters, tugging her suitcase with one hand and filming a slow pan of the crystal chandelier with the other. “No more sleeping on amps.”
It doesn’t feel real yet. That we belong here. That this isn’t some fluke.
It all started a month ago with a call from Crowley.
“You’re going to want to sit down for this,” he told us as we assembled around the video call while packing up the van to head home from Atlanta.
“A booking agent out of New York saw your video at The Soundproof and tracked me down. Said he hasn’t seen this much traction off a first tour since The 1975 hit the road. ”
That agent—Carter Vale, who reps two other chart-topping indie acts—signed us within the week. He’s young but sharp, has perfect white-blond hair, and a Rolodex of contacts that stretches from Brooklyn to Berlin.
Carter quickly negotiated guarantees and got our Spotify numbers boosted. Then a few days later, some pop star with forty million followers reposted our clip with the caption, Real music is still alive.
The internet lost its mind. Streams skyrocketed.
Suddenly, we weren’t just a garage band with a loyal TikTok following. We were on everyone’s radar.
Our agent put together our own headlining tour with real press, real pay, and real hotel rooms. Then, an opener slot for a big-league band on a national tour in Los Angeles, capping it all off.
We even traded in our rusty van for a tour bus. Used, but still a massive upgrade.
It’s been a blur. And now we’re here, at the start of something life-changing.
I slip my new notebook from my bag as we wait to check in.
Six more shows. Six new cities. All sold out.
I flip to a fresh page and press the pen down.
Tour Life, Take Two: No More Janky Van But Still a Concerning Amount of Cheese Fries
Hotel is hoteling. Five stars for the lobby alone. I tried to subtly check if the citrus scent is coming from a candle I can actually afford. It is not.
Zach tipped the valet $20 like a celebrity.
Kenna asked if she could take a bath in the minibar. Rock plans to.
Tag keeps saying “we’ve peaked” every time he sees something new: lobby art, elevators with music, the gold pen at the front desk.
Chase is quiet. All I want to do is hug him. Maybe I will.
I stuff the notebook in my duffel bag as the hotel receptionist checks us into our rooms for the night. They aren’t penthouse suites or grand villas, but we feel privileged just to be standing in the lobby of a resort that has a spa giving out complimentary cucumber water.
For weeks we slept curled in the van like dirty laundry. Ate stale pretzels and potato chips for breakfast. Took mid-tour showers at a budget motel off I-95.
Now we have bathrobes and concierge service.
Hardcore fans and loaded merch tables.
We’re not rolling in it yet. But for the first time, the money’s enough to matter. Enough for Zach to send something home to his daughter, Marie. Enough to buy better gear, better shoes, better coffee. Enough to feel the ground shift under our feet.
Chase asks for an extra key before we retreat to our rooms.
I frown when he hands it to me. “What’s this for?”
“You said you have a hard time sleeping alone.” His eyes drift to mine as he reaches for the handle on his suitcase. “There’s no pressure, but the invitation is there. I can take the pullout.”
The edge of the keycard digs into my palm as I close my fingers around it. I can’t read him. He sounds so sincere. “Oh…thank you.”
He shrugs. “We’ve all been sleeping together in the van up till now. Figured you might get restless.”
I swallow. He’s not wrong.
Aside from those two weeks staying with Tag, I haven’t slept in a bed alone in years. Even as a teenager, Alex would sneak into my room, or I’d sneak into his. Almost every single night.
Insomnia has been plaguing me, rimming my eyes with dark shadows, dizzying my mind. I hate the sensation of lonely, dark rooms with nobody beside me. No sleepy breaths quieting my racing thoughts. No morning chitchat as the sun peeks through the curtains.
The offer warms me. Because he remembered. Because he cares.
I tap the card against my thigh and bite my lip. “I might take you up on that. But you don’t need to take the pullout. We’re both adults. A king bed is plenty big enough.”
His gaze dips to my mouth for a quick beat, then flicks back up. “I can take the pullout.”
Chase stalks ahead in his skintight gunmetal-gray T-shirt and black jeans, his suitcase rolling behind him.
“I’m going to the bar,” Kenna chirps, appearing on my right. “Your brother owes me a drink.”
I blink at her, my skin newly warm and tingly. “For what?”
“What doesn’t he owe me a drink for?”
“Valid. You did design a sherpa blanket with his face on it.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “Granted, the Chase blanket has outsold his by several hundred units.”
