Chapter 22
MAX
Don’t Make Me Scream
The first thing you learn about luxury tour buses?
They’re not buses.They’re rolling penthouses with a backup generator and a million-dollar sound system.
From the outside, ours looks like something out of a Bond movie—matte black, mirrored windows, subtle Storm & Silence logo ghosted near the door. Nothing too flashy. Not until the doors slide open.
Inside? It's ridiculous.
Warm wood paneling. Dimmable recessed lighting. Plush leather seating in that deep, espresso color that feels more like a private jet than anything with wheels. The air smells like cedar and expensive coffee beans—someone must’ve fired up the espresso machine already.
To the right: the front lounge. Long custom sectional.
85-inch OLED screen. Built-in soundbar. There’s a climate-controlled wine fridge, a gleaming espresso setup with beans sourced from who-the-hell-knows-where, and a touchscreen panel that controls everything from music to mood lighting.
The minibar is fully stocked, the drawers have actual glassware, and somehow there’s a fruit bowl that hasn’t been touched by death yet.
We’re not savages.
Further in: the sleeping quarters. No triple bunks here.
Just six private pods—each with a queen-sized memory foam mattress, blackout curtains, and smart LED mood lighting designed to lull you into relaxation.
Each one has its own screen, charging station, and shelves built into the headboards for headphones, books, or—if you’re me—emergency guitar picks and cat treats.
My pod’s across from Lucas’s, tucked behind a sliding smoked-glass door. I already dropped my duffel inside and threw Melody’s cat bed on the opposite pillow like she owns the damn place. (She does.)
And at the back? The rear lounge. All brushed brass and velvet accents. There’s another screen, a huge U-shaped couch, an integrated gaming system, and floor-to-ceiling windows on one side. At night, it turns into the movie den. During the day? It’s the chill-out zone.
Behind me, Nora steps in—eyes wide, mouth parted, just staring.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “It’s like a luxury hotel got drunk and married a spaceship.”
I grin, dropping her bag onto the couch.
She walks forward slowly, brushing her fingers along the leather seating, the silk throw pillows, the backlit panel that hides the wine rack.
“There’s art on the walls,” she says in disbelief. “Like, actual framed art. Is that a Klimt print?”
“DeShawn insisted.”
She turns to me. “This isn’t a tour bus. This is obscene.”
“Yeah,” I smirk. “But obscene gets you to the next venue with decent espresso and no spinal damage.”
Her eyes flick toward the sleeping pods. “Where do I sleep?”
I lean in, dropping my voice. “You’ve got your own pod. Or… you can sleep in mine. We’re adults. Adults with really good sheets.”
She shoots me a look. “Are they the 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton kind?”
“They’re the kind Max Donovan likes.”
She presses her lips together, trying not to smile.
Lucas barrels in behind us, sunglasses still on even though we’re indoors. He tosses his bag onto the couch like a gremlin. “Who’s ready to live the dream and develop a healthy dependency on caffeine and compliments?”
Annie steps in with a grin. “Always.”
DeShawn follows, holding Melody’s carrier like it contains the holy grail. “The queen has arrived,” he announces, setting her gently on the floor. “Bow accordingly.”
Nora crouches to unlock the carrier, grinning as Melody saunters out like she owns the world. “Are we sure she isn’t headlining?”
“In her world, she’s always the headliner,” I say, taking Nora’s hand.
The door hisses closed behind us, and the low hum of the road rises beneath our feet as the driver pulls us away from the curb.
And just like that, we’re off. The city fades behind us, headlights stretching ahead like constellations. The tour has officially started.
***
We’re somewhere between cities, the sun sliding down behind endless highway, and the bus hums with the rhythm of the road—steady, hypnotic, familiar.
Nora’s sitting next to me on the front couch, curled up cross-legged with a fleece blanket across her lap and an iced tea sweating in her hand. Her hair’s in a messy braid, and she’s wearing one of my old band tees that somehow looks way better on her than it ever did on me.
I look at her like an idiot. For too long. Again.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up from the cards she’s shuffling.
“Can’t help it.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away.
We’ve been quietly playing a two-person version of war for the last twenty minutes, and it’s gone exactly nowhere. Mostly because we keep getting distracted—by stolen glances, stupid jokes, and the general chaos around us.
“Okay,” I say, stretching and yawning. “Let’s raise the stakes.”
Nora arches a brow. “What, loser does bus laundry for a week?”
“Tempting,” I grin. “But no. Loser has to convince everyone to join us.”
She narrows her eyes. “Convince them to—what, play cards?”
“Exactly.”
She smirks. “Max Donovan, are you trying to weaponize my charm?”
