Page 61 of Hymns of the Broken

He finally lets me go, but not without stealing one last kiss.

I grab my sleep clothes, since that’s what I came in wearing and have no other options. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed. Jasper, still wearing his sweatpants, throws on the first shirt he finds. By the time we open the door, I’m praying maybe everyone will be too busy to notice us.

No such luck.

Ash is waiting at the little kitchenette, mug in hand, grinning so wide I want to throw him out the window. “Well, well, well. Look who finally joined the living.”

Jace looks up from his phone, barely hiding his grin. “You two have fun last night? The walls aren’t that thick,you know.”

Silas raises an eyebrow at Jasper, then at me. “Hope you got some rest. We’re on in less than an hour.”

Micah gives me a quiet, sympathetic look, but there’s laughter in his eyes too.

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I hate all of you.”

Jasper swings an arm around my waist, pulling me into him, owning it. “Get used to it, babe. You’re part of the band now.”

***

When I come out of the bathroom dressed in a simple black dress: soft jersey, short sleeves, fits snug through the waist, flares just enough to make me feel like I almost belong at a fancy rockstar interview.

It’s not exactly press glam, but it’s nicer than my t-shirts and shorts. And the little lace-up V at the front gives it just the right amount of attitude. Black fishnets, my combat boots, and a swipe of dark lipstick make it mine.

I glance at my reflection—pale, blue eyes, ink showing on my sternum from the deep V. Hair a wild mess that I twist up with a few pins, letting the lime green tips fall over one shoulder. I look like a girl who belongs in a band. Or at least one who refuses to apologize for surviving the night.

I tug my camera strap across my body, give my lips one last smudge, and head for the door.

When I step out of the bus, the sunlight nearly blinds me.

The guys are already waiting by the curb—Ash balancing a coffee he probably stole from catering, Silas checking his watch with the patience of a man who’s already had to herd a band today, and Jace, sunglasses on, scrolling his phone like he’s not just as nervous as the rest. Micah stands a little apart, camera case at his feet, giving me a nod that feels like silent solidarity.

Ash is the first to spot me. His grin is wide, wicked, all teeth. “Damn, Sawyer. Trying to put the rest of us to shame. Didn’t know we had to compete with the photographer for best dressed.”

Jace glances up, lifts his sunglasses, and whistles. “She’s just here to make us look better, right?”

Silas shakes his head but gives me an approving nod. “Glad you’re ready. The press is inside. You’ll have to catch the candid stuff—no one’s allowed to run off until after the first round of interviews.”

Micah shoulders his own gear, and our eyes meet. At least I’m not the only one who’d rather be behind the lens than in front of it.

Jasper steps out last, dark gaze sweeping over me. His hand lands on the small of my back, thumb stroking possessively. “You’re not interviewing, right?”

I shake my head, nerves twisting. “Just taking photos. I’ll stay out of your way.”

He leans close, his mouth at my ear. “Don’t. I want to see you everywhere.”

I roll my eyes, fighting a smile, and tug my camera strap tighter across my chest.

Silas is already moving, herding the group toward the doors. “Let’s go, boys. Try to pretend we’re functional adults for thirty minutes.”

I follow, heart pounding, camera ready—just another shadow behind the chaos as they step into the lights and questions.

The press tent is brighter than I expected, crowded with folding chairs, cables snaking underfoot, and enough ring lights to make everyone’s sweat look like highlighter. Reporters shuffle their notes, a few of them side-eyeing the band as we file in. Someone offers a half-hearted “Welcome, Her Last Confessional,” and suddenly I’m invisible—exactly the way I like it.

I slip off to the side, camera raised. The band lines up on a threadbare couch, Ash and Jace instantly fighting for the middle. Silas sits at the end, already fidgeting with his drumsticks, and Micah melts into the background, sitting on a stool, like he was born for it. Jasper shoves Ash over and takes the center. He’s sprawled with that signature ease, black tattooed arm stretched along the back.

The first reporter barely glances my way. “Let’s start with the new album. What was the inspiration behind the lyrics?”

I move around the perimeter, snapping quick shots. Ash hams it up, grinning like he’s on a late-night talk show. Silas smirks at a dirty joke. Jace flashes his best smolder, only to break when Ash elbows him.