by Piper Lawson
“You lost, babysitter?”
The one-in-a-million voice has me turning to find Jax behind me for the second time today.
This time, I should be prepared.
You’re so not.
He’s dressed in black from head to toe. His body is hard and lean and sculpted, and I wish I could pull a Dr. Strange just to freeze time and check out every muscle one by one.
His hair’s got some kind of product in it, and I’m pretty sure he has stage makeup on.
Those amber eyes are the same.
I always thought Jax Jamieson gutted people with his voice. I’m starting to think he could do it with that stare alone.
“Jerry said I could watch from up here,” I say.
“Did he?”
I’m getting better at not melting into a pile of stuttering goop when he challenges me. It’s something I’ll have to practice if I’m going to be here for a month.
On stage, the crew is finishing up. Kyle takes his spot behind the drums, doing a visual check. Brick sets up behind his bass on the far side of the stage. Mace leaves his guitar unplugged as his fingers warm up over the strings. He’s muttering to himself.
“He okay?” I ask.
“He’ll survive. But apparently Emperor Palpatine’s throne broke off and went AWOL in transit today.”
I remember the Death Star that’d ridden along with us. “Crap. And he blames it on you.”
“Nah. I told him it was your fault.”
My jaw drops. “Why would you do that?”
“Man doesn’t get his Snickers, he’s bound to do some crazy shit.” Jax strides past me, shaking his head as he takes the stage.
Was that a joke? I remember from a media interview that he’s supposed to have a dry sense of humor, but right now I’m not sure.
Still, I can’t take my eyes off him as he lifts his guitar from its rack, shifting it over his head with the easy grace of someone who does it as effortlessly as walking.
My skin’s tingling everywhere. Not in a bad way, a good one.
The crowd can’t even see him yet, and they’re going crazy in the darkness.
He’s in his own world. Walking a slow circle, his eyes closed, he stops in front of the mic, dropping his head back.
He could be a Western gunslinger or a gladiator. The confidence. The competence.
Then the curtain rises.
The venue explodes, the roar filling my ears.
Jax looks immune, but when he lifts his head, opens his eyes, the roar gets louder.
The sea of people is marked by grins and bouncing and excitement.
But like yesterday in the interview room, my attention drags back to the man on the stage.
Jax’s profile is in sharp relief, his strong nose and chin outlined against the powerful stage lights.
There’s no music, no talking, just screaming that takes a moment to fade.
When it does, the arena is quiet.
Jax shifts imperceptibly closer to the mic stand. His gaze drops to the big, square mic as though he can see inside it. As though he knows every inch of it well enough to recreate it in his mind.
It’s a million degrees next to the stage, but my arms are pebbled with goose bumps.
His lips part, his chest rising. He’s the only one breathing in the entire venue.
And then…
A single note, low and raw, splits the silence.
The tension shatters. The quiet too, as twenty thousand people recognize the hit song and erupt into cheers.
My lips fall open, but I can’t hear any sound that comes out.
I’m reminded in an instant why Jax Jamieson’s a damned magician.
Not because his songs are perfect. Because they’re real.
The program I’m building can’t explain the kind of genius this man brings when he writes a song.
But every line, every verse, every chord touches me like nothing else does. The vibration fills me, owns me, in a way no person ever has.
It takes a moment to realize Nina’s next to me, looking relaxed for the first time since the truck broke down.
“It’s not always easy,” she comments, the beatific smile making her look more like a Dove commercial than a tour manager. “But in these moments? It’s worth it.”
5
Haley
Dear Professor Carter,
* * *
I wanted to let you know that I’ve accepted a position with a music recording company for the summer. I’m sorry we aren’t able to work together, as that would have been amazing, but I hope I can continue to count on your advice as I prepare my program for the Spark competition. Thanks again for agreeing to serve as a sponsor for my application.
* * *
Sincerely,
* * *
Haley
* * *
My phone rings and I reach across the bed for it. “Hey.”
“Bitch. You didn’t call me last night.”
“I was working.”
“Chain smoking too?”
I crack a grin and shift upright to stare at the clock. Seven thirty.
“You’re up early,” Serena says.
“You too. I’m emailing Professor Carter. What sounds more personal: sincerely or yours truly?”
“How about ‘I get off to you every night’?”
I make a face, hit Send, and shut my laptop as I slide out of bed.
“I didn’t call to hear about Carter. How was it last night?”
“I got to bed at two.”
“Partying like a rock star.”
“Not partying. Going over the settings and cues with a guy who could be my grandfather.” After the show, Jerry had wanted to see what I’d noticed, so I’d gone back to the sound booth and spent an hour with him, talking and taking notes.
I go through my bag for clean socks in the bottom.
My fingers close on…
“You snuck condoms in my bag?” I hold one up, my voice incredulous.
“Better safe than sorry,” she chirps.
