Chapter 2
PHOENIX
Adrenaline buzzes through the backstage area as I drag a towel across my sweat-slicked neck.
The roar of five thousand Chicago fans echoes in my ears, their energy lingering like an unresolved chord.
Tonight’s show—our last performance before the Christmas break—delivered everything a rock star craves: screaming crowds, perfect acoustics, and that high no substance could ever match.
Casey tosses me a bottle of water, his bleached curls peeking out from under his beanie. “Fucking killed it tonight. That extended solo during ‘Midnight Confessions’ nearly took the roof off.”
I catch the bottle one-handed and drain half in a single gulp. “The crowd deserved something special. Last show of the year.”
Theo nods from his corner, sprawled across the leather couch as he scrolls through social media. “Crowd energy was insane. Already trending on three platforms.”
“Almost makes me sad to be heading home tomorrow.” Liam tucks his drumsticks into his pocket.
“Speaking of tomorrow,” Casey flops into an armchair, legs sprawled. “Party at my place as soon as we land in LA. Already told my guy to stock the bar and fill the hot tub.”
“Count me in.” Theo’s deep voice rumbles as he pulls off his boots. “Need to wash off this tour grime with expensive liquor and questionable decisions.”
“Actually,” Liam says, “I’m heading to Arizona. My flight to Phoenix is tomorrow morning.”
Casey stares like Liam announced he’s joining a monastery. “Arizona? For what possible reason?”
“Family.” Liam flips his drumsticks between nimble fingers. “I promised I’d be home for Christmas this year. Besides, I miss the desert during the holidays.”
“Family,” Casey repeats with exaggerated disgust. “Overrated. Present company excluded, of course.”
The word family catches me off guard as I think about the last Christmas I spent in Nashville five years ago.
Her face surfaces—not the blurred impression I allow myself after midnight shows, but the full-resolution memory of her smile on Christmas morning.
The delicate curve of her lips parting in surprise at the antique music box.
Those honey-brown eyes reflecting multicolored lights from her tiny apartments tree.
Rachel, our tour manager and newly appointed CEO of Left Turn Records, pokes her head into the dressing room. Her sharp bob swings precisely at chin level as she surveys us with her trademark blend of efficiency and disdain.
“Great show tonight, boys. Phoenix, need you for a press thing real quick.”
“Now?” The damp towel lands in a hamper with a soft thud. “We finished thirty seconds ago. Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’m wiped.”
“Editor from Rhythm Magazine is adamant. Year-end feature, apparently a big deal.” Rachel’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifts in a way that offers no room for argument. “Ten minutes, tops. Green room.”
“Fine. I’ll make it quick.” My leather jacket slides off the hook, irritation prickling under my skin. “Must be my Christmas spirit,” I add, avoiding Casey’s gaze.
The green room waits at the end of the corridor, its door slightly ajar. Outside, a woman’s voice drifts through the gap. Soft, melodic and somehow familiar in a way that tightens my chest.
I push the door open, impatient to get this interview over with. “Let’s make this fast. I have a—”
The words evaporate.
She stands near the window, copper hair falling past her shoulders, phone pressed to her ear. At the sound of my voice, she turns.
The world stops spinning.
Elle.
Her hair falls shorter now than during our time together, and she carries herself with a professional confidence absent before. But those eyes—warm amber with flecks of gold—remain unchanged.
My pulse hammers against my ribs.
Elle freezes before turning to her phone call.
“I have to go now,” she says, her voice tight with tension. She disconnects, sliding the phone into her pocket with deliberate calm.
“Phoenix.” My name on her lips sounds both achingly familiar and strangely distant.
“What are you doing here, Elle?” My voice emerges neutral despite the storm churning beneath.
“My job.” She gestures to her press badge. “I write for Rhythm now.”
“Rhythm Magazine.” I shake my head, disbelief coloring my words. “Never would have pegged you for a corporate girl.”
Elle’s eyes flash with something before hardening again. “Well, we all can’t run off without a care in the world. Some of us had responsibilities to consider.”
The barb finds its target with perfect accuracy. I step forward, lowering my voice. “Elle, that’s not fair. You know why I needed to—”
Liam pokes his head into the green room. “A storm system’s moving in.”
“What?” Elle’s professional composure fractures slightly. She checks the weather on her phone and an expression of horror crosses her face.