“Hit by a fucking car.” He shook his head and looked down to the ground. “Nine years old, not even old enough to drive, and he gets taken out by a fucking car.”

“I’m so sorry.”

His eyes cut to mine and narrowed.

“Why are you sorry? You drive the car?”

“No.” I shrugged.

“Then you got no reason to be sorry.”

“I’m sorry that it happened . . . and I’m sorry that I brought it up,” I said honestly.

“Don’t be. No one wants to talk to me about him. But honestly, I like to think about him. I like to remember.” He rubbed his hand roughly over the back of his neck. “But you know what it’s like.” His eyes met mine again, and I knew he felt a kinship because of all the people I had lost. I nodded, my throat closing up.

“I’m not sure I would want to talk about those sort of things.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

I nodded but still wasn’t sure I was ready.

“You just gotta know it’s not your fault.” He gazed off into the distance. I didn’t know if he was speaking to himself or to me. “It took me years to not blame myself. I was right there. I could have shoved him out of the way. I could have done something, but I froze. I just stood there as the car drove off the road into our front yard. I couldn’t even scream.”

“I, uh . . . I let my mom get killed by my boyfriend . . . who also tried to kill me, but only managed to . . . kill my baby. Some days I wish he had been more successful.” I was surprised at how easily the honesty poured out of me. It was freeing, like opening up a gate to my soul.

Eric walked over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“I know I’m not easy to get along with, and maybe that’s because I think no one gets it, the survivor’s guilt, I guess.” He sighed, and I could see him contemplating what to say next. “But you get it. Thank you.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. That confession had drained the energy from me.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re still here.” He gave me a small smile and stepped back onto the bus.

12

THE DAYS BLED together into one endless string of concerts and driving occasionally punctuated by an argument with Donna. She was determined to get me off the bus, and I was hell-bent on standing my ground. It was easy to forget there was more going on in the world than what was happening with the band.

“This band is awesome,” the guy on the other side of the guardrail yelled to me as the next concert got under way. He didn’t look like your typical rock-concert goer. He was wearing jeans and a button-up plaid shirt that hung open over a white cotton tee. A giant camera hung from his neck.

“Yeah, they’re great.” I kept my eyes fixed on the stage as Tucker belted out the chorus to “Empty Sheets.” “Are you a photographer?” I asked, motioning to the camera.

“Oh, this?” He picked up the camera and turned it over in his hand. “Just a hobby. This song is amazing!”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Tucker can make anything sound good,” I replied.

“You know him? Like friends with him?” he asked, and the question made me feel uncomfortable. “I guess that’s why you get to stand on that side of the railing.”

“He’s my boyfriend.” I knew I was blushing, but I couldn’t help it. I relished the rare moments when I got to break the rules a bit and talk about my relationship with someone.

“That’s got to be crazy. I bet it’s hard going so long without seeing each other.”

“I travel with him.” I grinned and listened to the band begin their next song.

“That’s pretty cool.”

The music picked up, putting an end to the chitchat. I loved watching Tucker perform. It never got old watching him do what he loved. I hoped one day I would be as satisfied in whatever I chose to do with my life.

After his set ended I slipped backstage and waited for him just out of sight of the concertgoers. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him as he lifted my feet from the ground.

“You’re sweaty.” I made a face, and he sat me back on my feet and grinned.

“Want to get sweaty with me?” He cocked his eyebrow.

“Mmmm . . .” I pretended to think about it, and Tucker picked me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist, giggling. He pressed my back against the cinder-block wall and kissed me. There was nothing playful about his kiss. His tongue slid over my lower lip and I let my mouth fall open, inviting him inside.

“They’re asking for you,” Chris called out from the door.

“Fuck.” Tucker rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. “I have to go sign some autographs, and we have that VIP thing tonight.”

I nodded as I dropped my legs and he lowered me to the ground. I was beginning to wonder if the timing would ever be right for me and Tucker again. I was finally feeling like I could push away the past and get lost in the kisses of my boyfriend . . . and now he had to go. Again.

