Indigo Rain

by Elise Noble

  We’d only got the briefest of chances to speak last night because the others had been around. Travis had told the cops the same story as me, except in a stunning case of double standards, they’d interrogated him for twice as long, and then taken his fingerprints “for elimination purposes.”

  “I understand why you said it. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

  “If I was still playing dive bars and living on ramen, I’d be crawling after you on my hands and fucking knees, begging for a date. You walked into my life like this…this ethereal being and ruined me for all other women from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “I hate to mention this, but what about Jae-Lin?”

  “I had my eyes shut, and I was thinking of you the whole time.”

  “And the two redheads?”

  “They did each other while I watched.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “No.”

  And he really wasn’t.

  Freaking heck. I almost choked. Should I be flattered or upset by that little revelation? Travis’s bluntness shocked me, but considering how accustomed I’d become to men lying throughout my childhood, his honesty was refreshing.

  “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, blue.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “But thank you for being here. Right now, you’re the glue that’s holding us together. We were on the verge of walking away from the whole fucking industry before you turned up.”

  I wished I could offer more encouragement, but two years was a long time to go when you were stuck in a role you hated. When I was living with my mother, every night had seemed like an eternity.

  “You guys took a chance on me, and I’ll do everything I can to make this easier for all of us.”

  Travis gripped my hands, and my traitorous heart stuttered. Why couldn’t it stay strong?

  “I’d hate to lose you as a friend, blue-eyes.”

  “You won’t.”

  And I knew at that moment I’d wait those two years. If Travis still wanted me at the end of it, I’d be there, standing in the wings.

  CHAPTER 17 - ALANA

  TRAVIS WAS ABSOLUTELY right about Vina. Yes, she could sing, but the song didn’t fit. They’d performed it in Leeds last night, and although the audience didn’t boo or jeer, they hadn’t joined in either, and I spotted an awful lot of people nipping out for a bathroom break.

  “Who wrote ‘Burn’?” I asked Rush.

  “Travis.”

  “Really? It doesn’t sound like his style.”

  “Travis writes everything from love songs to metal. He’s just not allowed to sell any of it to other artists.”

  “The contract?”

  “Yeah. Vina was an exception because we were working together.”

  Vina was sweet though, not at all egotistic and also happy to help out with the endless list of chores Courtney and Jeanne had to do. Much as I hated to admit it, Reagan hadn’t been a bad PA. A horrible human being, yes, but she’d been good at her job.

  We were sleeping on the bus this week—the band, me, Vina, and Ian. Gary said it was for convenience, but the truth was, he was just being a cheapskate again. He still took Courtney and Jeanne to his hotel at night so they could cater to his ridiculous demands, which included finding a mattress topper at a quarter to midnight and ensuring his decaffeinated cappuccino was waiting for him at breakfast, together with a copy of The Times and a bullet-pointed summary of his overnight emails.

  Secretly, I much preferred being on the bus, even while Ian constantly reminded everyone of the no-shitting rule, Rush fought with the Nespresso machine, and JD wandered around in his boxer shorts, although I did have to nag him several times to stop scratching his balls. This was the human side of the band. I started taking more photos, and Instagram went mad for my video of a shirtless Rush strumming his guitar in the rear lounge.

  Our time in Leeds was good, and when we travelled on to Newcastle, I cautiously hoped that the second half of Indigo Rain’s UK tour might go a little more smoothly than the first. Well, that was the kiss of death, wasn’t it?

  I’d just got back to the bus on Friday, having raided the catering table for lunch, when Courtney let out a shocked gasp.

  “Ohmigosh!”

  “What?”

  “Have you seen this?”

  “Seen what?”

  “Some girl’s done a kiss-and-tell on Travis.”

  My heart lurched into my throat. “She’s what?”

  “You know, a kiss-and-tell. Where she describes their night together and everything he—”

  “Yes, I know what a kiss-and-tell is, thank you.” I screwed my eyes shut, as if that made any difference. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. Where is it?”

  Courtney passed her iPad over, and sure enough, there it was. Confessions of a Rock Chick: My Night with the Bad Boy, a feature piece on a gossip website famed for pushing the boundaries of taste, complete with pictures. Yes, the pornographic parts had been covered with black rectangles, but the pair were clearly fucking. The girl was riding him like a prize freaking stallion. And although their heads had been cropped out, there was no mistaking Travis’s tattoos.

  “She doesn’t give her name, but man, there’re a lot of details,” Courtney said. “Do you think it’s true? Or were the pictures Photoshopped?”

  Oh, how I wished it was fake, but it could just as easily be real. Travis wasn’t exactly famous for his discretion. I devoured the article, juicy titbits about what Travis had done with his tongue, his staying power, and how he’d nailed the aforementioned rock chick against the wall, and my knickers were decidedly damp when I finished. Wow.

  And then the man himself walked in.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing!” Courtney and I said in unison.

  He raised an eyebrow, and we must have looked guilty as hell.

  “Everything,” I said, passing the iPad across.

  Rush looked over Travis’s shoulder. “Bad lighting, buddy.”

