CHAPTER twenty-three
The Ground Still Shakes
Estes Park, Colorado
The Welcome to Estes Park sign rises into view, and a flutter of anticipation lifts in my belly.
I’m moments away from seeing Ashton again.
He’d dropped me a pin earlier with their exact campsite, and the guys had all agreed to drop me off for a few days while they hit a studio in town that Vernon had managed to book last-minute.
Atlas Obsidian’s momentum has been building with every city we hit, each show more packed than the last, and I had casually suggested that this would be the perfect window to ride that wave and start working on new material.
Elias is always scribbling in that little leather notebook of his anyway, so I’m sure he’s been brimming with lyrics.
Vernon had grumbled when I asked him to grab a few behind-the-scenes shots in my absence, warning me not to roast him for the inevitable drop in quality. I made no promises.
We finally pull into a clearing near the water, and my breath catches when I spot Ashton and Danya’s Winnebago parked beneath a grove of pines.
Ashton is stretched out in a collapsible camping chair by the lake’s edge, a beat-up trucker hat low over his brow.
Danya is perched off the back of the camper, book in hand, her bare feet swinging lazily.
The second Ashton notices the bus, he jolts upright, hat flying off, chair nearly toppling backward, and then breaks into a jog with open arms.
Elias slows the bus to a stop, his hands easing off the wheel. Without really thinking about it, I lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek. His body stills for a half-second, but then a slow smile curls across his lips.
“Thank you again,” I say gently, locking eyes with him. That smile lingers and he tips his chin toward the door.
“Go see your favorite person,” he says wistfully. I hold his eyes for a beat, trying to read what is behind them. He looks happy, but also there is a sense of longing. I place a hand on his shoulder and lightly squeeze before I turn away.
I hop down, the others trailing behind me, and barely get a foot on the gravel before Ashton scoops me into a tight hug. His arms wind around me like a vice, and for a moment, everything else fades. He smells like woodsmoke and pine needles and something earthy.
“I missed you so much, Ash,” I breathe against his shoulder.
He sets me down so he can hold my face between his hands.
“Missed you more, sis,” he says, eyes crinkling as they scan me with big brother concern and affection.
I twist around and motion toward the crew behind me. “Ashton, meet Atlas Obsidian. Guys, this is my brother Ashton.” I pat his shoulder proudly just as Danya hops down from the Winnebago, brushing a loose curl from her face.
“And this is his amazing wife, Danya,” I add.
She beams and greets each of them with hugs that seem to catch them off guard, except for Cody, who hugs her like they are long lost friends.
“It’s so nice to meet the band my husband hasn’t stopped talking about since Mona called,” she laughs.
Ashton steps up, offering handshakes to each of them.
“Great to finally meet the infamous group that rescued my sister from a cubicle grave,” he jokes, shaking Cody’s hand.
“Your sister’s been the glue holding this whole tour together,” Jasper says sincerely.
“Damn right,” Cody adds with a proud nod. “We’d be in chaos without her. Well…more chaos.”
Ashton slings an arm around my shoulder.
“Don’t I know it.”
Then, a beat later, Elias steps off the bus. There’s a stiffness in his frame—a hint of unease, like he wants to make a good impression. His eyes flick briefly to me, then to Ashton, who immediately closes the space between them with an extended hand.
“You must be the frontman,” Ashton says, giving Elias a firm handshake. “Been listening to your stuff…really powerful, man. You’ve got something real.”
Elias clasps his other hand on top, the gesture unexpectedly earnest.
“Appreciate that. I’m Elias.”
Their hands fall away, and I can’t help the way my gaze lingers on him.
He glances back at me at the same time, the air between us suddenly buzzing with unspoken things.
He smirks ever so slightly, and my heart does a traitorous little stutter.
We’re standing still, saying nothing, but that one look is louder than words.
Ashton, watching closely, raises a brow, but says nothing. At least, not yet.
After a few minutes of chatting and laughs, Danya slips into full hostess mode, offering the guys what feels like an entire picnic’s worth of snacks and drinks—sandwiches, fresh fruit, trail mix, sparkling water, homemade cookies, even almond milk lattes from their camper’s tiny espresso machine.
The boys accept with grateful enthusiasm.
Eventually, with full hands and fuller stomachs, they pile back onto the bus, waving out the windows as it rumbles down the gravel path and disappears into the pines.
The silence that follows is almost startling.
