One, two, three, four heads—all crammed together in front of the computer screen. Booking plane tickets was a task that really only needed one person, but somehow all four band members ended up huddled around, acting like they were hashing out some high-stakes rocket launch plan. Sure, John Mark had promised to reimburse business-class tickets, but the thing is, the band had gotten so used to pinching pennies over time that they couldn't just flip a switch and think differently. They were still hunting for the best deal—and, well, their wallets were pretty light.
Ding.
A new email popped up on the computer. Ronan casually opened it, only to be met with a chorus of complaints from the others, practically scolding him:
"We're trying to pick tickets here!"
"I just saw one, and you scrolled past it!"
"Go back, go back—what are you doing?"
Ronan's head was spinning, but before he could fire back, his eyes instinctively flicked to the sender. "Huh, it's from John Mark."
Whoosh.
All the noise stopped dead. The griping cut off like someone hit mute, and every pair of eyes zeroed in on the email.
In it, John laid out the plan for tomorrow and the days ahead in detail.
After arriving in Washington tomorrow, he'd already booked them a hotel—the Hilton right in the city center. He included the address and contact info. The band would check in on their own, grab some lunch, and then at 2 p.m., a car would pick them up from the hotel and take them to the Verizon Center, the venue for this leg of the tour, for rehearsal.
He also mentioned he was still in Los Angeles, tied up with some stuff, and wouldn't head to Washington with Bruno for another two days. When they got there, Bruno would have a quick chat with the band to officially lock things in. Until then, John's assistant would be in Washington to help them with rehearsals and anything else they needed.
The email was CC'd to said assistant, complete with a digital business card at the bottom. John reminded them to book their tickets, figure out their arrival time at the Washington airport, and let the assistant know.
"He'll handle the ticket reimbursement," John added.
And at the end, he threw in a little playful jab at Ronan.
The email was packed with info—thorough, clear, and full of practical details. It covered all the bases and flagged one key point: the band wasn't locked in as the warm-up act yet. They still had to meet with Bruno for that final confirmation.
In an instant, it all started to feel real. And the fact that it wasn't 100% set in stone? That actually made it seem even more legit.
So… John Mark was really John Mark? And John Mark was really Bruno Mars' tour manager? And the One Day Kings might actually get to be the opening act for Bruno Mars' concert?
Was this all for real?
"Mmph!"
Ollie didn't scream this time. Instead, he clapped a hand over his mouth as excitement exploded inside him again. But after a quick burst of hype, he settled down. They'd already let loose downstairs earlier, and now that Ronan's hunch was proving right, it almost felt expected.
Maxim, though, let out a long breath. His heart, which had been dangling in midair, finally dropped back into his chest—only to start pounding hard, making his ribs ache faintly.
Ronan's eyes skimmed the last line again. He turned to Cliff with a grin. "So, what do you say? Should we go wild and max out the credit card?"
…
The night deepened.
The tick-tock of the clock cut through the dead silence, sharp and sudden, like a drumroll. Outside, the noisy chorus of frogs and crickets chimed in, as if nature was throwing its own symphony now that the human world had drifted off to sleep.
Creak, creak.
Squeak, squeak.
The mattress groaned in protest as someone flipped back and forth like a pancake on a griddle. You could almost hear the bed screaming in agony.
"Can't sleep?" Ronan asked, eyes still closed, directed at Ollie in the next bed over.
Ollie, mid-turn, froze, suddenly sheepish. "Sorry, did I wake you? Go back to sleep, I'll stop making noise."
They'd booked a 5:25 a.m. flight. By the time they'd washed up and crawled into bed, it was already 2:15 a.m. If they didn't want to miss the plane, they had—at most—ninety minutes to rest their eyes before heading to the airport.
It was a tough call, but they didn't have much choice.
The direct flight from Las Vegas to Washington took five and a half hours. After landing, they'd need to be at the venue for rehearsal by 2:30 p.m. That tight window didn't leave them many options.
It was also why John had picked the One Day Kings in the first place. Time was short, rehearsal slots were limited, and to keep things on track, his choices were slim.
In that later email, John had set the rehearsal for 2 p.m. Truth is, that was a bit of an oversight on his part. He hadn't factored in the travel time from Las Vegas to Washington—just threw out a schedule off the cuff.
Of course, the band could've hashed it out with his assistant. Explain the situation, maybe shift the rehearsal time. Or maybe not. But they didn't want to risk it. They knew how rare this shot was—Bruno Mars had a ton of other options, and they didn't exactly have leverage to negotiate.
Ronan thought it was something they could at least talk about—it wasn't even bargaining, really. But the other three band members shot that idea down hard.
So here they were: ninety minutes to close their eyes, then back on the grind.
Everything was moving too fast, too chaotically. They hadn't had a second to breathe—just stumbling along toward Washington in a daze.
Now, with a brief moment to pause, tension and anxiety crept through the darkness. Sleep was nowhere in sight.
"It's fine, I'm half-awake anyway," Ronan said with a faint smile. "What's up? Nervous?"
"Yeah," Ollie mumbled softly.
"Nervous about what?" Ronan asked lazily. He was groggy, sure, but couldn't fully drift off. Part of him worried that if he slept too deeply, they'd oversleep. So why not chat? Skip sleep entirely tonight and catch some rest on the plane.
Ollie didn't answer right away. After a long stretch—long enough that Ronan thought he'd dozed off—Ollie's voice finally broke the silence. "It's hard to believe this is real. It feels like a dream. Like, the second I close my eyes and fall asleep, that's when the dream wakes up."
"Ronan, is this really happening?"