CHAPTER sixteen
Some Scars Never Fade
Kansas City, Missouri
We’re halfway through setting up the merch booth, folding shirts, and organizing stacks of vinyl, when I spot Traeger sauntering toward us, his walk all cocky swagger and misplaced confidence. A half-smoked blunt dangles from his lips, the tip glowing faintly in the fading light.
He exhales a thick plume into the air as he reaches us, the unmistakable, pungent scent of weed immediately curling into my nose. Elias stiffens beside me but doesn’t look up from the crate he’s unloading.
Traeger plants himself on the edge of the table, inhaling again as his eyes rake over me with that greasy, unblinking gaze. My skin prickles.
“Hey Ramona,” he drawls, eyes dragging slowly down and back up. “Looking hot, as always.”
I don’t bother masking my distaste.
“Appreciate it,” I say flatly, turning slightly to shield my body from his stare.
He lifts the blunt toward me like an offering.
“Want a hit?”
I shake my head with a tight smile.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Undeterred, he shifts and holds it out toward Elias.
“I don’t smoke,” he replies coolly, voice like steel.
“Oh, right,” Traeger sneers, withdrawing the joint with an exaggerated shrug. “Forgot you are Mr. Squeaky Clean now.”
His tone is laced with mockery, a thin veil over something meaner. Elias doesn’t flinch, but I can feel the tension radiating off of him, shoulders coiled tight, jaw flexing.
And I get it. We all know the tour depends on Traeger’s goodwill, but God, is it hard not to react.
Traeger flicks some ash to the side and grins.
“So, when are you finally going to hit up one of our after parties, Ramona? You keep turning me down, but I know you’re curious.”
I cross my arms. “Maybe next time, Traeger.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He gives a wink that makes my stomach turn and struts off, trailing smoke and ego in his wake.
The moment he’s out of sight, Elias shifts closer to me, eyes still locked in the direction Traeger disappeared.
“That guy is the worst,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“He’s a goddamn parasite,” he mutters, folding a hoodie a little more aggressively than necessary.
I glance at him, his brow still drawn tight.
“Don’t listen to him. It’s seriously admirable that you’re sober.”
He doesn’t look at me, jaw tight.
“Thanks,” he says after a moment.
“Actually…speaking of.” I crouch down, digging through the front pocket of my camera bag. My fingers close around the small thing I’ve been saving, and I stand again, suddenly nervous under his stare.
His posture is still, shielded, as I pinch the red marble-colored guitar pick between my fingers.
“I found this while we were in Chicago at a vintage shop,” I say. “Apparently, it belonged to Ozzy Osbourne.”
I place it in his palm. His hand dwarfs the item, rough and warm against my fingertips as he studies it without a word.
“Happy sober-versary.” That gets his attention; his eyes snap to mine momentarily before he looks back at the gift. “Cody told me about your milestone.”
The silence stretches long enough to rattle me, like maybe I’ve pressed too close to something he’s not ready to share.
“You…you said Ozzy is an inspiration of yours,” I add quickly. “I just wanted to give you something to mark it. Five years is a big deal.”
He closes his fingers around it, then opens them again. Without a word, he presses it back into my hand. My stomach sinks; it’s too much, I’ve overstepped. All the progress we’ve made likely gone.
“I can’t accept this,” he says, eyes finding mine again.
“Why? It’s something worth celebrating.”
A humorless huff escapes him as he looks down again.
“I don’t really see it that way.”
I turn fully toward him.
“Of course it is. That’s half a decade of choosing better. Of choosing yourself.”
His shoulders lift in a faint shrug, but it’s heavy.
“Maybe. But it’s hard to celebrate when you can still feel the weight of what it cost to get here. When you remember everyone you hurt along the way.”
There it is again: that shadow threading through his voice, stitched into the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze drifts from mine like the memories are too sharp to face head-on.
I reach for him before I can stop myself, fingers brushing his arm, tentative but steady.
“You did the work. You turned it around. That matters. That’s what people will remember.”
