by C. M. Owens
She tilts her head, eyes glistening just barely. I want to put my head in the sand right now. Literally.
I swallow thickly, not speaking.
“They’re not even upset at you for not showing up on an important night like last night—a night when her Sterling name went on a massive check that’s guaranteed to give so many graduating foster children a new goal. A new scholarship program specifically designed for them, Base. This is something dear to her, because she doesn’t feel like she’s the only one who deserves to be saved.”
My eyes flutter shut, and I hold back my own groan.
“You didn’t even ask what event it was, did you?” she asks, already knowing the answer. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have told her that black-tie events just aren’t your thing.”
When I shove both my hands in my pockets, just staring at nothing in particular, she releases a tired breath.
“You didn’t say anything to Tag, I’m guessing, based on the conversation I had with him.”
“Of course not. He’d feel responsible and take all the blame, because that’s the amazing guy he is. I called your mom because I know you’re actually a good guy, Base. Just as you said, I have no right to act like I know you well enough to say anything to you.”
I snort, even though it’s a weak attempt at being petulant at this point.
“Let me guess. You look at me and see Tag, and you want me to live up to his potential,” I say tightly, rolling my eyes.
Never pegged her for the meddling saint type.
“Absolutely not. Tag’s heart is twice the size of yours, and he worked damn hard to keep it guarded because it breaks twice as hard too,” she states a little sourly as she arches a condescending eyebrow at me. “He broke his own shit when he was pissed. Not someone else’s,” she adds with a small smile.
She takes a step toward me, putting her phone away.
“I don’t look at you and see Tag. I look at you and I see me. And I’m trying to get out in front of the dominoes before they fall all the way down, because that’s when you start hurting the people around you just because you’re working so hard to defend your actions. You reassure yourself that you’re awesome, because you’re really insecure and trying to make it sound as though you’re as confident as the world expects you to be. Otherwise you’re weak and pathetic. I know this song and dance. It’s not a crime to be young and naïve. It makes you normal. And it’s typical to think you’re right. About everything in life. It’ll take years before you realize how stupid you really are. I don’t want you to burn people who don’t deserve to be burned, because I know you’ll spend a long time regretting it.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder, patting it once.
“Sorry I called your mom on you like you’re all a bunch of kids or something. To be fair, I panicked when I saw that video.”
She turns and walks back toward the door, hesitating when her hand is hovering over the doorknob.
She starts to turn around…and stops…and starts again.
“If you’re struggling with whether or not you can say something, you may as well just go ahead at this point, Ash,” I tell her quietly.
She groans a little as she turns around.
“She saved you a piece of cake,” she says like that’s supposed to make sense. “She was going to make sure you tried something from her event and liked it. She’s not a doormat for the Sterlings. She’s not a doormat for you. She’s not a doormat at all. Personally, I think you’re being a little too prideful. Careful. They warn you about the fall. They don’t tell you that you don’t see it coming.”
She walks in after that. I stare at the door as it shuts, not having a response ready for once.
I scrub a hand over my face and then bite down on my fist as I hold back the yell on the tip of my tongue, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I keep myself in check.
My eyes burn as I yank my truck door open, hearing my phone chime with an alert.
It’s been a while since the gossip columns have even mentioned Britt, since we’ve kept things as low key as possible.
I’m almost scared to look, but I finally click the button and voila. There’s the proof I need to see just how wrong I was.
She was steadfast and stoic today, absent of all emotion.
But in this fifteen second clip, she’s standing under the large pavilion just in front of the building. Her hair is completely soaked, along with her dress, and she’s barefoot. She’s just staring down at a piece of fucking chocolate cake and a bottle of champagne.
Champagne and cake—like what was smeared all over the interior of Harley’s car.
I barely glimpse Harley coming into the frame as her car comes into the final seconds, and then the clip starts over.
The sick feeling in my stomach forces me to bend over, and my head bumps the steering wheel as I try to think of what the fuck to do.
There is only a single line captioning the clip: It looks like our girl is single again.
Randy tries calling again, likely because my mother is still there, but I ignore it and start driving like hell away from Tag’s home and toward Britt’s office.
That’s when I flip on the radio, and my eyes go directly to it, because I hear it playing one of our newest songs, but that’s not us singing and playing it.
A horn blares, and my eyes come up in time to see I’m on the wrong side of the road, and I narrowly jerk the wheel in time to miss the black car by inches.
My heart is still pounding the base of my throat, and my hands are shaking, as I straighten my truck out on the road.
“Worst fucking day of my life,” I mutter as I juggle my phone and answer Randy’s call.
“Thank fuck,” he says like he’s panicking. “They’re playing—”
“Ralphy singing our fucking song on the radio. I know. Deal with it. I’m in the middle of something right now.”
I hang up on him and try calling Britt, but it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t even bother finding a parking spot as I pull up right in front of her office building.
Harley is walking out the doors just as I hop out of my truck, and she groans as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“She’s not here, Base,” she tells me. “She’s at the airport.”
