Page 15 of Before Now

“Not a promise I would ever make.”

He cracks a grin as I push him away, everything seeming to shift back to the way it should be between us as he gathers up my bags. This is the Xander I signed up for—no strings, no emotions.

I hold the door open for him, and he bounces down the stairs with me right behind him. I’m pulling my messenger bag off his shoulder when a black van pulls to the curb.

The door swings open, and a familiar smile appears. Colton gets out in a short-sleeve black tee, his biceps more intimidating than I remembered. His black hair glistens in the morning sun, and he leaves his sunglasses on and strides over to us, bending for my luggage on the sidewalk.

“Lioness,” he says. He slips his shades down to wink at me over the top of them before pushing them back up and grabbing the strap out of my hand.

“I want that one,” I tell him.

Rather than answer, he hands the messenger bag off to Christian, who’s climbing out of the back seat. He loads the others while the band’s manager hooks the button of his jacket. His gaze completes what I’m sure is going to be a habitual scan of my legs.

Ignoring the return of borderline inappropriate Christian, I turn to Xander. “Keep Heath alive for me?”

Even after the hell of being Heath’s TA, he agreed to fill in when needed while I’m away. If he thought it was bad before, he has no idea what’s waiting for him as an assistant.

Xander nods. “You got it.” Then he surprises me and wraps his arms around me again. His lips press to the top of my head, a hand in my hair. “Go be great, okay?”

I ease away from him, and when I turn around, Christian has an entertained look to him. He sweeps his arm across his body, gesturing for me to climb in.

“Sinner,” he says, his voice low as I pass him.

It sounds more like approval of my outfit than a greeting. I take my bag back from him, and he smirks. He grips my elbow to help me into the van, but I hesitate when my eyes lock with an icy blue stare. Foster’s in the seat on the other side. I blink a few times, still in partial disbelief it could really be him.

Everything I wanted and couldn’t touch at one time. Then it all became a memory I hated to even be reminded of. Because memories are like a web, tugging at other ones and bringing moments to the front of our minds that threaten to break us.

He looks away first. His gaze falls and then moves out the window. My eyes shift to the two guys in the third row of seats. Dev and Felix are both zoned out, neither offering more than a nod. I slide into the seat in front of Dev, pulling my bag with me onto my lap.

The band’s been back in LA to rehearse the past few weeks. The shows on this leg have some changes from the previous two, accommodating for larger venues. They happened to be in New York for an interview today, so the label set it up for me to fly back with them. I just wasn’t expecting all of them to show up to my apartment building.

Christian’s already on his phone, sliding into the seat in front of me, and Colton slams the door shut on his way by. He hops in the front, and then we’re pulling away from the curb. I twist around enough to watch Xander and my tiny little life slowly disappear. It feels freeing to see it all fade away.

“Boyfriend or wannabe?” Christian asks.

I rotate around, my back touching the cool leather. “Roommate.”

“So, wannabe,” Christian says.

Foster shifts, and I catch his reflection in the window. Since he walked out of the bathroom in Prague, I’ve scoured the internet for pictures of Adams North. I’ve seen him on stage, grabbing coffee, signing autographs, serenading a crowd with his eyes closed, hand on the mic like he’s untouchable.

The images have merged with my memories, and even though I don’t know the tortured eyes and hard-set jaw of the musician a few feet away, it feels like I should. Like I have this sliver of my soul that suddenly feels foreign inside me. The memories of who he was not lining up with who he is.

When I look up, his gaze meets mine in the tinted glass. Then it happens. The buzz of excitement gives way to the tug. A tug that drags me under and into the words and hurt lurking beneath the surface between us. Foster holds me hostage there, and something tells me he plans to keep me under the entire tour.

6

FOSTER

Our first tour,we spent eight weeks camping out of the back of a van. Driving around in the hottest part of summer to open for the opening band. Most nights, Colton—who played one hell of a roadie in the beginning—would be half passed out on the bare ground while I slurred every word and told him every dream of what my first headlining tour would be. Sold-out venues, screaming fans. He’d always crack an eye open and add, “Hotel parties we’ll never remember.”

Then one song played by the right person at the right time, an influencer slapping it onto a video, lip-syncing my words, and all the far-flung dreams lightning struck into reality. Except I remember each moment of the past few years.

Also, neither one of us ever imagined it’d be a world tour, or we’d wrap it up by crossing the continental US entirely on a fucking bus.

Even as I shake my head, a thrill tingles in my fingertips as I stare at the ostentatious wrap on the side of the massive tour bus. Black with red accents and a ridiculously large image of my face, Dev and Felix only slightly smaller on either side.

“Not tacky or over-the-top in the least,” I mutter.

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