CHAPTER twenty-three #2
Eventually, I shut the book and flip off the tiny reading light. The shadows of tree branches sway gently across the ceiling, and I try to lose myself in the rhythm of the wind, but my thoughts won’t still.
I miss the sound of the bus. I miss his voice. And now, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve already ruined the very thing I was just beginning to want.
Just as I’m about to drift off I hear another message come through. I can’t help the smile that forms from the words.
Elias: If anyone is breaking hearts here, it’s you, Flowers.
“We almost there?” I pant, my lungs burning as we crest yet another rocky incline. Dust clings to my sweat-slick skin, and each breath feels like it scrapes the inside of my throat.
“We’re close! I swear it’s gonna be worth it,” Ashton calls back over his shoulder. He’s already several strides ahead, trekking with the ease of someone who belongs in a Patagonia ad, his walking stick swinging.
I love nature, I do, but after months of tour bus living and zero time for a real workout routine, I’m feeling every incline in my thighs. The weight of altitude and emotion both pressing.
But when we reach the summit, the exhaustion fades into silence.
Before us lies a panorama of snow-capped peaks, cloaked in ribbons of mist. The fog rolls between the mountains like something alive, a slow-motion breath from the earth itself. It’s the kind of view that doesn’t feel real, the kind that makes you believe in magic.
Ashton is already standing at the edge of the overlook, arms crossed, his face calm and reverent like some tattooed Gandalf surveying Middle Earth. He doesn’t speak as I step beside him. Just drapes his arm around my shoulders and lets the quiet speak for us.
The silence stretches in a warm, sacred way, until I feel my face start to crumple, despite trying so hard to keep it together.
“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, squeezing me closer.
My voice wavers.
“I miss her, Ash. So much.”
His arm tightens around me. “I know. I miss her too.”
And that’s all we need to say. Talking about her has always been like handling stained glass—beautiful and fragile, and if you’re not careful, the shards will cut deep.
We were a trio once, unbreakable. And now we’re just two.
A pair of mismatched bookends trying to keep her memory from slipping off the shelf.
We start heading back down the trail, our boots crunching against stone and soil. I wipe the single tear that managed to escape, hoping Ashton didn’t notice. But even if he did, he wouldn’t say a word. He never makes me feel weak for feeling because I know he’s feeling too.
I curl up by the fire with a blanket around my shoulders, the crisp mountain air licking at my cheeks, and my phone pings. It’s a video from Vernon.
I open it to see the guys in the studio. Cody and Grady sit cross-legged on the floor, guitar and bass in hand, weaving a rhythm between them as Elias stands at the mic. He’s in his element, shoulders loose, eyes half-closed, voice spilling from him like a storm barely contained.
His smooth voice rasps through the speaker:
The slide of a blade against my skin
A whisper sharp, a cold beginning
A bleeding needle at my feet
Echoes of silence on repeat
I taste the deep crimson oblivion
Bittersweet, a final hymn
Each drop an unraveling thread
A ghost inside, already dead
There’s something so devastatingly beautiful about the way he delivers the lines—dark and raw, but with a haunting grace. I watch as Cody subtly shifts in his seat, uneasy with the weight of the lyrics, but I can already hear the shape of a masterpiece forming.
Another video pings in—this time, Elias is still at the mic, his voice lower, almost a whisper, like he’s confessing something no one was meant to hear, but needs to be spoken:
I tried to take the pain away
But instead I gave it all to you
I’ll never forgive myself
For forcing that into view
My words will never resolve—
But I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...
The final line lingers in the air, like smoke that refuses to dissipate. My heart aches. For him. For me. For Ashton. For all the broken pieces we try to hide beneath art, beneath music, beneath silence.
I tuck the phone against my chest and close my eyes.
Maybe healing doesn’t always come in quiet moments.
Sometimes, it sounds like a scream whispered through lyrics.
And sometimes, it starts with just saying: I’m sorry.
With reluctant goodbyes and long hugs, I part from Ashton and Danya, my chest aching just a little as I watch them disappear in the rearview mirror.
But my heart feels full—anchored by the time we spent together.
As much as I loved the stillness of the mountains and the ease of family, I feel a pull back toward the chaos and rhythm of tour life.
I missed it. I missed them.
The moment the bus pulled up to the campsite, Cody was the first to hop off, practically tackling me with a bear hug that nearly lifted me off my feet.
“Finally! Bus morale was at an all-time low without you,” he joked, though the warmth behind his grin told me it wasn’t entirely a joke.
Danya sent the guys off with containers of homemade goodies—still-warm muffins and trail mix. They load it all into the bus with grateful groans, and just like that, we’re rolling toward Denver.