“Text me the information,” I say as I hurry back to my truck.
“Base, don’t—”
I slam the door and drive like hell to the airport. I’m really fucking thankful that Harley follows through with texting me the information, and at every stoplight, I pull up my phone and work on finding the cheapest ticket I can—until the entire session times out.
Then I call Randy.
He answers in a panicky tone. “Sticks is on the phone with the radio station, but they’re saying it’s our word against his. Man, have you got any proof—”
“I need you buy me a plane ticket and send it to my email. The cheapest one you can. And I need it in like five minutes or less,” I tell him as I whirl into a parking spot.
“I’m assuming this is about Britt, and she’s more important than the song right now. Got it,” he says through a groan. “It’s bad when I’m freaking out worse about this shit than you are. It’s starting to scare me,” he gripes.
“Stop talking to me and order the—”
“Already did and sent. You’re welcome. Now I have to intercept Sticks and Taylor before they get us banned from the radio. This isn’t me, Base. This is what you—”
I hang up again, quickly pulling up my email, as I run toward security…
I stop when I see the line wrapping around, and I curse as I take my spot, wondering how quickly airport security would pounce and probe me like a suspected terrorist if I started shoving my way to the front of the long fucking line.
Everyone is casting me wary glances, and I smile tightly.
“They’re about to start boarding,” I say in deflection, still worrying about that probing thing.
Not only is it fucking terrifying,
it’ll also probably take a really long time to finish, and Britt will probably be gone.
A text from Harley has my immediate attention.
HARLEY: They’ll stall her for another ten minutes, but then they have to take off to keep the airport schedule.
My phone rings, and I answer when I see it’s Randy.
“Did you stop her? Was it just like the movies? Are you on your way home to solve this crisis now?” The questions come at a spitfire pace.
“I’m still in the damn security line, so no, Randy, it’s not like the fucking movies,” I tell him as I get closer.
“Dammit,” he says. “Someone get the door and give me the phone. Neither of you—”
I hang up, and finally start making my way through security, not being one damn bit impatient or rude, avoiding the probe.
Then I sprint hardcore like every fucking cliché movie involving an airport that there ever was.
I almost trip over my feet when I see her in a nearly bare section, tucking her hair behind her ear as she types something onto her phone.
As if she feels me staring at her, her eyes lift and widen, and my feet start moving on their own, propelling me toward her.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as I grab her at the waist and crush my lips to hers.
She kisses me back, her fingers tangling in my hair as she makes some pained noise. She pulls me closer and leans into me, before she abruptly pushes back. I can genuinely feel the fallout of her whiplash emotions.
I’m forced to break the kiss as she shakes her head, lips thinning.
“No,” she says, pushing her hand to my chest.
“I realize I’m messing shit up right now, Britt. But I don’t want to fuck this up—us. You’re literally all that fucking matters,” I tell her seriously as I step into her.
Her fingers squeeze against my chest, but I feel her resolve wavering, so I keep talking.
“I’m sorry I snapped. I’m sorry I took shit out on you. We can talk this out. It’s not a big deal—”
“I don’t want to do this right now,” she says quietly.
“How long are you going to be gone?” I ask, my jaw ticking.
“I volunteered to help Harley scout some venues so she wouldn’t have to be gone for three weeks,” she answers, like she’s summing up all the questions I could follow up with using as few words as possible.
“Then we really need to do this now, Britt,” I say as she just continues to keep that distance. “If you want to do this, I’m all in. I’ll get a real job. I’ll put on a fucking tie when you want. All the issues you have, I’ll fix them right now.”
She gives me an exhausted look as tears brim her eyes, and her hold gets looser as I step closer, meeting less and less resistance. My hand slides up her back, easing into her hair, as she leans her head back to keep her eyes locked onto mine.
“Let’s do this for real,” I say as I lean down, brushing my lips to hers. “Let’s do this your way.”
She turns her head abruptly before angrily biting out, “No.”
There’s silence for a minute as she remains rigid against me, and my mouth opens and closes a few times as I release her and step back.
“Ms. Sterling, we’re ready for you now,” someone says to her as my hands fall to my sides.
She quickly turns and walks away, following him, and never once turns around as she goes.
I run a hand through my hair as I turn around and numbly stumble my way through the airport, finding it a hell of a lot easier to leave than enter.
Just as I drop to a bench near the exit, I see my truck going by, being pulled by a tow truck.
A painful, humorless laugh bubbles out of me, and my jaw wavers as I lift my phone, clearing my throat as my eyes start to burn.
Randy doesn’t answer.
Sticks doesn’t answer.
Taylor doesn’t answer.
My own mother doesn’t answer.
I almost throw my phone, but stop myself just in time, exhaling as I lean over and dial the next number on the list.
“I hope you’re not calling to say you’re moving cities,” Tag says by way of answering.
“Actually,” I say, letting my eyes flutter shut as it all presses down on me, “I was hoping you could give me a ride.”
