CHAPTER seventeen
Every Place I Laid My Head
Kansas City, Missouri
After the Kansas City show, everyone returns to the bus and settles into their bunks, the usual post-show chatter fading into hums of breath and the occasional rustle of blankets.
I retreat to the back room and nestle into a mound of overstuffed pillows.
My body is tired, but my mind is still buzzing, as it always does after a show.
It’s like the adrenaline refuses to let go of me, clinging to my veins long after the lights go down.
I can already hear one of the guys snoring—Cody, probably. He’s loud even in his sleep, bless him.
I lean back and pull out my book, flipping it open to the pages of banter and slow-burn tension, the kind that normally pulls me under and softens the edge of reality. But tonight, even the delicious ache of fictional yearning can’t quiet the storm in my mind.
I’d now officially learned that Elias’s sobriety is more than just a lifestyle choice. From the way he spoke and the intensity behind his words, it is clear that it hasn’t come easily. It has history.
And what he doesn’t know—what almost no one in my life knows—is just how close that hits to home. His story, whatever it is, brushes up against a part of mine I’ve kept tucked away.
I glance at my phone: 12:45 a.m., and I’m still wide awake, my mind buzzing too loudly to rest. With a sigh, I slide off the bed and tiptoe down the narrow corridor of the darkened bus, the floor cool under my feet. I head toward the kitchenette, hoping a drink might help settle me.
That’s when I notice Elias’s bunk. The curtain is wide open, and it’s empty.
Curious, I squint down the bus, but there’s no sign of him. A low hum of night air creeps through a cracked window. I move to the door and peer outside.
There, under the hazy wash of moonlight, is Elias, on the pavement, shirtless, doing pushups on the cool concrete like it’s the middle of the day. His back muscles flex and stretch beneath the ink across his skin, each movement a silent display of discipline and tension.
Jesus. Is it legal to look that good at this hour?
I open the door carefully, the soft creak cutting through the stillness. A night breeze brushes past, lifting the hair around my face until I tuck it behind one ear. The air smells like asphalt, pine, and the faintest trace of him.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, stepping down from the bus.
He doesn’t stop, just grunts through a breath, “Nope.”
His tone is strained from the effort, but there’s no fatigue in his face, only a steely focus as he knocks out a few more reps.
Finally, he rises to his feet, towering above me.
The moonlight cuts sharp angles across his face, catching on the edges of his jaw, his lashes, the dark ink that sprawls across his collarbone.
He looks like something out of a fever dream.
“I can’t sleep either,” I say, softer now, the words slipping past my lips before I second-guess them. “Wanna hang?”
He cocks his head slightly, considering. There’s a flicker in his gaze, something unreadable, but not unkind.
“Sure,” he says finally.
We sneak back onto the bus with the slow care of someone not wanting to wake the dead. Elias and I slip into the back room, silent as a shadow.
He closes the door quietly, and when I turn to face him, the dim light catches in a way that makes him look almost unreal—barefoot, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, no shirt. Ink traces along the smooth lines of his chest, arms, and neck.
Don’t stare. Don’t drool. Don’t combust.
I move to the middle of the bed, and he sits on the edge, and I shift to sit up, legs folded beneath me. I offer him a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as shaky as it feels.
“I’m always wired after the shows,” I say, my voice a whisper. “Reading usually helps, but… not tonight.”
He nods but says nothing at first. The silence stretches, but it’s not empty—it crackles. Like something unspoken is threading itself between us, delicate and charged.
I speak again, because I can’t take not knowing what he’s thinking.
“Why do you have trouble sleeping?”
His gaze meets mine, and he says simply, “Never been great at it.”
A teasing smile curls my lips.
“I bet I could put you to sleep in five minutes.”
His eyebrows lift in amused surprise.
Oh god, I did it again. Perhaps I should lay off the romance novels.
My hand flies to my mouth.
“That is not what I meant!”
He laughs, a low, velvety sound that makes my stomach do a small somersault. He dips his head, dark strands falling over his eyes.
“Too bad.”
I throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily, then hands it back to me with a half-grin. I pat it on my lap, my hand moving before my brain can catch up.
“Lay your head here.”
He hesitates, but not out of uncertainty, but something else. Maybe surprise. Then, slowly, he lowers himself, resting his head gently in my lap. His eyes find mine, guarded, but then he closes them, his long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks.
He crosses his arms over his chest, legs stretched out, body almost too long for the space, and I can feel his tension.
“I used to be a restless kid,” I whisper. “My mom would do this when I couldn’t sleep. May I?”
He gives the smallest nod.
I thread my fingers through the inky strands of his hair, gently brushing them away from his face.
They’re softer than I expected, smoother than silk.
I rake my pointed nails lightly across his scalp, slow and rhythmic, and his entire body shifts—the tension melting away like butter in warm hands.
He breathes deeply, and a small groan slips from him.
The room is silent except for our breathing, but it’s not awkward; it’s serene.
I keep combing through his hair, alternating strokes, gathering it in sections, and letting it fall through my fingers again and again.
I memorize the texture, the scent, the little reactions he gives without realizing.
His breath is slowing, his brow unfurrowing.
And then… a glimmer. A single tear slides down from the corner of his closed eye, tracing a path down his cheek.
As he lies here, letting me run my fingers through his hair, breathing slower, more evenly with each passing minute—there’s a part of me that knows this isn’t just about sleep. It’s about trust. It’s about being seen. And maybe for the first time in a long time, held.
I press my thumb gently to his skin, wiping it away. His face softens even more, and I feel the last bit of tension leave his body.
I settle deeper into the pillows, my fingers still drifting through his hair, and sleep begins to tug at me too, like we’re sinking into the same current.
When I wake, the engine hum of the bus vibrates beneath me. The blankets are pulled over my body, tucked around me with surprising care. Elias is gone, but the space beside me is still warm.
I spend most of the ride tucked away in the back room, editing photos from the last few shows, queueing up social posts, and analyzing inventory data like it’s second nature.
It’s strange how easily this job has become home—like I slipped into it without a ripple, like I was the missing piece no one realized they needed.
We’ve officially adopted the inventory system that I discovered, and it’s been a game-changer.
Eventually, I freshen up and rejoin the living world, stepping out into the main cabin where the guys are crowded around the table, cards in hand, mid-chaos. Their voices overlap in a mix of competitive groaning and loud declarations.
“Let’s ask Ramona!” Cody says, tossing his cards down with dramatic flair. Jasper and Grady immediately groan, shaking their heads like they’ve been burned before.
I wander to the kitchenette and pour some coffee into one of the paper cups from the tiny pot that’s been working overtime.
Cody calls over with the seriousness of a man about to defend a constitutional right. “In Rummy, if I play a double six, I can immediately play whatever I want after, right?”
I raise my brows, laughing as I stir in a splash of creamer. “Cody, I literally have no idea what language you’re speaking right now.”
Jasper and Grady both reach over to shove him, nearly knocking him off his seat. He flails dramatically and clutches his heart like I’ve betrayed him.
“Ramona, you’re supposed to say yes! Whose side are you even on?”
I offer a helpless shrug and a smile as I pour a second cup, this one a little less full. I tune out the continuing squabble as I make my way toward the front of the bus, the curtain shifting beneath my hand.
When I push it aside, I find Elias exactly how I imagined he’d be—one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the open window.
His long fingers tap idly to the beat of the song playing—Let Us Burn One by Chiodos, soft and brooding through the speakers.
The early light streaks through the windshield, painting his profile in gentle golds and shadows.
He looks relaxed, but not in the way most people do.
There’s always a tension beneath the surface, like he’s never fully turned off.
His jaw is defined, dusted with the start of stubble, and his dark hair is messy in the kind of way that looks accidentally perfect.
He’s wearing sunglasses and a faded black hoodie, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and something about the whole picture makes my heart stutter a little.
“I thought you might want some coffee,” I say, placing the second cup in the holder beside him.
He removes his glasses, eyes flicking to me, and something in them shifts—softer, less fortified.
