CHAPTER fifteen
Forgiveness is a Hollow Prayer
Chicago, Illinois
The morning air is crisp as Sasha and I step out of the tour bus.
She hugs me tightly before disappearing into a cab headed towards the airport.
The remnants of last night’s energy lingers in the quiet streets.
The city is just beginning to wake, the scent of fresh bread and brewed coffee drifting from the small café at the end of the block.
The pavement is still cool underfoot, and the sky has that soft golden hue of early morning light stretching over the rooftops.
Picking up coffee and breakfast isn’t an official duty; no one expects me to do it, but I love taking care of the people I care about.
And I have grown to really care about these boys.
As I make my way down the street, my attention is drawn to movement from the motel across the way.
Elias steps out, his shoulders heavy, his posture weighed down with exhaustion.
He doesn’t see me at first, not until he reaches the sidewalk, the route leading back to the bus.
His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and he squints against the glare of the morning sun, his usual sharp features softened by fatigue.
I lift a hand in a small wave, offering him a smile as we meet in the middle of the street. His gaze meets mine briefly before flickering away, his expression remorseful.
“Rough night?” I ask, my voice gentle but teasing.
He exhales a short breath, looking away.
I tilt my head slightly, taking in the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the tired set of his jaw.
“You look exhausted,” I say, studying him. “But we’ll say it’s from that killer performance last night.” I nudge his elbow playfully, hoping to lift some of the weight he is carrying.
A flicker of something crosses his face. Something close to a smile, but not quite.
“Right,” he murmurs, then hesitates. “Sorry about how I reacted.”
I shake my head, already knowing where his thoughts have gone.
“Don’t apologize, Elias. It’s okay. That guy was being a jerk.”
He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. Instead, his gaze drops to the ground, as if the weight of the conversation is too heavy to meet head-on. His whole posture folds inward, wrapped tight in something that feels suspiciously like shame.
“The guys were really worried about you last night,” I say carefully. I leave out the part about myself, how I barely slept, how every minute he was gone gnawed at me.
The shadow over his face darkens, regret carving deeper lines along his brow. “I know,” he mutters quietly.
“I can tell how much they care about you,” I say.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales a breath, as if it hurts to hear it.
“I don’t deserve them.”
The ache in his words is palpable, and it cuts through me sharper than anything else he could have said.
“Why would you think that?” I ask, trying to coax him out from behind whatever wall he’s braced himself against.
He shifts his weight, arms folding into a defensive shield across his chest.
“Because I’ve done some really shitty things. Unforgivable things, Ramona. Things I can’t undo. I’m lucky they even bother to speak to me now.”
He shrinks into himself, like if he just folds small enough, he might disappear altogether.
I clench my hands together to keep from reaching out instinctively, aching to offer him some kind of reassuring touch. But I force myself to stay still, to let him have the space he clearly needs.
“We’ve all made mistakes,” I say gently. “We’ve all done things we wish we could erase. That doesn’t mean we don’t deserve forgiveness... or care.”
He finally lifts his eyes to mine, squinting slightly against the beams of morning light. His expression tells me that he’s not used to being handed grace instead of judgment.
Wanting to ease some of the heaviness between us, I add with a smile, “I will admit that your methods can be a little... intense sometimes.” A playful tilt creeps into my voice.
“But honestly? I admire the way you stand up for people. You don’t hesitate.
They are lucky to have a friend like you. And so am I.”
Something flashes across his face, something fragile, like hope flickering against the edges of old scars.
The corners of his lips lift ever so slightly, a fleeting but genuine smile that feels like a rare glimpse behind his carefully built walls. His dark messy waves spill onto his forehead, framing his face.
“Tell you what…if you are still feeling guilty, you can make it up to us by coming with me to get coffee and breakfast. I’ll even make you carry everything.”
That coaxed another small, reluctant smile out of him.
“I can do that.”
Without overthinking it, I loop my arm through his. I feel the slight tension in his muscles, a hesitation so brief I might have imagined it, but he doesn’t pull away. That is enough. We walk together in comfortable silence, the city coming alive around us.
As we step onto the bus, the scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries fills the small space, mixing with the lingering notes of leather and cologne that always clings to Elias.
He carries everything just like I had insisted, his strong tattooed hands full of steaming cups and carefully balanced bags of baked goods.
