CHAPTER thirty-one
Unfixable, Unworthy
Somewhere between San Diego and Nashville
The phone rings three times before I hear it—his voice, singing my name like a chorus he’s performed a thousand times. “Ramonaaaaa,” he croons, pitch-perfect and dramatic as ever. “How are you, dove? How’s the tour treating my favorite little rockstar?”
I don’t waste a second.
“Reign, I royally screwed up, and I need you to work some of your beautiful, dazzling, otherworldly magic.”
There’s a pause, and then his voice dips into that velvet tone he uses when he knows I’m on the verge of unraveling.
“Tell me everything, my love.”
So I do.
I tell him about Elias, about how it’s become more than just a casual thing, how I’ve been learning the truth behind his past, slowly peeling back layers.
I tell him what Traeger said, how I didn’t even think before my fist connected with his smug face.
About Vernon quitting, about us getting dropped from the tour, about the look on Elias’s face like it was all his fault.
When the words finally run out, the line goes completely silent. Just for a beat. Long enough for my heart to thud painfully against my ribs.
“I don’t know what to do, Reign,” I whisper, voice cracking. “How do I fix this?”
When he finally speaks, his tone is a warm, melodic balm, smoothing over the jagged edges inside me.
“Well, first off, you’re my hero for decking that motherfucker after what he said,”
I try to laugh, but it’s hollow.
“Now let’s take a breath, sweet girl. Let’s think about this together. We’ll figure it out.”
His steadiness grounds me, gives me enough air to keep talking.
“Do you know any bands that need an opener? Or—or maybe we pitch a stripped-down thing to smaller venues? I’ve always thought an unplugged Atlas Obsidian set would be unreal.”
There’s a low hum of approval on the other end, the sound of an idea taking root.
“Oh, that’s a thought, lovely… a really good one,” he says, already shifting into problem-solver mode. “Let me make some calls. I’ve got you.”
And even though nothing is fixed yet, something inside me unclenches—because when Reign says he’s got me, he means it.
Relief floods like air after being underwater for too long.
If there’s anyone on this planet who can fix this, it’s Reign.
The man is a walking Rolodex of the music industry’s elite.
Everyone loves him because how could you not?
He’s all glitter, grit, and gold-hearted brilliance wrapped in six feet of charisma.
The kind of person who is too iconic for even a last name, like Cher.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it from the bottom of my soul. “You’re honestly the best person alive, and I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t I know it, honey,” he replies, a grin in his voice, followed by a perfectly timed finger snap I can hear through the phone. “Sit tight. I’ll be in touch.”
He hangs up, and I set the phone down gently, like it’s carrying the weight of every hope I’ve got left. My teeth find the edge of my nail as nerves creep back in.
Please let this work.
Please let me fix what I broke.
Because I’ve never wanted something so badly to not be over. Not like this.
I feel the bus finally come to a gentle stop, the hiss of the brakes signaling that we’ve parked for the night.
With how far we are from Nashville, we’ve got a few days ahead of us—long, winding stretches of highway to sit with the mess I’ve made.
I’m hoping Reign pulls off a miracle before we get back, but until then, I don’t want to dangle false hope in front of the guys. Not until I know it’s real.
I crack the door open and peek into the narrow hallway.
The others have already tucked themselves into their bunks, curtains drawn, silence settling like a heavy blanket over the bus.
That’s when I see Elias, shoulders tense, jaw set, walking like he’s trying to outrun something inside himself.
His eyes flick to mine. I give the smallest nod, motioning him in.
He pauses—just for a second—then slips through the door.
The air shifts instantly.
He stands in front of me, quiet and impassive, shadows cutting across his face. The grief on him is palpable, like it’s threaded into his bones.
“Sit?” I ask gently.
Without a word, he lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress. I join him, close but not touching. There’s a space between us, like neither of us is quite sure how to cross it.
“Elias,” I start, trying to keep my voice steady, “we’re going to figure this out. None of this is your fault.”
He laughs bitterly.
“How can you say that? Traeger didn’t explode until I threw a punch. If I had just walked away, we’d still be on tour. Vernon would still be here. You wouldn’t be sitting here trying to make me feel better.”
His head drops, and the weight of his guilt seems to physically pull him down.
“Maybe,” I say. “But Traeger was cruel, and I acted without thinking too. You’re not the only one who made a choice.”
His head remains bowed, the weight of the silence between us thick and unspoken, a chasm neither of us has crossed yet. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, strained, as if the words cost him something.
“Do you even know how we got on tour with Hellwake?”
I watch him carefully, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. When they finally do, I nod gently, silently urging him to go on.
“Vernon knew their tour manager. He had to beg him to let us join.”
“Why?” I ask softly, though I already feel the dread curling in my stomach.
He exhales sharply, the next words like glass in his throat. “Because I wrecked our reputation. Everything we built. I destroyed it. My choices, my spiraling… it all caught up to us.”
He pauses, eyes flickering with shame, and it’s not just emotional, it’s physical. His body seems to fold under the weight of it.
“The band was on fire,” he continues, bitter. “Our album was charting, the tour was selling out. And I flushed it down the fucking drain because I couldn’t get my shit together. Now no one sees me as anything but the junkie who tanked it all.”
The words hit me like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. My throat tightens, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
“Don’t you dare say that about yourself,” I breathe, my voice cracking. “You are not your past. You’re not your lowest moments. You made mistakes. Everyone does, but that doesn’t mean you’re beyond redemption. It doesn’t mean you’re worthless.”
