Page 16 of New Year's Faye

Radley ignored him. “It’s certainly a treat to see Faye on the receiving end of one of these,” she said, tossing her curly brown hair. “And Sam as well? Christmas has come late—or is it early?—this year.”

I made an ‘aw shucks’ gesture.

“Should we be documenting this?” Felix asked, grinning widely when Faye turned her glare on him.

“Hush,” Liz admonished, finally getting her ipad to connect with the TV screen hanging from the roof of the bus. “What does Faye always say in these moments?”

“We’re here to help, not judge,” we recited in unison.

“Gonna admit, you should all call me Judge Judy cause I certainly am.” Felix held up two fingers about an inch apart. “But only a little.”

“You are all terrible and I hate you,” Faye sniffed.

“Children, quiet! It’s my time to shine.” Liz hit the screen of the iPad then cursed under her breath when the TV didn’t do anything.

“For goodness sake, sis. Let me.” Felix reached across the table to pluck the iPad from his sister’s hand. The twins shared the same dark red hair, freckled skin, and big bellowing laugh.

“Thank you,” she said primly when he got the slide deck to appear on the screen. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

I crossed my ankles and leaned back in my seat, already amused by the whole situation.

Who would have through one little marriage would cause so many issues?

“In the last eight hours you’ve been trending across most major news outlet—and that includes internationally.” Liz clicked to her first slide—a sample of the different media stories.

“The good news is, most of the articles are positive and generating sales for the tour.” She clicked to the next slide showing the increase in sales.

“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” I said.

“But,” Liz echoed. “Some sites are spreading salacious rumours in what appears to be a clickbait effort.”

She moved to the next slide, and I winced. The headlines implied Faye had been injured in a fight with me. No surprises given her injury, but damn if it didn’t hurt to see them accusing me of hurting Faye—one of the most important people in my life.

They could smear my name as a dick or a diva or a drunk all they wanted, but to accuse me of that? Fuck.

I glanced over at Faye in time to catch her touching the thick plaster they’d applied to her forehead. Seeing turned the possessive, protective ache in my chest into a full-blown blaze. And there was nothing I could do to elevate the throb.

She’d been released an hour ago, and security had hustled us out of the hospital and onto the bus as we had to head to our next gig. I didn’t mind the bus life—despite the lack of privacy. It gave us all a chance to collaborate and connect without cameras or fans.

Or potential stalkers. I’d once come back from a gig to find one of the hotel concierge sniffing my underwear. Not cool.

The tour bus was a beast of a double-decker, painted jet black withThe Wild Oneslogo emblazoned on the side in silver and electric blue. The bus looked like it had seen its fair share of highways, with a few subtle dings here and there that only added to its gritty charm. It was a rolling fortress—a mix of comfort and chaos—tailored for the long, unpredictable months on the road with a rock band.

Inside, the lower deck opened into a small but surprisingly cozy lounge area. Worn leather couches lined the walls, creating a semi-circle around a low table, which was currently littered with crumpled setlists, half-empty coffee cups, and a pair of drumsticks that one of the roadies had forgotten to pack. Across from the lounge was a compact kitchen, equipped with a mini-fridge crammed with soda, a microwave, and a coffee maker that looked like it had survived a war. The walls were decorated with posters from past tours and taped-up Polaroids of the band and crew, each capturing memories from life on the road.

Up a narrow staircase, the sleeping quarters took up the entire second deck. Ten bunks were lined up in tight rows along the walls, each with a curtain for privacy. The bunks were compact but surprisingly comfortable, with just enough room for a person to stretch out, stash a phone and book, and plug in a set of noise-cancelling headphones. The ceiling was low, giving the whole space an intimate, almost cocooned feel. At the very back was a small but functional bathroom—an undeniable luxury in their world of endless highways and dive bars.

I would have preferred Faye to be upstairs resting than working.

“You sure you’re okay to be discussing this nonsense?” I asked Faye.

She nodded, brushing aside my concerns. “We need to get ahead of the story. We’re already hours behind. If we leave it much longer, we lose the narrative.”

I gestured at the table. “We can handle it. You should rest. Take some more of those pain pills.”

Faye shot me an annoyed look. “I’mfine.Now, can we please get on with the briefing.”

I bit my tongue to keep from pressing her further, gesturing at Liz to continue.

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