July 7th, 2017
Long Island, New York

HAVE YOU EVER REGRETTED something event though you knew it was the right thing to do? That was exactly what Leah had felt the night before.

When she shook Søren's hand while staring directly into his eyes, it was as if a smaller version of herself was looking at him from a shadowed corner of her mind.

Most people probably thought she was insensitive and a coward, and they wouldn't be wrong. But at that point, she didn't care. Surviving was more important than other people's judgment. Besides, nothing anyone could tell her would be worse than the things she silently screamed to herself.

Time and burying herself in work had helped her focus on something other than the agony eating her from within. But knowing she would be touring with Søren for almost two months had triggered every alarm in her head. Hence, she had shut down, disconnecting from her own emotions.

Except she couldn't deceive the ones around her. Her anxiety and the nightmares had rushed back with so much force, she hardly slept anymore. Dr. Schneider, her psychologist, had said it was okay to break down, that it was normal. PTSD was a lifetime battle with ups and downs. She had also mentioned Leah shouldn't be ashamed for trying to protect herself. Those words unburdened her a little, but nothing really eased her pain.

"Okay, you're good to go." The physiotherapist tapped her leg after finishing bandaging her ankle.

Yeah, the festival had barely started, and she had already hurt herself at the party the night before. So, after unloading their gear early in the morning, the first place Leah had gone to was the medical tent.

The sprain wasn't severe; she could walk, but it was annoying. Although hunger, frustration, and exhaustion were most definitely contributing to her bad mood, too. Her brain had refused to shut down during the night, replaying all kinds of moments shared with Søren and the imaginary situations she still secretly dreamed about. It was obvious her whole being longed for him, but she wasn't ready to face him with the truth. And now she was ultra-conflicted, and tired, and Buried Alive's concert was starting in less than three hours.

"Thanks."

"I know you have to do your thing, but make sure to rest your foot as much as you can so it doesn't get worse."

"Will do. Thank you." She offered him a smile as she stepped into her sneakers. "Have a good day."

"You too."

Leah rubbed a palm over her face and walked towards the food stands, dragging her feet on the sandy ground. One truck was dedicated to breakfast and grab-and-go snacks; the other was for bigger, actually cooked meals. Beside them were two tents with long wooden tables and benches so people could sit and chill. The festival committee was indeed very well organized. Imagine getting all that set up in a few hours just to dismantle it after dinner, to repeat the whole process all over again in the next destination. Crazy.

Also, why? Why? She mentally groaned when she saw Taylor and Søren standing together in line to get a coffee right in front of her.

"Good morning," the blonde said as she turned to her.

Ugh. Leah had approached them in complete silence. She had even kept a couple of meters between them while she stared down at her dusty black sneakers. But her mission to go unnoticed had failed miserably. If the guys didn't need a caffeine fix, she'd run away.

"Morning," she mumbled, tucking a rebel strand behind her ear.

Søren simply gave her a quick nod.

"Nice to finally meet you, Leah. I'm Taylor."

"Uh... Same." She shook her hand. Finally meet you? What?

"It's your first time, right?"

"Huh?"

"The festival."

"Y-yeah."

Flipping her bleached blonde hair over her shoulder as she flashed her a smile, Taylor asked, "Are you excited?"

"More like nervous." Leah crossed an arm under the other as she toyed with the ripped fringe of her denim shorts.

"You'll do great. I haven't watched any of your previous performances, but I've heard you're amazing."

"Thanks."

Leah's brows furrowed. Unless she was a psychopath, no one was so cheerful in the morning—wait. Have they already fucked?

She looked up at Søren, but of course she only saw herself reflected in his classic biker sunglasses. The dark-tinted lenses felt like an immense wall between them, barbed wire lacing the edge. She hated it. They had conquered all those boundaries before. But she couldn't blame him.

"What can I get you?" the man inside the food truck asked.

"A coffee with cream for me, and just black for him." Taylor turned to Søren. "No sugar, right?"

"Yeah."

She even knows how he likes his coffee. Leah bit her lip. But why do you care? You broke up with him and haven't tried to explain shit. They can do whatever the fuck they want.

Exactly that. Fuck.

"You've already hurt yourself?" Søren's voice brought her back.

Leah lifted a shoulder. "Heels aren't for me."

"You sure are clumsy."

"Nothing new there."

"Right," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned away.

His tone wasn't friendly nor mocking—simply plain, dry. Just like every word he'd tossed her way the previous night...

