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  Instantly, I was engulfed in his arms, deafened by the cheers and applause surrounding us. Then we were kissing—kissing like no one else was there. Mouths devouring. Hands roaming. Lips claiming. Tongues coaxing. Hearts submitting.

  And thus, our love was reborn.

  “Scarlett, come in here, please.” Mason’s voice echoes through the house, ripping me from my blissful reminiscence. “We need to know where you want the bed.”

  Startled, I hop to my feet and head towards the master bedroom, where he and the movers await my instructions for furniture placement. Once we get all of the pieces in just the right spots, Mase runs back outside to help the movers bring in the kids’ furniture. Hoping it will take them a while to get it unloaded and up the stairs, I scurry back over to the container of old pictures, eager to see what else I can find.

  SCARLETT

  Plopping back down on the floor next to the container of old photos, I open several additional boxes and set a few miscellaneous items out around me, in an attempt to appear productive. I dig back into the pictures and pull out another handful, excited for my next journey down Memory Lane. On top of the stack, I find myself staring into familiar green eyes sparkling with excitement and wonder, a young woman ready to embark on an expedition of the unknown. Flipping through a few more, there are shots of me and Mase, the entire band, me and Sophie, and a few of all six of us together. We’re all standing next to the tour bus—which we later nicknamed Cerrano—the day I left to go on tour with Jobu’s Rum.

  After the band returned from their first tour, they all moved back to Houston to record their second album, claiming they no longer needed to be in Austin since they’d been discovered. I always wondered how much Mason had to do with the decision, but I never asked. We began to date, taking things as slowly as possible, which is easier said than done once you’ve already lived and been intimate with said person. However, I was afraid if we jumped back in at full throttle, we’d ultimately have the same ending as before.

  I continued my individual therapy sessions with Heather, as did Mase, but we began seeing her as a couple too. To most people, a couple needing therapy in the dating stage of their relationship seems strange and destined for failure, but with our history and the grief I was still recovering from, it was crucial to have a solid foundation upon which to build a healthy relationship. Both of us quickly realized we had to let go of the ‘what ifs’ and ‘what would’ve happeneds’ if there was any chance for us. What if he would’ve asked me to move to Austin with him? What if Bentley wouldn’t have answered the phone? What would’ve happened if I didn’t sleep with Max? What if he would’ve died when he overdosed? What would’ve happened if I never came to see him at rehab? What if I didn’t go to Vegas to see his concert? What if Ash hadn’t died? Too many questions and no definite answers. Letting go of the past was our biggest obstacle, but we were both determined to give ‘us’ a real chance, and that was the only way.

  Jobu’s Rum wrapped up their recording sessions roughly three weeks before they headed out on their second domestic tour, this one lasting about eight months. Mason and I had been seeing each other again for a little over four months, but our time together was limited, due to his countless hours in the studio. To celebrate the completion of the album, he and I took off for a long weekend of relaxation and rejuvenation at The Hotel Galvez on Galveston beach. Heartrending and bittersweet yet breathtakingly perfect, the weekend marked a huge milestone in my healing process.

  Tasting the salty sea breeze each time I inhaled, memories of Ash flooded my mind, mimicking the fierce surf crashing around my bare feet buried in the sandy shore. I stood frozen, lost in my thoughts for a long while; Mason respectfully hung back on the beach, allowing me as much time as I needed to say yet another round of goodbyes. When the tide changed and began to roll back out to the gulf, an odd sensation swept over me, leaving goose bumps from head to toe. As the waves stripped away layers of coastline, much of the guilt and sorrow I’d continued to harbor began to wash away as well. I’d never been one to believe in angels and spirits, but in that moment, I could’ve sworn Ash was there with me, telling me it was time to let go and move on, relieving me from the responsibility I felt.

