I drove back to Liam’s house that night, nerves coiling in my stomach tighter with each passing streetlight. The high from lunch with Mason had faded. Now, it was just dread. The kind that simmers and sits heavy on your chest.

Telling Liam about the tour felt like walking into a storm with a matchstick umbrella. I’d played it out in my head a dozen times. Each version ended with tension… or worse.

His car wasn’t parked out front, and that bought me time–time to breathe, time to ...