His eyes meet mine then, searching, cautious, like he’s not used to being seen this way, like part of him wants to believe me but isn’t sure he knows how.
I place the pick back into his hand and close his fingers around it, my touch lingering.
“Thank you, Ramona,” he finally says quietly. There’s a faint hitch in his voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” I reply.
“Not everyone is able to make it this far,” I add, turning back to the half-folded shirt in my hands before the lump in my throat can betray me.
We don’t say anything else, just turn back to our previous task, our hands accidentally brushing as we each fold another shirt.
As the guys run through soundcheck, their music pulsing through the walls, I slip backstage to swap out my sneakers for the pair of heeled boots I save for showtime.
I hear Elias’s voice cut through the thrum of guitar and drums, but something’s off. His timing stumbles. Just a breath behind the beat, it’s barely noticeable to the average ear, but to me, someone who’s seen him nail it every night, it lands like a dissonant note.
Then there’s a sharp crash. My body flinches instinctively. The music halts, followed by a string of muffled curses. Moments later, Elias storms off stage, pushing through the back door with Cody on his heels.
I hesitate, then step toward the door, pushing it open just enough to peek through.
Elias is pacing like a caged animal, his hands threaded tightly behind his head. The alley is dimly lit, his figure painted in harsh contrasts of shadow and yellow security light. Cody approaches him cautiously, his concern worn openly across his face.
“Dude, it’s fine,” he says gently.
“No, it’s not,” Elias snaps, still pacing. “I sound like shit.”
“If you call that shit, then I need to see what comes out of your ass.” Cody jokes, an attempt to break the tension.
He keeps pacing.
Cody’s brows knit together.
“What’s going on with you? Talk to me, man.”
Elias stops and glares at him, jaw clenched.
“I’m fine.”
But he’s not. Anyone can see that. Especially Cody.
Cody exhales a slow, shaky breath, the kind you let out when you’re holding back too much.
“You know what?” he says, voice fraying at the edges. “Sometimes I don’t even know how to be there for you, Elias. Because you won’t let me, or anyone. You shut down, or you vanish…and every time you do, it scares the hell out of me.”
His words hang in the still air, heavy and bare, echoing off brick.
“You don’t have to act like you give a damn, Cody,” Elias snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a jagged edge. “I know I’m only here because the band needs me. You don’t have to keep checking in. I’m not your problem.”
Cody recoils, the words hitting him like a body blow, shoulders tensing as if Elias had physically struck him.
“Act like I give a damn?” he repeats, voice rising with disbelief. “Is that really what you think this is?”
Elias is looking at the ground, arms crossed.
“Dude, you’re not just some guy that can sing. We’ve been through hell together. You’re family. I don’t care if your blood is different than mine, you’re my brother.”
Elias laughs bitterly.
“I don’t deserve to be,” he mutters. “Not after what I did to you, to your family, the band. I shouldn’t be anything to any of you.”
Cody’s voice softens, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. “Look, we’ve all screwed up. We’ve all done things we’d take back in a heartbeat if we could. But none of that erases how much you matter to us.”
Elias doesn’t look up. His eyes stay locked on the floor, jaw tight, shoulders curled inward like he’s trying to shrink into himself. His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles have gone white, like he’s bracing for the blow he thinks he deserves.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, voice nearly swallowed by guilt. “I just… every time I look at you, all I see is what I broke. What I took. I left scars that will never heal. Hell, your mom won’t even speak to me.”
“You didn’t do anything to us,” Cody says, stepping closer, emotion tightening his throat. “You weren’t trying to hurt me, or anyone. You were trying to quiet your own pain. I know that, and I think Mom knows it too, it’s just harder for her to accept.”
I see his expression flinch at the mention of Cody’s mom again, his posture tightening even further.
“There’s things you don’t know about, Cody. And if you did, you might not be so forgiving.”
“Dude, I don’t care. You were sick. I know that wasn’t really you.”
There’s a few beats of silence, tension sitting heavy like a fog.
“But I need you to talk to me, man,” Cody says, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s kept in. He drops his gaze to the ground, his hands braced on his hips like he’s holding himself together.
