“I just need my wallet. Shit, I think that bitch took my wallet,” he says, heading to the back of the bus to check the bed area. My phone buzzes again, so I pull it out to let Matt and Josh know what’s up. When I see an unknown number, I shove it back into my pocket, but the second I do, it buzzes again.

I swipe the string of messages open, half expecting to see spam or crazy fan messages from some chick who probably found my number.

It’s Claire. Mason, you need to call me. Now!

Mason, R U there?

Mason, 911 – it’s an emergency!!!

Claire—the only reason Claire would have my number is Avery, and now I’m just as twitchy as Ben. My fingers can hardly dial, but I manage to hit the return call button. I’m pacing as I wait through the rings, and Ben is storming around me, tossing cushions over and opening and shutting drawers. I shove my finger in my ear so I can listen to the other end of the line.

“Mason, oh thank god!” she says, and I feel my heart sink to my feet, knowing that whatever she’s going to say, it’s going to be the worst news of my life.

“What’s wrong, Claire. Is it Avery? Is she all right?” I say, forgetting where I am, and stepping off the bus. The screaming starts the second I come outside, but I can’t handle Ben’s jumpiness in the bus, so I walk around to the other side to muffle the sound as best as I can.

“It’s not Avery. It’s Ray. He…Ray passed away, Mason,” she says, and just like that, everything around me turns bright white and my body loses all feeling. I sit down on the pavement, and push my head between my knees, my hand cupping the back of my head, and I’m rocking—like I’m trying to rock away everything she just said.

“Mason, are you there?” her voice sounds like she’s talking through a tin can, so far away.

“I…” I can’t catch my breath, and I start to sob hard, my chest convulsing and my mouth gasping, just trying to take in air. Claire senses my break down, and she talks softly.

“Mason, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I had to call you and tell you, and that it had to be me, and it had to be now. I know you’re probably in the middle of stuff. But it’s Max,” she says, and I don’t know that I can handle it—handle more. My eyes are wide and staring at the pattern of parking lines that stretch hundreds of feet in front of me, drifting in and out of focus until the white and black bleed together into a giant block of gray.

“Max is missing. He overheard Avery talking to one of her aunts, and she hadn’t had a chance to explain things to him yet. When she went up to his room, he was gone. She’s looking everywhere, Mason. Your mom is looking, too. We shut Dusty’s down for the day. Your mom said I should call you,” she says, and then I listen for several seconds to the silence that follows. Somehow, I get back to my feet, push down the vomit that is threatening to come, and start pacing again.

“Where have you looked?” I ask, closing my eyes and flashing through a million visions—Ray’s face, the first time he put me on stage, the way he looked when he gave me the guitar, Max, Avery. In the last two months I’ve built this file of memories, and it’s all wrapped up in the Abbot family—they’re my family.

“We’ve looked everywhere, Mason. We went to his booth at Dusty’s, tore apart the kitchen, searched every nook of the damned house,” she says, and something triggers me.

“School. You have to go to his school, Claire!” I yell, walking back into the bus now. Ben seems to have found his wallet, and he’s sitting on the edge of a sofa watching some show play loudly on the TV. I walk up to it and flip the switch to turn it off. He starts to protest, and I shove him back into his seat.

“There’s a tunnel, in the playground. It’s Max’s safe place. He has to be there, Claire. He has to be,” I say, making a stern face at Ben when he starts to argue with me again.

“Okay, I’ll go look right now. I’ll call you back,” she says, hanging up. I stare at my phone and manage to bring enough sense to my head to save her number as a contact. I shove the phone in my pocket and sit back on the sofa to think.

“What the f**k, man?” Ben says. I’m not even remotely close to being in the mood to deal with him, so I just point at him to stay put and walk out of the bus. It doesn’t work though, and he’s quick to follow me.

“Who was that? Fuckin’ Birdie? What, she want you to blow off the tour? Come back and be her bitch boy?” he can barely finish his last sentence before my fist lands at his jaw. As much crazy crap that I’ve done, I haven’t really been in a ton of fights, and the crunch of his bone against my knuckles stings; I have to shake my hand just to get feeling back in it. But Ben is so goddamned high, he’s right back in my face, shoving me until my feet lose their balance and I stumble into the side of the bus.