I ride up front with Elias, and I recount my few days off-grid. He listens in that intent way of his, eyes flicking over to me every so often like he’s memorizing the words, not just hearing them.
“I’m glad you had a good time. We missed you around here,” he says, one hand resting easily on the wheel, the other tapping an idle rhythm against his thigh.
Behind us, the rest of the guys are crowded around the table, wrapped in the glow of an old movie, quoting lines and laughing through mouthfuls of snacks. It feels like we’ve all fallen back into rhythm, like no time passed at all.
When we finally pull up to the venue, the routine kicks in—unloading gear, setting up merch, running checks.
Just before heading backstage for sound check, Elias passes behind me. He stops, fingers brushing my shoulder gently as he leans in, his breath warm against my neck.
“See you after the show,” he murmurs, low and smooth, like a promise meant only for me. His hand trails down my arm, fingers slipping between mine for the briefest moment before he walks off, leaving the scent of cedar and ink in his wake and my thoughts spiraling.
Arms suddenly wrap around me from behind, making me jolt. I spin so fast I nearly lose my balance, heart leaping into my throat until I see her beautiful face and hear a bright voice.
“Surprise!” Sasha beams, arms still snug around me.
“Oh my god! I didn’t know you were coming!” I exclaim, hugging her tighter, my face lighting up as the shock turns into joy.
“Totally last-minute,” she grins. “I figured I’d ride with y’all until San Diego and catch a flight home from there.”
“That’s the best news. I missed you,” I say, and I mean it. Over the past few months, Sasha and I have gone from casual friends to something closer—constant texting, voice notes, late-night memes. She’s become a steady thread in my life.
Her hand lands gently on my arm. “I’m gonna go say hi to the boys before they get on stage then I’ll swing back over and help, cool?”
“Perfect.” I smile as she walks off toward the green room.
Sasha reappears beside me just as the first notes thunder through the venue, the crowd erupting with excitement.
She slides behind the merch table like she’s been doing this for years—effortlessly charming, card reader in one hand, shirts in the other, flashing that radiant, no-bullshit smile that reels people in.
Her hair, a cascade of midnight micro-braids, sways with every movement. The fresh gold hoop glinting from her nose adds a fierce accent to her already striking features.
Once the initial rush calms, I turn around and lean my weight onto the table. Sasha grabs a cherry sucker from our candy stash and slips it between her lips.
“Damn, look at this turnout,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “All your hard work’s paying off.”
“I know,” I reply, raising my voice above the music’s pulse. “I’m just glad the guys are getting the attention they deserve.”
“They really are,” she says, pulling the sucker free with a slick pop. “Jasper sent me a clip from the studio. That new track?” She shakes her head with a grin. “Absolute fire.”
“They never stop surprising me. It’s like they just keep leveling up,” I say, genuinely proud.
She leans her elbows on the table, glancing out at the sea of people.
“So how do you feel about spontaneous tattoos?”
My eyes light up. “I feel great about it, why? What are you plotting?”
She grins like she’s already got the wheels in motion. “Jasper and I were talking about hitting a tattoo shop while we’ve got some downtime soon. We both need a fix. He was looking at a cool shop close to Cheyenne.”
I grin back. Sasha’s covered in ink—one arm and leg wrapped in a collage of bold, patchwork-style tattoos. It suits her. Wild and unfiltered.
“Ooh, count me in. I’ve been feeling the itch too.”
“Hell yes. We’ll rally the crew. Tour tattoos, it’s practically tradition.”
My attention shifts towards the stage just as the band launches into the song The Legend of Safety.
Every place I laid my head
A story rewritten in the dark
Every prayer I ever said
Lost, silenced, torn apart
Safety is only a legend,
a tale that so many have told
Whispered by the monsters,
while they take the things I cannot show
They say it’s all around me,
but I’ve never seen the proof
Safety’s just a fairytale,
and I’ve outgrown the truth
Walls made of ash
Roof built with fragile hope
It always came crumbling down
Never learning how to cope
Safety is only a legend,
a tale that so many have told
Whispered by the monsters,
while they take the things I cannot show
They say it’s all around me,
but I’ve never seen the proof
Safety’s just a fairytale,
and I’ve outgrown the truth
The one who promised to heal me
was the one who took my voice
When safety is a weapon,
there’s never any choice
They tell me time heals,
but some scars never fade
I’ve built my life on ruins,
but the ground still shakes
If love is out there,
I can’t let it in—
It feels like safety’s
just a story I’ll never live
The words never cease to twist inside my chest. The way that Elias pours himself into lyrics. They are more than just syllables on a page. It feels like they are tethered from his heart to my ears.