He grinned. “Don’t be. He’s pissed off everyone. You just became the tour’s hero.” With a laugh, he walked away…leaving me alone with Evan.

“What?” I asked, after feeling his eyes on me for several long, silent seconds.

“Feel better?” he asked, giving me a crooked grin.

A small smile touched my lips. “A little. I would’ve liked to hit him more than once though.”

Evan nodded. “Yeah, I know.” Then he clapped my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find some alcohol, then you can tell me what that fucker did.”

Smiling at Evan, I nodded…and let the residual anger completely fade. Once would have to be enough. I had bigger things to worry about than Paul.

Like preparing for the album.

Now that we were officially signed, that became the band’s primary focus. And as the days crept closer to my anniversary, I grew more and more annoyed. I kept trying to make plans to visit Kiera, and Matt kept blowing them up in my face. Well, Matt and the label kept blowing them up. The record kept revising the contract, and we’d all have to meet up with Lana to sign the new stuff. Then they wanted to sign off on all the songs before we went to L.A. to record the album. That took up the bulk of our free time. Deciding which songs, then having Lana record us performing them, then waiting for the label to approve or deny what they heard. It was…exhausting. And it was made all the more draining by Gavin, who was still refusing to respect my silence.

“Why don’t you just give him a chance, Kellan? You’re being so stubborn. Just hear him out for five seconds. Five tiny, little seconds.”

With a sigh, I dropped my head back, hitting the side of the bus behind me. “Hailey…I swear to God we’ve had this conversation three thousand times already.”

“I know,” she said, repeating my sigh. “But you’re not seeing what I’m seeing. You’re crushing him. He doesn’t even look the same…”

My eyes hardened as I lifted my head. “If he was so worried about keeping in touch with me, maybe he shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

“Kellan…he had to…”

“I have to go,” I instantly bit out. I need this conversation to end.

“Wait…I’m sorry. Don’t hang up because you’re mad at me.” She paused to let out a long exhale. “Tell me about the album. How is it going picking songs?”

My face finally relaxed into a smile. This I could talk about. “It’s taking a million fucking years,” I told her, laughing. We talked for a while after that, avoiding all the sensitive subjects, and by the end of our conversation, I felt better. Worn, but better.