I drop the box back in the bag, shaking my head. “I did sleep in a hotel last night. Alone.”
Besides Lita and Nina, I’m the only woman on tour, which apparently means I get my own room.
“Lucky. Need a roommate on the road?”
I yawn and stretch. “I don’t think any pets are allowed. And Scrunchie is an especially tough sell.” I shift out of bed, peering out the curtains to see the sunlight.
“Something came in the mail today. I think it’s the ancestry test.”
My spine straightens. “Open it.”
I hear her rustling in the background and wait, dragging my sock-covered toe against the baseboard.
“Well?”
“No relatives found.” I drop the curtain, my stomach flip-flopping. “I’m sorry, Haley.”
“It’s okay. I knew there wasn’t a good chance. But it’s actually not that bad. Maybe it’s not meant to be. I never felt like I was missing out by not knowing who my father is. Maybe he doesn’t even know about me. That would be one hell of a surprise. Or he could be in jail for all I know.”
“Your mom doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“I don’t know what her type was. I never really saw her with a man.” I wander into the bathroom, inspecting the little toiletries there. I guess even nice hotels have crappy shampoo, and I’m glad I brought my own. “I know it shouldn’t change anything, adding a face and a name to my family tree. Even if it’s more like a family shrub.”
There’s a little pot for coffee, and I wrinkle my nose as I follow the instructions, pouring water into the reservoir and hitting the button.
“I want to find out who I am. But maybe that’s what this month is about. Maybe I can find myself here.”
I glance in the mirror opposite the bed.
“Knowing your parents isn’t all its cracked up to be. My dad asked me whether companies record video chats.”
“What? Why?”
“Beca
use he’s doing shit I don’t want to know about with some yoga instructor.”
“Oh, gross. I don’t want to hear about your dad’s sex life.”
“Me either. Let’s talk about mine. Did I mention Declan from my finance class asked me out?”
The water boils, sending up a plume of steam from the plastic coffee maker.
“That was last week.”
“No, that was Nolan from my media class.”
I drop onto the bed with my black coffee cupped in my hands and listen to my friend on speakerphone. She tells me about all the guys she has wound around her finger, which makes me feel more at home and miss it at once.
Even if I’m never going to have the kind of confidence with guys that she does, will never crave physical contact the same way? I like hearing about it.
Eventually, we hang up.
Surprisingly—or maybe not—no one else is in the hall after I shower and get dressed in comfy jeans, a soft bra and a white cotton T-shirt that skims my boobs and hips. My leather jacket goes overtop.
I don’t know what the breakfast situation is, if we can charge it to our room or what, so I stick to coffee from the continental breakfast laid out in the hallway.
I work on my program, thinking about what Jax said about music and lyrics.
Maybe when I’m done preparing for Spark, I can run some alternative models with instrumental songs. See if I can hack those too.
Lita comes downstairs after ten in skinny jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and sandals. Her hair’s piled up on her head, and she looks like a sleepy ballerina. “New girl. Come with me.”
I pack up my laptop. “Where is everyone?”
“Half of them are already at the venue, and the other half are still in bed.”
Lita doesn’t seem to have the same concerns about ordering breakfast. A waiter delivers two eggs and three pieces of bacon to the table in front of her.
Over breakfast, she explains what to expect. “When we’re doing back-to-back shows in a town, the setup’s not too bad. Most of the day’s filled up with media. Then sound check. Rehearsal if there’s time.”
“Do you have time to communicate with the outside world?”
“Unless the outside world has a ticket to that night’s show? Not usually.”
I turn that over in my mind. “It must be hard. What about people’s boyfriends? Girlfriends?”
“They understand. Or they don’t.” She smirks. “I’m unattached. I like it that way. My band is too.”
“What about Riot Act?”
“Mace only cares about music. Kyle loves all women. Brick? You’ll hear soon enough.”
“And Jax?” I try for casual.
I don’t succeed.
Lita grins, a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t go there, new girl. Trust me.”
We ride over to the venue together with a couple of her bandmates. Nina and Jax have apparently been in interviews for hours already.
On the way over, she pulls out her phone and starts cursing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Lita’s bassist grins. “We’re thirty days into baseball season, and her second baseman’s already on the DL.”
I hide the smile. “What do you like about fantasy sports? Is it the competition?”
Lita lifts her gaze from the screen. “It’s no competition, new girl. If I wasn’t already employed as a musician, I’d make the best owner in baseball.”
When I get to the sound booth, I see the familiar setup from last night.
What I don’t see is Jerry.
I use the time to go over the desk, the program. I try to match up the settings with what I saw backstage. I go over the specs for this stop, start on the ones for our next stop. My running list of questions gets inputted to my phone.
Still no Jerry.
I sneak an hour working on my program while I wait.
Eventually I look up to find him shuffling down the aisle toward the booth. Today’s plaid shirt is green.
