20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Logan
“Bro,” Sam says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I’m sitting in the back of the tour bus, shuffling through my phone, replaying Mac’s words over and over.
I said yes. I’m coming on tour.
I can’t stop grinning.
“Logan.” Sam snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to lover boy.”
I smirk, slipping my phone into my pocket and standing.
Trey snorts. “You look like you just had a real good conversation. Can’t have been phone sex, though—you still have your pants on.” He leans back, stretching. “Ah well, I, for one, am just glad you’re done moping.”
I snort, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. A sudden urge to declutter the bus hits me. Did it always smell like burritos and Pine-Sol?
“Hey, I wasn’t moping,” I argue, already reaching for a trash bag and scooping up loose clothes.
Chace raises a brow. “You were absolutely moping. And uh… what are you doing?”
“Shit, he’s stress-cleaning, isn’t he?” Sam calls out.
“Fuck, Trey—grab some bags before he goes full tyrant.”
“On it, boss,” Trey says, but points at me. “Touch my fashion mags, and we will have words.”
Chace snorts. “You mean porn?”
Trey stops mid-step, clutching his chest like he’s been personally attacked. “Fuck off, bro, it’s not porn… Okay, well, some of it is kinda pornographic, but I really like the lovers’ tips section. People write in about the wildest shit.”
“Dude, just use Reddit.” Chace shrugs.
Trey mutters something under his breath.
Sam frowns. “Again, man, you’re mumbling.”
Trey exhales sharply. “I can’t use Reddit, okay? I’m banned.”
Silence.
“Bro…” Chace says, slowly narrowing his eyes.
Trey scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, and uh… so are you.”
“WHAT THE FUCK, brO.”
“Oh, and Sam.”
Sam blinks. “What? I don’t even have a Reddit account.”
“Not anymore, no.”
Chace stares. “Wait… what about Logan?”
Trey scoffs. “Nah, everyone knows Logan doesn’t even use the internet.”
Chace crosses his arms. “Hold up. You were using our accounts?”
Trey shrugs. “Yeah, man. Got into it with some r/BurntAshesBashers. Then I ended up in r/Fanfiction, and—listen, people keep writing me as a bottom, and I am not. Then some idiot picked a fight about your hair routine, and somehow, we spiraled into Alfredo sauce recipes, and bro… it got dark.”
I have no fucking clue what they’re talking about. And I don’t care. I’ve got more important things to do—like cleaning up.
“Whatever,” I say, shaking my head. “Mac’s coming.”
A beat of silence. Then, Sam lets out a sharp whistle, and Trey slams his hand on the table.
“Fuck yeah!”
Chace grins. “’Bout damn time. Feels right, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I admit, the truth settling deep in my chest. “It does.”
Out in the lounge, a few crew members are lounging around, beers in hand. Someone cracks open another can, and the tension that’s been sitting on all our shoulders finally melts away.
Mac’s coming back. She belongs here—with us.
A new twinge hits, though… all these fuckers with their beers and snacks.
“Alright, boys,” Trey says, rubbing his hands together. “We celebrating or what?”
“Cards,” Chace declares, already reaching for the deck. “Loser buys the next round.”
“Trey, trash bags. Chace, deal me in,” I say, dragging my chair closer as Sam sets up a makeshift table out front.
The night settles into a comfortable rhythm—trash talk, laughter, the clink of bottles. It feels good. It feels normal.
“You better not be stacking that deck, Chace.” Sam warns, narrowing his eyes.
Chace smirks. “Would I do that?”
“Yes.” We all say in unison.
The game kicks off, and so does the shit talking. Trey’s convinced he’s some poker prodigy, but he’s got tells so obvious it’s painful. Sam plays like a shark—calm, unreadable. Chace bluffs like a damn con artist. I just enjoy the game.
Halfway through, Trey groans, tossing his cards down. “This game is rigged.”
“Or you suck.” I counter, grinning as I rake in the pile of winnings. Before Trey can flip me off, the sound of heels clicking against the floor interrupts us.
Groupies. There’s always a few hanging around after shows, looking for an invite, looking for something. I don’t pay them much mind, but Trey? He lights up like a damn Christmas tree.
“Unless you’re here to help clean, you gotta skedaddle. It’s PG-13 in here tonight,” Trey announces, shuffling the deck of cards.
“Aren’t all you rockstars looking for a good time?” one of the girls asks. She’s tall, leggy, and wearing a band tee a few sizes too small.
“Nope, not us,” Trey says without missing a beat. “We’re actually a progressive Christian rock band, and you’ve caught us just in time for our prayer circle.”
She eyes Trey with amusement, while the other two women just look confused—pretty much how we feel most days when he opens his mouth.
“Did Phil send you back?” Chace asks, his face unreadable as he checks the round. Sam, feeling confident, raises the pot.
“He did,” the blonde answers. “Picked us out from the agency earlier.”
“Oof. Not even real groupies?!” Trey gasps. “Just… working women?”
“Hey, we’re not like that,” one of them says, crossing her arms.
“Of course you’re not,” Trey backtracks, flashing a grin. “And I apologize if you got the wrong impression… wait. I don’t mean to sound rude, but shouldn’t there be four of you?”
“Yeah, she’s running late.”
“Oh… well. Pleasure meeting you, Miss.” Chace dismisses them just as the river turns over, and Sam scoops up the pot with a pair of pocket queens.
“Uh, we can’t leave,” one of them says. “We’re contracted to be here for at least a few hours.”
I frown. What the fuck was Phil even thinking?
“We can make it strip poker if you deal us in?” the blonde offers with a slow smile.
Trey sighs dramatically. “Honey, I have seen more of Logan Dale than he has.”
“What the fuck, Trey,” I growl.
“What? It’s true. When’s the last time you saw a perfect view of your own balloon knot?”
I freeze, horrified. “Trey—”
“What? I didn’t see anything of Mac, if that’s what you’re worried about. Not with your cute little behind blocking the—”
“Idiota. Stop.”
Chace leans back, arms crossed. “Trey, you cannot see Logan’s face right now, but he is not vibing with what you’re saying.”
“Lemme guess—his lips are all puckered? Because that’s basically what I saw.”
“That’s it.” I throw my cards down and stand, moving past the blonde toward Trey.
He grins. “He loves me, really.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I start after him, launching into a low chant of Spanish curses as he dodges and weaves out of reach, laughing his ass off. He bolts out of the bus, and I follow, tripping over cables and nearly taking out a crew member.
Finally, I catch him. He’s still chuckling, and dammit, I can’t help but laugh, too.
“Dude,” he wheezes, pointing.
I turn and spot a cart stacked with cleaning supplies—including a roll of trash bags.
“Found the trash bags for you.”
I put him in a headlock and march him over to the supplies. “You’re going to help me clean this bus from top to bottom, comprende?”
He laughs again but nods. “Yeah, yeah. But dude… you said bottom… now I’m back to thinking about your tushy.”
I groan. “Trey, I swear—I hope one day you find someone you actually care about enough to have a relationship, not just relations. And when that day comes? I’m gonna return the favor.”
Trey claps a hand over his heart. “Dude. Nothing would make me more proud.”
I shake my head, chuckling as we head back to the bus. Sam and Chace are nowhere in sight, and I have no idea where the so-called groupies ended up. But I don’t care.
I have the one I want now. The one I love. And she’s coming to me.
I pick up the beer I left behind, inspect it, then take a sip, finishing it off.
She’s not here yet, but she’s coming.
And that’s all that matters.