Page 37 of Before Now

Now…

Fingers stroking shadows, it’s so much easier in the dark.

No fear of us being real where the light can’t touch.

We can hide in the lies without facing the truth.

I won’t drown in you again with no visible proof.

Foster’s notebook andthe lyrics he wrote have likely burned into my laptop’s screen by now, they’ve been there so long. I’ve been dying to see the footage from the spy glasses he wore while writing the other day. A glimpse into his soul he willingly shared for the documentary.

Now I’m staring at the words.

And I’vebeenstaring at them. Unable to look away or unfreeze the video. He’s forced me through time to a place I’ve desperately avoided for years. The real bathed in blinding light and inescapable like it was then.

Even when I ran to him.

They aren’t necessarily things I’ve said, but a remix. I recognize the original song enough for it to sting.

A video call saves me from Foster’s veiled message. I answer, only for my face to scrunch and my head to tilt. “What in the domestication are you doing?”

Heath looks over from where he’s on his hands and knees, his glare cutting. “Clearly, I’m assembling a shrine to the gods. I need to beg forgiveness for whatever the fuck I did to deserve a life of throw pillows and wine coolers. Christ, Sinner. I’m building a crib.”

I bite back a smile to prevent any more scathing responses.

Heath throws a package of screws and drops onto his ass. He lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, and blows out smoke and resignation. “Love crushes the soul as much as it completes it.”

“A wise director once said, ‘You know true love when you’re desperate to live inside their skin while simultaneously wishing they’d forget you exist.’”

“Sounds like a brilliant man—an actual philosopher.” He does anon with itmotion with the fingers holding his cigarette. “Report.”

He’s on the floor of his garage with his laptop since he’s not allowed to smoke in the house. They renovated to add an apartment above for him to work in before they moved in. He agreed to kids and suburbia. His line was having to stay outside to smoke or get high.

It also protects any neighbors with poor judgment who might see him and mistake Heath Erickson for amorning, how’s the weathertype of dude.

I witnessed an unfortunate attempt at small talk with him once on set, and Heath threatened to blackball the guy from ever working in music again.

“Well,sir”—I throw him a wry smile when he flips me off—“we have about twenty hours of raw footage between all the cams. Plenty of concert takes, multiple angles and POVs from bass and drums. B-roll on the bus and backstage. The band has today and tomorrow off, so I’m hoping to get shots of them outside the tour space. Basically, we’re on track.”

“Then where the fuck is the Adams North interview?” Heath lifts an eyebrow, and I look away. “Right. So we’re going rogue and ignoring the label’s very clear instructions to focus on him.”

I glare at him for the reminder. The execs and their agent mentioned it plenty so long as the band was out of earshot. They want Adams North, but he’s part of a nonnegotiable package deal.

“I have footage of him. And they’re aband,” I add. “It’s a doc on Of Men and Wolves, and I refuse to make Dev or Felix feel like they’re any less a part of this.”

A corner of Heath’s mouth perks up. “I didn’t say I’m not onboard, Sinner. Only clarifying, so I can tell Mac to eat my dick if they push. But we do need interviews with Adams. You have a lot of one-on-ones with the others, but he only appears in groups or from afar. Is he intimidating you? Being an entitled fuck?”

“No.” I say it quickly and then let out a settling breath. “Adams is the lead singer and guitarist for a band finishing their first world tour, writing their next studio album, and adjusting to an entire world’s attention on them. He hardly sleeps from what I’ve seen, and there’s little downtime with the additional shows. I’m not forcing a cam and mic on him anytime he’s allowed to breathe.”

The noise-canceling of my earbuds is highly unappreciated once I finish. The only sound is paper burning as Heath draws out a drag, studying me while I try like hell not to give him anything else. No need to accidentally mention with my eyes howAdamsand I are allergic to anything one-on-one at the moment.

Foster’s avoided me since Seattle, and I haven’t exactly chased him down. He didn’t even hesitate after I told him the SD card was in my bag. And asking about the fountain after so long. I didn’t expect him to remember either, and it felt like I finally found him again. Now I have to remember what it’s like to miss him.

Except he’s everywhere.

Heath tosses his butt somewhere on the concrete of his garage. Away from the pieces of unassembled crib. His eyes bore into the camera and me and likely the rest of the bus behind me before he sighs and swipes up his phone. “Get the interviews.”

Underneath the clipped tone, I latch onto the unspoken trust. We both know he’d be on a plane to Utah right now if I were anyone else.

---