Indigo Rain

by Elise Noble

  Dex opened his eyes again and smiled, just for a second. “Gary’s got an ego the size of the Coliseum and a dick the size of a peanut.”

  “Is there any treatment for your knees?”

  “I need osteotomies in both legs, but that’ll take me out for at least six weeks, so it has to wait until the end of the tour. If that ever fucking comes.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “The devil’s got us by the balls. We sold our souls to a corporation, and it’s not letting us go. Which is why you need to go easy on Travis. He lost one friend this week, yesterday he almost lost another, and he’s more shaken than he’ll admit.”

  “Marli was friends with JD too, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but not in the same way as Travis.”

  “They dated?”

  “For a while. We’ve all got our problems, Alana, and for Travis, that’s women. He falls for them too easily, and he ends up getting hurt.”

  “But he has a different girl every night.”

  “A coping strategy. He never used to be that way. Just like Rush didn’t used to drink whisky for breakfast and JD didn’t have his dealer on speed dial. This world’s changed us all. The only good part is the music.”

  Heavy boots on the stairs signalled Travis’s return. He hadn’t changed out of his stage gear yet, although he’d left his leather jacket somewhere.

  “Ice, milady. The machine on the next floor’s broken, so I had to go ask at reception, which meant signing twenty autographs and posing for selfies.” He held up a plastic bag. “Got some for you too, buddy. Figured you’d need it. Did you tell her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So now you know why he’s such a miserable fucker.” Travis gave me my ice, then reached out a hand and hauled a creaking Dex to his feet. “Just don’t make any jokes about walking canes. He hates that.”

  “No canes. Got it.”

  Another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was Indigo Rain slotted into place. Dex was in constant pain, and he used his attitude as a defence mechanism. I wouldn’t just need to cut Travis some slack, I’d need to cut Dex some too.

  CHAPTER 9 - ALANA

  “SHE’S DEAD, DEXTER. She won’t know whether Travis is at her funeral or not.”

  “But—”

  Gary held up a hand, his voice irritatingly calm. “Travis is not, I repeat not, going to that girl’s funeral. You’ve all got interviews tomorrow afternoon, and you’re headlining at Glastonbury on Saturday. No way.”

  “If he flew tonight, he’d be back by midday on Saturday, and our set isn’t until nine thirty.”

  “No. That’s my final word on the subject. Just make sure you’re on the bus by nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.”

  What an asshole.

  Back at the hotel with the after-show interviews done, Dex, JD, and Rush had made one final plea on Travis’s behalf. Travis had sunk into a depression during the day and spent the whole bus trip to Manchester writing song lyrics, which would have been good if they weren’t borne out of such pain. At Manchester Arena, he’d spent half an hour on the phone to Jae-Lin, who’d thankfully been let out of the hospital, and then he’d picked up his scruffy notepad and pen again.

  I’d snuck a look at some of the words.

  I wanted to be there, but I left you to die,

  The music machine shut me out.

  Now I can’t even say a proper goodbye,

  Grinding gears silence my shout.

  “This isn’t good,” Rush said. “Travis has these black moods, and they can last for weeks. Everything suffers—our music, our performance, our fans. But mostly Travis.”

  Frank had pleaded Travis’s case too, but his reasoning fell on deaf ears. Gary was simply the most pig-headed man I’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

  “Does he know I’m supposed to be a journalist?” I asked Rush as Gary headed for the elevator. “Isn’t he worried about what I might write?”

  “I might have left that part out. I just said you were our new social media girl.”

  “That’s good, I guess.”

  “And I may have implied we’re fucking because then he’ll think you’re too stupid to string a sentence together.”

  Deep breaths, Alana. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “We’ve already had this conversation. I’m not trying anything with you. As Gary would say, that’s my final word on the subject.” I mimicked his annoying voice. Gary was that kid at school who ran whining to the teacher whenever he didn’t get his own way. “But the bigger issue is Travis. What can we do to help him?”

  Maybe I had lost a few brain cells, because I kind of liked him. Liked him in the same way I might like a skinny puppy kicked one too many times by its master.

  “What can we do?”

  “Couldn’t he fly to LA anyway?”

  Dex shook his head. “Gary would lose his mind. You’ve seen the way he is. He’d think up some vindictive punishment and make our lives hell for the next six months.”

  “He’d lose his mind if he found out.”

  “What do you mean, if he found out?”

  “What if you said Travis was sick? That he needed to stay in his hotel room to recover?” My brain began working overtime. “Gary doesn’t ride on the bus with you guys, right?”

  “No,” Rush said. “He’s rented a big-ass Mercedes, and our music’s paying for that too.”

  “So we’ll just say Travis got on the bus first and went to sleep in his bunk. By the time anyone notices he’s not there, he’ll be in LA.”

  Now Dex got all negative. “Wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the moment he set foot in Manchester Airport, the internet would go crazy. Gary has people who track that shit. He’d haul Travis back here before the plane took off. And Trav would get mobbed in LA too. Can you imagine him waiting in line for a cab? There’d be a riot.”