He grunts when he sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Um. You told me to meet you here at one.” I check my watch. It’s nearly three.
Instead of explaining, he scoffs. “You’re keeping tabs on me.”
“I’m your assistant.”
“If you were my assistant, you’d do what I say.” His voice sharpens. “Now don’t touch that and leave me to do my damned job.”
He shoves past me.
I stare after him as he hunches over the desk in front of the computer.
I’m used to people being protective of their work, but this is something else.
How am I supposed to assist Jerry if he won’t let me in the sound booth? I sense there’s something bigger going on here but have no idea what it is.
What is obvious is that everyone else at the venue is occupied with their own work. Nina’s nowhere in sight. Security’s busy.
I go backstage to try to figure out what I should do.
Nina’s voice comes from the open door at the end of the hall. “We’ll find it later.”
“No. We’ll find it now.” The growl echoes off the walls.
My spine stiffens as I stop in front of the doorway. It looks like a tornado hit. The room is full of scattered costumes, equipment, and food.
Jax grabs an amp off the floor and hurls it across the room. I jump as it hits the wall.
Finally he stops spinning, his eyes wild as our gazes lock. I look from him to Nina, who’s talking into her phone, and back.
“Where is it?” he demands.
“What?”
I look around because why is he suddenly talking only to me?
“My phone, babysitter,” he says it as though I’m purposely keeping it from him.
“I… when did you lose it?”
“If I knew that, I'd have it right now,” he grinds out.
Nina’s running down their itinerary from earlier, calling every studio they interviewed at.
I can’t remember seeing the phone in the limo or during any of our time together. “Did you leave it on your bus?”
“Not possible,” he mutters, stalking past me.
I follow him into the hall. Jax rubs a hand over his head, sending the muscles under his tight T-shirt leaping.
Yesterday he was irritated, but I’d figured it was just edginess before the show.
Now, he’s not edgy. He’s volatile.
“We’ll find it after the show.” Nina’s calm voice cuts in from behind us.
“No, Nina, we will not find it after the show. There will not be a fucking show.”
Kyle sticks his head out the door. Of Jax’s band members, he seems the most approachable, looking as if he could be a grad student.
“He has a password on it, right?” I ask.
“It’s not about privacy. He needs to make a call tonight.”
I stare. “Can’t he borrow a phone? All phones reach all other phones. That’s how phones work.”
“It’s a long story.”
The feeling stirring up inside me should be annoyance. But as I watch Jax rub a hand over his neck, eyes wild, the only thing I feel is concern.
I check the clock. The opening act goes on in an hour.
You need to get back to the sound booth, a voice reminds me. Figure out how to do the job you were given.
Instead, I reach for my phone and slip out the door.
“It’s me, Haley. I called about the bus.”
The man at the auto shop, Mac, looks the same as yesterday. “You want on it.”
“Yes.” I flash him my ID. I remember Jax’s comment, and a ripple of uncertainty runs through me. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
“Wicked Records, right? It’s not ready. Work order says it'll be done tomorrow morning.”
“I need to get onto it now.”
For a moment, he blinks. Then he looks past me toward the door, like he’s wondering if someone else is with me.
Of course, I’m alone.
Whi
ch I’m starting to think was a dumb idea.
His gaze drops down my body, then back up. He sneers. “What’ll you do for me?”
I can hear Serena’s voice telling me to kick him in the balls or something.
“What I’ll do is tell management at Wicked Records how cooperative you were.” I force myself to stand my ground. “Now can I get on the bus?”
The front of the bus is leather and glass. Couches on both sides, a chandelier on the ceiling. Gaming controllers are scattered across the couch cushions. It smells faintly of cigarettes, as if someone used to smoke here.
When I brush through a beaded curtain, I’m in Jax’s world.
Everything is dark red. The walls are covered in photos of a woman with a sweet face. A kid. In some pictures, they’re with Jax, his arm around them. He’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.
Is he married? A father?
None of that has ever been reported in the media.
That’s not why you’re here, I remind myself, though it feels like the world’s been turned inside out in the last few seconds.
It takes me a couple of minutes to find what I’m looking for because it’s tucked under the edge of the couch.
“Holy shit. Is this it?” I hold up the flip phone.
Creaking behind me has me stumbling upright. Ty’s coming on the bus.
“You find what you need?” he asks, leering. He moves toward me, and an alarm sounds in the back of my mind.
He doesn’t look like he wants to touch me in that benevolent, annoying way society seems to permit.
He looks as if he wants to do a whole lot more than that.
“Mac,” I whisper. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Someone going to have a problem with that?”
I hold my breath because no.
No one’s going to have a problem with it.
No one knows I’m here.
He reaches for me, and my heart kicks in my chest.
I twist away.
He catches hold of my jacket, and I use the chance to wriggle free.
I duck under his arm. The phone and charger in tow, I race out of the bus.
My jacket! part of me protests.
But I run and keep running.