  “I didn’t fuckin’ pose for this.”

  Travis chewed on his bottom lip as he read, and by the time he got to the end of the article, a spot of blood had appeared.

  “Fuck.”

  Yes, that was the whole problem. “It certainly appears you did that.”

  “Think positive,” Rush said. “She gave you a glowing report.”

  “There shouldn’t be any kind of report. I’ve never let chicks take pictures in the bedroom because I knew this was exactly where they’d end up. She did this without me knowing.”

  “Any idea who?”

  He glanced sideways at me, and his shoulders slumped. “It could have been any one of thirty women. Forty.”

  Forty? And that was just the blondes. The girl had been careful, but in one shot, a cascade of golden hair tumbled down her back. Multiply Travis’s admission by the brunettes and the redheads, and we were talking over a hundred women that he’d slept with. Maybe it was good he’d backed away on Tuesday night. That I hadn’t battled my fears only to become another notch on his bedpost. Although what a notch it would have been if just a fraction of that article was accurate.

  “What can we do?” I asked nobody in particular.

  Travis sighed. “Nothing. This shit’s out there now. Yeah, I could sue for breach of privacy, but it’d cost me more money than I have in legal fees, there’s no guarantee I’d win, and even if I did, it wouldn’t undo the damage.”

  Like Rush said, we had to think positive. “There’s not actually that much damage. I mean, it paints you in quite a good light.”

  Travis brushed a lock of hair away from my face. “I meant the damage in your head, blue. I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.”

  Whoa. That was the first time he’d hinted at his feelings in front of other people, but luckily, it went right over Courtney’s head.

  “We should tell Gary,” she said. “He hates it when he’s the last to know stuff.”r />
  “Who gets that job?” I asked.

  “Uh, perhaps we could send him an email?”

  Rush barked out a laugh. “He’ll probably read the article for tips, although nothing’s gonna compensate for his two-inch dick.”

  “Two inches? Dex said something about a peanut, but I thought he was joking.”

  “He wasn’t.” Which explained a lot. “Seen it in the bathroom.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Travis said. “He hates me already, so this won’t make much difference.”

  “No, let me do it. You’ve got a concert to get ready for, and Gary’s got no hold over me.” Plus, now I knew what he was compensating for, I found him a whole lot less intimidating. “I’ll go with Courtney.”

  “Blue, don’t do—”

  I didn’t hear the rest, because I was already out the door.

  “What do you mean, you already know?”

  Gary peered at me from behind his laptop in the temporary office he’d set up inside Newcastle Arena. Courtney hovered in the doorway, no doubt looking for an escape route.

  “Google Alerts, Alana. Don’t worry, it’s all in hand.”

  “You’re getting it taken down?”

  He let out a high-pitched cackle. “Why would I do that? This thing’s gone viral.” Viral like herpes. “No, I contacted the website and got them to include a purchase link for Indigo Rain’s latest album at the bottom. Downloads are up already.”

  “Hold on. You think this is a good thing?”

  “No publicity is bad publicity.”

  “Then why did you get so cross when the band smashed up their hotel room?”

  “Because the column inches they gained didn’t justify the expense. But this… This didn’t cost us a cent.”

  “What about Travis’s feelings?”

  “It’s business, Alana.” He flicked his wrist at me. “Off you go, back to the playpen.”

  That… That…

  That was the moment I vowed to take Gary Dorfman down. I had no clue how, but I’d bloody well find a way.

  Outside Gary’s office, I leaned against the wall, fists clenched, determined to calm down before I accidentally yelled at somebody. Gary obviously didn’t share that sentiment, because he started shouting into the phone the moment the door closed.

  Did I listen? Of course I listened.

  “Verity thinks someone spied on her in the shower? How is that my problem?”

  A pause.

  “Dex’s guitar tech? Does she have proof?”

  The answer was obviously no.

  “Then tell her to get over herself and remind her to close the bathroom door properly next time.”

  Slam.

  Gary really was a misogynistic prick, wasn’t he?

  Oh no, not again.

  Another day, another city—Glasgow this time—and Courtney’s gasp alerted me to a new problem.

  “What is it this time?”

  “You know those pictures of Travis from yesterday?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, somebody’s gotten hold of the uncensored versions.”

  Holy shit.

  “Where? Let me see.”

  Well, it was safe to say Travis had nothing to be embarrassed about in the shower. One photo showed him full-frontal, and my gosh, I winced just looking at it.

  “Courtney, shut your mouth.”

  It had dropped open, more in shock than desire it seemed since she screwed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands against them for a moment.

  “Sorry.” She opened her eyes again. “It’s just… I really didn’t want to see that.”

  Eight X-rated vignettes of Travis’s most private moments, laid bare for all to see. The girl didn’t feature as heavily, but when we got to the bottom of the page, Courtney spat her drink across the table.

  “What?” I looked again. The blonde bitch was draped over Travis, but it wasn’t as brazen as some of the other snaps. “This one isn’t that bad.”

  Courtney had a coughing fit, and I thumped her on the back until she started breathing normally again. While I waited, I snuck another look at the picture above. Wow. Travis packed some serious heat.