I hear keys jingling immediately, and it makes me feel even worse about how quick he is to help.
“Just tell me where to go.”
Chapter 35
BASE
The silent car ride ends as Tag pulls up to the curb, and I stare at the house instead of looking at him.
“Thanks,” I tell him, feeling pathetic at this point.
“I wasn’t doing anything productive, so don’t worry about it,” he tells me.
I look over, catching a glimpse of Ash’s name on the screen, as he smiles and texts something.
Feeling like I should probably say more, but having no fucking idea what to say, I just push open the door and get out.
He drives off as I head inside, only to be cornered by Randy as he grabs the front of my shirt and looks around. He then jerks the door open and looks around, still holding onto the front of my shirt.
“What the fuck?” I ask him, just wanting to get to my fucking room so I can collapse in peace.
He glares at me. “No Britt means a really pissy Base Masters. Put. That. Shit. On. Pause,” he says, annunciating each word as my brow furrows.
Sticks stumbles into the room, his eyes widening, and Taylor comes in right behind him.
I hear my mother’s faint laughter from somewhere down the hall, coupled with a masculine one right behind it.
“Put it on pause,” Randy says in his critical tone again, pointing a finger in my face.
Then he shoves me forward, and Sticks practically drags me down the hall. I stumble back when I spot Vince motherfucking Jaggons having tea with my damn mother like there’s a Sunday brunch going on in our living room.
Vince looks up, eyes catching my wide ones, and smirks like he’s been waiting for the look on my face. I haven’t disappointed, it seems.
“Ah, so the fourth is here. I’ll let you boys catch him up while I finish up my tea with Honey Bee,” he says before waving us off, eyes laughing at me before he turns back to my mother.
Mom’s grin stays fixed on her face as she carries on talking to him like they’re old friends.
Sticks starts dragging me away, while my mind tries to catch up to what the hell is going on right now.
I’m pulled into the practice room, and Taylor locks the door behind him, sealing the four of us in.
“What the hell?” I finally ask, dropping to a chair because I’m too fucking exhausted to keep standing at this point.
“We don’t know why he’s here,” Taylor tells me, wringing his hands. “Maybe because one of you idiots had to shatter that door, and his freaking daughter owns that building.”
I scrub my face with both hands, trying to focus on this instead of Britt, because I need to be alone for that.
Randy gestures toward the door. “We tried asking him, but Taylor can’t seem to speak in the presence of rock royalty, Sticks can’t stop gushing for five seconds, and I’m an unrepentant fan boy. No one’s even mad anymore that he stole the spot for some unknown, shitty band his label represents. It’s a hot, pathetic mess.”
Sticks holds up his hands when I shoot a look at him.
“I’m trying to think why we ever thought we deserved an audience with him last night, but I’m struggling now. It all seems petty now that he’s actually here, and you’re going to have to do the talking,” Sticks says like he’s dumbfounded.
Taylor opens the door, peering around the corner like he’s trying to hear Vince’s voice.
“Let’s just hear what he has to say before we say anything at all,” I mutter, not an ounce of fight left in me, because I don’t even know why I’m fighting.
We file into the room just as Vince lowers his empty cup to the table. Mom’s ey
es are sparkling like he’s been charming the hell out of her.
Vince crosses his legs as we take a seat in front of him, and he lounges on the couch like he couldn’t be more comfortable.
“Honey Bee is far more charming than the lot of you spoiled, entitled little brats,” he says, making this day as imperfect as it can possibly be, because in this moment, I find myself agreeing with him.
Mom nods like she completely agrees as well.
“I feel eight,” Randy stage whispers to me.
“Honey Bee, could you give me a moment to speak with the boys?” Vince asks her like this is a mom-and-pop routine, and Mom stands like she’s gloating as she prisses her way out.
Sticks slumps down next to me, and we all just sort of stare at him.
“I know you think you know how this business is ran, because you’ve told the entire west coast as much,” he continues, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sticks slinks down farther on the couch, and so do I.
“The problem is, you say the words, yet can’t understand at the end of the day this is a business. If you don’t do business, you’re just a singer. Nothing wrong with that, but you keep saying you’re trying to break into the business.”
He leans back, propping both arms up on the back of the couch as he studies us one by one.
“I’ve never felt more intimidated in all my life,” Randy whispers again.
“The problem is you’re a half-chiseled diamond who declares you’re polished and ready when you’re simply not. You’re certainly talented enough to be on everyone’s radar, but we, the businessmen, know the type.”
He clicks his tongue, and directs his sole attention on me.
“Self-righteous, arrogant, preachy, know-it-alls who think they’re the most original thing rock-and-roll has ever seen,” he adds, lips twitching in a smile.
“The attitude is setting you back, because you have to be humbled. Let’s face it, it’d take someone like me to humble you enough to make you realize just how very differently things work when you’re on the other side. You learn artists, see their limitations, and know which ones will slowly kill their futures away…”