The last box slid shut with a satisfying snap. Keri Morgan yanked the tape dispenser across the seam, then smoothed it down with the palm of her hand and placed it next to the other boxes of unsold YOUR MOTHER’S WORST NIGHTMARE shirts, hoodies, CDs, vinyl, and anything else she sold for the band. They were stacked neatly by the tables, while the display racks, now empty, stood as crooked reminders of the night’s rush, all just waiting for the roadies to come and take them. 

Hard to believe it had been almost four months since they packed up the tour bus and left home in central Connecticut for Miami to do a show on New Year’s Eve. Since then, they’d been winding their way around different venues in the Sunshine State then onto several other southern states before traveling back up north to where they were now, somewhere in Pennsylvania. Early spring in the Northeast could be a mixed bag weatherwise, but so far, they’d only gotten rain and a slushy mix of snow here and there. 

Keri straightened and scanned the other booths, each one representing a piece of the tour’s chaotic ecosystem. To her left, the merch manager for ICED COBRA, the opening band, had already packed up most of their stuff and shouted something over his shoulder about inventory numbers. 

YOUR MOTHER’S WORST NIGHTMARE co-headlined this show with BLACK PENNY. Their setup, to her right, was still pristine, as if no one had even bothered to shop there tonight. She didn’t know how they managed that level of organization. Their table looked like a perfectly curated boutique—shirts folded with military precision, price tags neatly aligned, and not a stray Sharpie in sight. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t try. She did. Every night, she started with the best intentions, lining everything up like a merchandising wizard with a vision. But somewhere between the rush of the crowd, the endless questions, and the random chaos of the job, the neatness always unraveled. She was great at a lot of things—keeping stock numbers in her head, hustling through sales, charming the occasional drunk customer—but staying perfectly polished wasn’t one of them.

And after tonight, she supposed none of that mattered anyway. After years of being the band’s merchandise manager, she’d decided to call it quits. The thought was foreign and clung to her like an oversized band hoodie on her 5’3” frame—comfortable and warm, yet it didn’t fit right, because managing the merch and running the band's website was all she’d ever known. Even now, with the decision made, she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone about it. 

Not Tristan, her brother and the band’s lead singer, and not Nate, the band’s keyboardist, Josh, their bassist, or Cory, their drummer. After years of late nights, early load-ins, and sleepless hours on the bus, she was ready to walk away from it all. Over the past six years, she’d seen first-hand the toll this lifestyle had on roadies, production managers, and other crew members. Burn-out was real.

But it was more than that. Somewhere along the way, Keri had become just another note in one of the band’s hit songs, important but never part of the melody that everyone remembered. She was always there, always making sure the next tour ran smoothly, the next concert merchandise was ready. Part of the operation, part of the band’s success—but never the one making decisions or carving her own path.

The constant travel, the endless to-do lists, and the lives she helped shape for others all left her feeling like she was living in the shadows of everyone else’s dreams. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something that was hers, something that wasn’t just a footnote in someone else’s story.

Somewhere deep down, she’d always had a passion for something more—something hers—whether it was a business venture, a creative project, or a role where she could stand on her own and have her own identity.

She couldn’t keep pretending that being a part of the band was enough. The work was all-consuming, but it had never been hers to own. The more she looked around, the more she realized—if she didn’t take a chance on herself, she’d keep fading into the noise of YOUR MOTHER’S WORST NIGHTMARE’S world. 

She paused, letting the low buzz of the venue fill the space around her—distant footsteps, the faint clatter of someone dragging equipment across the floor, and the muffled drone of stagehands wrapping up their work. Familiar sounds she never thought she’d miss, until hearing them.

Her chest tightened as she leaned back against the table. She hated goodbyes and knew exactly why. It had everything to do with her older sister taking her own life. Trina, short for Katrina, and Tristan were twins. At the time, she was eleven and Tristan and Trina were fourteen. Even though it had been twelve years since it happened and the passage of time had made it bearable, her being gone still left a gaping hole in their lives.

When she came on six years ago, she and Nate took turns making sure her brother didn’t choke on his own vomit because he’d get black-out drunk. He finally got the help he needed and had been in recovery for the last four years, but those two years had been rough for all of them. 

She’d made up her mind to leave the band a couple of weeks ago, but the thought had been on her mind for a while. She saw in herself what had happened to others working behind the scenes on any tour. She had a short fuse and would snap at merch-buying fans. She hadn’t been sleeping well and had no appetite. Since the last tour, she’d lost weight, and her jeans hung on her. 

She knew it was time to move on with her life, yet saying the words out loud, making it real, felt impossible. She had an idea how she’d tell the guys in the band but had a feeling it wouldn’t go great. Tristan would fight her on it. Nate would… well, he wouldn’t fight her, but he’d be sad. Hell, she was sad, thinking about not being with him on tour. 

