Ryder looked up at the enormous ship, all polished white metal and glass. He recalled the last (and only) time he'd ever been on a cruise, almost ten years ago: a week of sound checks, late nights, and wild parties.

"Name?" asked the lady at the ticket gate.

"Ryder Cauley." He looked down at the desk, hoping the brim of his baseball hat and his cheap sunglasses would combine to obscure his eyes. Of course, his face and name weren't the only things about him that people would recognize.

Her breath caught. "Like--the lead singer of Brightline? Summer Nights and Neon Lights?"

In retrospective, he should have walked away at that point. Out of context, he usually flew under the radar; if no one recognized that he was America's former summer crush, it was easy for him to forget it too. But here, looking out on the South Florida water he had sung so many songs about, memories came rushing back just as easily as waves on the bow.

The bus parked at a rest stop outside Atlanta that smelled like skunk and cheap wine. Him and CJ screaming at each other, trading barbs that cut so much deeper because of their shared past. Dumb hick. Crowd-pleasing sellout. Standing on stage in Charlotte, announcing to twenty thousand fans that they were cutting the tour short halfway through. The unspoken question in all of their eyes, full of hurt and betrayal: Why are you up there alone?

She squealed. "You are Ryder Cauley from Brightline! Are you here to... party on a boat?"

He sighed and shook his head once. "Ma'am, I'm Ryder Cauley who works at a bank in Gulf Shores, Alabama."

He walked past her and up the gangplank to the ship, enjoying the anonymity of being in a crowd. Somewhere up ahead in line, he caught a glimpse of a man in a Miami Dolphins jersey with a gold chain clinking on his belt.

He froze for a second, a dizzy feeling building to a crescendo in the center of his head. A moment later, he realized flinching like that wasn't rational. He was in Miami. Plenty of people would be wearing Dolphins gear. It wasn't his old partner at all.

The man disappeared behind a gaggle of tourists. Still, Ryder couldn't shake the feeling that this vacation wasn't going to be a normal one.

Ryder watched the skyline of Miami disappear over the horizon from the central deck of the ship, halfway between the pizza restaurant and one of many ice cream stands. He leaned over the railing, looking at the water swirling below. The way it sparkled almost reminded him of phone flashlights waving at a show. There was a song buried down there somewhere, but he didn't dig for that kind of treasure anymore.

For the rest of the day, he relaxed. He patrolled a circle around the ship, locating all the amenities: the arcade, the theater, the waterpark. After his legs were tired, he took a quick nap in his room, appreciating how even though he knew he was on the water, it didn't feel like the room was bouncing up and down at all. He got dinner at the buffet, a Greek salad and roast beef--after eating a lifetime's worth of pizza on tour, he didn't care for it much these days. Honestly, he could have taken another nap after that, but he chose to rally instead. According to the little book in his room, there was supposed to be a DJ on the pool deck tonight. He'd given up a lot of things from his touring days, but loud music wasn't one of them.

On the way up, all the staff seemed to be watching him. Ryder adjusted his baseball hat self-consciously, but thankfully, no one came up to ask for his autograph or anything of the sort. He wasn't even carrying a pen or marker on him!

He treated the elevator like a chance to escape everyone's eyes, but unfortunately, one young woman managed to slip inside with him. He avoided eye contact, but she just kept staring at him. The longer it went, the more awkward it got, and he just wanted the ride to end soon so he could get on with the rest of his night.

Suddenly, the lights flickered to bright red and blue. The lifting mechanism stopped halfway between floors, and Ryder wanted nothing more than to hide in the crack in the door.

The woman smiled too widely--not the smile of an adoring fan, more like a great white shark. She recognized him. Of course she did.

"Ryder Cauley," she said. "Think about what you've done. You betrayed your best friend." She tilted her head like an owl staring at its prey. "You're a liar and a traitor, but it's not too late for you... yet."

Now Ryder didn't just want to hide--he wanted to call the police. He mashed the "emergency" button of the elevator, but nothing happened. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

"I assure you, it's no joke." Her smile widened into a grimace, revealing bright pink gums. "You'll leave this ship a changed man, one way or another."

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the lights turned back to a normal whitish-gold and the elevator lurched back into motion. The woman's expression was just the ordinary excited smile of a services worker as she gushed out, "Ryder Cauley, Holden Cruise Lines welcomes you to the adventure of a lifetime!"

Ryder wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing as he walked out on the pool deck, sneakers sliding on the smooth tiled floor. It looked like hundreds of people were already here, splashing in the water or reclining on folding chairs. The sun was just setting, combining with flashing red and blue lights to illuminate the whole scene in the colors of a rave. Teenagers brandished glow sticks while their parents watched in amusement.

A speaker blasted loud rock music: Vanilla Influx, a newer band whose lead singer Ryder had met once or twice at awards ceremonies. As the song wound down, a record scratch brought it to a stop. A massive LED screen above the pool showed the DJ, who shouted phrases into his microphone, hyping the crowd up as he mixed songs together on his turntable.

Ryder didn't hear what the DJ said. He was more focused on the man's outfit: a Dolphins jersey, number 13, with a signature on the left shoulder in silver marker.

He remembered the exact moment when it had been signed, at the party for Summer Nights and Neon Lights going platinum. Slowly, his gaze moved up to the man's face, not wanting to believe what he saw.

It was CJ Hayward. Lead guitarist of Brightline. Former friend. Crowd-pleasing sellout. Changed career, apparently, to an all-night DJ.

Ryder turned around and walked right back to the elevator. But when he punched the button to go down, nothing happened.