CHAPTER SIX
I Can See the Cracks
Nashville, Tennessee
I barely slept a wink last night, my body buzzing with pure adrenaline. Excitement, nerves, anticipation. It all swirled together, making it impossible to keep my mind from racing.
By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, I was already zipping up my bags, triple-checking my packing list, and trying to make sure I was fully prepared for what was about to be the craziest summer of my life.
I have two large suitcases packed with enough clothes to last a few weeks before I need to do laundry, all my photography equipment, and my downtime essentials: tablet, headphones, books, and everything I’ll need to survive life on the bus.
And, because I’m me, I stocked up on snacks, drinks, and necessities; stuff the guys probably wouldn’t think to buy themselves.
Oh, and I baked cookies at my parent’s house last night. Because if I am going to be living on a tour bus with these guys, I need to win them over.
Even Elias. Especially Elias.
I can’t shake the memory of his eyes, intense, searing. There is something about him that makes me wildly curious. He has this unknowable depth, and I am eager to peel back his layers, if he’ll let me.
I load everything into the Uber XL I called, my stomach twisting with giddy nerves as we pull away from my apartment.
This is it.
When I pull up to the hotel, I spot the tour bus immediately—a massive, black behemoth of a vehicle parked alongside the curb.
Outside, I see Cody, Elias, the other two bandmates, and an older guy I haven’t seen before, all loading equipment and bags into the storage compartments beneath the bus.
The second they notice me, they abandon their tasks and walk over, even Elias, though he keeps his head dipped, his expression flat.
I step out, flipping my hair off my shoulder, and the crisp morning air kisses my face. Before I can even fully plant my feet on the pavement, Cody envelops me in his signature bear hug.
“So good to see you, Ramona! Let us help you with your stuff.”
He pulls back with a grin, and the other three step forward to introduce themselves properly.
Grady, the bassist, is short and lean, with messy brown hair styled in the most perfect 2000s emo swoosh I’ve ever seen.
He smiles, warm and inviting, eyes a bright shade of green.
He’s wearing a distressed denim jacket with the sleeves cut off, black skinny jeans, and Converse—a look straight out of a Warped Tour time capsule.
Jasper, the drummer, is naturally cool. He wears a faded American Idiot t-shirt and dark jeans, his jet-black hair braided at the top and tied back into a bun, the undersides shaved completely.
His rich mahogany skin is covered in intricate realism tattoos, but the one that catches my eye first is a portrait of an older woman on his forearm—his mother or grandmother, I assume.
He gives me a firm, crisp handshake and leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
“Please forgive Cody for his personal boundary issues. That man has no filter or safeguards, but just know he means well.”
I laugh, shaking his hand confidently.
“Don’t worry, I can handle him.”
The final mystery man steps up to shake my hand. His hair is dark, but peppered with gray streaks, extending to his shaggy beard. He wears thin-rimmed glasses, his deep brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He looks to be around his early forties.
“Hi, I’m Vernon. The band’s manager.”
He grips my hand firmly as I smile in return.
“Nice to meet you, Vernon. I’m Ramona. Excited for this opportunity.” He gives me a friendly nod before turning away.
Meanwhile, Elias stays silent as he grabs my suitcase and loads it onto the bus.
No words. No acknowledgment. Just duty, efficiency, and avoidance.
Grady notices the basket of snacks and essentials in my arms and lets out a dramatic gasp.
“Okay, guys, Ramona is officially my new favorite person.”
My cheeks warm at the unexpected praise as he hauls the basket onto the bus like it was hand-delivered by the gods themselves.
I grab the container of cookies and follow the guys toward the bus, my boots crunching against the gravel lot. I’m a few steps behind when another figure peels away from the shadows and heads straight toward me. He looks familiar.
There’s something almost feral about the way he moves, restless energy coiling under his skin, like he could either charm you or wreck you with the same grin.
His dark hair is a mess of styled chaos that somehow looks intentional.
His face is handsome in a rough, grungy way, the kind of pretty that looks like it’s been bruised by too many late nights and bad decisions.
As he smiles, his dark brown eyes catch mine and hold, a glint of mischief lighting them.
He’s wearing a black, sleeveless jacket that clings to his lean frame, the fabric worn thin in places. Around his neck lies a thick silver chain with a large circular pendant of a three-headed serpent. His bare arms are carved with tattoos—dragons and daggers twisting through thorned roses.
