“Yes! Yes, live off of me! What’s wrong with me helping you out for a while?”

Nothing, except it would shred what little self-esteem she had left. “I can’t be a parasite, Jared. I just can’t.”

“You’re nothing like her.”

She turned away before he could see the tears she wasn’t strong enough to keep buried. But Jared knew. He always knew.

She’d spent her whole life watching their mother pop in and out of their dad’s life. Watching her get his hopes up only to disappear in the middle of the night with whatever money she could get her hands on. Jamison knew her father and brother would give her anything, everything, but she couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the chance of ever becoming what her mother had always been.

“I can’t live like that, Jared. You know I can’t.”

Silence as he considered her words. Then, “What if there’s a job for you on the road with me?”

“Band groupie isn’t exactly a job. Especially when I won’t put out.” Except for Ryder. She was desperately afraid he could turn her into a groupie with little more than a touch. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t his type.

Jared just shook his head, made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “I was thinking more along the lines of a cook.”

“A cook? For the band?” she asked dubiously.

“Hell, yeah. We eat crap pretty much twenty-four-seven while we’re on the road. You could fix that.”

His voice gained enthusiasm as he warmed to the idea. “I can almost taste your apple pie now.”

She wanted to argue some more, but the idea had merit. She knew it did. She could go on the road for a few weeks as she looked for another pastry chef job, could cook for the guys and maybe even save a little. But, still …

Pride made her want to say no. There was a part of her that was deathly afraid that she was just like their mother. That all the crap that had happened this week happened because she was genetically predisposed to screw up her life. Giving in and running away with Jared just seemed to prove that idea.

But at the same time, her rent was due in two weeks and unless she found a job ASAP, she wouldn’t have the money. Her landlord wasn’t exactly the understanding sort, which meant she’d have to borrow from Jared or her father if she didn’t want to run back to Texas a total failure.

Just the thought of it made her skin crawl. She couldn’t handle being the cause of more disappointment to her father, couldn’t handle having the neighbors look at her the same way they’d looked at her mother. Like she was a failure.

Could she do this? she wondered, a slightly panicked feeling in the pit of her stomach. Could she just ride away with Shaken Dirty tonight after the show? Just leave behind the life she’d begun to make for herself here and start a new one? One where she actually created new recipes and wrote the cookbook she’d been playing with since her sophomore year in college? One where she lived for the moment instead of for her ten-year plan?

She thought of Charles. Of her lost job. Of the way her carefully planned life had imploded in less than a week. Jared’s offer was a godsend and she knew it. Especially with as tight as newspaper jobs were right now. And so what if he was giving it to her to get her out of trouble? She could still be the best damn cook any rock band had ever had while on the road.

At the same time, she couldn’t believe she was seriously considering her brother’s offer. Especially since Ryder came as a part of the package. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face him—that she’d ever be ready to face him after everything that had happened in that hotel room early this morning.

But the band did have two tour buses for their exclusive use. She’d just make sure that she was on whatever bus Ryder wasn’t. How hard could that be?

“Come on, Jamison.” Jared held a hand out to her. “Don’t make me leave you here alone. Come on the U.S. leg of the tour with us. It’s only seven weeks.”

To hell with it. Maybe a couple months away from her real life was exactly what she needed. As long as she pulled her weight, there’d be no problem. And she would pull her weight.

Reaching forward, she took her brother’s hand, squeezed. “How long before you have to leave for the amphitheater?”

He glanced at the clock on her wall. “I should have been out of here ten minutes ago.”

Trepidation was a tight ball in the pit of her stomach as she headed for the bedroom. But she’d made her decision and she would stick with it, even if a lack of options had speeded things along.

“I guess I’d better start packing, then.”

Jared breathed an audible sigh of relief even as he said, “Don’t bring anything that doesn’t fit in one suitcase. The buses are cramped.”

Jamison closed her eyes, blew out a deep breath at the warning. And prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

She’d come.

Ryder couldn’t describe the relief that swept through him when he glanced toward the curtain and saw Jamison standing there in a pair of jeans and a tight tank top, hips wiggling and shoulders swaying to the beat Wyatt was laying down with his drums.

He’d been afraid she wouldn’t show tonight, afraid he wasn’t going to get another chance to apologize for the shitty way things had ended up between them that morning. The tour was playing a show in Portland tomorrow night and Shaken Dirty planned to head out right after they finished their set.

As it was, he’d have to talk fast if he wanted Jamison to listen to him. And he did want that. He was surprised by just how much.

They’d been friends for too long for him to leave things a mess between them. Especially when God only knew how long it would be before the band got back around to San Diego. They had seven more weeks on this tour, a few weeks off, then they were starting an international tour—just them and a couple of opening bands—that would take a solid eight months.

He couldn’t stand for Jamison to be mad at him for that long. The rest of the world, sure. He didn’t give a fuck. Hell, he relished it. But not Jamison. And not when he knew her very real anger at him covered up an even more real hurt.

The thought had him missing a note, not the first screw-up he’d had tonight. Jared shot him a what-the-hell look and Micah mouthed at him to pull it together. Which he was really trying to do.

He finished the song to wild applause—thank God the audience didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was all over the place tonight—then glanced toward the left wing again. Jamison was still standing there, a look of concern on her face as she watched him. It was that look that calmed him down, that convinced him he hadn’t fucked up their friendship too badly with his careless words and even more careless actions.

Suddenly, Jared knocked into him from his right side—hard—and he realized they’d launched right into “Careless” and he’d been so locked in his head that he hadn’t even noticed. Worse, he’d missed his cue—the whole first verse had turned into an instrumental.

Because he needed another way to screw up, right? Shit.

Forcing his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing—which was singing for a capacity crowd that had dropped at least a hundred bucks a pop to see him do just that—Ryder refused to look over at Jamison one more time. Doing so just messed with his mind.

He finished the rest of the concert without any more screw-ups—or at least any glaring ones. Jared had kicked his ass when they’d dueled, something the crowd had been completely aware of. But Ryder couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just too damn glad the concert was finally over.

He ripped out his earplugs as they headed off stage and Quinn was right there, in his face. “What the hell was that?” the keyboardist demanded. He hadn’t yelled, but with the level of intensity in his voice he might as well have.