After feeling completely out of place for most of the time at the party—especially thanks to Astrid's constant glare—Leah had been rescued by Ian and dragged to a group where he, Jørn, and Chris were talking with some members of a band called Custom Killing. He'd introduced her to so many people she wouldn't remember any of their names in a few minutes, but at least she wasn't so lost inside her head. She had to thank him for that. And for checking on her during the last two months.

The Irishman was sweeter and way more thoughtful than his first impression gave off. He had contacted her the day after Søren's birthday to see if she was okay. Then one month later asking if she was alive, sending a picture of the beer he was drinking. Her answers were always nice but short, and Ian was smart, so he probably got the hint she wanted to be left alone. But here he was again, showing her that no matter what had happened between her and his friend, he thought she still belonged there.

Between laughs and jokes, the night continued, and the Germans finally made their way back to the other newbie band, Absolute Zero. As they rambled non-stop, Leah glanced around. Somehow big and small at the same time, the private party—set against the backdrop of one of the most elegant places she had ever seen—featured an extravagant yet beautiful mix between vintage and contemporary. And there, amongst the twenty-seven other bands who were part of the festival, she felt unseen, almost invisible, and she liked it.

A roar of laughter exploded her bubble, eyes immediately landing on the Norwegian metalhead who had stolen everything from her when she turned to look at the group behind them. How could he be even hotter than she remembered? Dressed up in a grey shirt tucked inside black suit pants that didn't match his style, he looked extremely sexy.

Has he been doing some special training?

"Who are you planning to watch?" Erik asked, bringing her back to the conversation she was supposed to be a part of.

"Custom Killing and Dark Omen for sure. Their drummers are beasts. Gonna try to stick to their asses if I can. And The Devil's Back," Oliver, the drummer of Absolute Zero, replied. "Have you seen their bassist? Man, she looks hot in tour posters and magazines, but holy fuck!" He nibbled his bottom lip, making Leah roll her eyes.

She didn't know what was going on between that woman and Søren, or whether they'd had something in the past, but she didn't like it one bit when she saw them on the terrace at the beginning of the night. Not that she had any right to feel anything. And still, the annoyingly tall blonde acting so familiar with him had caused a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach that Leah wasn't used to.

"I'm gonna go to the ladies' room," she announced. "And then probably to sleep. I gotta wake up at least three hours before the concert."ç

"Alrighty!" Chris nodded, giving her a knowing look.ç

Having to warm up her vocal cords in the morning was the perfect excuse to escape, but her best friend knew why she was leaving.ç

"Night." She kissed his cheek, waved at the others, and left.

Leah had never minded listening to such explicit conversations. She was more than used to being in the middle of that caveman-exchange of testosterone, but hearing how they all wanted to bang that Taylor chick... Does Søren think the same?ç

"Fuck!" she cried when she smashed into someone, multicolor spirals exploding from behind her closed eyelids.ç

With tears threatening to fall as she covered her sore nose—at least it wasn't bleeding—she froze when he spoke.

"You should watch where you're going."ç

Her eyes flew open. "S-s-sorry." Back to the stuttering, really? "I didn't see you."

"Uh-huh." Søren raised a brow. No smirk or any other trace of emotion. Not even condescension. "Are you okay, though?" His tone was completely neutral.ç

"Y-yeah."

It was the unsexiest situation—her nose was probably matching the burgundy color of her halter dress—and she was gaping like a fish, her ankle hurting, too. Fucking heels. Yet she couldn't help but gaze up at him. This man was a force capable of complete devastation each time he looked at her. The heat he elicited was dark and haunting. Almost immoral.

She shivered as her brain processed the sensation of his palm against her naked back while the other was still gripping her arm. "Thank you," she said, putting some distance between them.

Despite the uncomfortable silence that settled between them, that small gap in time was electrifying. Sparks yearning to fly.

Søren put more distance between them. "I'll see you around." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants as he walked away.

Taylor clearing her throat as she turned to Søren and handed him his cup brought Leah back to the present.

"Here, S." She smiled at him.

"Thanks."

"Good luck on stage." Taylor waved.

"Bye," Søren said with a tip of his head.

The German returned her gesture and nodded. As she watched them walking away, a sick sensation twisted her guts. She wasn't sure what was harder to cope with; the bile gliding up her throat or the sudden pressure squeezing her lungs.