He didn’t complain, didn’t roll his eyes, or shoot me one of his signature annoyed looks.
Instead, he just carried on, his expression lighter than it had been in days. Maybe even since I met him.
Still, the weight of last night lingers in my mind, curling around my thoughts like smoke.
I can still see him—rage crackling like wildfire in his eyes, his body taut with fury as he dragged that guy out of the venue.
The sheer intensity of it unsettled me. It wasn’t just protectiveness; it wasn’t just instinct, it was something deeper.
I replayed it over and over, trying to make sense of it, but the only conclusion I kept circling back to is the one that feels impossible.
Elias barely spoke to me at the start of this tour, treating me like I was just another moving part in the machine, another temporary presence in his world. He had made it crystal clear that he wasn’t the kind of guy who let people in.
So why had he stopped mid-song?
Why had he reacted like that?
I glance over at him as he sets the coffee and pastries down on the small table, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he adjusts the lids. He catches me staring and lifts a brow in silent question.
I look away quickly, grabbing my coffee and taking a sip, hoping the warmth might chase away the thoughts that refuse to leave me alone.
Out of nowhere, Cody comes charging down the aisle of the bus like a human wrecking ball and crashes into Elias, wrapping him in a bear hug that is one step away from a full-body tackle.
The force of it knocks Elias back a step, but he doesn’t resist—instead, his arms come around Cody just as fiercely, pulling him in tight.
Without a word, Elias buries his face into the crook of Cody’s neck, exhaling something between a breath and a sigh. It’s the kind of hug that says everything words can’t: relief, solidarity, the weight of something big being shared between a bond that’s deeper than friends…brothers.
When they finally let go, Elias guides him toward the back of the bus.
There’s something intentional in the way he moves, like whatever he’s about to say matters.
They stop near the dim hallway light, just enough glow to catch the serious lines etched into both of their faces.
They’re close, heads angled in, voices hushed but intense.
I can’t make out the words, but Elias’s posture says enough—arms crossed, brows furrowed, his eyes locked onto Cody’s like he’s trying to say everything right.
Cody, for once, isn’t wearing that ever-present smirk. His face is drawn, thoughtful, but relieved. He listens. Really listens. And when Elias finishes, there’s a beat of silence before he nods once, then extends his hand.
Elias doesn’t hesitate. He pulls Cody into another quick, firm hug, and Cody pats his shoulder in a wordless kind of forgiveness before turning away and disappearing toward the bunks.
I shift instinctively, turning toward the counter and pretending to busy myself straightening already-aligned mugs—anything to look like I haven’t been watching the whole thing unfold.
A moment later, Elias slips past me, his body almost brushing mine. He doesn’t say anything. Just walks to the front of the bus, leaving behind the faint scent of whatever cologne he wears.
Before he starts the bus to get us to our next destination, aside from my better judgment, I decide to take a leap and try to dig deeper into him.
I settle into the passenger seat, and he glances at me quickly in acknowledgement before turning the key in the ignition, but he doesn’t move the vehicle yet.
Here we go. Hopefully, I don’t regret this.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, my voice cautious like I’m approaching a skittish animal.
Elias tilts his head slightly, not quite amused but close.
“I get the feeling you’re going to ask it no matter what.”
Well, fair. He has me there.
I take a steadying breath, pressing my palms against my thighs to ground myself.
“Why did you really jump off stage last night?”
For a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches long enough for doubt to creep in, but I hold it—hold him—waiting. His eyes drop to the floor, and his shoulders subtly cave.
When he speaks, his voice is more rough around the edges. “Growing up… I didn’t feel like I had any control. Things happened around me, to the people I cared about, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t fix it. I just had to watch. I felt helpless.”
His gaze stays low, like eye contact might make the confession too real. But I don’t look away. I’m locked in, my focus sharp, every part of me listening, urging him silently to keep going.
“Now that I do have control,” he continues, “or at least some illusion of it… I don’t always think. I just do. You looked like you were in trouble, and my body moved before my brain could stop me.”
An unmistakable honesty clings to his words.
An uncontrollable smile begins to spread across my lips. “Elias,” I say his name like a secret, and it works; he finally looks at me, a flicker of something behind his eyes.
“Did you just admit that you care about me?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, the beginnings of a smile teasing his features.
“You make it kind of hard not to.”