by Elise Noble
“Not good. And I hope they don’t. So many people treat those guys as pieces of meat, as meal tickets, as a way to get free publicity, but they’re living, breathing people with feelings.”
Tessa’s smile dropped, and her bottom lip quivered. “Sorry. I just didn’t think.”
Dammit, stress had turned me into a bitch. “And I’m sorry for snapping. Being on the tour’s like getting stuck in a pressure cooker.”
And I’d only endured it for three weeks. For the boys, that crushing burden was multiplied a hundredfold.
“Then tonight we should relax. Want to go out? Stay in?”
“Can we stay in? I’ve been living on cold buffets and restaurant food for too long.”
Eating out used to be a treat, something to look forward to, but do it too often and it became a chore. I’d never been the world’s best cook, but tonight I craved a simple meal like a salad or beans on toast on a proper plate with a glass made of actual glass instead of plastic. And I wanted to do my own laundry and use my own shower with its rainfall head and side jets. And did I mention the space? The apartment I shared with my brother wasn’t huge, just two bedrooms, a combined lounge/diner, two bathrooms, and a kitchen, but the sheer joy of being able to stand in the middle of a room with my arms out and not hit a wall was something I’d never appreciated until now.
“Sure. Want me to make dinner?”
“I’d love you to make dinner.” Tessa was much better at cooking than me. “But something simple.”
“Pasta?”
“Pasta’s good.”
“Are Zander and Dove coming home tonight? Should I make extra?”
“I’m not sure; I just got in myself.”
Zander’s office was in King’s Cross while Dove worked as a gardener an hour north of London. But her boss, Marlene, a nutty lady in her seventies who drank like a fish and surrounded herself with sparkly trinkets and tanned hunks a third of her age, was an absolute legend, and she never minded if Zander stayed over too. Which meant that during the week, I didn’t have to sleep with earplugs in every flipping night.
With no sign of them and no note on the hall table, I fired off a text to Zander.
Me: Are you coming home tonight? Do you want dinner?
A moment later, he replied.
Zander: Picked up a case in Hemel Hempstead, so staying in Northbury with Dove all week.
Me: Say hi to Marlene for me.
“It’s just us,” I called out to Tessa, who’d already started rummaging through the fridge. “Zander and Dove are away all week, and no, we’re not having another party. I’m partied out.”
“I bet. Is that girl who almost died okay now?”
“Apparently so.”
Travis had kept me updated on Jae-Lin, and she’d flown home to LA as soon as the doctors gave her the all-clear. She wanted to spend some time with her family following the reminder of her own transience.
“And that girl in Paris—do they know whether she fell or got pushed yet?”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
Zander had promised Blackwood in France would keep an eye on developments, but so far, the police were holding their cards close to their chests. According to Mathis, there were no cameras in the stairwell or the hallways nearby, so the investigators would be reliant on footage from inside the bar, witnesses—most of whom were drunk—and forensic evidence. And, of course, the search for a motive should foul play be suspected.
“But there’s plenty of drama for your article on the band, yes? Will they let you include that stuff?”
“Honestly? I haven’t even thought about the article. I’m not even sure if I want to write it.”
Tessa whipped her head around. “What?”
“I’m thinking of dropping out.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” She grabbed a bottle of white from the fridge and rummaged in the drawer next to the hob for a corkscrew. “Why? You’ve done more than half the course.”
“My heart’s not in it anymore. I’ve got no desire to report on politics or hang out in a war zone or analyse economics. And now I’ve got to know the band, I don’t want to write anything bad about them, and I’d probably feel that way about most celebs.” I managed a weak smile. “We can’t all be hard-hitting investigative journalists like you. How’s your placement going?”
“Don’t you dare try to change the subject. We’re discussing your crisis of confidence right now.”
“It’s not a crisis of confidence. More a change of direction.”
“Ah. And which direction are you going in now?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
Tessa got the bottle open and poured me a generous glassful. Whenever possible, I’d been trying not to drink on tour, but since I was at home tonight and I didn’t have to go anywhere, I took a long swallow. And another. And another. Yes, this was much better.
By the time Tessa finished making her favourite tomato sauce with olives and artichokes and slid a plate of pasta in my direction, the room had gone a bit spinny and the alcohol had loosened my tongue.
“Gary’s a dick, did I tell you that?”
“Gary?”
“The guy from the record label. In fact, everyone at the record label’s an asshole. They take all the band’s money and make the boys work every freaking day, and Gary drinks decaf and complains about everything and drives a big-ass car to go with his tiny penis.”
“You’ve seen his penis?”
“No! Rush told me. I say all this other stuff, and that’s the thing you focus on? Have we got any more wine?”
“No more wine, sweetie. How about I get you a nice glass of water?”
“Can it be tonic water with gin in it?”
“Nope. I’ll be generous and add ice and lemon.” Thirty seconds later, she shoved a full pint glass to my side of the table. “Drink this. Now, what was all that other stuff you said?”
“I don’t know. Did I say stuff?”
“Let’s talk in the morning, eh? I’ll stay here with you.”
“Sure, stay. Okay.”
