The melodies of our hearts

Chapter 2

Lena's first official day with Wolfe & Company began with a surprise knock at her hotel door.

She jolted, fumbling her notebook, and opened the door to find Mitch, the band's manager, standing there, his grin a little too chipper for six in the morning.

"Good morning, Lena," he greeted, holding out a coffee cup. "You ready to roll?"

"More or less," she replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. Sleep hadn't come easily after last night's show; the whole experience had felt surreal. It was hard to believe that in just a few hours, she'd be crammed onto a tour bus with the most reclusive band of the decade.

"Today's a long drive to Seattle," Mitch explained as he led her down the hallway. "Gives you a chance to get acquainted. They're actually a good group once you get past the, uh... mystique."

"Mystique," Lena repeated with a small smile. That was putting it lightly.

The band was already waiting at the bus by the time they arrived, clustered together with coffees of their own, looking like they'd just woken up—or possibly hadn't slept at all. Lena spotted Elliot instantly. He was leaning against the side of the bus, sunglasses covering his eyes, his head tilted slightly toward the sun. His hair was messy, and he had a faded black hoodie thrown over his shoulder, but even in his half-asleep state, he radiated an effortless coolness. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced her way, and for the briefest second, their eyes met. There was something unreadable in his expression, a flicker of recognition that was gone as quickly as it appeared. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she was here to work, not to get lost in those brooding eyes.

"Everyone, this is Lena," Mitch announced. "She'll be writing our tour piece." A few nods and mumbled greetings followed. The bassist, Nate, gave her a friendly smile and lifted his coffee cup in a silent toast, while drummer Chris barely looked up from his phone. Only Elliot remained silent, his face unreadable behind the glasses.

Lena tried to brush off her nerves, but as they all boarded the bus, she couldn't shake the feeling of being an intruder in a private world. She'd done backstage interviews and concert recaps before, but this was different. Traveling with the band meant seeing them without the performance, the curated image, the layers they wore in public. And somehow, it felt like Elliot knew it.

The morning passed in relative silence, the bus rumbling steadily as they left the city behind. She spent most of it at a table near the front, trying to make sense of the scattered notes from the concert. But her focus kept slipping, her thoughts drifting back to the figure in the corner booth.

Elliot was hunched over a worn notebook, occasionally scratching out lyrics with a pencil. Every now and then, he'd look out the window, lost in thought, his fingers tapping against the table in time with some internal rhythm. At one point, Nate sauntered over and plopped down across from Lena, breaking her focus. "Getting anything good?" he asked, nodding toward her screen.

"I hope so," she replied with a faint smile. "It's hard to capture... whatever it is you guys have."

"Trust me, half the time we don't even know what we have." He chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. "But I'm glad it's your job to figure it out and not mine."

They chatted for a while, Nate easily filling in the silences with stories from the road—mostly half-remembered tales of late-night mischief and the occasional run-in with overenthusiastic fans. Lena found herself relaxing, grateful for his easygoing nature. Yet, even as she laughed at his stories, she was acutely aware of Elliot a few feet away, silent and absorbed.

Eventually, Nate excused himself to join Chris for a card game in the back, leaving Lena alone once again with her thoughts. She took a sip of her coffee and forced herself to type up some interview questions for later. As she began drafting a list, a low voice broke the silence.

"Do you always start this early?" Lena glanced up, her pulse quickening. Elliot had finally lifted his sunglasses, his dark eyes focused on her with an intensity that caught her off guard. "Uh, yeah. Old habit." She managed a small, sheepish smile. "I like getting a jump on things." He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Makes sense," he murmured, his voice quieter than she'd expected. He closed his notebook but didn't get up, leaving a silence between them that felt strangely weighted. She could practically feel the unsaid questions hanging in the air. "You probably hate this kind of thing," she said after a pause. "Having a writer on the road with you." His lips twitched in a slight smile, though his expression remained guarded. "Not my first choice," he admitted. "But I get it. You've got a job to do."

The way he said it was neutral, but she couldn't shake the sense that he'd seen enough of people doing their "jobs" to know exactly what that entailed.

"Right," she replied, feeling a pang of defensiveness. "But it's not about digging up dirt or anything like that. I just... I just want to tell the real story."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he gave a slight nod. "The real story," he echoed, like he was testing the words.

They fell into silence again, but this time it felt less awkward, an understanding settling between them. She didn't expect him to trust her, and maybe he didn't need to. But maybe, she thought, they were closer to something like a truce.

He leaned back, slipping his notebook into his bag, and she returned to her laptop. But the charged silence lingered, and Lena couldn't stop herself from glancing over at him, wondering what else was buried in the unsaid things between them.

It was the strangest thing—feeling drawn toward someone she barely knew. But as she returned to her notes, she realized with a sense of inevitability that Elliot Wolfe was already making his way into the pages of her story, slipping between the lines whether she wanted him there or not.

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