  “I…” More coughing. “I think I know who it is.”

  Ohmigosh. “Who?”

  “Reagan. I recognise her watch.”

  So did I now that I looked closer, an ugly thing covered in fake diamonds that she’d worn every day. It had still been gracing her wrist when she took a nosedive down the stairs.

  Bloody hell.

  I scrolled through the pictures again, more slowly this time. Travis lying there naked. The girl riding him, holding his hands on her hips. The pair side by side on the bed. Travis gripping his cock with her hand over the top. At no point was he actively participating in any of those scenes. This wasn’t a groupie’s tale of a night of passion, this was the delusions of a sick mind and evidence of assault.

  Now Travis would have a permanent reminder of what she’d done, and—a chill ran through me as I realised the broader implications—this tell-all gave him a motive for Reagan’s murder. What if the police connected the two and thought Travis killed her in an attempt to stop the article from being published?

  He couldn’t have, could he?

  No, the shock on his face yesterday when he first saw the pictures had been genuine, of that I was certain. But the police didn’t know that. This nightmare had just taken on a whole new dimension.

  “Why? Why would she do that?”

  “I had no idea she went with Travis,” Courtney said. But neither did he at first. “She never mentioned anything.”

  “Well, the pictures suggest otherwise.”

  Courtney seemed as stunned as I’d been when I first found out about Reagan and Travis, even though she didn’t know the full, horrific story. And I wasn’t about to tell her. That was Travis’s decision, not mine.

  “I think she’d been having money problems. With her rent and her credit card. I overheard her on the phone a couple of times, asking for extensions to payment terms.”

  “So she sold the pictures to pay her credit card bill?” I suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  Ouch. That was cold. Did she plan it all along? Set Travis up with the intention of making a quick buck? Or did she merely take advantage of a convenient opportunity afterwards?

  Either way, I had to tell him, and that promised to be more awkward than talking to Gary.

  CHAPTER 18 - ALANA

  SUNDAY MORNING, AND Travis was still as shaken as he’d been when I showed him the uncensored pictures yesterday. Wouldn’t you be if pictures of you being abused had been made public and you couldn’t explain the truth?

  He’d started drinking on stage last night. On stage. The audience loved it, but by one a.m., he’d passed out on the tour bus and Rush and JD had to drag him into bed, a feat easier said than done since Rush was also drunk and JD was high.

  And now Travis was preparing to fly to LA, and I was terrified he’d do something stupid. The rest of the band was going too, for two rare days of R and R, as were Meredith and Verity. And when I say R and R, I mean Gary had only pulled one more dickish move and scheduled a TV interview for Monday afternoon right after Travis’s counselling session ended.

  “Will he be okay?” I asked Dex.

  “We’ll make sure someone stays with him at all times.”

  “Do you really think he’d try anything?”

  A shrug. Boy, that was comforting.

  “Hey, Travis?” Meredith didn’t know all the facts, but she tried to help. “Wanna get together on Monday night after your interview and write some songs?”

  He shook his head. “Gonna stay with my folks.”

  “I could come over?”

  “Rather be on my own.” Travis looked around, still under the influence. “Where’s my guitar?”

  “In the lounge. I’ll go get it for you, okay?”

  “He writes songs with Meredith?” I asked Dex.

 
; “Yeah, for Styx and Stones.”

  “I thought he wasn’t allowed?”

  “He’s not allowed to sell songs or lend his name. But he wrote most of their hits and just didn’t take any credit for them.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does. But we’ve known Meredith for years, so he doesn’t mind. She bought us our first decent amps when we began to take off. You wouldn’t think she’s a trust-fund baby from looking at her, would ya?”

  “No, but so am I, pretty much.”

  “You’re different though. More…refined.”

  Dex didn’t mean to be unkind, but his words were just one more reminder that my face didn’t quite fit around there. Nobody had invited me to go to the US, which was understandable since I was basically crew. But with some of the things Travis had said to me… Why did men have to be so freaking complicated?

  The next leg of the tour would be in London, starting on Thursday at the O2, which meant I could stay at home for a week instead of camping out on buses and in hotels. Having some space would be good, right? Some time away from this circus to make sense of everything that had happened over the last three weeks? Time to catch up with Zander and Dove and Tessa. I needed that.

  “Want to share a cab to the airport?” Vina asked. She was flying back to London too.

  “Why not?”

  “Aaaaaaaah!” Tessa squealed, flinging her arms around me. “I’ve missed you so much!”

  “I’ve only been away for three weeks.”

  “Which is forever.”

  “And I’ve been sending you photos.”

  “Totally not the same. But speaking of photos, did you see Travis Thorne’s dick pics?”

  “I saw them.”

  “They had to have been Photoshopped, right? I mean, people could trip over that thing.”

  “I don’t think they were.”

  “Seriously? Holy cannoli. Does he know who the girl was?”

  “He’s not talking about it.”

  “I guess I can understand that. Say, what do you think the chances are of any Rush Moder nudie pics coming out?”