“Absolutely.”
Ten minutes later, she’s got Lucas, DeShawn, and Annie spread out around the custom walnut table, wine glasses and snacks scattered in front of them like some deranged poker night at a five-star hotel.
The warm glow of the backlit bar bathes everything in soft amber.
A muted soul playlist hums in the background, courtesy of DeShawn’s playlist and the $30,000 sound system.
“She got me with the librarian guilt trip,” Lucas grumbles as he draws a card. “And she promised peanut M&M’s.”
“I came for the snacks,” DeShawn adds.
“I came to destroy you all,” Annie says cheerfully, already arranging her hand like she’s planning war crimes.
We start with Uno, which devolves into bitter betrayal within five rounds. Then it’s Spit, Spoons, a cursed attempt at Go Fish, and some aggressive version of BS where Nora lies way too well for someone who claims to hate bluffing games.
The bus rocks softly beneath us. Someone put on a playlist—DeShawn’s slow funk mix—and it rolls in the background like a heartbeat under the laughter.
I sit back at one point, cards fanned in my hand, and watch her.
She’s sitting between Annie and Lucas, laughing so hard her nose crinkles. She talks shit with the best of them, side-eyes DeShawn like a pro, and somehow gets Lucas to admit to losing his virginity to a girl named “Madison” during a camping trip involving marshmallows and a terrible playlist.
And no one looks at her like she doesn’t belong.
No one questions her place.
Because she does belong.
Right here.
With them.
With me.
I feel it like a low thrum in my chest—this quiet, grounding truth.
She looks over suddenly, like she can feel me watching. “What?” she mouths, eyes soft.
I shake my head. Just smile.
Because how do I say this?No one’s paying us any attention.
So when Nora shifts in her seat and her hand slides under the table—innocent at first, just resting on my thigh—I barely react.
Then she moves her hand up.
A few inches. Slow. Deliberate.
And suddenly, I’m not thinking about cards anymore.
I freeze. My heart thuds in my chest. My mouth goes dry.
She’s watching Annie tell her story like she’s totally innocent, but her fingers are now tracing the seam of my jeans with the lightest, most maddening pressure. Barely there. But enough.
Enough to make me twitch.
Enough to make me shift in my seat.
Enough to make my breath catch in my throat like a damn chokehold.
Lucas slams a card on the table. “Bullshit.”
“I’m literally holding four nines,” DeShawn says, unimpressed.
“Prove it.”
As the chaos escalates, Nora leans closer, voice low and honey-slicked in my ear. “You okay, Max?”
I glare at her, jaw tight, heat crawling up my neck. “What are you doing?”
She shrugs, her hand now pressing firmly through my jeans. “Playing the long game.”
I bite down on a groan.
“Your turn,” she adds sweetly, nodding toward the table.
I toss a card down without looking. “Three sevens.”
“Bullshit,” Annie says immediately.
Shit.
DeShawn howls with laughter when I reveal a single lonely jack. “Damn, Max. Distracted much?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nora says innocently, sliding her hand away just as Lucas starts dealing again. “Maybe he’s just really bad at bluffing.”
I shoot her a sharp look, my breath still coming too fast, my body thrumming with the promise of what I can’t do right now.
But the second her fingers leave my leg, I want them back.
Desperately.
She flashes me a knowing smile, then turns her full attention back to her hand of cards like she didn’t just almost make me embarrass myself in front of my entire band.
Holy fuck.
The second the game ends, I’m up.
“Alright, that’s enough bluffing for one night,” I mutter, standing fast enough to make the cards scatter.
Lucas groans. “What, no rematch?”
“I’m out before someone makes me play musical chairs or strip Scrabble,” I call over my shoulder, already reaching for Nora’s hand.
She laughs like I’m joking. But I’m not.
Not even a little.
She stumbles up after me, wide-eyed, gripping the hem of her blanket like a shield.
“Max—”
I don’t answer her. Just take her hand and pull her down the dim hallway, the LED lights underfoot casting a soft golden glow.
I slide the pod door shut behind us. Melody’s off exploring somewhere, and we’re finally alone. The soft glow from the control panel warms the space as I ease her gently down onto the bed.
She’s still laughing when I crawl over her.
“Oh, now you’re quiet?” she whispers, eyes gleaming, braid messy, legs already wrapping around me.
“You knew exactly what you were doing back there.”
“Did I?”
I hook my hands around her hips and tug her up into me. “You think you can put your hand on my cock during game night and just… get away with it?”
Her gasp is sharp, wicked, delicious.
“I was just multitasking,” she breathes, not even pretending to be sorry.