Derail

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at the ‘don’t fall for your bandmate’s girl’ premise—until about 30 minutes in, when *Derail* flipped the script. This isn’t a story about rebellion; it’s about the slow unraveling of a man who’s spent his life being the *responsible* one, and the woman who makes him question every rule he’s lived by. Shea’s writing shines in the small moments: the way Jess’s laughter cuts through the tension in a greenroom, or how a single shared cigarette on a loading dock becomes charged with years of suppressed longing. The pacing mirrors a live set—start slow with character-driven buildup, hit a few explosive arguments mid-book, then crescendo into a third act that had me white-knuckling my headphones. Now, the narration: Jason Clarke’s performance is *so* good it’s almost distracting. He nails the exhaustion of a guy who’s been on the road too long, his voice roughening when he’s lying to himself, softening when he’s finally honest. Emma Wilder’s Jess, though, is the standout—she makes the character feel like the girl next door who’d also kick your ass at pool. My only critique? The side characters sometimes blur together (how many nameless roadies does one band need?), and a subplot about the band’s label drama feels tacked on for stakes. But the core of this audiobook—the push-pull between duty and desire, the way Clarke and Wilder play off each other—is electric. If you love romances that *earn* their happy endings (and aren’t afraid of a little emotional whiplash), this is your next listen. Just maybe don’t start it before bed. You’ll stay up way too late.