“It’s fine. I’ll go hang out on the bus.” I gave him a quick kiss on the nose and waited for him to walk back out toward the stage. With a sigh I retreated back to the bus to spend the next few hours by myself. I hated being alone, but it gave me time to write and it had become a great way for me to work through everything I was still carrying around with me.

I made my way out of the back exit of the building and slipped into the bus that was parked just behind the doors. Tonight we had security posted outside, and it made me nervous to think how things were changing so rapidly.

I grabbed my notebook and began to jot down lines as they floated through my head. Nothing was really coming together, but Tucker had told me that when he writes it never seems to make sense at first, so I didn’t let it discourage me. After a good two hours of getting lost in my memories, I knew it was going to be a long night for the guys, and it was no use waiting up. I crawled into bed alone and stared at the pictures of Tucker taped overhead before drifting off to sleep.

13

DON’T FREAK OUT.” Sarah put her hand on my chest and stopped me from entering the checkout at the grocery store.

“Okay, Sarah, you can’t grab my boobs and ask me not to freak out. That’s just weird.”

“What? No!” She pulled her hand back and grabbed a tabloid magazine from the end of the counter. “This!” She pointed to a giant picture of my face.

“What?” I snatched the magazine from her hand, turning it over several times like the image would disappear. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

“It might be. See what it says.” She grabbed another magazine from the rack and flipped it open to the article.

“I didn’t do an interview. How do they have this?” I asked, pointing to the quotes directly from me. It finally dawned on me. . . . The man at the Damaged concert back in Lakeland. The guy with the camera. “Shit. That weird guy from the concert. I didn’t know he was a reporter. They can’t do this without permission, right?” I asked. Nothing in the story was actually that bad. It mentioned that I was Tucker’s girlfriend and that I was touring with him. That didn’t seem so terrible.

“We should let them see this before they find it on their own . . . or before Donna finds it.” Sarah grabbed the rest of the magazines, and we checked out as quickly as possible. I didn’t see why it was such a big deal. In fact, I was certain Tucker would get a laugh out of it. I knew he wasn’t a fan of these magazines, but this story happened to be true this time.

I slipped onto the bus, and the guys were going about their morning routines, which consisted of nursing their hangovers and Chris very unceremoniously kicking his one-night stand off the bus.

“Breaking Donna’s rules?” I raised an eyebrow at Chris who shook his head with a guilty grin. “She’s out getting her fancy coffee or some shit.”

I shook my head and sat my bags of groceries on the floor, pulling out the contents and slipping them into the cupboards. Tucker came out of the bathroom, his hair an adorable mess and his basketball shorts slung low on his hips.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he said as he gave me a kiss on the cheek and started helping me unload the groceries. He pulled out a magazine, and his eyes grew large as he looked at my face on the cover. “What the hell is this?”

“Don’t be mad. Some guy was talking to me at your concert. I had no idea who he was.”

Tucker flipped through the pages and glanced over the interview.

“Why would I be mad?” He slowly ripped the cover off the magazine and dug through the kitchen drawer, pulling out a roll of tape. “I like this picture of you.” He smiled and went back to his bunk to tape the picture above his bed with the others. I sighed, thankful he didn’t react the way Sarah had feared.

“You guys hungry?” I asked as Eric grabbed a coffee mug from the sink.

“Coffee?” He held the cup out at me with the saddest little puppy-dog face.

“I’ll get right on it.” I took the mug and sat it on the counter. He gave me a thankful smile, and I began preparing the coffeemaker for a fresh pot. The door opened and Donna stepped inside holding a drink carrier full of overpriced lattes. She sat it down on the table and pulled off her oversized sunglasses. Her eyes landed on me and narrowed before she dug around in her giant hobo purse and pulled out a copy of the magazine with my article. She held it up, not saying a word. I turned back to the coffeemaker and continued to fill it with water.

“I’ve already seen it,” I said, not looking at her. “So has Tucker.”

“It’s a great picture,” Tucker spoke up, sliding his hand around my back and resting his hand on my hip.