CHAPTER eleven
Knows Me Too Well
Niagara Falls, New York
With a few free days before our next show in Cleveland, we decide to take a detour north to Niagara Falls.
When Grady suggested it, I immediately volunteered to find us somewhere decent to stay and plan a few activities, because honestly, I couldn’t trust a crew of punk rock boys to organize anything beyond a fast food run and a questionable motel.
After some searching, I landed us a charming little bed and breakfast tucked away near the falls. Quaint, cozy, acceptable by my standards at least.
The ten-hour drive yesterday nearly wiped us out, and we all crashed the moment we tumbled through the door. Hopefully today everyone’s rested, because I booked a spot on the Maid of the Mist tour for the afternoon. I fired off a group chat reminder to meet downstairs at 1:00 p.m., just to be safe.
Now, I tap my foot rhythmically against the red-and-brown patterned carpet of the lobby, the faint scent of brewed coffee and stale pastries lingering in the air.
I’m a little early—punctuality’s wired into my DNA—so I’m not surprised the guys aren’t here yet.
I scroll mindlessly through Instagram, until I catch the subtle shift of someone stepping into my space.
I glance up and there’s Elias, standing a few feet in front of me, the light from the lobby windows catching in his eyes and setting them ablaze in molten amber.
He’s dressed in dark-washed jeans and a charcoal V-neck that fits just right, the fabric clinging to the lines of his chest and shoulders in a way that makes me irrationally envious of it.
“I expected a pack of punk boys to be late,” I say with a teasing grin, arching an eyebrow at him. “Bravo.”
He smirks, casually leaning back against the front desk, hands sliding into his pockets. “Control issues, remember?”
“Ah, right.” I laugh under my breath. “Well, thanks for showing up. This tour’s supposed to be incredible.”
For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us, an easy silence stretching between us, not uncomfortable, but thick with something unspoken.
That moment doesn’t last long.
Cody barrels into the scene, practically launching himself onto Elias’s back with a whoop. Grady and Jasper trail behind, laughing like hyenas.
He grunts, reaching back to shove Cody off with playful irritation, flashing him a death-glare that he naturally, completely ignores.
I shake my head, crossing my arms with a mock stern look.
“You boys ready?”
Cody throws his hands up dramatically. “Born ready!”
I can’t help but smile as I lead the way toward the front doors, the guys’ chatter buzzing behind me like a second heartbeat.
We pile into the Uber together, Cody taking the front seat and immediately launching into a full-blown conversation with the driver about—honestly—God knows what. I slide into the back first, scooting toward the far side, and we quickly realize the problem: three seats, four people.
Cody glances over his shoulder, eyes widening.
“Shit, guys, I meant to call an XL. My bad.”
“Do you want me to cancel the ride?” the driver asks, hand hovering near the screen.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I rush out. “If you’re okay with it, we can squeeze. We’re not going far. I can sit in someone’s lap if y’all don’t care.” It’s second nature for me, making things easier, smoothing chaos before it forms.
“That’s fine if you four can make it work,” the driver says.
I step out to let them shuffle around. Jasper climbs in. Grady twists around to make space. Elias is last, and as he ducks into the backseat, my stomach drops because of course the closest available lap is his.
Heat blooms up my neck. He glances at me, expression unreadable, and extends a hand. Calm. Steady. Like this is no big deal. Like my heart isn’t doing backflips.
I take his hand and crouch into the car. Before I lower myself onto him, I whisper, “Is this okay?”
He nods once, slow, and pats his thigh gently.
I settle cautiously onto his lap, trying to hover more than sit, perching on the edge so I’m not crowding him.
My hands brace on the back of Cody’s headrest. Elias stays rigidly respectful with one arm stretched across the seat behind Grady, the other angled toward the door, giving me space even though there is little.
It should feel strictly practical. Platonic. Just bodies rearranged to make a tight space work. But my pulse is a frantic, stuttering rhythm in my chest, impossible to ignore.
We hit an unexpected pothole and the jolt knocks me backward.
I fall fully against him, my spine pressing to his chest, the warmth of him seeping straight through me.
His right arm snaps around my waist on instinct, catching me, holding me steady.
Our faces turn at the same time and our eyes meet, and linger.
