Chapter 1

The tour bus rumbled down the highway, its constant vibration a faint hum in the background. Ava Daniels sat at the edge of her seat, glaring at the tiny bunk bed across the aisle like it was a personal affront. It was. That bunk, that stupid narrow box shoved up against the wall, was a reflection of everything wrong with her life at the moment. A cramped, claustrophobic space that felt more like a coffin than a bed, and after the week she'd had, the last thing she wanted was to feel entombed.

She sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair, which was longer than usual, as if her life had gotten too chaotic for her to care about a trim. It was easier to ignore the things she could control when so much had spiraled beyond her grasp.

Her father was dead. It still sounded foreign, even in her head. He was just… gone. Her mother had been the one to call, voice distant and tight, like the news wasn't important enough to warrant any extra emotion. Ava had half expected her mother to say something like, "Well, these things happen." But her father—dead? She hadn't known how to process it then, and she still didn't know now.

She shifted, pulling her legs up onto the seat, her knees hugged tightly against her chest. The road blurred past the window, but all Ava could focus on was the tight ball of grief lodged deep in her chest, wedged somewhere between the heartbreak and the familiar, creeping sense of failure. There had been no teary goodbye, no heartfelt closure, just an empty phone call and a mess of guilt she hadn't anticipated. Because the truth was, she'd never really known how to love him. He'd never made it easy.

And now, there was no chance to fix that.

She blinked back the sting in her eyes and looked across the aisle at Deborah Vance. The older woman was sitting at her vanity, applying a meticulous layer of lipstick, her back straight and composed, as if the world wasn't falling apart around her. Always in control, always so put together. Deborah was a study in contradictions—sharp, biting humor softened by the occasional flash of vulnerability she probably didn't even realize she let slip. Ava watched her, marveling at how she could look so poised, even when they were on this never-ending grind of shows, press, and travel. Deborah had been doing this for years, though. Ava was still playing catch-up.

But maybe that's what made Deborah so captivating.

Ava sighed, her gaze lingering on Deborah's hands—those skilled, graceful fingers moving with purpose, precise, unflinching. And of course, the thought crept in, uninvited but persistent: Deborah was a total top. It was so obvious it almost hurt. Ava had suspected it from the start, the way Deborah commanded attention, the way she took control of every conversation, every situation. But it wasn't just that. It was the way Deborah seemed to take care of things, of people, even when she didn't want to. Even when she pretended not to care.

It had been like that when Ava's father died. Deborah had come to the funeral. She had sat next to her on her childhood bed, silent but solid, like an anchor. 

She was into Deborah, no denying it anymore. She'd spent enough time over the past months trying to rationalize her attraction, brushing it off as just admiration or some mentor-mentee dynamic gone wrong. But the truth was, Deborah Vance was magnetic, and Ava was helpless to resist.

Not that she was stupid enough to believe Deborah felt the same. Deborah liked her, sure, but not enough to ever start something real. That would mean Deborah letting someone in, which was as likely as her admitting she needed help with anything. So Ava had convinced herself that it wasn't going to happen, not in the way she secretly wanted.

Still, that didn't stop the pull. That strange, simmering connection between them had only grown stronger since they started working together, like they were circling around something neither of them wanted to name.

Ava looked down at her phone, scrolling through meaningless notifications, trying to distract herself from everything she was feeling—grief, attraction, confusion. The constant flood of noise on social media wasn't enough to drown it out.

The bus hit a bump, and the bunk rattled, reminding her of the ridiculous sleeping arrangement awaiting her. She threw her phone onto the seat beside her, scrubbing a hand over her face in frustration. There was no way she was going to sleep in that tiny space, not tonight. She didn't have it in her to curl up in a confined box, surrounded by her own thoughts. Not after everything that had happened.

Ava stood abruptly, crossing the narrow aisle toward Deborah's section. Deborah glanced up from her vanity, eyebrows raised, but said nothing. She didn't have to. Deborah's silence often spoke louder than words, especially when she was waiting for someone to make a fool of themselves.

Ava hesitated, her fingers curling around the back of the chair opposite Deborah. "I can't sleep in that thing," she said finally, gesturing vaguely toward the bunk.

Deborah set her lipstick down with a deliberate clink, turning fully to face her. Her expression was unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that made Ava's stomach flip, though she didn't quite know why.

"You're not used to touring yet," Deborah said, her voice softer than usual. Almost like she understood.

Ava shrugged, leaning on the back of the chair, her arms crossing over it. "It's not just the touring. It's…" She trailed off, unsure how much to say. How much she wanted to reveal. "Everything," she finished lamely.

Deborah watched her for a long moment, then stood up, crossing the small space between them. She didn't touch Ava—Deborah wasn't one for casual physical comfort—but she stood close enough that Ava could feel her presence, solid and reassuring. Ava inhaled slowly, willing herself to keep it together, but being near Deborah always seemed to make that harder, not easier.

"You're going through a lot," Deborah said, her voice low and steady, like she was offering Ava something more than just words. Ava blinked, taken aback by the unexpected gentleness in Deborah's tone. She wasn't used to this side of Deborah—the one that slipped out in quiet moments when she thought no one was paying attention. It was the side that had held Ava together in that hotel room after the call about her father, the side that Ava found herself drawn to more and more.

"I don't know how you do it," Ava said, her voice quieter now, more honest than she'd intended. "Just… keep everything together all the time. Even when everything feels like it's falling apart."

