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.