CHAPTER Thirteen
Condemned to Carry What I’ve Done
Chicago, Illinois
The next morning, Sasha invites me to explore the city, and I jump at the chance.
We wander through downtown until we stumble upon a hidden gem tucked between a tattoo parlor and a crêpe stand—a thrift store with an old neon sign buzzing faintly above the door. The second we step inside, the bell overhead jingles and we’re hit with a wave of nostalgia and slightly musty fabric.
For a moment, we just stand in the entrance, taking it all in: the cluttered racks bursting with character, the vintage posters plastered across the walls, the mismatched rugs beneath our feet.
Then we dive in, fingers rifling through hangers like we’re on a treasure hunt.
I find a nearly-pristine Queen tee with faded gold lettering, a 2005 Warped Tour shirt that makes me feel like a teenage dream, and a black-and-white Linkin Park Collision Course shirt that stops me in my tracks.
Further down, my eyes land on a pair of cherry-red leather booties—bold, beautiful, and somehow exactly my size.
They practically leap into my arms. Destiny.
Sasha pops up from another aisle, holding a few choice pieces—a high-waisted pair of acid wash jeans, a funky crop top with a smiling skull print, and a spiked black denim jacket that just screams Jasper.
“These are so him,” she says with a grin.
“You’re gonna win the best-girlfriend-award,” I reply.
After we check out, bags in hand and wallets slightly lighter, we step back into the golden warmth of the afternoon. The sun hits my face just right, my ponytail bouncing against my neck as we walk side by side down the sidewalk, laughing at nothing in particular.
“Hey, thanks for inviting me today,” I say, glancing over at her with a grateful smile. “The guys are awesome, but it’s really nice to have some girl energy for a while.”
She loops her arm through mine without missing a beat. “Of course, lady. I know we just met, but I’ve already decided that we’re going to be friends.”
I let out a soft laugh, dropping my head for a moment as warmth floods my chest. She says it so simply, like it’s already a done deal.
“Honestly,” I say, glancing at her sideways, “I kind of thought you were too cool to want to hang with me.”
Sasha snorts. “Girl, I thought you were too cool. You’ve got the whole badass tour girlie vibe going on. Plus, those boots? Iconic.”
We both laugh, and as we stroll past a mural-covered alley, something in me feels lighter, like I’ve found an anchor in this whirlwind tour life.
When we return to the hotel, Cody is already waiting in the lobby, pacing in place with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for release days and pizza deliveries.
Tonight’s book club meeting—our very exclusive two-member edition—is happening over dinner since we’ve got the night off from the tour chaos.
Sasha pulls me into a quick hug, plants a kiss on my cheek, then throws a playful jab at Cody’s stomach as she passes.
“Play nice, nerds,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Where are we heading for this elite literary gathering?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“There’s this awesome rooftop bar next door,” Cody says, practically bouncing. “It’s got fries with three kinds of dipping sauce and twinkly lights.”
“You had me at fries,” I reply.
He hooks his arm through mine, our book club pick tucked proudly under his arm, and leads the way like he’s escorting me to a gala.
We’re seated at a small two-top on the rooftop, tucked beneath strands of golden string lights.
The city stretches out below us, the sky bleeding into a sherbet-hued sunset, a warm breeze threading through the air.
We order cocktails and enough appetizers to feed a full band and a backup singer. Once the food arrives, we officially begin.
“Okay,” I say, sipping my lemonade and leaning in. “Let’s start with the obvious…was I right about your favorite character?”
Cody doesn’t hesitate. “Carrion Swift was fucking hilarious.”
I grin. “I knew it. He’s basically you with red hair.”
He laughs, licking wing sauce from his fingers.
“And the ending? Insane. I did not see that coming.”
“Right?” I nod. “Total five-star read for me. Killer magic system, morally gray hottie who’s secretly obsessed with the female lead… and don’t even get me started on the smut.” I fan myself dramatically.
“Also five stars from me,” Cody says, popping another fry into his mouth. “Is it weird that I would one hundred percent fuck Kingfisher even though I’m very much into women?”
“Not weird at all,” I laugh. “He has that effect on everyone.”
We fall into an easy rhythm, analyzing our favorite scenes, throwing out wild predictions for the sequel, debating side characters like we’re on a panel at a fantasy convention.
We even pick our next read. By the time we’re done, we’ve demolished nearly every appetizer on the table and are groaning from fullness.
As we wait for the check, I reach across the table and place a hand on his arm.
