Her mouth pops open, and I smirk, walking away.

“What if I have more questions than clothes?” she asks my back.

“Guess you’ll need to find a way to negotiate for them.”

A quick glance over my shoulder verifies she’s blushing, but she also holds a challenge in her eye. I wink before heading back to the bus.

Colton’s stepping out of the bathroom when I push through the curtain to the bunks. He’s fresh from a shower, and he tracks me while I grab my acoustic case. With a sigh, I roll my head toward him and flip him off for whatever he’s thinking.

But I know what he’s thinking. Then he voices it.

“How long are you going to do this to yourself?”

My face tips up as I consider his question, but I wind up answering with a shrug. “I wish I could tell you, brother.”

He runs a hand through his wet hair and nods. “You mind if I hang out while you torture yourself?”

“It wouldn’t be proper torture without your presence,” I tell him.

When we go inside, I set up in another dressing room. It has a similar layout to ours, only with extra mirror stations. Colton flops onto his back on the floor. The exasperated sigh that follows doesn’t go unnoticed.

I haven’t recorded anything to send my mom for a while, but the asshole on the floor reads me better than I like most of the time. He knows the drill. He knows the mood. He knows me. Better than Chase, if I’m completely honest.

It’s also because of Chase. Colton had always been my brother but as an extension of Chase. Then his accident broke both of us, changed us, bonded us how only he and I understand and in ways that can’t be undone.

I’d make a lot of what happened different in a heartbeat, but not me and Colt. As much as I hate the reason we fused, I can’t imagine a life where he isn’t right fucking here every step of the journey with me.

And he has been. Even if it’s simply existing in the same room when I need to not feel alone.

I start the voice note on my phone, setting it on the side table by the sofa. Nothing happens. My mind blanks, a heaviness washing over my limbs. Tired. But not in the final stretch of a world tour, seven songs deep in a new album way. I’m exhausted by the simple act of sitting here. By knowing any pride or joy my mom might experience won’t reach the surface. By having to admit I dread every interaction at this point because none of it matters.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t believe they need saving.