“The music. Seeing new stuff. Shadowing Ford.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I did.”
“And he’s cool?”
I smile. “Yeah, I think it’s going to be great.”
West takes a sip of his coffee. “What else are you looking forward to?”
“Making friends. Speaking of…” Instead of being nervous about the conversation, I think of how West always makes things lighthearted and decide that’s how I need to do this as I take on an amused tone. “As you’ve probably picked up on, I’m not very good with boy-girl stuff. The flirting.” I make a face, and he laughs. “I really just want to be friends. Is that okay? I get the impression you’re used to a lot more with girls. Plus, don’t you maybe have a girlfriend? Are you even allowed to be flirting?”
He gives me a friendly look. “Eve, I do not have a girlfriend.”
I find this statement pleases me way more than it probably should.
“And of course it’s okay to be friends,” he continues, but something in his tone tells me he doesn’t entirely mean that. And that pleases me more than it should, too. “We’re going to New York in a week or so. Ever been?” he asks.
That question lightens the mood even more, and I grab the folded map I had shoved in my back pocket.
West laughs. “Where’d you get that thing?”
“At the rest stop on the way here.” I unfold it and spread it out on the table the best I can.
He scoots his chair around to look with me. “I’ve been to New York a lot. Maybe I can help.”
I’ve actually been to New York, too. I’ve been tons of places with Gideon and his entourage, and yet nowhere really. Sure we travelled the country, the world, but what is there to really see when you go from hotel to event to dinner and back to the hotel?
I run through the mental list I made the last time we were in New York, and I wasn’t allowed to do anything other than follow Gideon around. “Well, I want to visit Ground Zero, Statue of Liberty, and all the other major stuff. Oh, and I definitely want to eat in Little Italy.”
“Simon!” a girl squeals and I glance up to see her race into the coffee shop. She launches herself at him, and he catches her up in a big hug.
My lips curve as I watch them sweetly kiss. I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it.
“So in love,” West jokes.
“They’re adorable,” I say. They’re perfect.
Simon turns her toward us, and with a grin she skips over and gives West a big hug, too. She’s cute with her curly copper hair and tiny freckles that seem to cover her entire body. “Well, aren’t you just as cute as ever?”
He gives her a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze. “How long you here for?”
“Just a couple days.” She turns toward me then and sticks out her hand. “Hi, I’m Kirstie.”
I shake her hand, immediately drawn in by her friendliness. “I’m Eve.” She glances between me and West, an inquisitive look in her eyes, and I supply, “I’m a roadie.”
“She’s in sound,” Simon clarifies, coming up behind Kirstie and wrapping his arms around her. “She’s kind of like Ford’s assistant.”
Assistant? Wow, I like that.
Kirstie’s eyes light up with honest enthusiasm. “That sounds like a fun job.”
I smile. “It is.”
Simon gives her a little tug, and Kirstie waves. “Bye, Eve. Nice meeting you.”
I wave back. “You, too.”
She giggles as she snuggles in next to Simon, and they walk to the elevator. The door opens, they step inside, and Simon backs her up against the wall. She lifts one leg and curls it around his hip, and his hand disappears under the skirt of her dress as she pulls his head to hers for a thorough kiss. The elevator door slides closed, and I don’t move.
Wow. That was just, wow.
Slowly, I turn back to the map and West to find him staring at me. One dark brow lifts in amusement, telling me he knows exactly what I was just looking at, and I grab the map in mortification and roughly begin to refold it. I can’t believe I just sat here and watched Simon make out with Kirstie.
West’s ever-present grin returns as he watches me fumble with the map. “Oh, come on, don’t leave yet. Just a few more minutes.”
A little bit more crinkling with the map, and finally I put it and my mortification aside. “Okay, a few more I guess.”
Slowly, he sips his coffee, and I decide to take a sip of mine, too, right as he asks, “Eve, how old are you really?”
Chapter Eleven
I shift in my seat, all kinds of uncomfortable again, and give him the age I’m supposed to be. “Eighteen.”
He looks at me from the side. “Hmm.”