“Thanks for starting this with me. It’s honestly been the highlight of my week. I don’t know how I ever survived without you crazy boys.”
He covers my hand with his own, squeezing gently. “Thanks for being my friend and for not thinking I’m a total weirdo.”
I smirk.
“Oh, I definitely think you’re a weirdo. But I love you anyway.”
“Fair,” he says, laughing.
A lull settles between us as our laughter fades, the clink of ice in my glass filling the silence. I take a slow sip, then ask, more curious than prying, “So… what’s Elias’s deal?”
Cody arches a brow mid-bite.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s just… hard to read,” I say, stirring the straw around idly. “When he’s on stage, it’s like he’s baring his soul. But offstage? He’s completely locked down.”
Cody exhales a long breath and leans back in his chair. “Yeah. He doesn’t let people in easily. It took me years to chip away at that sexy ass fortress.”
He grabs the last handful of fries and tosses them into his mouth before continuing, “Honestly, I think writing and performing is how he processes things. All the shit he’s been through…it ends up in the music. It’s his release valve.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah… I get that.”
“It’s also hard, being in this world, trying to figure out who’s real. Everyone wants a piece of him. His voice, his story, his talent, probably his dick, but not many stick around to actually get to know him.”
I chuckle at the last item on his list.
“I’ve been trying,” I admit. “But he hasn’t really given me much.”
Cody sets his drink down and shifts toward me, giving me his full attention now.
“If you’re really serious about getting to know him, like for real, not just because he’s mysterious or talented or ridiculously sexy,” he adds an eyeroll with those last two words.
“Then don’t give up. It takes time, but once Elias trusts you…
he’s loyal to the core. Like, would-burn-the-world-for-you kind of loyal. ”
I meet his eyes, chewing gently on the inside of my cheek, his words settling somewhere deep in my bones.
“Good to know,” I reply, my fingers brushing the condensation on my glass.
“Is he sober?” I ask carefully. “I’ve noticed he never drinks with you guys.”
It’s something I’ve been wondering about since the day I joined the tour.
Cody exhales, shoulders dipping slightly before he answers. “Yeah. He’s completely sober. His five-year sober-versary is this month actually—the thirteenth.”
“Wow,” I breathe, the awe in my voice unfeigned. “That’s incredible. I know how hard that road can be.”
“Yeah,” Cody says, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m proud of him. We all are. After everything… I know he’d never touch another substance. Hell, the guy barely eats sugar.” He lets out a dry laugh. “Like a total psychopath.”
The day of the show, I holed up in my bunk on the bus, editing all the photos from the last few days. I wanted them ready for the website, socials, and—most importantly—Cody’s personal collection.
(The man made me do an entire solo shoot just for him. The level of diva energy was almost inspiring.)
I’ve also started using a new social media management platform that tracks all our engagement metrics in real time.
It’s helped me post with more strategy and purpose, tailoring content to what actually resonates.
I can already see the impact—it’s definitely driving more interest and boosting ticket sales.
The guys are already inside the venue, working on soundcheck, by the time I finally peel myself from the bunk.
Jasper and Sasha have taken temporary residence in the back room, and while I wasn’t exactly thrilled about losing my space, Sasha has thanked me profusely and swore she’d sanitize everything when they were done. Bless her.
I change into my tour-girly attire—a cut-off band tee that slouched over one shoulder, black skinny jeans, and my newest cherry red booties from the thrift shop.
When I walk into the venue, I notice the merch table is already set up, courtesy of my favorite bandmates. I settle in, perching myself on a stool behind the table, and pull a strawberry sucker from our candy stash, popping it into my mouth.
On stage, the guys are still warming up, instruments humming through the speakers.
I flick my gaze up just in time to meet Elias’s stare.
His voice wraps around the venue like smoke, low and hypnotic, lyrics curling through the air as he holds my gaze while he sings.
Forgiveness is a hollow prayer
A mercy I will never earn
Condemned to carry what I've done
Undeserved, yet never gone
I’m trapped inside forever
There’s no way out (no way out)
No way out (no way out)
A secret whispered in a room full of noise.
His fingers tighten around the mic, but he doesn’t look away.
I feel the heat of it, curling through my core—the weight of his attention, the way he makes a single glance feel like gravity.
Then—CRASH.
Cody trips over an amp, breaking the spell instantly.
The song scratches to a halt, and the rest of the band throws their hands up in simultaneous ‘what the fuck’ motions. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me, watching them give Cody the kind of grief that only best friends can.