And when I play her song, she’s the only person in the world.

It’s the song that started as whispers in Paris, then built more as my muse began to reveal herself in pieces. I wrote the lyrics while we found each other again, not even realizing what they were until they were complete. Spread across different pages in my notebook and in different places on my phone.

The guys and I finished the details in the final week of the tour.

I go rogue, performing it to a sold-out crowd.

But I made a promise.

We fly to Utah the next day so Remi can touch every picture and camera in the gallery.

“I think I like this place,” she says, dropping onto the chaise in the center of the room.

“I know I like it with you in it. Maybe we should stay.”

Hammers bang on the other side of the wall, saws buzzing, music blaring from the construction workers, and her lips twitch. “Home sweet home.”

We don’t stay—yet.

Nine weeks after Daniel dies, Remi receives a call neither of us expects. After we walked out of the hospital, she washed her hands of it all, ready for a life beyond the muted one she endured for so long.

But sometimes an opportunity is too delicious to pass up.

“I thought I’d get you to a chapel before a funeral parlor.” I meet her at the front of the car, running a hand through my hair, and she tosses me a sassy look.

Colt’s already reclined in the driver’s seat, arm over his face. My brother’s been dealing with shit the last two months—avoiding working through it might be more accurate. The need to feel in control and to protect everyone was always a trait in him, but it amplified after Chase’s fall.

Since everything went down with Felix after the tour, his struggle has intensified again.

And my drummer is our next destination as soon as we finish here.

I sling my arm around Remi and pull her to my side as we cross the parking lot.

“I haven’t been here since my dad’s funeral,” she says, leaning into me. “Sage said this is where they held my mom’s too.”

At the solid white double doors, I release her, but my hand settles on her nape once we’re through. Soft piano music plays in the entry, a musty smell hitting us from the get-go.

“Hello,” a man calls through an open door off to the side. He appears a second later, in a dark sweater and slacks, wearing a comforting smile. Well-practiced and intentional. “Oh, Remington.” Closing the distance, he takes her hand from her side. “It’s been a long time. Not quite the little girl I remember.”

She tries to return his expression. “It’s nice to see you, Mr. Stenon. We’re here for Daniel’s ashes.”