Leah knew she wasn't ugly, and even if her usual leggings, combat boots, and knit sweaters wouldn't get her into any beauty contests, she felt good in her skin. After losing her mother and the traumatic events with Ryker, all the rest seemed trivial. But this interaction made her jump straight into teenage self-doubt. She couldn't help but compare. Her boobs were bigger than Taylor's, and her ass was better, in her opinion, but there was no way in hell she would ever be so lean. That tiny waist would only be possible for her if she took out a couple of ribs. And those long legs... What was she, five foot seven? Fuck. She was a garden gnome compared to the blonde.

Besides, Taylor seemed nice, and seeing Søren laughing with her felt like a stab. Leah knew how important a sense of humor was for him. They'd had a conversation in the past about whether they would choose sex over laughing. He had refused to answer because he considered both essential for a healthy relationship—she agreed. So, watching him have fun with everyone but her, especially with a woman who had no problem showing the world what she wanted, hurt.

Your fault, said the little voice inside her head.

Her eyes shifted from the blonde to the metalhead, and Leah found herself ogling him again. Most of the time they had been together he had worn jeans, boots, Henley t-shirts, and hoodies, but summer asked for other kinds of clothing. He looked hot like this, with all the ink on his body slipping out from under his Kampfar drop-armhole tank and cargo shorts, making one daydream about where it all ended. Though she already knew.

"What can I get you?"

"S-sorry," she stuttered, spinning around when she realized the muffled sound in her ears was actually the coffee guy calling her. "Three black coffees, three macchiatos, a mocha, and a green tea, please."

She was in charge of breakfast while Chris, Erik, and Marc were helping their techs finish everything so they could do a quick soundcheck before warming up. The musicians were the worst and sometimes skipped this part that most deemed so necessary, but they also needed something to focus on. Nobody had voiced it, but they were all anxious, so it was a relief to get away from them. They were being so loud she couldn't even hear herself think.

"Comin' right up."

● ● ● ● ●

Once Erik walked on stage, white smoke pouring around everything, the sound of people cheering grew louder. He waved at them, smiling, and sat on the stool. Twirling the sticks in his hands, he stepped on the drum bass pedals at the same time a stringed, sharp note broke through the murmur of the crowd.

"I can't hear myself," Marc said, looking at Uwe while they still were behind the heavy black curtains.

"Let me check." The bearded tech walked towards the bassist to adjust his wireless pack.

Uwe had known Erik for a few years—he and his wife met the drummer at a festival. Had grown up in a musical family and knew all the ins and outs of the industry. So when the guys asked him to join Buried Alive's crew to be their road manager and all-stringed-instruments tech, he couldn't say no. He acted like an angry parent sometimes, but mostly spent his days wrangling with the details of their schedules and putting out all kinds of fires when they were on tour.

"Try again."

The thick vibration of Marc's bass became background noise when Leah peeked outside.

"The crowd is a lot bigger than I expected," she mumbled.

"Yeah." Chris chuckled, sliding the strap of his six-string over his shoulder.

"I'm ready," Marc said.

"Good!" Chris put his pick between his lips and bumped his fist with him.

"Go out there and give them a show!" Noah, the drum tech, patted their backs.

Most people focused solely on the performances and getting immersed in the atmosphere as they forgot about the outside world. And while that was the main purpose of these events, none of it would happen without the hard work done behind the lights. Loading and unloading trailers at every location, rigging up wiring and lighting, making sure the instruments were prepped and ready to go; roadies were a backstage army that, undoubtedly, bands wouldn't make it without.

"See you in a sec, Jäger!" Chris winked at her and followed the bassist towards the rhythmic clapping outside.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the jet lag, or the thrill slithering inside her veins, but behind those black curtains, surrounded by their techs and the deepening buzz, Leah's heart pounded harder with every second that ticked away.

She was still bothered about how her day had started, but her annoyance evaporated when her bandmates glanced at each other knowingly. It was subtle and most people probably didn't notice, but she did. And she loved the connection they all shared. It was like a secret no one else would ever know.

The distorted intro of the first song on their setlist slipped through the massive amplifiers, and Leah couldn't help but bob her head. The melody climbed, getting louder and faster, a few verses with her voice layered and eerie repeating over and over... until it all abruptly paused.

Erik's drumsticks came down to his toms, and he started double-kicking the pedals. The other two were already headbanging as the strings of their instruments roared. Erratic and furious, the guys nailed every damn chord, pulling the audience into another dimension. One where nothing but them and their brutality existed.

The cadence changed, giving the composition a false sense of slow motion. That was her cue to join them.

