Rustle.
Rustle.
A gentle night breeze stirred the reeds, their swaying whispers blending with the faint trickle of the Mississippi River under the moonlight. The whole world felt hushed and still.
Max's voice came through the phone, steady and warm, his calm pace softening the edges of his deep tone. He laid out his thoughts clearly, analyzed the situation from an objective standpoint, offered a polite opinion, and left the decision to Ronan.
Ronan's tension eased a bit. That constant nagging worry about slipping up? It faded as he sank into thought.
Max didn't rush him. If not for the steady breathing on the line, you'd think the call had dropped. When Ronan snapped back, he caught himself. "Sorry, I was just thinking."
"Mhm," Max hummed, no judgment, just a pause. Then, with a hint of hesitation, "Ronan, one more thing. I'm not totally sure, but I think you should know."
"I talked to a lawyer buddy, and we both agree—Tralastan's no small fry. That legal letter? Probably not a last-minute thing. The wording, the clauses—it feels premeditated."
Like a lightning bolt, puzzle pieces clicked in Ronan's head.
The signs were there all along.
Maybe Tralastan had been ready to ditch One Day Kings for a while. But he wasn't about to let his time and effort go to waste. So, he set up this bar tour—dangled the record label interview as bait—but the real goal? One last cash grab.
It explained a lot: the interview that went nowhere, the Full Moon Party they were never signed up for, the pre-paid fees for the last five gigs, and his clean exit without a trace.
And they'd been clueless the whole time.
"We got sold out and still counted the cash for him," Ronan said, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. Sure, this mess predated his arrival, but that bitter sting still lingered in the back of his mind.
Max picked up on the shift in Ronan's mood. Betrayal and abandonment? Never easy. But hearing Ronan's self-mocking tone relax a bit made Max exhale softly. He hoped this would help Ronan grow.
Still, growing up through pain like this? That's life's cruelest trick. Max teased lightly to lift the mood. "Anyway, I'm used to it. I'm always stuck cleaning up the mess. One more time won't kill me."
That simple line caught Ronan off guard. A tangle of emotions hit him, too messy to sort out, and his brain blurted out, "Th… thanks…"
Was that right?
Or was "I love you" more North American? The thought made him shudder—nope, not happening, too weird! He couldn't hide the grimace.
"Got it," Max replied, sparing Ronan from further awkwardness. Good thing too, or his cover might've blown. "After this, you guys need to stay sharp. If it's not handled right, that jerk might keep haunting you."
Max's casual brush-off helped Ronan shake off the embarrassment. He nodded, cracking a joke. "If he dares show his face again, he might be missing an arm or leg before he opens his mouth. If he's fine with that, neither am I."
Max didn't bite, just said, "As long as you've got it under control," then switched gears. "Oh, Alice said she's heading your way. Should be there today or tomorrow. Has she called?"
What?
Alice Cooper?
The Cooper siblings: Max, Ronan, and Alice—youngest of the three, three years behind Ronan at twenty-two.
Ronan hadn't even passed the Max test, and now a tougher challenge was barreling in? Alice was coming to him?
"No, not yet," he said, voice tightening again. He forced himself to chill, racking his brain—no memory of this. "When'd this happen?"
"This week," Max said, then caught on. "She didn't tell you? Guess she's planning a surprise."
Ronan was still nervous about Alice showing up, but he latched onto Max's slip. "Haha, and you just spoiled it?"
Max stayed quiet—busted. Ronan cackled, reveling in it.
Mid-laugh, he spotted a figure across the road. Tall and lanky, her shadow stretched long under the streetlights. Light chestnut hair flowed like silk, shimmering in the creamy glow, dancing wildly with her bouncy steps. She pranced around the band's van like a curious deer.
Before Ronan could react, a bright, chirpy voice carried over on the wind. "Where's Ronan?"
Ollie pointed, and her eyes locked with Ronan's.
"Ronan Cooper!"
Her bubbly joy hit him across the highway—no need to ask who she was.
Ronan's grin crept up. "Speak of the devil, and here she is."
The words slipped out, and he realized—beneath the slight nerves, there was a warm, familiar ease. Even his tone carried a hint of affection.
Next thing he knew, she was charging at him—full speed, full force, like a raging bull. Instinct screamed dodge, but Ronan sidestepped just enough to soften the blow. He caught her shoulders, redirected her momentum, and pulled her into a hug—smoothly avoiding any crash injuries.
Bam!
They collided in a solid embrace, her giddy chatter filling his ears. "Ronan! Ronan! Ronan!"
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