  That weekend was the first time Mase and I made love since reuniting. Never before had he been so tender and attentive, both of us recognizing the significance of the experience, almost as if we were both putting the past to rest and focusing on our future together. The following morning at breakfast, he asked me to go on tour with him, claiming he couldn’t bear the thought of being without me for eight months. Thinking out all of my possible arguments beforehand, he maintained I had no real obligations keeping me in Houston—I hadn’t gone back to college since I moved back from California, my job in the music room at the neighborhood center could easily be filled, and Andi was at my and Max’s apartment nearly all the time anyhow, so it made sense for her to move in there, and for me to move in with Mase. He reasoned if I was as all-in on the relationship as he was, touring would be a part of his foreseeable future, so we might as well learn how to live on a bus together. The thought of him being gone had been nagging at me as well, and truth be told, it was one of the main reasons I was hesitant to become serious with him again. There was no point in getting attached if he was going to leave again.

  Naturally, I was thrilled when he asked, especially with the newfound solace and serenity I felt; however, before I could say yes, I had a few people I needed to talk to first. The following week, I went to visit Robin, Ash’s mom—who I’d stayed close with since everything had happened—and we called his sister, Crys, while I was there so I could discuss the situation with both of them simultaneously. With overwhelming reassurance from both of them, I began making plans to leave with Mase and the band.

  Fast forward two weeks and I’m standing in the parking lot next to the bus, saying my goodbyes to Max, Andi, and Mina as they all wished us well and safe travels. The heat from the early-June sun was only amplified as it bounced off of the dark pavement, but I couldn’t tell if it was that or the nerves buzzing wildly through me that had my cheeks flushing a rosy pink.

  “Are you ready to be famous?” Andi asked as she took my picture with her phone.

  Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at her. “I’m not going to be famous, silly. It’s just these guys. Sophie and I will have the high honor of cleaning up after them, and throwing annoying groupies off the bus. Right, Soph?” I said as I beckoned Aaron’s wife over to the conversation.

  Strolling over to us, she threw her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You have no idea, my dear friend. I hope you brought your suit of armor, ‘cause you’re gonna need it,” she warned yet again.

  Ever since Sophie found out I was going with them, she and I had started hanging out more. She was excited to have another female on the bus, but told me from the beginning she wasn’t going to sugar-coat things for me; the first tour almost broke apart her and Aaron’s four-year relationship. I had a good idea what I was in for, and had tried my best to prepare myself for it. I figured after all Mase and I had been through, if we couldn’t manage to make it through this, then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

  After a final round of hugs and photos with everyone, the six of us boarded the oversized, jet-black bus, along with the driver, Ed, and their new agent/ promoter, Owen, who I absolutely adored, especially compared to his predecessors. The first few hours on the road we spent unpacking and acquainting ourselves with where everything was on the pre-stocked apartment-on-wheels. I was floored with how homey and spacious everything seemed at first. Little did I know how rapidly that feeling would dissipate.

  We spent the first few days traveling to Vegas, where they kicked off the second tour just as they had done the first. The guys spent the better part of the days practicing their new songs they’d be performing live for the first time, while Sophie and I read, played Candy Crush, and watched movies. The closer we got to Sin City, the thicker the an
ticipation and exhilaration grew in the air. Once we pulled up to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, we were caught in a whirlwind of excitement and deadlines. After Mason demanded that I be with him at all times, I followed him from interview to interview, and then to make-up and wardrobe for a photo shoot. I tried my best to blend into the wall wherever we went, never wanting to be an issue or distraction for him. We were given an hour break for him to freshen up and grab a bite to eat, but he spent over half of that time showing me how much he appreciated I was there with him. I didn’t dare complain.

  After their amazing show that night, I had one of the most eye-opening experiences of my life. I thought I knew what to expect—Sophie had warned me; not to mention I’d read plenty of rock star romances detailing what takes place at concert after-parties—but oh my word, nothing could’ve prepared me for what I witnessed. Thankfully, Mase kept me glued to his side the entire night, but even that didn’t stop the skanks from throwing themselves at him, as if I simply didn’t exist. And by throwing themselves, I mean rubbing their boobs against him, purposely flashing their panty-less crotches, attempting to sit on his lap, and a couple girls even walked up and kissed him on the mouth—all right in front of my face. Fucking shameless cunts.