CHAPTER 19 - ALANA
“WAKEY, WAKEY. RISE and shine.”
Tessa yanked open the curtains in my bedroom, and I blinked in the glare from the sun.
“What? No, close them. Please, make it go away.”
“I have to get ready for work.”
“What time is it?”
“Six thirty.”
Freaking hell. Touring with Indigo Rain had knocked my body clock off-kilter by a few hours, and now it felt as if someone was beating on my skull with Thor’s hammer. Minus Chris Hemsworth, of course, because there was literally nothing good about this morning.
“You’re inhumane.”
“And you’re hungover. I’ve put paracetamol on your nightstand. Are you planning to get out of bed today?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Well, while you think about it, I’m gonna take a shower then go research the correlation between fizzy drinks and exam results in primary school children.”
“That’s what they’re making you do?”
“Everyone’s got to start somewhere, right?”
By the time Tessa put a steaming mug of coffee on my bedside table and leaned over to give me a hug, I still hadn’t moved. Perhaps I’d just stay in bed all day. I liked my bed. A comfortable memory-foam mattress, enough room to stretch my arms out, and if I wanted to, I could sit up without bashing my head on the bunk above.
Where was Travis right now? He’d planned to stay with his foster parents rather than at his apartment, so at least he had people around to keep an eye on him. I knew from my own experiences how hard it could be to live with abuse, how easy it was to blame yourself and constantly ask what if? What if you’d done something differently?
Would he tell his foster parents? Would he let them help him?
Tessa bustled around in the living room, and I wished I had her energy. Today, I felt like a chewed-up piece of string.
“Your phone’s ringing,” she called.
“Can you bring it?”
“Don’t know where it is, and I’m late.”
“Okay, don’t worry.”
“I’ll be back for dinner.”
The door slammed, and the ringing stopped. Gah. What if it was Zander? His boss, Nye, lived on the top floor here—well, sometimes, because he and his wife also had a country home in Northbury village—and if I didn’t call back, he or someone else from Blackwood would turn up to make sure I hadn’t died in my sleep.
My vision twinkled as I got up too quickly, and I steadied myself with a hand on the wall. Now, where the hell was my phone? It took ten minutes of searching before I remembered I could use the house phone to call myself, and another thirty seconds to find my mobile stuffed behind a cushion. Another ten seconds to realise it wasn’t Zander who’d phoned me but Travis, and my heart did a crazy little dance which ended with it tripping over its own ventricles.
What did he want? Was everything okay?
My fingers shook so much I accidentally dialled my mother first, and I swore under my breath as I hung up. She wouldn’t call back. She never did. Second time lucky…
“Hello? Travis?”
“Sorry, he’s asleep. Can I take a message?”
My spine stiffened as though someone had hammered a metal stake straight through the middle of it. Who was she? Who was this girl with Travis’s phone? She sure didn’t sound old enough to be his foster mom. No, she sounded my age, peppy, a California surfer chick or a cheerleader, perhaps.
And she was with Travis while I wasn’t.
“Uh, no, no message.”
I hung up and stared at the screen, only now thinking of all the questions I should have asked. Starting with, Who are you and why are you answering Travis’s phone?
What time was it over there? Eleven o’clock in the evening, and he’d fallen asleep with her close by. I realised he wasn’t a saint, and of course I couldn’t expect him to stay celibate for the rest of his life, but it still hurt that he’d run away from me and gone straight to another woman.
Oh, dammit all to hell. Travis Thorne had promised me nothing, and here I was, getting upset about what never was and never would be. He was just a stupid, hopeless crush, and I was just a stupid, hopeless girl for feeling the way I did.
“What the hell happened in here?” Tessa asked.
I turned around with a can of spray polish in my hand.
“Uh, I was feeling depressed, so I thought I’d do some spring cleaning.”
“Next time, can you come and feel depressed at my place?” She ran a finger along the top of the kitchen door, and it came back clean. “Wow. You dusted everything.”
Dusted, vacuumed, wiped, scrubbed, polished, washed, and swept. I’d even picked up the stray leaves Dove’s plants had shed on the balcony in a desperate attempt to take my mind off a certain singer who’d left me feeling empty inside.
“And dinner’s almost ready.”
“Tell me you didn’t cook from scratch.”
Of course not. I didn’t want to kill us both. “No, I ordered Chinese, but I need to reheat it.”
“Sorry, I thought I’d be back earlier, but the Tube randomly stopped in a tunnel for twenty minutes, and then the escalator was broken.”
“So a totally normal day in London, then.”
“Mostly, except I got talking to this cute guy who runs a marketing company in Camden, and he’s taking me out for drinks tomorrow.”
“Nice move. How was work?”
“Fizzy drinks are evil incarnate. Refined sugar’s bad for you, but artificial sweeteners are worse. I’m only drinking water and fruit juice from now on. And wine, obviously, because that’s just fruit juice with added benefits.”
“I’ll go grab a bottle.”
“And one glass. You’re not drinking wine, not after last night.”
“But—”
“And once you’ve brought the drinks, you can tell me what’s eating at you.”
