Max looked at the electric guitar he’d brought in and hooked to one of the practice amps. He swallowed hard, rubbing his wrist brace, and then switched his attention to the acoustic guitar in the corner. “I still think acoustic—”

“No,” Steve interrupted.

“Bull headed,” Max grumbled under his breath, but he rose from his spot on the sectional to yank his favorite blue guitar off its stand—it was the only guitar he hadn’t allowed Reagan to borrow when she’d joined the tour. He took his time adjusting the tuning while the rest of them twiddled their thumbs or exchanged glares.

Max took off his wrist brace and carefully laid it on the coffee table. He flexed his fingers several times and then shook blood into the underused hand. “This one has been keeping me awake at night,” he said. He played several notes of a raunchy riff, shook his head, slid his hand along his fret board to a lower octave and started over. Smiling, he nodded and bobbed his head slightly to the rhythm as he came to the end of the string of notes and returned to the beginning.

Logan sat up straighter, listening to the natural rhythm of the piece and mentally adding his lower bass tones to the midrange.

“Oh, I love it,” Reagan squeaked.

“So you hear this kind of stuff in your head?” Toni asked. She was staring at Max with the kind of awe she usually reserved for Logan.

“Only when it’s quiet and I’m trying to sleep,” Max said with a wry grin.

His smile turned into a grimace, and he jerked his hand off the fret board, cradling it against his chest with his right hand. He massaged his left wrist and shook it out before returning his fucked-up hand to his guitar and playing the riff again. Dare’s rapid string of notes blaring from his amplifier made everyone jump. He shook his head and tried a completely different string of notes, shrugged and started over, now alternating E-minor triplets with a four-note pattern.

Wow, they were actually getting things done. Logan was proud of his band for holding their shit together for a change. Well, for the most part. Heads hadn’t started rolling yet.

Logan stood and went after the bass guitar he’d hooked up on the far side of the lounge. Dudes were going to flip when they heard the awesome bass line running through his head. Before he could even lift the strap over his head, Max’s riff ended abruptly, and he jerked the plug out of the end of his guitar.

“Fuck this!” he yelled, slinging the free end of the cord on the ground.

“If your wrist is bothering you, I can play the riff.” Reagan extended her hands toward the now-silent guitar.

“I’m done for today,” Max said. He slid the door open so hard it slammed against the frame with an earsplitting crack.

“We should have gone with acoustic,” Dare said.

“What difference would that make?” Steve asked. “Don’t you have to strum harder when you play acoustic?”

“Strumming isn’t his problem,” Dare said, setting his guitar aside. “It’s fingering frets rapidly.”

As was done in all Exodus End songs. Even the ballads. Max was probably thinking if they took a huge departure from their norm and slowed things down—a lot—he could play.

So it made perfect sense to Logan why Max would rather play acoustic. “If you’d let him play what he wanted, he could have used a few connected chords. Not had to move his fingers much.”

“So we switch him to bass,” Steve said, shrugging. “That solves everything. Max can play. We don’t have to put up with you anymore.”

“Seriously?” Logan shook his head at Steve.

Steve jumped up from his seat on the arm of the sectional and whacked Logan on the back. “No, not seriously. Learn to take a joke, man.”

“It’s easier to take jokes when they’re actually funny,” Dare said as he set his guitar back on its stand.

Toni collected Max’s wrist brace from the table and quietly left the room. Knowing her, she had tears swimming in her eyes and was offering Max a tender hug before she helped him put it back on. A week ago, Logan probably would have flown into a jealous rage and intervened, but now he realized she had a heart big enough for everyone around her, with plenty of room to spare for him.

May 12

Dear Journal,

Well, the song-writing session didn’t go as planned. Max wanted to do an acoustic ballad, which pissed off Steve because there are no drums in acoustic ballads. They usually get along so well, but were all arguing within seconds. I was stunned by how quickly the session deteriorated. Eventually Max caved and shared an amazing riff that’s been floating around in his head. I don’t need to tell you how amazing that is, do I? And then Dare joined in with this solo he pulled out of nowhere. I think Logan was about to add his bass line—and God, I wanted to hear it so bad—when Max’s wrist started bothering him. He left the session angry, but he wasn’t really angry, he was hurting. I don’t think he’s ready to let go of playing guitar and I don’t think his bandmates have any idea how much he’s lost by handing his guitar over to Reagan. Even temporarily.

I did get some footage. And I can piece together the good parts. This creative genius business is kind of scary, but I know the fans will love to see them writing a new song. I sure did! Well, except the arguing stuff. I’ll just cut out that part. Steve is such an instigator.

We should be at the hotel soon. I’m so looking forward to spending the night alone with Logan. He says there’s a hot tub in our suite. So you know what that means? Hot tub sex lessons for me tonight.

Score!

I better call Birdie before we get to the hotel, or I’ll end up being too distracted by Logan to remember to call her. Maybe Mom will let her use her cellphone so we can face chat. I miss my buttercup’s smiling face.

In-awe-of-the-talent-around-me,

Toni

Twenty-Nine

“Get dressed,” Logan said, kissing Toni’s shoulder as he rose from the bed. “We’re going out.”

“Out? Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” He wasn’t sure if she’d like the surprise, but there was only one way to find out.

A few hours later they were flying over their drop zone. He’d checked their gear several times, but he checked it again. He’d never taken a woman tandem skydiving and though he wanted to share the exhilaration of hurtling toward the earth with this particular woman, her safety was at the forefront of his mind.

“I am not jumping out of a perfectly good airplane,” Toni said.

She’d also said she wasn’t getting on an airplane the size of a sparrow, but he’d managed to convince her.

“You’ll be strapped to my chest. And perfectly safe.” He hadn’t done many tandem dives, but as a licensed instructor, he was allowed to do them and take his inexperienced girlfriend along with him. “Just enjoy it.”

“What if the chute doesn’t open or, or, or I pee my pants?”

He cupped her cheek and kissed her. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

He tucked a stray lock of hair into her bright red helmet. “Then stop worrying. You’ll be fine.”

He claimed her mouth in a deep lingering kiss, only drawing away when the pilot called out, “It’s time.”

“Time?” Toni squeaked.

Logan shifted behind her and attached the carabiners that linked her harness to his. He could feel the tremble of her body—knew she was terrified—but he wanted to share this with her. He loved skydiving and hoped it was something they could do together for fun. If she tried it and hated it, he wouldn’t pressure her to do it again. He wanted to find something he liked to do that she enjoyed as well. He’d already decided to buy her a dirt bike for her birthday, and he couldn’t wait to teach her to ride it.