July 12th, 2017
Buffalo, New York

UNLIKE THE DAYS BEFORE, Leah was the first to wake up after Uwe. She was glad. It gave her enough time to do a short HIIT routine and enjoy some peace since nobody would be in the shared bathroom facilities at that hour. How easy she was to please. But seriously, having to walk for fifteen minutes to the portable shower trailers was better than hearing her friends pacing up and down the corridor, groaning to each other because they needed to pee.

As she stepped into the tiny changing area that was part of the cubicle, locking the door behind her, Leah left her stuff on the ledge and undressed. All she could hear were a few birds chirping outside and the water falling over her. This was the life.

Once she was done, she walked out with the idea of sitting on the trailer's steps while waiting for her skin to completely dry. She was wearing flip-flops, and getting dust and pine needles stuck to wet feet was the worst. It was the same with wet clothes. There was something about that clinging sensation that really troubled her mind. Besides, it wasn't like she was in a rush.

However, her plans changed when she saw his broad, tattooed, easily recognizable back.

Why the fuck do I keep bumping into him everywhere?

His hair was up in a ponytail, sweat shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, the indentations at the end of his spine calling for attention.

Smoking while talking on the phone in Norwegian, Søren was completely oblivious to her presence. But then, of course, he had to turn around.

Yup, no underwear.

Leah almost fell flat on her ass. It had been nearly three months since she had an orgasm because she hadn't been in the mood to even touch herself. But this man—this sight—made her remember how he felt inside of her and her folds fucking clapped.

Keeping his gaze on hers as his conversation with whoever continued, he lifted a brow. She scanned him up and down, mouth agape, brain dead. He wasn't exactly shredded, but his muscles were more defined than when she'd seen him last. Still quite bulky, though. And those pecs, those abs, and the incredible V that slipped inside his pants, guiding to his—

"Morning," Søren said when he hung up.

A shiver traveled up her spine, goosebumps spreading all over her body. His voice was so deep, raspy, and slow... God, she loved it. How did a single word cause such a riot?

"It's rude to stare like that."

Leah scoffed and her sarcastic-self won over the hormonal teenager currently throwing confetti because the guy she liked had talked to her. What even?

"Well, you shouldn't wear it like that if you don't want anyone looking at you." She used her eyes to point at the area she meant—though it was obvious what she was talking about.

She hated it when people assumed someone was seeking attention when they wore a skirt a bit too short or a particularly striking neckline. Everyone was free to wear whatever the hell they wanted, as long as they weren't hurting or offending anyone else. But in Søren's case, in this moment, no matter if you were a woman, a man, hetero, gay, asexual, or a fucking goat: You. Would. Stare.

Søren smirked. "Didn't think I'd bump into someone so early. Much less someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"You're gonna tell me now you're a morning person?"

"Touché." She nodded.

"Why are you already up, anyway?" he asked, putting out the stub of his cigarette.

Leah shrugged. "Those bunk beds are too claustrophobic."

"True."

They stayed there for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. The silence was heavy as his gaze roamed up her frame, lingering on her legs and making her feel naked under the intensity of his stare. Not that she could blame him, though. The gangster giraffe tee she was wearing would be longer than her sweat shorts if she stretched it down. Which she did. Uncomfortable, or hot as fuck; she didn't know anymore.

Then their eyes locked, and her heart lost it, playing a drum solo that blocked any rational thoughts from reaching her brain. For fuck's sake! He's just a man!

Søren cleared his throat. "Are you done eye-fucking me?"

"Huh?" Her mouth dropped. "I-I could tell you the same." She frowned, crossing her arms. Jesus, why are you letting him play with you like that? Get your shit together, woman!

He didn't even flinch and simply shrugged, making her blush with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. She wanted to stab him in the eye.

As he moved towards the shower beside the one she had just used, she walked down the metal stairs. Once on solid ground, hands icy despite the weather, she glanced at him. "I-I'm gonna go back."

"Sure." He nodded.

He had behaved like this since the first day of the festival; sarcastic, barely talking to her, pushing her limits a lot. Did he actually enjoy the awkwardness? Or was this just the way he was going to communicate with her now?

