Page 14 of I Just Want to be Yours

But she kissed me.

Did she kiss me because she knew I was about to say something stupid? There’s a good chance. I never thought about telling her I loved her until I was forced to say goodbye. I’m not sure why it never occurred to me before. We’ve been dating for a while, I guess. Does that mean I’msupposedto tell her I love her? Is she expecting it? The thought alone is enough to make the back of my neck sweat.

But she stopped it—maybe because she isn’t ready. I’vebeen replaying that moment in my head the entire drive over here, and it’s forced me to ask myself another question:

Do I love her?

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I rub my hands over my face. When I look up, Dave and the guys are staring at me like they want to know why the hell I’m camped out in my car instead of helping.

I try to shake off the creeping panic. It works a little. My shoulders ease, and I force myself to abandon every thought that isn’t about the band and packing up this damn van.

As soon as the car door opens, Marty opens his big mouth. “It’s about time you showed up. Taking your sweet time kissing your girlfriend goodbye?”

I just shrug. “Don’t worry, Marty. I’m sure you’ll find someone who can love you one day.”

The other guys in the group let out a laugh, but Marty flips me the bird.

The smile on Dave’s face gives me a sense of relief. It’s a real one. We finished the album just before our time in the studio was up, and he feels good about it—I think we all do. With it being my first album, I’m proud of every single song we recorded. I may not have written a ton of the lyrics, but I played on every track.

“You can put your stuff over here,” Brady says as he waves me over. After touring in the van a few months ago, we at least know how to stuff it full of everything we need without playing a shitty game of Tetris.

Marty and Dave head back into the house, but Brady hangs back while I shove my backpack into its designated spot.

“He’s in a better mood,” I say casually over my shoulder. Brady and I might not be close, but we’ve always gotten along—enough for me to speak freely in front of him, anyway.

Which is more than I can say for Marty.

He chuckles. “Yeah. Lucky for us. He’s still stressed,though.” I give him a questioning look over my shoulder, and he clarifies. “You know Dave. He’s always thinking about the next step.” He rubs a hand over his bald head. “Well, that and the breakup with Lynn.”

I stop and sit back on my heels. “They broke up?” I don’t know why it’s a big deal to me. It’s not like I ever met her.

Brady nods. The news is having more of an impact on me than it should. “It’s about a year late if you ask me. She’s great in her own right, but she’s never loved the band as much as Dave needed her to. She stopped coming to shows, and it was like the more success we got, the more bitter she was about it all.”

I nod, turning my attention back to what’s in front of me, but I can’t help wondering if the same thing could end up happening to Margot. Will there be a day when she doesn’t want me to chase this anymore? Carefully, sliding my guitar case into its spot, I try to rid the thought and say, “Think he’ll be okay? I’m all for planning ahead, but we haven’t even started this tour yet.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Brady says with a huff. “He just wants to keep going while we have momentum. I can’t blame him. The last thing any of us wants is to finish this tour with nothing else lined up.”

Getting to my feet, I turn to face him. “What’s he trying to line up?”

Brady shrugs. “Maybe more studio time. Maybe another opening tour. Maybe a headlining tour. Who knows?”

“A headlining tour?” I cock my brow. We’re doing well right now, but I wouldn’t say we’re anywhere near headlining.

The side of Brady’s mouth quirks, his dark beard concealing some of his amusement. “A small one.”

Ducking out of the van, I let out a breath of laughter. “Right.”

Brady leans against the van door. “It doesn’t matter howsmall it is. I still told him we need a manager. Or at the very least, a booking agent.”

I stop in my tracks. “You did?” Before he can even answer, I add, “How did he take it?”

Brady runs a hand over his beard. “He didn’t want to hear it, but he listened, and that’s the first step.”

The door to the garage opens, and out walks Dave and Marty with bottles of water.

“Well, I’m glad you said something. I was worried I’d have to be the one to tell him,” I mutter to Brady before catching a bottle of water thrown my way. “He’ll listen to you before he listens to me.”

The van jolts over another bump in the road, and any hope I had for falling asleep is wiped away. It’s Brady’s turn to drive, but I’m tempted to swap places with him. There’s no point in him forcing himself to stay awake while I just lie here, staring at the ceiling.

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