“Thanks.” He lifts the cup to his lips. I watch his mouth as it curls around the rim, the steam brushing against his face, and I briefly hate the cup a little.
“You’re welcome,” I say, settling into the passenger seat and blowing gently on mine.
“I don’t think I even need it, though,” he says after a moment, glancing back at the road. “I slept better last night than I have in… I don’t know, maybe years.”
I smile, letting my fingers curl tighter around the warmth of the cup. “Works every time.”
He glances at me, something almost shy in the way his eyes linger. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
I shake my head slowly.
“Anytime, insomniac. I didn’t mind at all.”
There’s a pause, not heavy, just thick with something neither of us has quite figured out. The bus hums beneath us, the low rumble of the road below, and the muted laughter from the card game behind us filling in the background like a memory being made.
“You’re different,” he says, eyes still on the highway ahead.
I turn toward him, heart thudding a little faster.
“Different good or different weird?”
He smirks, and it does something to me.
“Good. The kind that sneaks up on you and makes you wonder how you ever lived without it. We’re lucky to have you on our tour.”
My breath catches for half a second, but I hide it behind my next sip of coffee, hoping the heat in my face can be blamed on the steam.
“Careful, Elias,” I murmur, eyes on the horizon. “Say a few more things like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
He glances at me again, slower this time, but he doesn’t say anything. Not with his words at least, but his eyes give him away.
Maybe I do. And maybe I do too.
The gentle buzz of my phone vibrates against the console, pulling my focus. I glance down to see Ashton’s name glowing on the screen, a FaceTime request lighting up my heart. A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“Do you mind if I take this?” I ask, turning slightly. “It’s my brother.”
He gives a small shake of his head, eyes flicking from me back to the road. “Go for it.”
I answer the call and prop my phone on the dash, angling it just right.
Ashton’s face appears, a little grainy but unmistakably him—sun-kissed skin, a few freckles darker than before, and his hair grown out longer than I’ve ever seen it, tousled in a way that makes him look even more like a man of the wild.
“Hey Mona! I’m so sorry you haven’t heard from me. Our signal’s been shit the past couple of weeks,” he says, running a hand through his unruly hair.
“Hey, bro,” I beam. “How’s van life treating you?”
He grins. “I could ask you the same thing! Things are great over here. Sleeping under the stars, chasing waterfalls, eating way too many s’mores. But tell me everything. How’s the band? How’s you?”
I steal a glance at Elias behind the wheel, the afternoon sun slanting across his profile. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“It’s honestly been amazing, Ash. I feel like I’m actually making a difference, not just tagging along. It’s exhausting but exciting, and the guys are... great.” I pause, letting the understatement hang. “But I miss you.”
“God, I miss you too, sis,” he says, voice a little softer now. “Hey, are you passing through Colorado anytime soon?”
I grab my phone to check the itinerary, scrolling.
“Yeah, we’ve got a show in Denver coming up. Why?”
He lights up. “Perfect! Danya and I are staying in Estes Park for a couple of weeks. We found this great little spot by the lake. You’ve got to detour. Come camp for a day. Unplug. Be with your favorite brother.”
I laugh. “I’ll check with the guys. I’d love to see you.”
“Awesome. Gotta bounce for now, but I’ll text you the location. We’ll plan something. Love you, Mona.”
“Love you too, A.”
I end the call, heart full, and sit in silence for a few beats, the rumble of the road filling the quiet space. The air feels comfortable and warm from the sun, layered with the calm that always comes after hearing my brother’s voice.
Elias breaks the silence, his voice steady.
“We’ve got about a week between Denver and San Diego. We can make a stop.”
I turn to him, surprised. “Really? Should I check with the others? I don’t want to derail any plans…”
He smirks, one hand draped casually over the wheel.
“Frontman, remember? I drive the bus, I make the rules.”
A soft laugh escapes me.
“Well, thank you. He’s... he’s my favorite person on this earth. You guys will love him.”
He looks away, his expression sinking into something solemn, his eyes scanning the space in front of him like he’s reliving a memory.
“I’m sure we will,” he says quietly.