Still, she kept telling herself this was the right move—walk away, start fresh, do something for herself. But every time she pictured what came next, all she saw was… nothing. A blank space where her future was supposed to be. Which was the weirdest thing of all. She should’ve felt free. But instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a stage with no idea what song was coming next.

A shout of laughter broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to see Danny, one of their roadies, and Josh’s younger brother, chatting it up with the merch manager of ICED COBRA, who went over to their table and packed up the last of their gear while they swapped tour stories. 

Her boxes were packed, but the table still had some clutter, and that annoyed her. She grabbed a stray empty water bottle and shoved it into a trash bag, her fingers twitching with the need to keep moving. She scooped up the scraps of paper she’d scribbled down some numbers on, knowing if she hadn’t, she would have forgotten which shirts she needed to order more of. Plus, if she stopped now, she’d have to face the silence, and the questions swirling in her head.

Was she doing the right thing by leaving? Was now a good time? And what in God’s name would she do next? The questions came fast and sharp, like they always did, but she pushed them aside and focused on the task in front of her. Tidy the tables. Readjust the ‘leaning tower’ of empty CD racks. Gather the tablecloths and put them in the rolling cart. Just finish up here and not worry about what she’d do next. She had the five-hour ride home and the rest of her life to figure it all out. 

Because right now, she had a date to keep.

She waved over Danny, who probably waited for her to be done anyway. 

“All set?” He asked.

“Yeah, I have to go, but can you make sure these last few boxes and this cart get on the truck?”

“No problem. I’m sure I’ll see you around, once we get back to Connecticut.”

“You know it,” she said, giving him a fist bump. It might be her last tour, but she had plans to come on the short summer tour to train the new merch manager. It was the least she could do. As she watched Danny load up those boxes, the thought crossed her mind that the new merch manager might be standing right in front of her. She’d think more about that, once they got home. For now, she had other things on her mind.

Leaving the merch area, her boots scuffed against the cement floor, echoing faintly under the hum of fluorescent lights. Picking up her pace, she hurried backstage, taking the stairs leading to the lower level below the stage. Her heart raced as she rounded a corner, her eyes scanning the rows of dressing rooms. He said he’d be in the second one.

The last night of every tour, they found each other. Maybe it was release, maybe it was comfort, or maybe it was just what two people did when they were alone in a world that demanded so much. Whatever it was, it was theirs.

As she passed the first door, her stomach flipped. Then, before she took another step—an arm shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"What the—!"

Keri barely had time to gasp before she was hauled into the faintly lit room. The door shut behind her with a click, and her pulse jumped to her throat as she looked up, her breath catching when she saw him.

“Nate.”

He was close—closer than usual, his hand still wrapped loosely around her wrist. The soft lighting spilled over his face, catching the edges of his jaw and the messy strands of sandy blond hair falling across his forehead. 

“What took you so long?” He asked, his voice low, almost teasing.

“I was working,” she said, though the words came out breathless. She tugged her wrist free, but she didn’t move away. She couldn’t. Not when the light showed the intensity in his steely blue eyes held her right where she stood. 

“I thought you said the second door,” she panted, her senses heightened when she breathed in his musky scent that made her ache for him. His mouth founds hers in a kiss that made her knees go soft.

“I did, but that room was taken,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her skin as he dragged his mouth down her throat, planting soft kisses that made her shiver. His hand trailed down her arm—lightly, barely a whisper of contact—but it lit her blood on fire.

 She closed her eyes. She had waited for this all night. 

On the previous tour, they’d done this more often, but after Cory nearly caught them—twice—they’d agreed it was smarter to save it for the last night of each run. 

It cut down the chances of anyone, especially Tristan, finding out. She loved him, but his overprotectiveness could drive anyone nuts.

Besides, the waiting only made things hotter. With her bunk right above his on the tour bus, his scent clung to her sheets, thick and heady, making her pulse race and her body thrum with need.

Being near Nate was like stepping into the eye of a storm—calm, steady, and safe, even when everything else around her felt chaotic. He had a way of grounding her with just a look, offering a quiet reassurance that she could breathe again, even after the longest, hardest days. She loved things about him—like how his laugh could shake off her stress—but she wasn’t in love with him. Not the kind of love that carried weight or longevity, anyway.

She’d seen that kind of love up close—how her brothers looked at their wives, as if they were holding the whole world in their arms. Love like that felt unshakable, eternal, like it could weather every storm. She wasn’t sure she was ready for love like that.

What she felt for Nate was rooted in these moments, this life they shared on the road. And yet, the idea of leaving him behind, of losing this bond, left a hollow ache she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t love. But it was something. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to let go of it. 

They both wanted this but that didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated. They’d known each other their whole lives, clung to each other in the aftermath of Trina’s death, survived the raw grief together. When the band took off, they’d ridden that wave too—side by side. Whatever this was between them defied easy definition. And that was okay.