  He snubbed them all, openly rejecting their advances, and pulled me closer to him each time. His reaction to their brazen behavior reassured me that I was who he truly wanted to be with, and despite their saline-enhanced breasts and collagen-injected lips, I honestly wasn’t concerned about him cheating on me. I accepted the fact he was a budding rock star, and unfortunately, these women were a part of the deal; if I couldn’t trust him to be faithful, we had no chance whatsoever in making it work. I refused to live my life questioning his devotion and trustworthiness. Thoughts about how different he acted on the previous tour did cross my mind, but I never asked about it. Nothing good could’ve come from that conversation.

  A little after two in the morning, he said he’d had enough and we retired to our hotel room, where I repaid him for his generosity earlier in the afternoon, and congratulated him for an incredible performance. The following afternoon, we departed the oasis in the desert after another round of sweet love-making, taking advantage of our last night alone for nearly two weeks, and began a string of nights similar to the one previous. Even though Jobu’s Rum was doing well on the charts and selling out the venues weeks in advance, they were still relatively new on the scene and needed to hit up as many cities as possible on the tour, all while being fiscally responsible. For us, this meant leaving most places in the middle of the night, so after each show, we would hit up the post-performance festivities for a couple of hours and then all load up on the bus for Ed to lead us on our overnight trek.

  In addition to the hordes of groupies in every city we stopped in, Andi’s prediction of my fame did come true in a way. Within twenty-four hours of first being photographed with Mase in Vegas, my picture appeared on the website of nearly every tabloid and celebrity-tracking news services in the country. At first, the headlines were funny, as everyone wondered who the lead singer’s leading lady was. Always smiling and gracious, I was polite to the paparazzi, even as I frequently dodged personal questions about myself, and mercifully, most of them seemed to like me. Mason made the mistake of calling me ‘Angel’ in front of them while in Denver, and I quickly became known as ‘Cheerful Cherub’. Once the novelty of the two of us as a couple wore off—which occurred as soon as Hollywood’s latest starlet was charged with possession of a narcotic—we were left alone for the most part.

  The hardest part of adjusting to life on the bus was learning how to live with Cruz and Sebastian. Sure, Mase got on my nerves from time to time, but I loved him and could overlook his annoying habits; as for Sophie and Aaron, he was reserved and quiet, while she and I developed a great friendship and used each other as a sounding board when we were alone. However, Cruz and Sebastian—bless their hearts—were two single, young guys taking full-advantage of all the sexual perks their new fame offered; not to mention, they were messy as shit, leaving a trail of clutter behind them everywhere they went. Sophie and I unsuccessfully tried our best to train them to throw away trash, put their soiled clothes in a hamper, and to wash their dirty dishes, but like other aspects of the life that weren’t so glamorous, I learned to deal with it.

  Despite my complaints about the women, the lack of privacy, and the filthy roommates, I really enjoyed being on tour with Mason. Each time I watched him perform, I fell in love with him a little more. The music flowed freely from him like warmth from the sun, entrancing audiences who basked in his captivating rays. In addition, waking up snuggled in his arms every morning made me feel cherished and secure. I knew better than anyone no one was guaranteed another day, so I treasured all the time we spent together, and supported him completely as he chased his dream.

  Footsteps approaching the living room once again pull me from my memories. Hastily, I put all of the photos on the floor back in with the others, and pretend to be overly-interested in a box of kitchen utensils.

  “Have you made any progress?” Mason asks as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

  Gazing up at him, I smile innocently and shrug my shoulders. “I’m trying, but it feels like these boxes keep multiplying.” There. That wasn’t a lie.