  “He could rent a car.”

  “He doesn’t have a licence, babe. He got banned, remember?” Rush said. “Plus he’s wearing a cast.”

  “Fine. I’ll go with him and rent a car. And I have an idea for the flight.”

  It was Tessa who’d taught me about the joys of empty-leg seats. We’d flown to Spain and back by private jet last year, and it had barely cost more than a regular ticket. Basically, whenever some rich person hired a plane to fly them somewhere, it would have to fly back, and when it flew back, those seats always used to be empty. Now it was possible to book them at bargain-basement prices via various apps, as long as you could fly at short notice. And short notice was precisely what we needed. So, what were the chances…?

  Got one! A small jet leaving Manchester at six a.m. on Friday morning, seven seats free. We could be in LA by six p.m. UK time, ten a.m. PST, which would give Travis time to get to Marli’s funeral at one o’clock. I explained all that to the others.

  “What about coming back?” Dex asked.

  “We could try for another empty-leg, but we might have to fly commercial.”

  “Which would mean sanctions from Gary.”

  “But at least Travis would be able to say goodbye to his friend.”

  What would it be? Would his three bandmates risk Gary’s wrath? By my estimation, we probably had a fifty percent chance of getting in and out of LA without being spotted, and worse odds of his absence going unnoticed in the UK. But Gary was an utter prick for vetoing the trip in the first place. If he’d helped, Travis could have gone to the airport right after tonight’s concert and been on a plane by now.

  “I say do it,” Rush said.

  JD nodded his agreement. “Me too. Dex?”

  After an unbearably long wait, Dex finally shrugged. “It’s not as if this tour can get much worse. Just make sure he’s back in time for our festival set, or we’re all dead.”

  There was something strangely illicit about sneaking out of a hotel in the dark. Perhaps it was because Gary was still
asleep—in his suite, no less—or perhaps it was because I had the world’s hottest rock singer in tow. Yeah, okay, I admitted it. Travis was hot. But hot in a don’t-get-too-close-or-you’ll-burn-up sort of way, not a fling-your-knickers sort of way.

  “This is crazy,” he whispered as we headed towards the cab I’d booked.

  “That’s a bit rich coming from the man who took a blow-up doll as his date to an awards show last year.”

  “Hey, I liked her. The perfect woman. She didn’t keep talking, her bits were in the right places, and she didn’t get hysterical or wake me up at five a.m. the next morning begging for—”

  “Okay, okay, I get the picture.”

  Travis opened the car door for me, and I slid into the back seat. We were travelling light—just one small bag each with a change of clothes and other essentials. Half an hour later, we boarded an eight-seater jet, and as our pilot taxied down the runway at a quarter past six in the morning, I sent a silent thank-you to Tessa and her goal to live a champagne lifestyle on a Prosecco budget. So far, so good. We’d be flying into LAX, and I’d booked a rental car at the other end. Remember to drive on the right, Alana.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Travis.

  He’d barely spoken since we left the hotel. I’d snuck glances at him on the drive, but he’d spent the whole time staring out the window.

  “No, but I’m better than I was yesterday.” He reached across from his plush leather seat to squeeze my hand. It was just the two of us at the back of the cabin—no flight attendant, and the only other passenger was a grey-haired businessman engrossed in his laptop at the front. The old guy nodded in time to music on his headphones. “And I need to say thank you. I can’t remember the last time someone dropped everything to help me like that. Maybe it seems dumb that I want to go so much…”

  “It’s not dumb. You want closure.”

  “Yeah.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I really liked Marli, you know? Once, I even thought we might have a future together, but then she started on the heavy stuff… Injecting… Shit, I should have tried harder.”

  “It seems to me that a person has to want to give up before they can quit.”

  “If I’d been there…”

  “You didn’t force her to take the drugs, Travis. Did she have other people around her?”

  “Always. Everybody loved Marli.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. She wasn’t alone.”

  “I know, but… I guess I thought she’d be around forever, and now she’s not.”

  “How long were you with her? Together, I mean.”

  “Six months? Seven? Something like that, at the beginning when the band was taking off. Marli was a rebel. We never saw each other every day or anything, but for me, there wasn’t anyone else in that time. Her parents were loaded, wanted her to be a lawyer like her daddy, but she only cared about having fun. I had no money, but she didn’t give a shit.” He smiled for a brief moment, but it faded just as quickly. “She bought me my first guitar.”

  “You play rhythm guitar, right?” I’d been doing my research.

  “Yeah, sometimes. And I also play the keyboard, but not live.”

  “You’re full of surprises.”

  “Marli used to say that too. You’re full of surprises, Trav, some bad, some good. I missed her when we left LA. I still miss her. I’ll always miss her.”

  “First love?”

  Another flicker of a smile. “Second. Caitlin came first. My girlfriend in high school. Well, sort of. I didn’t spend much time actually in the school building.”

  “Did she?”

  “Catie was a good girl. Too good for me. She’s a nurse now.”

  A good girl. Those words made me shudder, but I fought to maintain my cool. “You’re still in touch?”