With the sensation of his gaze following her, Leah rushed back to her bus. He knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying the torture; watching her slowly break, falling at his feet. And although a part of her was more than willing to abandon herself to him—in whatever degrading way he wanted to make her pay for the pain she had caused—she simply couldn't. She had thought about explaining and telling him everything, especially after her conversation with Erik—being in the same place sure had ruffled some feathers. But she'd rather be the bad guy than expose to Søren that tapered shard of her life, one she wished to forget.

● ● ● ● ●

"I'm done with this shit," Leah said, bending to grab the colored pen she had propelled to the ground. "I can't do it."

Erik and Oliver, the Aussie drummer, laughed.

"It's not that hard. Look, you just gotta hold it like this"—her friend put the marker between his thumb and his index finger—"and then slightly snap it with your middle... Like this." He flipped the pen and made it spin like it was the easiest thing on earth.

"I've been trying for the last half hour. I'm done. You keep that gift of making stuff rotate on your fingers, and I'll stick to annoying the shit out of you all. It may seem easy, but it requires a different level of talent."

The drummers laughed again as the other six people sitting at the table roared at whatever nasty joke one of them had just made.

After the concert, she'd taken another shower, then ate a not-so-healthy burrito and some vegan chili cheese fries—why the fuck was that stuff so good. Later, signing autographs at the meet and greet had happened. And here they were now, in the picnic area behind the buses, hanging out with the Aussies.

The state park where the festival was held was the biggest they had been to so far, and the prettiest, too. There were sandy grounds and sweaty people, but also grass and a pond. It was cozy, and close enough to places they wanted to visit on their first free day since the tour had started.

Ethan, the Aussie guitarist, passed a joint to Leah, squinting as he blew the smoke out.

"Thanks." She smiled.

"What the heck? How did you get this?" he asked, scowling as he grabbed her forearm and turned it upwards. "Looks painful," he said, brushing his thumb over the purplish mark.

Leah took a puff, the earthy fumes filling her lungs. "I'm clumsy and bruise like a peach." She shrugged, awkwardly pulling her arm away from his grip as she handed Erik the spliff.

She wasn't in the mood for hookups. Her libido had gone to shit the last few months; her brain had other places to be. But have you ever seen a super handsome guy with dark blond, crazy locks, sky-blue irises, stubbled jaw, sun-kissed skin, and you imagined him talking with a sexy surfer accent? Yeah? Add a few tattoos and the rockstar looks. That was the lead guitarist of Absolute Zero.

However, no one matched Søren's dangerous, enigmatic energy. The depth and intensity of his ocean-blue eyes, or the melting effect of his lips when he smirked, knew no rival.

A loud thud and their friends cracking up broke the spell Ethan had been trying to cast.

"What's so funny?" Leah raised a brow.

"He almost died." Blake, the other Aussie guitarist, gestured to one of the twins in his band.

"No. He almost killed me," Liam said from the ground, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother.

"Nah, that won't happen. The Devil looks after his own," Mason retorted.

"Fucking twat," Liam grumbled as he got up on his feet and smacked his brother's head.

"You're dead." Mason grinned before tackling him.

As the twins wrestled, the rest of the group cackled, egging them on.

Free of responsibilities and worries, Leah wished every day could be like this. For the last few weeks, her life had been anything but calm, at least not in her head. She remembered perfectly how the fragments of her heart fell apart when she left Søren—they still stung. And the panic attack when she heard about Ryker's hearing for parole. And her hands trembling as she typed the statement letter, listing all the reasons he shouldn't be released. Although they'd once shared their lives, that man had destroyed her with untenable promises and fear.

Ryker's control over her had started subtly. He would flash her panty-dropping glances when she wore something sexier than usual, for example, while saying crap like, "You should wear this another time, just for me. Or I'll have to punch a few faces tonight." He'd also blame his anger on her whenever she was late after hanging out with her friends, claiming grave concern. How could she have ever found that type of alpha bullshit alluring?

And the ball kept rolling, growing bigger and bigger until his real face showed with every belittling comment he made in private or public—"Of course he asked you for a pic. But he was just praising you to see if he could get in your pants." With every twisted tactic he'd forced upon her when she wasn't up for sex, manipulating her, insisting she didn't love him anymore or that there must be someone else. Invalidating her emotions and gaslighting her when she accused him of cheating.