His eyes flick away like he can’t bear to hold my belief in him.
“We were lucky to even get this tour,” he says. “After everything… no venues would book us. Fans bailed. The name Atlas Obsidian became a punchline.” He looks back at me, the defeat in his expression gutting. “I ruined it back then… and again now.”
I shake my head. “What’s done is done. But look around—look at what you’ve rebuilt. The crowds coming out to these shows aren’t here for Hellwake. They’re here for you. For the band. For the music. Your music. Your story. That didn’t happen by accident.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares past me like he’s trapped in a memory he can’t escape. And I see it so clearly—he doesn’t believe a single word I’ve said. He thinks I’m just trying to make him feel better. Trying to patch a wound too deep to close.
And it breaks my heart in a way I can’t explain. Not just because I care for him, but because I see him. The man behind the scars. And I don’t know how to make him see it, too.
A silence stretches long between us. I can feel the next words burning on my tongue, afraid to release them, but I can’t hold them back any longer.
“What does this mean for us?” I ask, my stomach twisting with dread.
He finally looks at me, and those amber eyes—so rich, so heartbreakingly tired—meet mine again.
“We always knew what this was,” he says quietly. “It’s just… ending sooner than we planned. We go our separate ways.”
But his voice doesn’t match his words. He’s trying to be indifferent, but I can hear the ache beneath the surface. And I know in my bones that this isn’t just casual. Not anymore.
“Is that really what you want?” I press.
He hesitates. His throat works around the lump of something he’s not saying.
“It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Yes, it does,” I insist, turning toward him fully now. “Tell me. What do you want, Elias? No bullshit. No pretending.”
He pauses so long that I’m not sure he’s going to answer. His voice cracks, as if something inside him is breaking open.
“I want you to stop wanting me,” He shakes his head slowly, shame bleeding into every syllable.
“I don’t know what you see in me. Everything I touch falls apart. I ruin things. I ruin people. I don’t deserve to be wanted by someone like you.”
I move closer, shifting onto my knees so I can face him fully.
“I want you to stop wanting me,” he says quietly. “Because that would make this easier.”
My heart clenches. “What do you mean?”
He swallows hard, his eyes darting away before he speaks.
“If you walked away, then maybe I could let go. Maybe it would prove what I’ve always believed—that I don’t deserve you.”
He pauses, the weight of his words settling between us like smoke.
Without thinking, I reach up and cradle his face in my hands. His jaw tenses under my touch, but he doesn’t pull away. I guide his gaze back to mine until our noses brush, breaths mingling in the fragile space between us.
“Do you want to know what I want?” I whisper.
He doesn’t speak, but his hand finds my hip, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like he’s holding on for dear life.
“I want you to see yourself the way I see you. The way your friends do,” I say, my voice trembling with the truth.
“I see someone who fights for the people he cares about, even when it hurts. I see someone who is loyal and raw and honest. I see a man who’s survived hell and still manages to show up for others. I see strength, Elias. I see you. And I want you. Every piece.”
I swing one leg over him, settling into his lap, and he lets out a shaky breath like he’s finally exhaling something he’s been holding in for too long. His arms wrap around my waist and slide up my back.
I tuck his head beneath my chin as I run my fingers through his hair, cradling him close. He holds on tightly, fiercely, but there’s still a tension there, humming under his skin. Like he’s at war with himself. Like letting me in is both everything he needs and the thing he fears most.
He finally pulls back, just enough for our eyes to meet again. I stand between his legs and reach up to gently sweep his hair away from his face.
“I promise we’re going to figure all of this out,” I say softly.
He nods, slow and silent, holding onto the hope in my words like he’s trying to convince himself it’s enough. I’m not sure if he realizes I’m not just talking about the tour, or the band, or the mess we’re wading through—I mean us too. All of it.
Before he can respond, a knock at the door pulls both of our attention. It creaks open slowly, and Cody’s head pokes around the frame.
When he spots us, fully clothed and silent, he exhales dramatically and pushes the door open wider.
“Oh thank god you guys aren’t mid-coitus,” he quips.
Elias doesn’t so much as crack a smile. I try to muster one, but it barely reaches my eyes.
“Sorry,” Cody says, shrugging. “You know it physically hurts me to be serious for too long.”
He crosses the room, Grady and Jasper coming in behind him, and drops onto the bed beside Elias, draping an arm around his shoulders in that way only Cody can pull off—half-joking, half-heartfelt, but entirely real.
“Dude. No matter what happens, we’re good. You matter more than any tour. More than the band. We’ve got you.”
“We’ll figure this shit out, man,” Jasper says. Grady nods in agreement.
Elias slaps a hand against Cody’s knee.
“Thanks, guys.” The words leave his mouth flat, lifeless—like they’re on autopilot.
The guys study him for a second longer, then Cody stands and heads for the door. Grady and Jasper step out first. Just as Cody is about to disappear too, he tosses one final remark over his shoulder.
“Also... confession time. A tiny part of me was hoping I’d walk in on you two, just to see how you get down.”
I launch a pillow at him, but the door clicks shut a second before it hits the mark.
“That man has a screw loose,” I mutter, managing a real laugh this time.
But the levity doesn’t last long. Elias rises from the bed, the distance between us suddenly stretching again.
“You’re not staying?” I ask.
He hesitates, not meeting my eyes.
“I need to be alone for a bit,” he says quietly, then walks out, leaving the door open and a hollow ache in his place.