  “We call each other every few weeks. I know you think I’m an asshole with women, but I do care.”

  “No, I can see that you care.” Why else would we be flying five and a half thousand miles to Los Angeles? On the outside, Travis was bad from the roots of his messy brown hair to the toes of his scuffed leather boots, but inside, he had a heart. I saw that now. “What about your parents? Are you close to them?”

  “My biological parents? No. I don’t even know what they look like. But I probably get on better with my last set of foster parents now than I did when I lived with them. They took so much shit from me, and all they ever gave me back was love. If I’d grown up with them my whole life, I probably wouldn’t be the dick I am today. They’re the closest thing to family I have.”

  “You grew up in foster care?”

  “Partly. I spent six years in a children’s home. They just sent me wherever there was space.”

  No wonder Travis found relationships difficult, if he’d been shipped from pillar to post that way. How was it possible to form bonds if you never knew where you’d be the next month?

  “Do your foster parents live in LA too?”

  “Not too far from the funeral home. If I had another hour today, I’d visit.”

  “When did you last see them?”

  “At Christmas.” He sighed. “Too long ago. We only got one day off, and I’d barely finished dinner before it was time to leave. How about your family? I’ve only heard you mention your brother.”

  “Zander’s the only family I care about. My mother’s a professional divorcee, and my father’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. He spent his whole life ruthlessly squeezing every last drop of money out of his investments, cheating on his many wives, and pretending I never existed. He hardly ever talked to my brother—half-brother—either, but Zander got bonus points for having a penis. I think maybe Father hoped he’d take over his business someday, but when I was seventeen and Zander was twenty-three, Father died of cancer. Of his oesophagus. For ages, he thought it was acid reflux, so he ignored it, although it really shouldn’t have been a surprise because he smoked and drank and ate all the wrong things and… I talk too much.”

  Travis squeezed my hand. “If talking helps, then talk.”

  “I won’t burden you. I have a therapist for that.”

  “Gary tried sending me to a therapist once. For my ‘womanising.’”

  It didn’t seem to have helped Travis much, did it?

  “What happened?”

  “She was thirty years old, blonde, and her husband didn’t pay enough attention to her.”

  “You didn’t…?”

  “Like I said, I’m an asshole.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But she gave me a good report.”

  “I bet she did. Wow. My therapist is a middle-aged lady who speaks in questions and always wears pearls.”

  “You still see her?”

  I nodded. “I had to cancel this week’s appointment, so you get to put up with me instead.”

  Travis reached across and reclined my seat, couch-style, then leaned over, elbows propped on the arm.

  “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  The air thickened and turned cloying. One of my hands went to my throat and pulled my sweater away, but that didn’t help, not one bit. Why did it always hurt when people were nice to me? Those kind words needled at my heart and left it raw.

  Travis leaned closer and wiped my cheeks with his sleeve. “Hey, don’t cry. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I…” How did I explain that my emotions were a big tangled ball of string, and whenever I tugged at the end, I never knew whether the whole lot would come loose or get knotted tighter? “I’m so screwed up inside.”

  “Welcome to the club, Alana Graves.”

  I screwed my eyes tightly shut. “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen years old.” The words just fell out of my mouth. “To the man who became stepfather number three.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Do I win?”

  “You got me beat, b
lue-eyes. I was seventeen.”

  “Really?”

  “Late starter, but I’ve made up for it since.”

  “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

  Travis fell silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper.

  “Alana, I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable when I’ve touched you. If any of us have made you feel uncomfortable. I didn’t realise at first how…how fragile you are.”

  “You haven’t made me feel uncomfortable. You all flirt, and that’s okay. I guess in a weird way it makes me feel normal. Because you’re not going to do anything more, are you? I do my job, and you do yours, and I don’t have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night to find you slipping into my bed or jacking off next to me or wrapping my hands around—” I choked out a sob. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, blue-eyes. What happened to your stepfather? Did he get convicted?”

  “I was fourteen when Zander found out what was happening and got me out of there. Fourteen, and it took me three years of therapy to be able to talk about it. I didn’t want to go to court, not if I had to face him again.”

  “You’re braver than I’ve ever been. I promise you none of us will ever hurt you, but if I ever get the chance, I’ll smash my guitar in your stepfather’s face.”

  “That’s the rock-and-roll thing to do, right?”

  “Right.” Travis stroked his thumb over my knuckles. “What about boys? Did you ever…?”

  I shuddered automatically. “Nuh-uh. I’m only interested in window shopping. I have friends who are guys, but most of them are gay, and none of them know about my past. Not many people do—my brother, his wife, my best friend, my therapist, and now you. That’s it. I don’t even know why I told you. Sometimes, my mouth just runs away from me. But my therapist said I’d find it easier to talk about as time goes on, so I guess all those thousands my brother’s spent on her fees have been worth it.”

  And it was easier. Those first months, I’d barely spoken a dozen words in each session. Now I could vocalise how angry I was with the man whose job it had been to take care of me. Just thinking of him gave me the shivers. And my mother, who’d stood by and let it happen.