The physical abuse began a year or so later. First, a slap on the face. Then, a blow to the stomach. He hurt her in all possible ways, even blackmailed her, sometimes begging for forgiveness after hurting her, sometimes giving her the silent treatment or threatening to kill himself if she ever left. Until he lost control. But Leah was already so small and broken by then, she thought she deserved it all.

How could they offer him the possibility of freedom when her skin still burned every time those memories rushed back? Ryker belonged in the rotten prison he'd created. She was outraged and felt deeply betrayed by the justice system. For two months since she had heard the news, the images of the past had returned to her so vividly, even her bones hurt.

For some reason, though, all that resentment and hatred now seemed trivial. Lighter. Almost insignificant.

The soft summer breeze, her friends laughing beside her. Being there, alive, eased the riptide roaring inside her head.

"Okay, my stomach is protesting a lot. How about we go grab something to eat?" Marc suggested, standing up.

"Yeah, I'm starving too," one of the twins agreed. They were so alike it was really hard to tell them apart.

"What the hell?" Chris grumbled when Marc stole the joint from his mouth.

The bassist shrugged, and, followed by the other clown, ran away.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Oliver asked as they all trailed behind the two idiots.

"We're going to Niagara Falls," Erik told him. "We're leaving at eight if you wanna join."

"Oof, too early." Ethan waved a hand dismissively.

Thank God.

Leah liked the Aussies, she really did. They were fun and laid-back, and she loved hearing the stories about their first trashy gigs in Brisbane, where they were from. Together since high school, they had fought over girls, over the songs they would play, and over accepting shitty deals from promoters when they had better options. And although she could hear a twinge of sadness in their words when they talked about the past, the way they acted around each other and the strength of their bonds told Leah they were the kind of people worth keeping close.

However, she had always been quite a bit particular. There were certain things and moments—like those day trips away from festivals—that she liked to experience with her friends alone. Even more so when they spent almost all their free time with everyone else. It was stressful for her introverted self.

"Days off are sacred and nobody wakes up before ten," Liam explained.

"I get it, I get it." Erik chuckled. "If it wasn't for G.I. Jane"—he pointed at Leah—"we would sleep longer."

"If we don't leave early, we won't see everything we want to. Besides, the earlier, the fewer people. I wanna take pictures without weird faces or anyone mooning in the background." That had happened.

Ethan laughed. "She has a point."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Erik patted the top of her head as if she were a puppy when she narrowed her eyes at him.

The light and funny mood was still alive once they reached the food corner. Trying to decide what to order, Leah scanned the place. It was packed, but Buried Alive's crew had said they were there, so maybe they could all squeeze together on the benches. Then she saw the guys from Dark Omen, with Astrid, and all the members from The Devil's Back... the band Taylor played in.

"I think it'll be better if we grab something and just go to the buses," she suggested.

"What? Why? There's space at the table where Uwe and the rest are sitting." Chris waved at them, receiving a quick nod in response.

"I—"

Before she could say anything else, Oliver wrapped an arm around Leah's shoulders and pulled her towards his side. "Why are you leaving?"

She grabbed his wrist and slipped out of his unsolicited hug. Smoking weed had put her in a floating-happy state, but she still tensed. If there was one thing she hadn't learned to deal with, ever, it was unwanted human contact; an issue that had gotten worse after Ryker. And while none of the Aussies had been disrespectful or excessively blunt when flirting with Leah, they sure had tested the waters—considering she was the only girl in the group, and that they were sacks of raging hormones in their early twenties, she knew it was normal. But this guy had been acting annoyingly familiar with her.

"It's a perfect moment for you to introduce us to the Norsemen." His brows moved up and down suggestively. "That way, they can introduce me to the blonde."

"Marc!" Ian shouted. "Come here. Damon has a question about some pedals," he said, pointing to the guy sitting beside him.

Of course they would ask him. He was like a walking Gearpedia.

"Don't bother him, dude."

"Shut up. He's the best at this shit," Ian retorted.