I reach for the map and start fiddling with it again. What, he doesn’t believe me?
Calmly, West lays his hand on top of mine and gives it a gentle squeeze so I’ll stop with the map. I frown as I stare down at his hand, becoming acutely aware of how warm the simple contact feels as it spreads up my arm. I force my gaze up to his face to find his lips in a pleasant, unthreatening curve. I want to move away. But I also don’t want to.
A couple of electric seconds pass and I finally slide my hands away.
With that, he takes my map, neatly refolds it, and then very gentlemanly like hands it me. “Let’s go for a run in the morning,” he suggests. “It’s what friends do.”
I don’t immediately respond, suddenly distracted by his scent, just like when we were in the car—cologne, laundry detergent, and something uniquely him.
“Please.” He tilts his head. “Eve, I want to hang out with you again, as friends. You won’t even have to talk if you’re not in the mood, though I hope very much you do.”
“I’d like that,” I softly admit.
Things get quiet between us again, but it’s not an awkward quiet, it’s more a thoughtful quiet. “You’re quite the challenge, Eve.”
It worries me that he thinks that. “I’m not trying to be.”
“I know you’re not. There’s something intriguing about you, and I bet you anything there’s a sense of humor hidden somewhere inside. We just need to find it. Secrets, too. You’ve got them.” He gives an unamused huff. “Don’t we all.”
I push back from the table, more than curious about that last comment. What secrets does West have?
We grab our stuff that we left piled in the corner and make our way into the elevator. Glass-paneled doors slide to a close, and I stand confronted by my image. I wiggle my toes in my Nikes and think of the dress shoes I’d been forced to wear my entire life. I take in the tiny hole in the jeans covering my left knee. No, there’s nothing delicate about me now. I like it. Gideon, however, would not. He’d be disgusted, and just the thought of his reaction tightens my jaw.
Beside me, West shifts, and I flick my attention to his reflection.
“I think you’re beautiful, Eve. I also think you probably haven’t heard that very much in your life.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, but I don’t duck my head and instead hold his dark stare in the glass.
“Don’t you think you’re beautiful?” he asks.
“Honestly, I’ve never given it much thought.”
“Well, you should. Because you are.”
“Thank you,” I quietly say.
In response his eyes smile at me before his gaze traces down over my things. My duffel, my messenger bag, and my guitar. “That’s all you’ve got?”
I give the duffel a little kick. “That one’s full of makeup.”
West laughs at that, and I love that I made him. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do have a sense of humor hidden deep inside. The elevator dings then and I step off onto my floor.
“I’ll be in the lobby at six for that run,” he tells me as the doors slide closed again.
I think you’re beautiful, Eve.
His words almost make me skip down the hall. Being friends with West is definitely not going to be like being frien
ds with Anne.
“Hey,” Anne says as I walk in our room.
“Hey, back.”
“You’ve been gone forever. What, did you guys consummate things?”
I roll my eyes, and she giggles.
She points the remote at the TV, muting it, and flips a few channels. “Seriously, though, went good?”
“Yeah, it was good.” I unzip my duffel and pull out what I need for a shower.
She flips another channel and watches in silence for a few seconds. “This guy kills me. He’s so mesmerizing to watch. Dude must have more money than God. He just donated ten friggin’ million dollars. I swear if I ever get a chance, I’ll totally go hear him preach just to witness the freak show.”
My heart slows to a dull thud as I carefully turn and look at the muted TV, and there—spread across thirty-two inches of a flat screen—is the man who haunts my entire life.
“National Abuse Foundation for Children,” Anne says.
“What?” I croak.
“That’s what he donated the money to.”
National Abuse Foundation for Children?
Then to my horror a clip of me flashes onto the screen, and all the air around me pushes in on my lungs. No! It’s me, but it’s not me. It’s the me I was with my long blond hair and my sweet, expected expression. This is from last year when Gideon and I toured Mexico. He’s standing beside me, shaking hands with some locals, and I watch as he turns and smiles down at me, and I force a smile back. To anyone we are the perfect Christian example, but I remember that specific night, and I remember the next day and how I couldn’t move.
