It’s a couple of hours and who knows how much whiskey later when we stop so the guys can grab a smoke. I stumble onto my own bus—one that I’ll be sharing with my band and maybe the other opening act, if they don’t have their own bus. No one has seen fit to share that detail with me yet. But because it’s out of my control, I don’t waste any more time thinking about it.

Some drunk hope makes me think that maybe I missed my phone in my search of the purse, so I dump the entire contents out on the kitchenette table.

A handful of tampons. A dozen or so lip glosses and lipsticks. A lighter—not sure where that came from, since I don’t smoke. My wallet. My car keys. My songwriting notebook. My smaller backup songwriting notebook. Six pens, in all different colors. Two pencils. Gum. Gum wrappers. Loose change. Lint.

Still no phone.

Before I left Boone’s bus, I asked Chance for Tana’s number, just in case. He wrote it on my palm in Sharpie with big block letters saying Call Me above it.

I make my way up to the bus driver’s seat.

“Hey, Chaz?”

“Ma’am?”

“Told you to call me Holly a dozen times, Chaz.” Maybe more than a dozen, if I’m being honest.

“Yes, Ms. Holly.”

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure thing.” He grabs it from the pocket in the side of his seat and hands it over, all without ever taking his eyes off the road.

“Thanks.”

I stumble back to the couch and position my thumb over the number pad. I glance down at my palm, and I know the person I should be calling instead of Tana is Creighton.

But you didn’t merit a phone call from him, the hurt inside me protests. It’s true, but still.

I drop my head to the back of the couch when it hits me that even if I wanted to call Creighton, I don’t know any of his numbers by heart, and it’s not like I can just call Information or something. I could google Karas International, but what is the likelihood they’ll ever put me through to his personal line? Even when I had that number, his secretary didn’t believe that I was me at first.

My best bet is getting my phone back.

I punch in Tana’s number, and she answers after I call her three times in a row.

“Hello?” Her voice is suspicious as shit, and I realize she doesn’t recognize the number. Plus it’s almost midnight.

“It’s me. Holly. Sorry for calling so late.”

“Oh, hey, hon. No worries. You know I’m up at all hours anyway. What’s up? The man come track you down already?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Hell, even if Creighton wanted to track me down right now, I think even he’d be SOL. I’m on a bus on a highway headed for a tour stop not on my tour list.

But then again, I guess I don’t know what kind of resources he has at his disposal, or if he’d use them to come after me. The hope rising in my chest, the hope that started blossoming that night we ate Sixteen Candles style on the dining room table, wants desperately for him to come chasing after me with an apology.

“Holly?”

“Sorry, I’m a little whiskey-mellowed right now, and you can blame that on Boone.”

“Ooh, that boy is so damn hot. If you weren’t married to a billionaire, I’d say you need to snake him from his bitchy girlfriend, even though I strongly disagree with poaching on every level. But that’s neither here nor there. So, you call your man yet?”

“No, because I left my phone in my apartment, I think, and all his numbers are on it. Can I ask you a huge favor?”

“Oh shit, and you know you can ask me anything, doll.”

“Would you go back to my place in the morning and call it and see if you can find it? And if you do, can you send it to me in Dallas? I can text you the address.”

“Sure thing. Although, if I didn’t love you quite so much, I’d have to point out that I have a personal assistant who does this kind of crap for me. You owe me, girl. I want an invite to a really fancy party when you and the big billionaire reconcile. Or maybe a week in Paris. I heard he has a place there.”

Paris? I didn’t know that. “I’m sorry to ask. You know I wouldn’t if I had someone else I could trust.”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, girl. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

“Thank you, Tana.”

“This does entitle me to say one thing, though.”

I brace myself. “Go on.”

“I bet you’re wishing now that you wrote more on that note than just ‘good-bye.’”

“That’s dangerously close to saying ‘I told you so.’”

“Sorry, babe. But it’s true.”

“Maybe he hasn’t even realized I’m gone yet,” I say, wondering if it might actually be true.

“I imagine that man will find you before you find him,” she replies. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to have a wife go missing and let it stand for long.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

I hope she’s right, and equal measures of dread and hope fill me again. I made a mess of this, but Creighton isn’t blameless either.

“I should go,” I tell her. “I need to sleep off the whiskey so I can think with a clear head in the morning.”

“All right, babe. You do that. Talk soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, Tana. Thank you.”

We hang up, and I return Chaz’s phone to him.

“Thanks, Chaz. I’m going to call it a night.”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Sleep well.”

I’m too tired to correct him as I make my way to the bedroom in the back of the bus—one I’m surprised none of the guys in the band have claimed. But the curtains of the bunks are all pulled tight, and I’m not about to offer to swap.

I strip off my jeans and slide between the sheets of the queen-sized bed. Without my pajamas, I’m sleeping in just a T-shirt and undies. But considering that the guys have seen me in this and maybe less, I’m not concerned. They’re all married or in long-term relationships. Even more than that, they’re road warriors with more tours under their belts than I have fingers.

The sound of the tires on the highway lulls me to sleep, and my last thought before I finally drift off is whether my leaving is going to trigger one of those dozen clauses for Creighton to annul the marriage.