Deborah's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something unreadable crossing her face. "I don't keep everything together, Ava," she said, her tone measured but with an edge of vulnerability Ava rarely heard. "I just make it look like I do."

Ava's lips parted, but she didn't know what to say. Deborah wasn't one for confessions, and hearing that from her felt like an admission Ava wasn't entirely prepared for. The woman who always seemed invincible, always in control, was now standing in front of her, letting just a crack of uncertainty show. It made Ava's heart ache in a way she hadn't expected.

She shifted, the silence between them heavy, but not uncomfortable. Deborah was watching her again, her gaze intense, like she was searching for something in Ava's face. Ava felt exposed under that scrutiny, her own emotions raw and too close to the surface. She wanted to say something, to break the tension, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she took a shaky breath and pushed herself away from the chair, turning her back to Deborah.

"Yeah, well," Ava muttered, her voice thick. "You make it look pretty damn good."

She heard Deborah shift behind her, the faint sound of her footsteps as she moved closer. Ava closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever was about to happen next. But the touch she expected never came. Instead, she felt Deborah's presence just behind her, the warmth of her body close but not touching.

"You don't have to sleep in the bunk," Deborah said softly, her breath warm against the back of Ava's neck. "If it's too much."

Ava's pulse quickened. It wasn't just the offer—it was the way Deborah said it, the subtle invitation hidden beneath the surface. There was something more there, something unspoken but undeniable. Ava could feel it in every nerve, in every inch of her body that was suddenly aware of how close Deborah was.

She swallowed, turning her head slightly to glance back at Deborah. "Where would I sleep then?"

Deborah's lips quirked into that familiar half-smile, the one that always made Ava's stomach flip. "My bed's a little bigger."

Ava's breath caught in her throat. There it was—that offer, that unspoken acknowledgment of the thing they'd both been skirting around for months. She didn't know if Deborah meant it the way it sounded, but she also didn't care. She was tired of dancing around this, tired of pretending she didn't want more.

She turned fully, facing Deborah now, her heart racing in her chest. "You sure about that?" Ava asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Deborah held her gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment before she shrugged, as casual as ever. "It's just a bed, Ava."

But Ava knew better. It wasn't just a bed, and they both knew it.

For a long moment, they stood there, the silence heavy between them, charged with something Ava didn't know how to name. She could feel her pulse in her throat, her skin tingling with the awareness of Deborah's closeness, the weight of her gaze. There was no going back now. If she crossed this line, everything would change. But right now, with the grief, the exhaustion, the overwhelming need for comfort, Ava didn't care.

She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, her heart pounding in her chest. Deborah didn't move, didn't flinch, just stood there, watching her with that same intense gaze. Ava hesitated for a fraction of a second, her mind racing, but then she made her decision.

She reached out, her hand brushing against Deborah's arm, light at first, testing the waters. Deborah didn't pull away, didn't push her off. Instead, she stood still, her muscles tense under Ava's touch, but she didn't stop her. That was all the encouragement Ava needed.

With a soft sigh, Ava stepped even closer, her body just inches from Deborah's. She could feel the warmth radiating from her, the tension thrumming between them like a live wire. Her fingers slid up Deborah's arm, tentative at first, but when Deborah still didn't pull away, Ava's touch became bolder, her hand trailing up to Deborah's shoulder, her thumb brushing over her collarbone.

"Are you really okay with this?" Ava asked, her voice hushed, her breath catching in her throat.

Deborah's eyes darkened, her lips parting as she let out a slow breath. "You need this, Ava," she said, her voice low and steady, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper. "We both do."

That was all it took. Ava surged forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, her lips crashing into Deborah's with a desperation she hadn't realized she'd been holding back for so long. Deborah responded immediately, her hands coming up to grip Ava's hips, pulling her in closer, deepening the kiss.

It wasn't gentle. It was rough, raw, and full of the tension that had been building between them for months. Ava could feel the heat radiating off Deborah, could taste the hunger in the way she kissed her, could sense the barely restrained desire just beneath the surface.

Deborah's hands slid up Ava's sides, her fingers digging into her waist, and Ava let out a soft gasp into the kiss, her hands fisting in Deborah's hair, pulling her even closer. The kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, as if they were both afraid to stop, afraid to acknowledge what this really was.

But Ava didn't care about the consequences, not right now. All she cared about was the way Deborah's lips felt against hers, the way her body fit so perfectly against her own, the way everything else seemed to melt away in this moment.

Deborah pulled back slightly, her breath ragged, her lips swollen from the kiss. Her hands still gripped Ava's hips tightly, as if she couldn't quite let go, as if she didn't want to.

"This doesn't mean anything," Deborah said, her voice rough, but there was an edge of uncertainty there, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince Ava.

Ava met her gaze, her breath still coming in short bursts, her heart pounding in her chest. "I know," she said, but they both knew it was a lie.

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Preview next chapter:

"Slow down, Ava," Deborah murmured, her voice low but firm, fingers tracing the line of Ava's jaw as she gently tilted her head back, forcing Ava to look up at her. "You're acting like it's your first time touching a woman and we both know that isn't true." Her voice was teasing, but there was a softness to it that made Ava shiver.

Ava swallowed, her breath hitching as Deborah's fingers stroked the sensitive skin of her neck. "No," she managed, her voice a little shaky, but her eyes were locked onto Deborah's, full of challenge. "I just—"

Deborah didn't let her finish. "You're thinking too much," she said, her thumb brushing over Ava's lower lip, the touch so gentle it was almost maddening. "You don't need to think. I'll tell you what to do."