I find out soon enough. When we reach the fenced-in lot, the tour bus is gone.
Ross pulls up to a stop so sudden, I run right into his back. He staggers forward a few steps, too incredulous to speak. The makeshift gate hangs open, the fence pulled wide, the lot empty.
The band has officially left the building.
“Hey, Ross,” I say, clapping a hand on Ross’s back. “No way they’d let us in there anyway.”
He shrugs off my hand and whirls to glare at me. Tears glisten unshed in his eyes, making them look large and watery. I give him a half-hearted smile. I don’t know what to say, exactly. It’s obvious he’s upset.
“f**k!” he yells into the night.
Those fans lingering outside the parking garage glance over at us, and I turn my half-smile their way as if to assure them we’re all right. “Ross
