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I keep my head down the entire trek back, listening to Christian bitch about writing his name over Salem’s once his girlfriend's tattoo heals. Taylor seems to think it's hilarious. The two get into a wrestling match, rolling around on the dirt as one tries to put the other in a headlock.

By the time we reach our spot, the grounds have cleared out, but the buses and vans are still alive with activity. People hang around, some of them bands and some of them vendors, drinking over coolers and passing around joints.

Salem walks ahead silently, her buzz clearly starting to fade. I watch the tension creep back into her shoulders from under my lashes, and if it weren't for the fact that my eyes were already on her, I would have tripped when she skids to a stop.

“No way.” Her spine snaps straight. “Cedar?”

Following her gaze, I take in the group of people sitting outside a bus next to our RV. A girl with long black hair looks over and waves a tattooed arm, grinning in surprise. “Hey! Camera girl and tit girl!”

The men surrounding her laugh. A band, I think, judging from the instruments a few of them are strumming. One drinks amber liquid from a tumbler as he talks to a curly-haired guy twirling drumsticks.

Huck sucks in a gasp before turning to Salem excitedly. “Tell me you know what band that is.”

“Am I dreaming, or is As Above parked right outside our shitty RV,” she whispers back. The two of them start to quietly freak out.

Taylor, however, wraps his arms around his boyfriend possessively and squints at the drummer.

“Oh my god, you're the girl that inked us,” Arya squeals, yanking herself out of Christian's grip.

“Guilty.” Cedar jerks a thumb at the guitarist next to her. “I moonlight as a stabby artist when I’m not babysitting this one.”

He smirks without looking up from his guitar. “I like it when you get stabby.”

Arya grips the bottom of her shirt. “Do you guys wanna see my new tattoo?”

All of us shout "No!” in unison, and Christian saves his girl from flashing the entire band. Salem can only shake her head in shame, but Cedar bursts into laughter.

Everyone gets chatty after that, except for me. Apparently, one of the band members saw the stunt show and wants to talk about dirt bikes. Two of them recognize Huck as a linebacker for the Ravens, and the girls are off on their own conversation about women in the tattoo industry.

I stand to the side, watching the conversation like an outsider. An imposter. Every single person on this trip has something going for them, but I'm just here wasting space. I’m not even doing the job they brought me along to do. Jesus, even Devon is pulling his weight around here, and I'm just doing exactly what Salem accused me of: eating all the food and coasting on her work.

My brows furrow when I realize that I actually haven't seen Dev all day, not since he complained about a headache and hung back in the RV.

After making sure my friends are occupied, I climb the rickety stairs and shut out all the noise.

Pitch black greets me. All the curtains are drawn, no ounce of light permeating the space. Marijuana smoke floods my nostrils.

“Seriously, Devon?” I growl, feeling around for a light switch. “We said no weed in the RV. And why are you smoking in the dark?”

I flick on the light above the stove to find him sitting on the floor against the bunks, a bottle of whiskey and my fishbowl sitting next to him.

“I have a concussion, asshole,” he grumbles around a joint, covering his eyes. “Turn that shit off. My head feels like it's cracking in two.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I plunge us back into darkness. Our breathing is the only sound in the RV for a beat, blocking out the chatter and laughter from beyond. My eyes adjust to the dark when Dev takes a slow drag off his joint, its cherry red tip lighting the way for me to drop down across from him.

“Should you be doing all that on pain pills?”

He scoffs and lifts the bottle to his mouth. “Should you be in here bothering me instead of out there with your fake ass friends?”

I cross my arms with a glare. “This what we're doing now? Finding new ways to hurt each other?”

“You started it.”

Those words hook into my chest, burrowing deep. I study his busted-up face in the dark. “Yeah, I know.”

Devon's eyes meet mine, and something passes between us. When he offers me the bottle, I take it, gulping down a large swig. The whiskey burns my throat, but I take another drink before handing it back.

And that's how the conversation starts—with us passing the bottle back and forth in silence, over and over, until I've got a good buzz going. It’s Dev who finally breaks the silence.