Marc glanced at Leah apologetically, to which she responded with a smile. He had been avoiding Dark Omen more than he should have. And while she couldn't deny she appreciated the loyalty and love; the problem was her and her emotions. Just because she was a walking disaster didn't mean they had to end their friendship with the other band. It wasn't fair.

"What do you want? I'll bring it to you," she offered.

"Cheeseburger." He grinned. "Thanks." He kissed her cheek and strode towards them. "Hey, I'm Marc." He shook the American musicians' hand.

"What are you gonna get?" Chris asked the guys, bringing Leah's attention back to them.

"Dunno aye," Mason replied.

"Hm... I'm not sure..." Erik mumbled, looking at the menu. "Ribs?"

"Don't think they'll have those now, bro," Ethan noted.

"Whatever they have, honestly. I'm hungry."

They all ordered their food and then squeezed onto the benches with Uwe and the others.

"Excuse me Marco Polo, I present you, your burger," Leah said in a posh voice, placing the plastic plate in front of him.

"Oh my God, you are high." He laughed before biting down on his meal.

She was. That was the only time Leah called him that. She found it cute, and it made sense—his name was Marc, and he was of Venetian descent on his mother's side.

"I'm already coming down from it," she said as she bit into her slice of pizza.

"Don't eat standing." Jørn slid along the bench, pushing Astrid while she was drinking.

"Dude!" She slapped his arm.

"Sorry." He grinned.

"You fucking Viking bastard," she muttered, making him shake with a chested laugh as she cleaned the spill with a napkin. "Next time I'm using your hair to wipe the table. It's been twice already."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Thanks." Leah sat beside him and reached her arm across the table to the dark-haired guy sitting between Ian and Marc. "I'm Leah."

"Damon." He smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Same."

She would rather have gone back to the parking lot and be as far away as she could from Søren—accompanied by Taylor. But truth be told, she didn't want to keep hiding. It had been hard enough to distance herself from everyone while she was home. She needed the time and space to heal, but she missed their silly jokes and dark sense of humor. And being at the festival, avoiding them as if punishing herself had become an Olympic sport and she was battling for the gold medal, was tiring.

Besides, the source of her uneasiness was at the other end of the table, engrossed in his own conversation with Alex, the others, and the blonde stuck to him like a limpet.

"Can I sit with you?" Ethan asked, his face twisted in both amusement and disgust as he walked away from their friends, who were roaring with laughter.

"Sure." Marc nodded. "Sorry," he apologized to Damon when he slid to the right so the Aussie could fit in.

"Bro, I'm so over these dickheads. They're like pissed little ankle-biters."

Everyone at their end of the table peered at him.

"What?" Jørn asked with a snicker.

"Right. Sorry." Ethan chuckled. "They're like drunk kids."

"Oh my God!" Astrid exclaimed, the soda almost deep-cleaning her nostrils. "Pissed ankle-biters. I love that!" She laughed.

"By the way, this is Ethan, the lead guitarist of Absolute Zero, the other winners of the Battle of the Bands," Marc said, grinning as he patted his shoulder.

"Hey," he offered with that bright, perfect smile of his.

"I'm not so sure the company at this table will be any better, though," Astrid told him.

"What were they talking about, anyway?" Ian wondered.

"Shit. Literally."

"Ew." Astrid scrunched her nose.

Wrapped in a bubble of affection and fun, Leah sighed as they kept chatting. It was hard to be around Søren and not be able to touch him, but the heaviness weighing on her chest and the feeling that she no longer belonged there had been much worse before. However, aside from being a sarcastic ass every time they had been face to face, he hadn't said anything to keep her away from the group. So maybe, although it would be awkward at first, they could learn to, at least, coexist?

Just as that thought crossed her mind, her eyes found his.

Søren was staring at her. Not even trying to dissimulate as Alex kept talking, making the others laugh. It was as if he had zoned into her, the world around them completely gone.

Trapped in the sudden, private silence, she dove into the forbidden ocean of his irises once again. There was no hope and no light to be found. She was blocked out of his life, and still, for a fraction of a second, her resolution faltered and she felt like allowing him into the darkest corners of her mind. What was the worst that could happen?