Chapter 43 Annalise
Annalise
A new day, a new city.
The San Diego sunset douses me in warmth, pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling window of Kenna’s hotel room in a spectrum of golds and pinks. My friend is behind me, primping in the full-length mirror, a hair straightener in hand.
She hums one of our songs under her breath, off-key and glorious. “Damn, that’s catchy. Wish I could sing it as well as you can.”
I stare out the window for another beat, soaking up the colors. Then I turn to her with a smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
Grinning, Kenna twists the straightener as a plume of steam fogs the air. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”
“I just…I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you’re here.”
She flicks off the tool and meets my stare.
“I’ll always be here. No matter what. Whether you’re so rich and famous you’re draped across a gold-studded throne with hot, naked men feeding you grapes, or you’re living the hermit life, paycheck to paycheck, back to scribbling lyrics on greasy napkins. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know. It goes both ways.” I set my phone on a side table. “How are you holding up, by the way? It’s been so chaotic lately, so zero to one hundred. I don’t want you to get lost in the mix.”
“Please.” She scoffs, unplugging the straightener and snatching a lip gloss from her makeup bag. “You never have to worry about me. I’m living my best life.”
“I know it can get loud. All this noise. If you ever need to stop and take a breath, let me know. We can light some candles and just breathe.”
“I appreciate that. But I’m good. Literally the happiest I’ve ever been.”
“Are you keeping in touch with Tyler?”
She puckers her lips, popping the cap back on. “Definitely not.”
“I thought it was serious.”
“It was. For like a month.”
Chuckling, I take a seat at the edge of the bed. “I think my brother likes you.”
Her face morphs into disgust. “Gross.”
“Why is that gross?”
“I’ve known Tag since he was a prepubescent middle schooler. God. I can’t shake the memories of him running around in cargo shorts, chugging chocolate milk straight out of the gallon, and trying to burp the alphabet.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Still pretty on-brand.”
“Yup. I have too much blackmail material.” She shudders, then hesitates as she twists to face me. “How are things with Chase?”
My hands curl into the bedcovers. I shove my tongue against my cheek, face heating.
Her eyes flare. “Wow. It finally happened, huh?”
“I mean…something happened.”
“Something naked?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit,” she says, interest piqued. Kenna approaches, takes a seat beside me on the bed. “And?”
Memories wash over me.
The need, the sweat, the moans, the urgency.
The way he hardly looked at me the next morning as we packed our things and hit the road.
It’s been almost forty-eight hours since our mouths were all over each other, and it’s like it never even happened.
Swallowing, I peer down at the floor. “I don’t know. He kind of shut down.”
“Fucking men. Seriously.” She huffs, standing to grab her vape pen and returning to the bed. She takes a drag and puffs out a thick cloud. “I mean, he has been acting weird lately. Like a fuse ready to blow.”
“It’s strange,” I murmur, brow creasing. “I can tell he’s into me. He cares. A lot. But I think he’s scared. Like he’s going to hurt me somehow. Ruin this before it even gets off the ground.”
Kenna sighs, dropping the vape to her lap. “It’s complicated, mixing romance and business. Especially in this capacity. You’ve both been thrown into the spotlight, practically overnight, and you were already walking this thin line. It’s easy for things to fall apart.”
“I don’t want it to. I feel like I’m finally ready to go all in, while he’s moving further away.”
“Is he still hung up on Alex?” she wonders.
I fold in my lips. “Maybe. But I think it’s more than that. He’s been getting these headaches…says he feels different. I’m worried.”
Empathy splashes across her face. “Migraines are no joke. My mom would get them, and they would incapacitate her for days. Unfortunately, my father didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body and was convinced she was faking it to get out of having sex with him.
Probably why she started banging the furnace guy.
” A huff of disdain. “No wonder I have commitment issues.”
I reach over and link our hands together, her golden-tan skin contrasting my porcelain. “I think you turned out all right.”
“I have a boatload of childhood trauma, anxiety masked as sarcasm, and a deep distrust of utility workers. But yeah. I guess I’m pretty great.”
My temple dips to hers with a smirk, and we sit like that for a while, silent, hands clasped. Then I breathe out a sigh and sit up. “We should probably find the guys and head to the venue.”
She pops off the bed. “Ready when you are. Here, take my spare key.” She tosses me a keycard. “My room is loaded with merch that I don’t want to haul back home. Slap on that salesgirl smile and help me get rid of it.”
“On it.” I tuck the card into the back pocket of my faux-leather pants, then take a minute to fluff my hair in the mirror and rearrange my sheer, long-sleeved top that’s slipped over a lacy camisole.
My lips are a bold shade of plum, my hair lightly curled and set, and my eyelashes are a mile long thanks to Kenna’s magical mascara.
A smile stretches.
I look good.
Five minutes later, all four guys have been texted, and we’re gathering in the lobby, waiting for a limo to take us over to the performance venue.
