28. Morning Conversations
TWENTY-EIGHT
MORNING CONVERSATIONS
L ily
I wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the curtains, a cozy warmth cocooning me in the hotel sheets. The events of last night play in my mind, bringing heat to my cheeks. It had been a good night—one that I never would have imagined in a million years. I still needed to sit down and talk to the band together, but this go with the flow thing is working for right now.
Slipping out of bed quietly, I tiptoe out of the room, careful not to wake Marcus or Dylan. The suite is peaceful, the kind of stillness that only comes with the early morning. I head toward the kitchenette, expecting to be the first one up, but I find Enzo already there, sipping a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Lily,” he says, his tone curt but not unfriendly.
“Morning, Enzo,” I reply, forcing a smile. “You’re up early.”
He shrugs, his dark eyes watching me closely. “Can’t sleep much in hotels. Want some coffee?”
“Sure, that sounds great,” I say, taking a seat at the small table.
The hotel suite feels luxurious, with polished floors that gleam in the soft light and plush furniture that just looks expensive. The kitchenette, all granite countertops and a stainless-steel coffeepot, adds to the general appearance of staying somewhere that costs a lot of money. A large wall of windows overlook the city, casting a golden glow over the room as the sun begins to rise.
Enzo hands me a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air, mixing with the strange vanilla-sweetness that follows him around. I take a sip, savoring the warmth. The silence stretches between us, a little thick with tension, as if both of us have things to say, but neither knows where to start.
I scan Enzo over the top of my cup as I take another sip of coffee. He looks rock god sexy as usual, his jet-black hair tousled, giving him that irresistible just-out-of-bed look. His tattoos, winding up his muscular arms, peek out from under his t-shirt. His dark eyes are guarded, and that perpetual smirk plays on his lips, making him both charming and infuriating at the same time.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, his voice less sharp now, almost curious.
“Better than I expected,” I admit.
He nods slightly. “Yeah, it takes time. Changing places always makes it harder to sleep. Seems like you’re doing okay with this whole thing, though.” He shrugs, then sips his coffee like he’s trying to play off the half-compliment.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Just okay? I’m trying my best here.”
His smirk softens a little. “Alright, maybe you’re doing a bit better than okay.”
We sit in a quiet lull, sipping our coffee as the sun climbs higher. I decide to take a chance to delve more into his personal life. Enzo’s a bit of a mystery, and I’m curious about what lies beneath that tough exterior. When we hang out on the bus, things rarely get personal and it’s starting to feel a little strange not knowing that much about these guys I spend all my time with.
“So, what’s life like for you guys when you’re not on tour?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow, his playful yet guarded smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Life outside the tour? We don’t really have one. It’s all music, all the time.”
“Really?” I say, intrigued. “No hobbies or anything?”
He shrugs again. “Some, but the band takes up most of our time. When we’re not on the road, we’re in the studio, writing, recording. It’s a full-time gig.”
I nod, understanding it must take dedication to make it and keep making it. Heck, I’ve been with the guys for almost two weeks, and I’ve seen how much dedication it takes firsthand. “That makes sense. Must be exhausting, though.”
“It can be,” he admits, his tone softening. “But we love what we do. The fans make it worth it.”
I smile, hearing his passion for the music in his voice. Enzo puts out a vibe like he’s a total asshole, and sometimes he is, but not about this, apparently. “So, what about you? What’s your story? Like before Electric Wounds.”
He leans back, eyes narrowing slightly but with a glint of amusement. “My story? Not much to tell. Grew up loving music, found these guys, and the rest is history.”
I laugh, wondering why Enzo is so guarded and how far I can push before he leaves the room. “Come on, it can’t be that simple.”
He chuckles but doesn’t offer more. Instead, he asks, “What about you, Lily? How’d you end up managing a band of Rockstars?”
I take a deep breath, figuring I might as well share. Enzo clearly isn’t going to. “My mom was really into music. She passed that love down to me. She died when I was ten, and after that, my grandma raised me, doing her best to keep music alive in my life. That’s partly why I took this job—I’ve always wanted to be around music.”
Enzo listens quietly, his expression unreadable, but there’s something softer in his gaze now. “Sorry about your mom.”
“Thanks,” I say, giving him a small smile. “Music was how we connected. It’s how I stay close to her. I still have my grandma. She’s a rock. When I was a teenager, she kept the love of music alive, taking me to concerts and buying CDs. Even now, she encouraged me to take this job and follow my dreams.”
“She sounds like a strong woman.”
“She is,” I reply. “She’s taught me a lot about resilience.”
He nods, and we lapse into a more comfortable silence for a moment. I’m surprised by how easy it feels to talk to him once you get past the rough edges.
After a pause, I ask, “Do you ever dislike this?” Gesturing around the room, I encompass the hotel, then add, “Being on tour, constantly moving?”
“Sometimes,” he admits, staring out the window. “It can get overwhelming, but then we hit the next stage and all that fades away. What about you? Thinking about walking away?”
I shake my head. “No, not yet. This is where I want to be.”
“Good,” he says, looking back at me with something like approval in his eyes. “You belong here.”
That small statement hits me harder than I expect, filling me with warmth. Enzo is not one to compliment needlessly, so I know he means it. “Thanks, Enzo.”
He smirks again, but it’s less sharp this time. “Don’t get used to compliments from me.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
He sips on his coffee, looking back out the window, and I realize I’m not quite ready for the conversation to end yet. "What's your favorite memory with the band?" I blurt.
Enzo leans back, a nostalgic look in his dark eyes. "There are a lot. I’ll never forget our first big gig. We were opening for this huge band, and the crowd was massive. We were all nervous as hell. Jax had to run to the bathroom to throw up at least twice, and I think I sweat through my shirt before we even left the dressing room. We were all miserable. No one could even talk from the nerves. Then Jax made us say why we were there. It was when our pre-show ritual started. It felt kind of stupid, but we all did it. Then we went on stage and started playing… everything just clicked. The crowd went wild, and we knew we had something special."
I smile, imagining the band, years younger, waiting backstage, and being a total disaster. They’re so confident now it’s strange to think of the time when everything was new to them. "That sounds unforgettable.”
"Yeah, it is," he says with a small, almost fond smile. "What about you? Got any special memories tied to music?"
I think for a moment before answering. "When I was about eight, my mom took me to see one of her favorite bands. We had front-row seats, and I remember feeling the music in my bones. The speakers were so loud it felt like it was controlling the beat of my heart. My mom was so happy, dancing and singing along. That night, she told me that music has the power to heal and bring people together. I’ve never forgotten that."
"I’m sure she’s proud of you, Lily," Enzo says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You’re doing something important here."
"Thanks, Enzo," I reply, slightly surprised that he can read me so well.
He nods, then leans back with a playful glint returning to his eyes. "So, any juicy secrets you want to share? Something we don’t know yet?"
I laugh, shaking my head. "I think I’ve shared enough for one morning. What about you? Any secrets, Enzo?"
He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. "If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore, would they?"
"Fair point," I say, still smiling. "But don’t worry—I’ll get them out of you, eventually."
"Good luck with that," he teases, his tone light. “Gotta keep some secrets. Gives me another reason to have coffee with you."
His teasing catches me off guard, and I giggle. "You can have coffee with me anytime, Enzo. All you have to do is ask."
We finish our coffee as the rest of the band starts to stir. The quiet morning gives way to the usual energy of the day, but the conversation with Enzo sticks with me. Maybe beneath his tough exterior, there’s more heart than he lets on.