Page 62 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“Don’t let them drive you crazy,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the second bus.

“No promises,” I reply, earning a chuckle.

Our bus is less polished and rougher around the edges, but it’s home for the next few weeks. Luke, Vince, and Nate are already sprawled across the couches in the front lounge, their gear scattered in organized chaos.

“Finally,” Vince says, cracking open another energy drink. “I was starting to think you two were ditching us.”

“Not a bad idea,” Sam mutters under his breath, earning a laugh from Nate.

I glance around, taking in the small kitchen, the narrow hallway lined with bunks, and the back lounge that doubles as a makeshift studio. It’s familiar but different, the energy charged with anticipation and a hint of unease.

“Pick a bunk,” Luke says, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway.

I exchange a look with Sam, and he shrugs. “Ladies first.”

The road stretches before us, but my mind keeps drifting back to the quiet sanctuary of the beach house. Leaving felt harder than I’d expected. As the bus rumbles to life beneath me, I settle into one of the seats by the window, watching the scenery blur into motion.

Sam drops into the seat beside me, his knee bumping mine lightly. “You okay?”

I nod, though my chest feels tight. “Yeah. Just adjusting.”

He leans back, his arm draped casually over the back of the seat. “It’s always like this the first day. Give it a few hours—you’ll be bossing everyone around again in no time.”

I shake my head, but his comment pulls a smile from me despite myself. “You make me sound like a drill sergeant.”

He grins, tilting his head in mock consideration. “More like a benevolent dictator. Sometimes benevolent.”

I laugh lightly, but the humor fades as my gaze returns to the road. The chatter from the front lounge drifts toward us—Luke and Nate bickering over a playlist, Vince scrolling through his phone while muttering about social media obligations—the usual tour bus chaos.

“I need to get used to this again,” I blurt out, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “Being on the road. The chaos, the constant motion. I’d forgotten how it feels.”

Sam tilts his head, considering my words. “Yeah. But you’re right—it feels different this time.”

“How so?”

He shrugs, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s harder to leave things behind now. I guess the more you have to lose, the harder it is to walk away from it.”

His words hang in the air, wiser than I expected, and I feel the knot in my chest tighten.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I feel that way, too.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I catch him glancing at me occasionally, his expression unreadable, and I wonder if he’d rather spend time with the guys than sit here with me.

When we reach the next location, the atmosphere shifts instantly. Excitement and nerves buzz through the air as crew members rush to unload equipment. Sound checks echo through the cavernous space, and the bright glare of stage lights flickers as they’re adjusted.

“Is the setlist finalized?” I ask, weaving through the chaos with my checklist in hand.

“Yeah,” Cass says, handing me a copy. “We’re good to go.”

“Good,” I reply briskly, scanning the list. “Let’s keep it tight. We’re right on schedule.”

Even as I say the words, a feeling of unease sweeps over me. I continue my final rounds of checking in with the crew to confirm that all systems are running smoothly. Everything was fine earlier during soundcheck—Cass’s mic levels were perfect, the lighting cues were flawless, and the stage setup was exactly as planned. But now, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

“Emily!” one of the sound techs calls out, jogging toward me with a frazzled look. “We’ve got an issue with the backing track for ‘Unbreakable.’ The file won’t load into the system.”

“What?” My heart skips a beat. That track is crucial—it enhances the live sound during the instrumental bridge, and without it, the performance will feel hollow.

“I swear it was working earlier,” he says, pulling out his tablet to show me the error message. “But now it’s just... gone.”

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