As much as I’m looking forward to a few days of peace, something about watching the bus vanish makes my chest ache.
It’s the foreshadowing to the end of the summer that is too quickly approaching.
I already miss the thrum of guitars bleeding through the walls, Cody’s off-key singing, and Elias’s steady presence behind the wheel.
We settle by the campfire, its amber glow casting long shadows that dance across the dirt.
Ashton passes me a steaming mug of hot chocolate, the ceramic warm in my palms as I tuck my knees up under my chin.
The cool evening air carries the scent of pine and woodsmoke, brushing across my skin in soft gusts.
Across from us, Danya stirs a pot of something that smells amazing—stew, maybe—her quiet humming threading through the night like a lullaby.
Ashton leans in just enough so only I can hear him.
“Mr. Frontman’s got heart-eyes for you,” he says, the flicker of the flames catching his amused expression.
I raise my brows, trying to play innocent.
“What are you talking about?”
He gives me a look like please, and chuckles.
“Mona, I’m a man. I’ve seen that look before.”
I bite my lip and slowly turn to him, sighing in defeat.
“Okay. I can’t lie to you.”
I swirl the hot chocolate absentmindedly.
“We’ve kind of… started a summer fling.” My voice drops as my face twists into the universal please-don’t-freak-out expression.
He leans back in his camping chair like he’s settling into a front row seat at the theater.
“Knew it.”
I scoff, nudging him with my elbow.
“We’re keeping it light, though. Just for the summer. No pressure, no expectations.” I say it like I believe it, but the words sound a little too rehearsed.
“Hey, no judgment here,” He glances sideways at me, his tone gentler now. “You’re an adult. You deserve to do something for you.”
Then his voice shifts, lower, quieter, but with an unmistakable steel beneath it.
“But listen. If that guy so much as looks at you the wrong way, you call me. No questions, no hesitation, no words. I will meet you wherever you are and break that beautiful, tattooed face of his.”
I laugh, but there’s a lump forming in my throat from the weight of his words.
“He’s not like that,” I say softly. “At least…I really don’t think he is.”
Ashton nods, staring into the fire. “Just promise me you’ll protect your heart, okay? Because if you don’t… I will.”
And just like that, I remember why he’s always been my favorite person in this world.
We talk and laugh around the fire until almost 1:00 a.m., the kind of lingering conversation that makes you forget time exists.
Eventually, Danya stretches with a yawn, and Ashton pulls her in close, murmuring something into her hair.
With the easy generosity I’ve come to love about them, they insist I take the bed in the camper for the night.
“We’ve been meaning to sleep under the stars anyway,” Ashton says, already stringing up their hammocks between two trees.
I settle in on my stomach, the camper warm and smelling faintly of cedar and peppermint from Danya’s diffuser.
I have a romance novel is open in front of me, but I’ve been rereading the same paragraph for five minutes.
My eyes drift to my phone on the nightstand beside me.
Without thinking too hard, I grab it and tap out a message.
Me: Still awake, insomniac?
A few seconds pass. Then those three little dots appear, bouncing like they’re teasing me. Longer than expected.
Elias: Always.
Me: You excited to work on some new music?
Elias: Sure.
I huff a small laugh into my pillow. Of course that’s all I get.
Me: You’re a terrible texter, you know that?
Elias: Sure.
Me: Smartass.
Elias: How was your night?
The question shifts something in me—gentle, but thoughtful. Like he’s trying.
Me: It was perfect. I didn’t realize how much I needed to see Ashton.
Elias: Glad to hear it.
I pause, then impulsively type:
Me: He immediately knew you and I had something going on.
The bubbles appear again. Then disappear. Then reappear, bouncing like he’s typing… or maybe deleting.
Elias: Should I be scared?
My fingers hover over the screen before I send the next one. I can’t help myself.
Me: Only if you plan on breaking my heart
The second I hit send, my chest tightens. I stare at the screen—waiting. One minute. Two. No response.
Shit.
I toss the phone onto the blanket beside me and roll onto my back, groaning into the dark.
Goddamnit, Ramona. What part of keep it light didn’t you understand? You had to go and get all feelings-y. Now he’s probably spiraling. Or worse, annoyed. Or worse-worse: regretting all of it.
I cover my face with my hands, exhaling into the quiet camper, heart racing with a dull ache of regret. I try to convince myself it’s not a big deal, that he probably just fell asleep. But the silence on the other end feels heavier than that.