“Travis had a girl with him last night,” I blurted.
“Travis Thorne?”
“How many other Travises do I know?”
“But why does… Oh. You like him? You really like him?”
I nodded miserably.
“Okay, two glasses. But if you look as if you’re about to fall off the stool again, I’m pouring the rest of the wine down the sink.”
Tessa didn’t wait for me to fetch the wine—she poured it herself instead. Now I understood how Rush felt. Alcohol numbed the pain.
“Tell me what happened,” Tessa said. “Then I can work out whether I need to buy cream cakes or a voodoo Travis doll. Did he lead you on?”
“No, the opposite.” The whole story came out—minus the sexual assault part—along with a million tears and, embarrassingly, some snot. Boy did I lead a glamorous life. Sometimes, I wished I could be more like my mother—focused on money and appearances rather than affairs of the heart. “You have to promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“Pinky swear.”
She held out her finger the same way she’d done when we were fourteen, a teenage pact not to tell anyone that we’d been the ones who sprinkled hot sauce in the geography teacher’s coffee. Mr. Punter. He’d been a sadistic old coot, a relic left over from the days of corporal punishment. Every time he got annoyed, he’d thwack a wooden ruler against his hand, angry both at us and at the pesky rules that prevented him from tanning our insolent backsides.
Tessa was the first friend I’d made when I came to London. I’d been the new girl, and she’d been the chubby outcast sitting on her own in maths class. Our bond had been forged over a shared hatred of quadratic equations and a desire not to eat lunch alone, and it had only grown stronger since. When she hit fifteen, Tessa’s braces had been removed and she’d gone on a diet, and she’d turned from an ugly duckling into a swan. A slightly annoying swan who borrowed my Instagram account to send messages to rock stars, but I loved her anyway.
And now I wrapped my finger around hers.
“You see why I’m feeling a little unsettled?”
“Yeah, I mean, whoa. Travis Thorne really said he liked you?”
“He really did. And the night before that in Paris, when we walked around the streets together… I’d begun to think it might actually mean something. And then another girl answered his phone.”
“It could be perfectly innocent. What if she was just a friend? Or a foster sister?”
“I guess. I don’t know.”
“And he did try to call you. Did you ever stop to think you might be blowing this out of all proportion?”
See what I meant when I said Tessa was slightly annoying? Why did she always have to be right?
“Maybe.”
“Just call him, okay? You should stay friends. Every girl needs a really hot guy friend. Bonus points if he’s gay.”
I choked out a laugh. “Travis Thorne is definitely not gay.”
“I totally get that. Anyhow, I’m more interested in the whole contract thing. They honestly got shafted by their record label?”
Classic Tessa. She’d been the editor of the student newspaper at school, and although she liked to gossip, she loved a juicy story more. If I was honest, it was Tessa’s enthusiasm rather than mine that had led me to study journalism at uni, that and a complete lack of direction when it came to my future career choice. Sticking with Tessa had seemed like an excellent way to delay the decision-making progress.
“It seems so. I haven’t actually seen the contract, but—”
“Can you get a copy?”
“Tess, this isn’t a story you can print. They told me the details in confidence.”
“I know that—pinky swear, remember—but I’m super curious now. I always thought that record label was kind of odd.”
“Odd in what way?”
“In that they don’t have many acts, but the ones they do have are super successful until they leave, and
then nobody ever hears from them again.”
“That kind of fits with what Travis told me. Bands get so tired and disillusioned that they quit the industry completely.”
“Why don’t they just take a break, then find a new label?”
“Who knows? Maybe because they’ve lost momentum?”
“Look at other big artists who take time off. Their fans are ravenous for new stuff.”
“If they’ve made their millions, perhaps they just want to lie back and relax on a beach somewhere? How do you know all this stuff, anyway?”
Tessa turned bright pink. “Uh…”
“You were stalking Rush Moder, weren’t you?”
“Possibly. I like doing research, okay? It’s good practice for my future career. And you have to admit, the label is weird.”
“I’m just annoyed that Gary lives better than the boys and yet they do all the hard work.”
“I’ll do some digging.”
For a moment, I considered trying to talk her out of it, but then I remembered that this was Tessa we were talking about. I’d have a better chance of trying to convince a toddler that vegetables really were tasty. And yes, I was a tiny bit curious myself.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“Can you get a copy of the contract?”
“Tessa!”
“Hey, it’s always worth asking. Pass the prawn crackers?”
I pushed the plate towards her, together with a bowl of chilli dipping sauce.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked.
“I’m not all that hungry.”
The events of the last week had made me lose my appetite.
CHAPTER 20 - ALANA
“HEY,” TRAVIS SAID.
“Hey.”
Wow, this wasn’t awkward at all. Wednesday evening, and the band had arrived back at their hotel in London, having travelled halfway around the world to spend just one day with their nearest and dearest. And now they needed to go act perky in a studio while a radio host grilled them about subjects they’d rather avoid. Rush had messaged me yesterday, begging me to bring coffee and take pictures.
And there I was, in the hotel lobby, complete with a tray from Starbucks. A sucker for punishment.