Page 4 of Electric Wounds
Marcus and Enzo join us, crowding the small space and making it harder to move around. Marcus leans against the counter, his blue eyes fixed on me. “You cook, too? Impressive.”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s just omelets,” I say, trying to keep my tone light despite their overwhelming presence.
“Omelets are a big step up from cold cereal,” Dylan says, leaning over my shoulder to peek at the ingredients. “I’m looking forward to this.”
“Same here,” Enzo adds, his tone more genuine than before. “It’s been a while since we had a homemade breakfast.”
Their proximity makes it difficult to move around the kitchen. I continue whisking eggs and chopping vegetables silently, all the while feeling like the band is closing in and my workplace is becoming smaller and smaller. Marcus’s arm brushes against mine as he reaches for a cup, and I can feel the heat of Dylan’s body as he leans in close to watch my movements.
“You know,” Marcus says in a low voice, “if you keep cooking for us, we might just have to keep you around.”
I roll my eyes, trying to hide my blush. “I’m here for the tour, not to be your personal chef.”
“Still, it’s a nice bonus,” Dylan teases, his breath warm against my ear.
Jax reappears from the bunks, pausing as he takes in the scene. “What’s going on here?”
“Lily’s making us breakfast,” Enzo smirks. “She’s decided to take on the role of our personal chef.”
I scoff, but don’t correct him as I move to the stove. I nudge Marcus out of the way to access the burners. Jax’s expression softens slightly. “You don’t have to do that, Lily.”
“I want to. Just today, though, not every meal,” I say, focusing on the stove. “Consider it a peace offering.”
Jax’s presence shifts the atmosphere. The guys back off, giving me space to finish cooking without hovering. They sit at the table, throwing out the occasional comment or joke. The tension eases as I cook, and I finally serve up the omelets, joining them at the table.
“This is actually good,” Dylan says between bites. “You’re hiding some serious chef skills in that tiny body.”
“Thanks,” I smile at his ridiculous compliment, feeling more relaxed. The band devours their food, barely pausing to breathe, like they haven’t eaten in days.
Marcus leans back in his seat, the first to finish his plate and appearing satisfied. “Alright, Lily. You might survive this tour after all.”
“Maybe, but only more omelets will tell,” Enzo adds with a smirk.
We linger at the table after eating, the conversation flowing more easily. Dylan cracks jokes, earning laughs, and Marcus shares a wild tour story. Even Jax loosens up, chiming in here and there.
The bus rolls along the highway, but I barely notice. For the first time, I feel like I’m getting a real glimpse into their lives on the road. Less snarky comments and more casual, joking banter. Eventually, the guys drift away, and I clean up the dishes before retreating to my bunk to rest.
Once I finish, I lean back against the counter, taking a moment to observe the guys. A TV mounted against the wall is pulled out, visible from the leather seats. Enzo and Marcus sit engrossed in whatever they’re watching. Jax is nowhere to be seen. Dylan, however, has his gaze on me, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Hey, Lily,” he calls from across the bus. “What’s it like being on the road with rock stars? Is it everything you dreamed?”
I shoot him a sarcastic smile. “Oh, absolutely. The smell of stale beer and sweat is exactly what I imagined. So glad I gave up my normal life to cook and clean for you guys.”
Marcus laughs, rising from the couch to join me at the sink, casually throwing an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll get used to it. Who knows, you might even start to like it.”
Enzo stays quiet, his eyes flicking between us with a wary expression. I can’t tell if he’s mistrustful of me, his bandmates, or just the world in general. There’s an anger simmering beneath the surface, and I wonder what’s weighing so heavily on him. Then again, the band’s been through a lot recently.
Choosing to ignore him for now, I move on to cleaning the kitchen counters while Marcus returns to his seat. The guys start ribbing each other, but the conversation feels a little off—like they’re holding back, not fully comfortable with an outsider around, despite their earlier camaraderie with me at the table. Dylan cracks a few jokes, though there’s a hint of something less jovial in his voice. Enzo remains silent, occasionally glancing my way, his dark eyes watching me like a brewing storm.
As the bus continues rolling toward Denver, I decide to retreat to my bunk, hoping to rest before the show tonight. Despite the bravado I showed in front of Enzo, Marcus, Dylan, and Jax, nerves still flutter inside me as I think about the night ahead.
FOUR
THE STAGE IS OUR SANCTUARY
Enzo
The bus jerks to a stop, rattling me awake from the shallow nap I decided to take, trying to scrape together whatever rest I could before tonight’s show. Touring isn’t for the weak—it destroys any sense of time, screws with your sleep, and wrecks your body, but somehow, we keep going. We’re in Denver tonight, and as usual, it’s time to shake off the exhaustion and get in the zone. My body aches as I stretch and slide out of my bunk, my muscles stiff from too many nights in cramped spaces. The others are stirring too, their movements quiet, almost resigned. We all know what comes next.
