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deck as if she weren’t wearing massive heels, like always. Her tiny, twenty-year-old frame was dwarfed by the tall guy next to her. A phenomenon with a Battle of the Bands win just after her seventeenth birthday had catapulted Lita to the top of the charts, and she hadn’t left since—her hard work had paid off.
    He’d only met her boyfriend, Griffin, once—all kind smiles and southern over-the-top goodness. Chris guessed he kept Lita grounded in a way Chris couldn’t imagine.
    “Have a seat,” he said and gestured at the sprawl of patio furniture.
    Griffin stole a couple odd glances at him, but it wasn’t anything new to Chris. Griffin had just been dropped into a world where the people he listened to on the radio became real.
    “How are you two?” Chris asked.
    “How are you ?” Lita asked back as Griffin scooted next to her on the lounge chair. She fluffed out her shagged blond hair, turning it into a mess around her small face—another Lita signature.
    He had a moment of decision—tell her that his brain had crapped out? Or lie. Again. “Fine.”
    Griffin absently played with the ends of Lita’s hair, and moved around her like they’d been together for ages, and not just a few months.
    Lita cocked a brow. “Dates are set. We leave in two months. You sure you’re good?”
    He waved her away. “I’m good. Of course I’m good. I’m behind because I’m a perfectionist.”
    “You have a lot less to lose than I do.” Lita frowned. She may have been barely twenty, but the girl was a force.
    “I totally disagree with that statement.” He chuckled. “You just got started in this business a couple of years ago. I’m trying to prove I’m not drugged out and washed up.”
    “You’re not washed up.” Griffin’s voice was strong. Immediate.
    Chris threw the kid a smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”
    “So. I have the two tracks you did a couple weeks ago.” Lita shifted and crossed her legs. “When do I get to hear the rest of the album? You know this is weird, right? To not have the whole thing done, like… forever ago?”
    “I know it’s weird.” There was no point in arguing with her so Chris sat back in his chair, kicking his feet up. “You’ll hear it when it’s done. We’re fine. I think that for live shows, it’s sometimes better to have it feel a bit unrehearsed.”
    “I don’t,” she snapped.
    There was an awkward beat of silence on the porch as Griffin found something fascinating on the horizon and Chris wondered if he should call her on her age, her attitude, both or neither.
    She let out a sigh. “Sorry.”
    “Isn’t this something our managers are supposed to be hashing out?” he asked.
    “You trust Max that much?” she asked back.
    “Yep.”
    “Huh.” Lita sat back a little. “Well, me and Griffin have been working on a few things, so whenever you can get together for us to all three play a bit together, that would be great.”
    “We’re together now.” Chris sat up again. This might be the perfect distraction from his inability to write. “We can bring a few guitars up, or go down…”
    Griffin stood abruptly. “I’d be happy to get the guitars.”
    Chris smiled a bit at his enthusiasm. “Great. Follow the stairs to the basement. Bring up whatever you like. If Don is down there in the studio, which he tends to be often, he can help.”
    And Griffin jogged into the house.
    “So.” Lita faced Chris, her small elbows on her knees. “Don’t bullshit me, Chris. Please.”
    He swallowed. Hard. “My brain… After rehab… Struggling a bit to get words down.”
    “The songs I heard were… They were amazing.”
    “They were something I did with help,” he admitted. Corinne’s help. “Not how I wanted this album to go, but a necessity.”
    “Tour is set.” And at that second she looked like the young girl she was. Hopeful. Afraid. “Please please please don’t mess this up for me. I’m terrified about switching things up right now.”
    And he could see