Jogging, Leah went out, greeting their crowd with a huge grin plastered on her face as she stepped up on the platform at the edge of the stage. With both hands gripping her mic, she drew in a deep breath, allowing her shoulders to relax and her diaphragm to prepare.

"Inflamed egos feed on misery
False accomplishments to make profit
Persistent mediocrity, unsatisfied greed
They run to the top, stepping on the weak"

Crouching down, shifting her weight from one leg to the other in an open-squat, Leah made the horns sign with her hand on her forehead as she smirked. The song, admittedly, was anything but festive; a cry against egomaniac personalities that step on others to achieve their goals. And yet they couldn't not play it—it was their heaviest smasher, and the highlight each time they performed.

When she stood up and hopped off the platform, Leah strode towards her best friend. Back against back with her, Chris returned to the solid bouncing sound that characterized the track and she growled the next lines.

As the point of no return approached, the warped recording from the opening rippled through every individual sharing the experience with them. She could see it, the groove taking over.

Leah strode to the middle of the stage again. "Come on, people!" she encouraged, gesturing with her hand for them to jump more. "I wanna hear you loud and clear... I want you fucking up that pit!"

And back they went to savagery.

Hectic and restless, the interlude called for everyone to windmill their heads off. The uproar from the crowd was pulsating as everyone lost it in the mosh pit, enjoying every ounce. The enthusiasm reverberating in the atmosphere touched Leah deeply as she moved from one side of the stage to the other, screaming the last verses.

The aggressive edge of her voice grew as they repeated the chorus. All the instruments vibrated, synchronized to the same frequency, embracing her growls until they wrapped up the song with a final thundering hit.

Contentment filling her chest, Leah readjusted the monitor in her left ear and smiled. "Good morning, everyone!" she shouted into the mic. It was hot, but the wind offered some relief.

"What a start to the day, huh?" she panted, relishing the loud cheering. She couldn't believe the number of people who had actually come to watch them play, not giving a fuck about the sun shining bright and relentless above them.

Buried Alive was used to such a welcome in Europe. But outside their continent, and at a normal concert hour, they never expected this much support.

"It's an honor to be here with you today, playing for you." She held the skirt of her cheongsam dress down with her free hand when the wind tangled it in her legs. "So, what if we... take it to the Next Level!" She growled the last part, earning a frenzied yell from their audience, the clamor becoming deafening when Erik's drumsticks hit the toms again.

Fuck! It had been just one song, and they only had thirty-five more minutes ahead, but she was already loving the infectious atmosphere. Her troubled mind and the heartache from a few moments before, completely gone.

● ● ● ● ●

"You should go with them," Leah told Erik as they sat on their beach chairs, letting out a sigh.

It had been a long day.

After their performance, lunch with the entire crew—including the two new roadies Gunther and Uwe had recruited—and then the meet and greet, the guys decided to play soccer with the Aussies. Meanwhile, Leah found company in Natalie, the woman taking turns with Eugene in the merch stand.

And now here she was, in the bus parking lot, which, even with the constant buzzing of the trailers and the unrelenting, distant roar of the last gigs, seemed like a slice of heaven. It was a little bubble of calmness, umbrellas, picnic tables, jam sessions, and booze. What more could they ask for?

"Nah, I'm too tired," he said.

Leah crossed a leg over the other and bounced her foot up and down, lifting a brow at him. "You don't need to do this."

"Hm?"

"Keep tabs on me. I'm fine. I'll be fine." She corrected herself when Erik gave her his not buying that shit look.

"I know. But I've had enough of walking around this place, getting my sneakers, legs and everything covered in dust and sweat. I've showered three times today and had to wash my hair twice, dude."

"You're such a pussy."

"This takes work," he quipped, tugging a blond strand. "You should know."

"Have you seen this shit?" Leah pointed to the messy heap on the top of her head. She had washed it the day before and after the show, but her hair did not get along with summer humidity. "How do you keep yours so perfect?"

"Genetics." The drummer chuckled, pearly whites on full display.

"I hate you."

"Do you?" He smirked before taking a swig of beer.

"Yup."

They both laughed, then sighed again.

"This feels good," Erik said in a low voice, reclining back in his chair, looking up as a soft summer breeze swirled around them.

"It does." Leah mimicked him, smiling weakly.

Here, somewhere a few kilometers away from civilization, where the sky was clear and painted with stars, the jitter of lights from the stages flashing simultaneously with the low, distant thudding trapped her. How Leah wished reality was a paradox so she could bend and rewind time as she pleased, stop it at one of the moments Søren had smiled only for her.