  “Why don’t we break for a bite to eat, and then we can focus on what we need for the night? Tomorrow, we can tackle the rest of this stuff together,” he offers sincerely, “and then hopefully, we’ll have a little time to ourselves on Monday before Crazy One and Crazy Two arrive.”

  Hopping to my feet, I tiptoe around the mess to where he stands and place a soft kiss on his salty lips. “Sounds good. What do you want me to get?” Silently, I pray he doesn’t say McDonald’s.

  “McDonald’s,” he replies without hesitation. The boy is seriously going to turn into a French fry one day. “You know what I like.”

  “I think the entire world knows what you like. You’re probably the only person that asks for fifty-piece order of chicken nuggets, two large fries, and seven sweet-n-sour dipping sauces to be in their dressing room before a concert, love.

  He playfully swats my ass as I search for my purse and keys. “What can I say? I’m unique.”

  Before leaving the house on the food run, I glance over to the corner where the photos sit; I’m dying to continue going through them, but I know I need to focus on other things right now.

  SCARLETT

  After scarfing down yet another grease-soaked McDonald’s meal, Mason and I work on setting up the master bedroom and en suite bathroom. We’ve been living in the two-bedroom apartment he’s had since before we met, but now that he’s finished touring and the twins are getting ready to start kindergarten in a few months, it’s important for us to settle down in a neighborhood with exemplary schools—not to mention the need for a house large enough to properly host guests and to celebrate holidays.

  Excited about our new home, I may have gone a little overboard in buying new sheets, comforters, throw pillows, rugs, and curtains for all four of the bedrooms, as well as new towels, soap dispensers, toothbrush holders, and other miscellaneous items for the bathrooms. The day I brought home the multiple oversized bags from Bed Bath & Beyond, I thought Mason was going to freak out, but thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he only made me promise he wouldn’t be sleeping in pink satin sheets.

  A little more than an hour later, our bed is dressed in fabrics of eucalyptus green and charcoal gray, and the bathroom is adorned with stainless steel accessories featuring frosted cerulean accents. Even though the rooms still need framed art and other decorative touches, everything looks incredible together. I’m trying hard not to laugh as Mason fights with the rod over the window, attempting to hang the light-blocking curtains, but when the metal clangs to the hardwood floor for the third time, I can’t help myself. Bursting into a fit of giggles, I throw myself onto the freshly-made bed and hide my face in a pillow.

  “You remember what hap
pened last time you thought you were so funny, don’t you?” he taunts from atop the ladder.

  Unable to speak through my fit of hilarity, the creaking of the metal steps warns me he’s coming, and for some reason, that makes me laugh even harder. Moments later, the mattress dips with his weight, and before I know it, his strong hands roll me over onto my back.

  “You’re getting our new comforter all dirty, woman,” he drawls as he pushes the loose strands of hair out of my face.

  Finally able to talk, I shake my head and reply, “No, I’m not. You’re the grimy one who’s been moving furniture all day.”

  “Oh, that’s right. While I was busting my ass in the smoldering heat, you were inside the air-conditioned house pretending to work.”

  Popping up off my back, I climb in his lap and straddle his hips. “That’s not true!” I exclaim. “I helped carry boxes inside this morning, and I was working inside the living room. I’ve been a good little wife today; I even went to get you McDonald’s.”

  He smiles widely before leaning in to tenderly kiss my lips. “Mhmm, my good little wife,” he mumbles against my mouth. “I like the way that sounds.”

  “Me too, my sexy husband.” Slipping my hands around his neck, I run my fingers over his buzzed hair and nip playfully at the ring he still wears in the right-side of his bottom lip at my request. It’s fucking sexy. “Now why don’t we forget about the drapery for tonight, and test out the water pressure in our new shower instead?”

  Sliding off the bed with my limbs still wrapped snugly around him, he pads across the room towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna show you pressure, all right.”