Chase strolls over to the group wearing black ripped jeans slung low on his hips, a threadbare band tee clinging to his frame, and a leather jacket that looks like it’s survived more mosh pits than he has. His silver ring flashes on his thumb as he adjusts the guitar case over his back.
His hand rakes through waves of shaggy brown hair, tousled just enough to look accidental.
He looks like trouble.
The good kind.
The kind you write songs about and never fully recover from.
Stormy hazel eyes flick my way as he saunters over to the group, a pair of scuffed boots thudding against the marble floor with every step. Our gazes hold for several seconds before he gives me a long, drawn-out once-over.
His throat bobs. “You look…”
“Sweaty,” I quip, eager to lighten the mood. “I’m already sweating and we haven’t even hit the stage.”
“I had a different word in mind.” His eyes blaze, paralleling the setting sun. “You doing okay?”
I blink. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We haven’t really talked since…” His voice trails off. He rubs his chin.
My stomach pitches with arousal-steeped memories.
Biting my lip, I take a slow step forward, until we’re merely a foot apart. “And you haven’t really smiled since…” My leg extends, and I grip my ankle with one hand, pulling it vertical, mimicking the charade from his hotel room a few days ago.
Unfortunately, it barely reaches a one-eighty-degree angle, and I teeter sideways, doing a one-footed hop.
Damn leather pants.
At least it gets a smile out of him.
Chase takes me by the shoulders, keeping me steady. His hands are soft, gentle, trailing down my arms as he exhales a deep breath. “I’m feeling a little better.”
“Really?” Relief sweeps through me, brightening my smile. “Your headaches?”
He nods.
“Chase…that’s great. That’s amazing.” I inch closer, blanketing myself in his warmth. My heart rate kicks up from our proximity. He smells like sandalwood and sin. Letting out a shaky breath, I press a hand to his chest. “Maybe after the show…we can talk?”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
“Limo’s here,” Tag interrupts.
Rock whistles loudly. “Let’s fuckin’ go!”
Kenna calls my name while Zach jogs over from the bar, his bass in hand. We all pile into the limo, spirits high and adrenaline soaring. I squish in between Chase and Kenna, while Tag slides in beside my friend.
He hauls an arm around her. “Tonight’s the night, baby.”
“Oh my God, you’re right. Tonight’s the night you get stabbed in the face for calling me baby.” She scoots closer to me, untangling herself from his arm. “Jeez, Tag. A little awareness goes a long way.”
My brother is unfazed. “Oh, I’m aware. I’m aware you’re secretly obsessed with me, and it’s ruining your life.”
She hums with disinterest. “I cry into my pillow every night thinking about your man bun.”
Tag grins, kicking his boots up onto the opposite seat. “Healthy coping mechanisms, Kenna. Proud of you.”
Chase chuckles low beside me, his hand cupping my knee as the limo lurches forward into the sunset. His lips brush my ear when he leans in. “You smell so fucking good.”
Tingly heat bursts through me as I press closer to him. “Must be the sweat.”
“Must be.” His hand drifts up my leg, squeezing my thigh. “I just want to talk tonight…if that’s okay. Take things slow. There’s a lot I need to say.”
I look at him, the city streaking through the window in a stream of headlights and marquees. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
As much as I want to strip him out of his clothes and ride him until dawn, he’s right. We should talk. Reconnect. Do this the right way.
Rock lights up a joint, the smell of marijuana wafting through the limousine. “Here’s to Honey Moons, motherfuckers. Taking over the world, one shred at a time.” He passes it to Zach.
Taking a long drag, Zach blows smoke through his nose. Then he leans back into the seat, the streetlights flashing across his face as he exhales slow and steady. He looks around at all of us. Really looks.
“We’re never gonna get this night back,” he says, smile crooked.
“It’s not about the first sellout, or the first time the crowd screamed so loud it drowned out everything else.
It’s not about whatever happens next—the interviews, the fame, the money, the bullshit—it’s just this.
Remember it. This night. Right here, right now. ”
The limo hums with silence for a moment, heavier than before.
Then Tag knocks his beer against Zach’s boot with a grin. “Cheers to that, philosopher bass boy.”
We all laugh. Too loud, too hard. Because we’re terrified and exhilarated and moments away from walking into another show that will catapult us forward.
The joint passes around the limo. Chase takes a drag, painting the space between us with smoky tendrils that look like silver ghosts.
When it’s my turn, I choke. Cough until my lungs cave in. Everyone laughs again as Kenna steals it away and tips her head back with a contented sigh.
My brother reaches behind her. Squeezes my shoulder.
We share a look. A teary-eyed smile.
“I love you,” I mouth to him.
He ruffles my hair in reply, causing me to squeal in frustration, because that shit took an hour of mirror time to style.
I shoo his hand away as the conversation drones on and we relive the long nights in a beat-up van that morphed into high-class hotels, thousands of adoring fans, and music that resonates. That means something.
It’s only a ten-minute ride to the venue, but it feels like a lifetime.
It’s perfect.
Magic.
Family.
It’s a moment I’ll remember forever.