Her flip-flops slapped against the ground as she bent her legs. She wouldn't voice it, but the urge to go watch him perform was pulling her. However, she knew seeing him on stage would only make everything harder. When Søren was lost in his element, Leah couldn't ignore his radiating magnetism. So, she just closed her eyes and sank deeper into her chair.

"I know you don't wanna hear any more about this, but... are you planning to talk to him?" Erik asked out of the blue.

"No," she answered without hesitation. She was hurting, but sitting back and pretending otherwise seemed like the right thing to do.

"Why?"

Chris had been the first to tell their friends what had happened, paving the way before she could utter a single word about it. And after she'd laid it all out one night, none of them had said anything, except for when they asked her if she was okay or if she needed something. But Leah knew they all had been aching to ask how she was planning to face Søren again.

"It's too complicated."

"Leah..." It was dimmed, but it was easy to read the concern glowing in his grey irises when he turned to her. "You're both suffering."

"He seems fine to me," she noted with a shrug, bringing her knees closer to her chest, as if that was going to shield her from the pain.

"Have you seen him today?"

"This morning."

"He's not okay. I think he didn't sleep last night."

"That's probably because he had pussy all night long."

A stinging sensation pinched her heart, making her grimace. She hadn't been able to read the truths she didn't want to hear in his gaze since he'd been wearing sunglasses when they crossed paths in the morning, but she had that feeling.

"You think?" Erik quirked a brow.

"Have you seen him with that blonde?" Leah snorted, poison flooding her mouth.

"Yeah, but I doubt they've fucked, honestly."

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes. "Talk about something else, please?"

"It's going to be a long summer. You can't avoid him forever."

"Wanna bet?" She forced a grin, desperate to change the subject.

"You'll have to face it, eventually."

"Erik... I can't." Her voice quivered. "I know they're not the same person, not even close. But I can't help but see him in Søren."

"I don't think they're so alike?" While the drummer hadn't met Ryker personally, he had seen pictures in the past. "I mean, there are similar things if you stop and look closely, but I'd have never known they were related by looking at their faces. Not if no one had told me."

"It's not that. It's just—It's too fucked up. Close or not, they're family."

"You haven't seen him since you found out. But I think it's just a matter of time before you two get used to being around each other."

"I'm not sure I wanna get used to that," she mumbled, staring blankly ahead of her.

Leah rested her chin on her knees and twirled the ring on her thumb.

"I don't trust myself. What if, hypothetically, we were on the same wavelength, re-tried and it didn't work because my head refused to cooperate and brought all that shit back again?" She turned to look at her friend, waiting for an answer to one of the things she hadn't dared say aloud before. "I would give anything to be with him, but I'd hurt him for a second time if that happened. Plus, I'd have to explain everything to him—"

"Who are you really trying to protect? I get that you're scared of his reaction, but... wouldn't it be better if he knew?"

"What's the use of telling him? Hey, Søren, you remember your brother? The one that abandoned you? Well, it's the same dude that used to abuse me. Can't do that to him to lighten my burden. It'd be selfish."

"Selfish is you not telling him the real reason you broke up with him." Leah's mouth twisted into a frown. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." Erik's brows creased together with concern. "It's just—If it were me, I'd rather have the chance to choose if I can cope with it or not. I think he deserves the truth."

She sighed. "I don't wanna open old wounds."

She wasn't trying to escape from her feelings; she doubted they would ever disappear. But after what she had done, she wasn't sure she deserved a second chance. Besides, all the weeks she'd gone without hearing a single thing from him had helped her understand that the pain and struggle they were experiencing was temporary. On the other hand, the shadow of her trauma looming over them would never go away if she spoke. Or was it just her innate cowardice whispering such ideas, trying to convince her?

"I get it. It'd be hard, but I still think you both need to have that conversation. It's the only way you can turn the page and actually heal. Whatever the outcome is."

Chris was her brother from another mother, yet Leah couldn't imagine her life without any of these guys. Almost eight years of friendship—and four playing with them—had forged some unbreakable bonds. They were annoying sometimes, yeah, a bunch of monkeys who thought with the appendage between their legs a lot. But she was lucky to have them all. They were her bandmates, her friends, her family, the breath of fresh air she needed when nothing else made sense. And Erik was so mature and understanding.

"Thanks for being here." Leah softly smiled, leaning her cheek on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head. "Always."