Page 33 of Split Decision

She picks up on the second ring.

"Tell me you're not calling to back out," she says.

"I'm calling because I have a logistical question that I should probably already know the answer to."

"Ask."

"The buses. How many, and what's the configuration? Because I just looked at the tour schedule and did the math on how long we're on the road, and I'm trying to figure out how to pack for that in a way that doesn't require me to rent a storage unit."

Cami laughs—not at me, just the easy laugh of someone who has done this before. "Okay. So. Six buses total. Crew gets one, which is the rough deal, but that's how it goes.Sound Bar has two. Fireflies has two. You and Katelyn share the sixth."

I absorb this.

"Just me and Katelyn."

"Just you and Katelyn." She gives that a second to sink in fully. "Don't read into it. It's a logistics decision, not a statement. The bus has two bedrooms, two and a half baths, a full kitchen, and a slider. You'll have more space than you think. And you won't be on it all the time—when we're doing long stretches, everyone migrates."

"She doesn't like me," I say. Not a complaint. Just a fact worth naming.

"She doesn't like the situation," Cami says. "There's a difference. Travis pulling out of his label infrastructure to work with you independently—that changed the power structure of this tour in ways Katelyn is still recalibrating. It's not personal. It's territorial."

"That doesn't make it easier to share a bus."

"No," she agrees. "But it makes it navigable. You're not her enemy. You're just the variable she didn't account for." A pause. "She'll come around. Or she won't. Either way, you don't need her to like you. You just need her to do her job."

My nerves areall frayed and crazy as I approach the massive buses with Sound Bar's logo custom-painted on the side. There's no hiding who we are with these vehicles that would rival any eighteen-wheeler's size. We are riding in huge, moving billboards—marketing on wheels at its finest.

One of the crew members rushes to help me with my luggage. Katie brought me today, and she's been my rock. Even when I wanted her to turn around and take me back home, she told me to grow a pair and get over it. She's so right.

The roadie takes my luggage and my acoustic guitar to my bus, and I follow him to check out the inside. As soon as I step inside, I understand exactly what Cami tried to describe to me. This isn't a bus—this is an elegant home on wheels.

The slider is fully extended while the buses are parked, providing much more space than the Greyhound Bus I had pictured. The floors in the main living area are slate tile, the walls are tongue-and-groove wood, and the couches are soft, supple leather. The compact kitchen has every appliance and amenity I have at home. The small refrigerator and all the cabinets are fully stocked with every type of food or drink I could want.

Walking toward the back of the bus, I pass the small half bath before I come to the first bedroom door, where theroadie left my things. I'm amazed to find it's expertly decorated in deep, rich reds and browns, with a cream accent. The bedroom has a large closet, plenty of room for all my shoes, and a small sitting area. Behind another door is a full bathroom.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

After I stow my purse, I rush back out to finish my exploration of the bus. Not expecting anyone else to be on the bus yet, I'm not paying attention when I fly into the hallway—and right into Travis. The collision is so unexpected that I don't have time to catch myself as I bounce off him.

He bends at the waist, wraps his arms securely around me, and pulls me into his chest, saving me from hitting the floor. We're both shocked beyond words and stand motionless for several seconds, his arms locked around my waist, my arms locked around his neck, and both of us breathing heavily.

A throat clearing behind Travis seems to snap us both out of our trance, and we jump apart like two teenagers who've just been caught by their parents. Straightening my shirt and picking invisible lint from my clothes, I refuse to look up and meet her eyes just yet. I know who it is, and I've just realized how our "embrace" must have looked.

"Katelyn." Travis gives her a single nod. His voice holds no hint of embarrassment, while I can feel the heat in my face, burning my skin from the inside out. "You need something?"

"Yes," she replies sharply. "I need you two to take whatever this is to your bus and let me in my room."

Travis turns to face her completely, effectively shielding me from her, and places his hands on his hips in an obviously pissed-off body posture.

"I suggest you change your tone with me right now, Katelyn." He emphasizes her name. "There's nothing to 'take to my bus.' We just literally smacked into each other, and I almost knocked her out before we've even left the parking lot. I caught her before she fell."

"Oh," Katelyn says, noticeably and adequately chastised. "Well, I hope neither of you is injured. Do I need to call to have you checked out before we leave?"

"No. We're fine. Thanks for asking." Travis is still pissed off. No doubt about it.

"Travis, let's move so Katelyn can get to her room and unpack," I suggest.

Travis takes an extra few seconds to stare Katelyn down before he looks over his shoulder at me. "Good idea. Why don't you come check out my bus? You can hang out withus for a while. The ladies of Fireflies will be there too. You'll have plenty of time on this bus later."