“I’m guessing you’re our new merch girl,” he says, voice smooth but carrying an edge. He sticks out a hand.
“I’m Traeger.”
Recognition clicks in my brain. Traeger Nolan, the lead singer of Hellwake.
“Yes,” I say, adjusting the cookies in one arm to shake his hand. “I’m Ramona. Thanks so much for the opportunity.”
“How could I say no to such a stunning woman?” he says, and before I can react, he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the top of it.
I force a polite smile, resisting the urge to yank my hand back. He’s one of those guys that thinks he’s smoother than he is. Cringey enough to make my skin crawl, but important enough that I have to swallow the reflex and play nice.
I gently reclaim my hand, trying to discreetly wipe it on my pants. “Well, thank you. I’m really looking forward to the tour,” I say, keeping my voice light and professional.
Traeger winks—actually winks—before sauntering off with that cocky swagger. Over his shoulder, he tosses, “There’s always a spot on my bus if you get tired of the company you’re keeping.”
Only when he turns away do I finally allow myself a full-body eye roll, the kind that would make Ashton proud.
Clutching the cookie container tighter, I hurry after the guys, grateful to leave Traeger’s orbit behind.
Elias is already behind the wheel, his fingers drumming idly against it, waiting for everyone to settle.
The air inside the bus carries a stale, lived-in scent, a mix of faint cologne, lingering sweat, and the unmistakable musk of guys coexisting in close quarters for too long. It’s not overwhelmingly gross, but there’s an undeniable staleness.
A few discarded hoodies and half-empty water bottles are strewn about, evidence of hurried mornings and careless late nights.
It’s not unbearable. But it’s definitely a place that could use an open window and a deep clean.
The rest of the band immediately crowds around the tiny table, digging into the snacks like starved hyenas. I slide in next to Cody, popping open the cookie container.
“I made these for you guys,” I announce, knowing full well I’m about to become everyone’s favorite person.
The guys’ eyes practically sparkle, and before I can blink, they’re grabbing for the fresh cookies, groaning in satisfaction.
As the guys laugh and fight over the last few cookies, I can’t help but notice that Elias still hasn’t said a word.
He hasn’t even acknowledged me.
I lean toward Cody.
“Is Elias okay? He hasn’t spoken since I got here.”
He shrugs, his mouth still full of cookies.
“Yeah, he’s just kind of a loner sometimes. If he has something to say, he will.”
I chew on my lip, debating.
“Should I take him a cookie?”
Cody smirks, swallowing his bite.
“You can try. He’s not really a sweets guy.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
I hesitate for a beat, then step forward, pushing aside the partition curtain, and settling into the passenger seat beside him.
Elias doesn’t turn. His fingers tap rhythmically against the wheel, his gaze locked on the open road ahead. Ozzy Osbourne’s Road To Nowhere is playing softly on the radio. The glow of the morning sun spills through the windshield, casting long shadows across his sharp features.
I hold the container out, my voice gentle but steady.
“Sorry to intrude. I thought you might like a cookie. I baked them fresh last night.”
His grip tightens slightly, knuckles flexing as he glances at the container, then back at the road.
“I’m good.”
His voice is deep, slightly gravelly, yet there’s something melodic underneath—like a song waiting to be sung.
I tilt my head, studying him.
“Have I done something to upset you?”
A silence stretches between us, thick and weighted. His jaw tenses, his hands clenching the wheel just a little harder. Then, finally, a sigh.
“No.” It’s clipped. Unconvincing.
I lean back slightly, searching his profile. “Okay… I just want to make sure that me joining the tour isn’t going to make you uncomfortable.”
He shifts in his seat, his body language stiff, like he wants to end this conversation before it even begins. A long moment passes before he speaks.
“I don’t even know you well enough to be uncomfortable.”
I narrow my eyes slightly, studying him.
“Alright… it just seems like you don’t like me or something.”
He almost laughs, but his hands stay firm on the wheel, his gaze still locked on the road ahead.
“Again, I don’t even know you.”
I exhale sharply, nodding.
“Well, I look forward to getting to know you this summer.”
He doesn’t say another word, but his eyes do as they flick to me quickly and then back towards the road.
They speak louder than any sentence ever could.
You don’t want to know me.
The weight of it hangs in the air between us. But instead of pushing me away, it only pulls me in deeper. Whatever he’s hiding, whatever shadows he’s made of, I want to understand them all.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
I turn, pull the curtain back and reclaim my seat at the table.