On and off, I kept checking my phone to see if there was a notification that it had already been delivered to the postal office. It was pretty tricky to set up the address since we were on a tour, but I managed to estimate where and when I could receive it.
I'd been chewing my nails short when the much-anticipated red dot on my screen appeared. I quickly opened it, and all the ants crawling under my skin vanished as I read the details of the message.
"Creed!" I shouted, looking for my band member.
He has been holed up in our bus since two concerts ago. His despondent attitude started after our performance the night we retrieved a DNA sample from Tiffa. We had to do it discreetly, and Creed was the one who cut stray hair from her while I kept her busy and entertained. I was adamant abou