“Because walking onto that bus that night and finding you there, barely breathing…” His voice falters.
He drags a hand down his face, trying to steady the tremor.
“That was the worst moment of my life. I wasn’t sure if you would make it.
And I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until it was too late. ”
My heart clenches thinking about the traumatic scene. Thinking about how dark things got for him. It actually takes my breath away for a few seconds.
He steps closer, placing a hand on Elias’s arm, not to stop him, but to anchor him.
“But I don’t blame you, none of us do,” he continues, tone softer now, like a memory that still stings. “You were drowning… and you didn’t know how to come up for air. I get that now, and I should’ve seen it.”
Elias stands frozen as if those words cracked something open inside him.
He finally looks at Cody, anguish swimming in his amber eyes. “You still shouldn’t care. Not after everything. I don’t deserve your loyalty.”
Cody snaps. “Stop!” His voice booms, louder than I’ve ever heard, slamming into the alley walls like a gunshot.
Elias flinches. So do I.
“You need to stop saying that,” Cody continues, quieter now but no less intense. “You’re not some villain in our story, Elias. You’re not broken beyond repair. You fought to come back. You clawed your way out. That matters. That means something. It means everything.”
Elias swallows hard, jaw twitching.
Cody’s voice carries the weight of his emotion, pulling at every word. “We don’t need you to be perfect. We just need you. So let us in. Talk to us. Laugh at my very funny jokes every now and then. Because we love you, man. Whether you think you deserve it or not.”
Silence follows, thick and heavy, broken only by Elias’s uneven breath as he nods once, twice, the tears finally brimming in his eyes.
“I know I joke around like a goddamn fool most of the time, it’s just my default setting when things get heavy.
But I’m here. We’re all here,” Cody says, his voice stripped of its usual bravado.
“And listen, I get it, you’re a real-life Kingfisher.
But you don’t have to carry the weight of all of us on your gorgeously tattooed back. ” He adds an eye roll.
Elias furrows his brow.
“Who the hell is Kingfisher?”
The tension eases just a little.
“Oh my god, he’s this insanely hot brooding warrior from a book Ramona got me addicted to,” Cody says, eyes lighting up. “Classic shadow daddy vibes. I keep telling you to get into these romantasy books, man. They’re life-changing.”
He doesn’t respond right away, his throat tight with something he can’t quite put into words. But the way he looks at Cody, eyes glassy, there’s a hint of a smile.
He pulls Cody into a fierce hug, arms tightening with a strength that speaks louder than words—a strength that doesn’t just hold, but shields. The way his muscles tense is more than physical; it’s a manifestation of everything unspoken between them.
I step quietly away from the door, heart heavy with what I’d just heard. The rawness of Cody’s voice still echoes in my mind, laced with fear and love so thick it catches in my throat.
Back at the merch table, I move on instinct, adjusting stacks of t-shirts, smoothing the edge of the banner, anything to keep my hands busy while my thoughts swirl.
My chest tightens, breath catching as Cody’s voice echoes in my memory:
Finding you there… barely breathing… I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until it was too late…
Those words hit deep, splintering open something buried. It’s not just sympathy I feel: it’s recognition. That aching helplessness. The desperate wish that you could’ve seen the signs sooner and done something different. The haunting question of What if?
Because I’ve been there.
And suddenly, I see Elias not just as a stranger, but as someone I’m starting to understand more each day. Someone who carries a weight I know intimately.
Minutes later, I hear the low hum of bass and the rise of drums through the walls. I glance toward the stage just in time to see him stride back into the spotlight. He doesn’t look at anyone; he just takes a breath, grabs the mic, and falls into rhythm with the band.
And this time, he’s flawless. Every note hits. Every lyric is wrapped in emotion, and the band moves around him. Whatever weight he carried out into that alley, he’s channeled it now. Poured it into the music.
I also didn’t miss the new detail when Elias took the stage with his guitar during the show. Every chord change, a flash of red caught the light, subtle, but unmistakable. The sight tugged a smile from me before I could stop it.