I saunter toward the elevators, suitcase in hand. “When do I get a blanket with my face on it?”
Kenna grimaces. “Do you really want to go down that road?”
It takes a moment for the subtext to register: my face, fleece, and men who definitely wouldn’t be using it for warmth. I scrunch my nose. “Right.”
“Are you partaking in our night of Malibu and mayhem?”
“Um…” I turn, watching as Chase settles into the elevator. Our eyes lock the moment before the doors close him in. Clearing my throat, I shake my head, sending Kenna a small smile. “I’ll pass. I’m beat. This is probably my one chance to catch up on sleep.”
“Heard. Egyptian cotton sheets are hard to compete with.” She glances over at the bar, where Tag, Rock, and Zach are already deep into round one. “’Night, girlie. I’ll text you in the morning.”
“Have fun.” I shoot her a wave, then make my way up to the seventh floor.
Chase’s room key is heavy in my hand as the floor number dings and the doors peel open. He’s only a few rooms down from me. I should probably head to my own, take a long, hot shower, change into pajamas, and inhale enough melatonin to tranquilize a horse.
But…
My pulse revs, my gait slowing as I approach room 721.
I blow out a breath. Second-guess my motives half a dozen times. Step forward, step back.
Five whole minutes later, I’m still standing there, looking pitiful.
“Screw it,” I mutter, holding my head high and rapping my knuckles against the frame.
Footsteps shuffle beyond the threshold, and my heart races at double the speed.
The door pulls open.
Chase stands there, sans shirt, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. My treacherous eyes trail over him, landing on the shadowing of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
Gulping, I glance back up.
His eyes soften at the sight of me. “Didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Same.”
“You didn’t even drop off your suitcase.”
A shrug. “If you’re busy, I can—”
“Come in.” He takes a step back, widening the door.
The room smells like the lobby, fresh and citrusy.
Must be something in the air vents. I stroll inside, my shoulder grazing the front of his chest as my grip tightens on the suitcase handle.
The bed is still made, stacked with a plethora of cloud-like pillows, while Chase’s suitcase lies sprawled open on the mattress. “Nice digs,” I say.
He closes the door. “As Tag would say, we’ve peaked.”
A smile curves. “Feels like we have.”
We face each other, charged silence infiltrating the air around us.
Now what?
My brain scrambles for something to say.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my face.
Desperation kicks in, and I stick out my tongue, cross my eyes, and cant my head to the side.
Chase blinks like I’ve been possessed by a five-year-old child.
I maintain the ridiculous expression and extend my right leg until it’s horizontal, then stretch it skyward, as vertical as my flexibility will allow. Balance is on my side, and I hold the position.
A beat.
Then, finally—beautifully—he laughs. A genuine burst of amusement.
“Jesus,” he says, grinning wide, showcasing a row of perfect white teeth, looking as stunning as I’ve ever seen him.
Dropping my leg, my face unfurls into a bright smile to match. “There it is.”
“What, a smile?” His eyes gleam against the lamplight. “It doesn’t take a circus act to get me to smile, Annie.”
“I don’t know. It felt like extreme measures needed to be taken.”
A slight headshake. “You smile, I smile. It’s as simple as that.”
His words are a shimmer-dusted arrow to my heart.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and glance down at the floor. “Yeah. I guess I haven’t been doing that much lately.”
Scratching the back of his neck, Chase winds around me and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. “Any contact with Alex?”
My heart stutters. “He texted me in the beginning. A lot. But it’s been radio silence since the tour began.” I swallow, watching his muscles ripple and flex as he leans back on one hand. “He’s in Thailand now.”
“Thailand?”
“We were supposed to go together. I figured he’d cancel the trip, but some pictures popped up on Instagram. Bangkok, Chiang Mai. He looked happy.”
He hesitates. “Are you?”
I chew on my cheek, then offer a small nod. “Yeah. I’m happy.”
Stormy hazel eyes roll over me, toes to top. I’m not convinced he believes me.
But I’m telling the truth. I’m happy. On cloud nine.
Finally, fully alive.
And as soon as I can forgive myself, the peace will come too.
Chase clears his throat. “You can use the bathroom to change. Then we can order food, watch TV. Whatever you want.”
“I think I want to pass out if that’s cool.”
He glances at the time: 10:23 p.m. “It’s early for you.”
“The travel and performance highs are catching up to me.”