The moment stretches—just a few seconds, but enough to suspend my breath.
“Sorry about that,” the driver calls.
“You good?” Elias murmurs, voice low, just for me.
I straighten quickly, cheeks burning. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“You’re fine,” he replies softly. “Not your fault.”
His arm drifts upward and his hand rests on Cody’s headrest—right beside mine. Close enough that I feel the heat of him. Close enough that it feels like a protective cage for the rest of the ride.
We board the boat, weaving through clusters of families, couples, and wide-eyed tourists chattering excitedly.
The scent of river water and sunscreen clings to the air.
A crew member hands each of us a thin blue poncho, and we wrestle them on, the plastic crackling as we push through the crowd, determined to get as close to the front as possible.
I lean over the railing, resting my elbows on the cool metal. Mist from the falls rises up in ghostly wisps, peppering my face with tiny, refreshing droplets. I close my eyes for a second, letting the spray kiss my skin, a welcome sensation against the summer heat.
When I glance to my side, Elias has settled next to me, back casually braced against the railing, arms crossed. The others wander off, somehow roped into a conversation with the captain near the wheelhouse.
I’m not sure why, but whenever I’m around Elias, I can’t seem to leave him alone. Even when he’s putting off that distant energy like a warning sign. Maybe it’s something deeper than I want to admit—an irresistible pull to figure him out, to peel back those layers and see what’s really underneath.
Feeling a little braver than I should, I tilt my head toward him and say the first thing that pops out of my mouth:
“You ready to get wet?”
The words hang between us for a split second too long.
Elias’s head turns slowly toward me, an infuriatingly slow smile pulling at his mouth. His amber eyes spark with mischief, and it’s then that I realize what I’ve insinuated.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I sputter, pressing a mortified hand to my forehead.
He chuckles under his breath, the sound low and dangerous.
“I’m always ready to get wet,” he teases, voice smooth enough to make my already burning cheeks go nuclear.
I open my mouth to fire back a witty retort—something, anything—but before I can, the rest of the guys appear behind us, jostling for space along the railing.
Elias only straightens back up, slipping back into the cool, untouchable version of himself. I, meanwhile, am left clutching the railing like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Apparently, the people of Niagara Falls don’t believe in soft mattresses.
The one in this cramped little B&B feels like it was forged from concrete.
I groan as I peel myself from its unyielding surface, joints creaking in protest. A quick glance at the analog clock on the nightstand displays 6:23 a.m. Too early to properly function, too late to fall back asleep.
Sleep has been fleeting since we arrived, ironic considering I assumed a bed, even a mediocre one, would be an upgrade from the tour bus.
I was wrong.
Resigned to my restlessness, I figure I might as well put it to use. There’s a small gym next door. The guy at the front desk mentioned it’s free for hotel guests when we checked in. It’s been days since I did anything remotely resembling exercise, unless lugging merch and equipment counts.
I pull on black yoga pants and a white sports bra, lace up my sneakers, and tug my strawberry locks into a ponytail before heading out. The early morning moisture nips at my skin as I step outside. I flash my room key at the gym attendant, who gives me a lazy nod and motions me through.
The place is mostly empty, lit by fluorescent lights. I head straight to the treadmill tucked into the far corner. I always start with cardio.
Just as I’m pulling my headphones over my ears, movement catches my eye.
There, laid out across a bench like some carved-from-stone mythology come to life, is Elias.
He’s shirtless, in loose black shorts, arms straining under the weight of dumbbells that look heavy enough to crack the floor.
He grunts with each rep, low and rhythmic, but somehow composed, like he’s holding back, like he could do this forever if he wanted.
I can’t help but gawk at him. I watch as sweat trickles down his tattooed arms, catching in the hollows of muscle, making the ink glisten. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm and his eyes are fixed on the ceiling.
I finally snap out of it and hit the start button on the treadmill, easing into a jog. But I can feel his gravity tugging at me like a tide.
He sits up. Our eyes meet. And I’m still staring.
No smile, just a sharp, guarded glance that makes something jump in my chest. I give a small wave—half greeting, half apology—and he acknowledges it with a short nod before looking away.
I force my gaze forward, trying to focus on my run.
Sweat is starting to gather at my collarbone, but it’s not just the jog that has my heart racing.