“Eve?”
With what feels like every muscle knotted in place, I robotically walk over and hit the channel up button. I dig the duct tape from my duffel, stick a piece over the peephole, and go straight into the bathroom. Breathing heavy to fight the panic curdling my stomach, I take my shirt off and turn and stare at the lashes marring my back. I can’t let him find me. I won’t.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning West locates me in the hotel lobby. “Morning, Green Eyes.”
I check out his shower damp hair and smiling eyes, and my sleepless night seems to fade.
His gaze takes in my ball cap, my tired expression, and then drops to the tiny Road Runner screen printed on my yellow T-shirt. “You like cartoons?”
“Yes,” I say, smiling a little.
His lips take on a slight curve. “Me, too. I have a collection of Daffy Duck undies. I’ll have to show you sometime.”
Just the thought of seeing his undies makes a flush crawl across my cheeks. “West, you said you’d stop with the flirting.”
“Did I?” He gives an innocent shrug. “Lapse in memory. By the way, you stood me up this morning for the run.”
“Sorry,” I say. Honestly, I just wasn’t up for it after seeing Gideon on TV.
Playfully, he narrows his eyes. “Guess I’ll let it slide.”
“Next time,” I tell him, not even sure if I mean it.
“Load ‘em up!” Someone yells.
As the lobby begins to empty, I catch sight of a short, heavyset man standing in the corner. I watch his gaze bounce from person to person, like he’s looking for someone.
West turns to me. “Coming?”
With a nod, I tug my ball cap down and hurry outside straight to one of the vans where Anne already waits.
“Oh, no, you two don’t,” West intercedes. “You lovelies are riding with us in the Mack Daddy bus.”
“What?” Anne squeaks, and West laughs. Squeaking is definitely not an Anne thing to do.
I cut a glance over to the windows banking the lobby. The short guy is still there, but now he’s at the desk, talking to someone. “That sounds good,” I say, already rushing toward the bus.
“Hang on there, Speedy.” Anne turns toward the vans. “Let’s grab our stuff.”
“Just leave it.” I wave her off. “We’re all going to the same place anyway.”
Anne shoots me a look, and I quickly turn to the three tour buses. “Which one?”
West points to the first one, and I take off. As I climb the steps I glance back over my shoulder, but don’t see the short man in the lobby anymore. Maybe I’m being paranoid.
“Well, hey,” the driver greets me, and I whip around.
West comes up behind me. “I’m trying to woo her with my big bad bus.”
The driver laughs, and I step the rest of the way inside. Couches and individual leather seats line both sides of the bus, some swivel to face each other and others point forward. A full size kitchen takes up the middle, and a bathroom sits in the back right corner. A person could easily live in this place.
West nods toward the back. “Head on back to where Simon is.”
No one really acknowledges me or Anne as we make our way all the way to the rear where Simon already lounges in a sectioned off quad. I take the seat right beside Simon, and West sits directly across from me giving me nothing to look at but him. Through the bus’s windows I do another survey of the lobby and still don’t see the man.
“Where’s Kirstie?” West asks Simon.
“She’s already at the airport. Had to go back to school early. Something about her lab partner dropping the ball on an assignment.”
“That sucks, man.”
“Yeah, it does.”
West settles back into his seat and looks straight across at me.
“So you guys get a lot of groupies on here?” Anne asks.
A laugh bursts from Simon. “You should see the ones who sneak on. Crazy.”
I look from Simon back to West to find his dark gaze still locked on me. The bus lurches forward and my eyes track back over to the lobby to see the short man now standing outside, smoking a cigarette and watching our caravan pull away. I pull my phone out and check to see if Bluma has messaged me, but she hasn’t.
I need to calm down. I’m safe. I’m on a bus and I’m pulling away, and I’m probably raising suspicion by being all twitchy. Yes, I think I’m being paranoid. But even as I tell myself this, trepidation still winds through me, and I leave my phone right on the seat beside me where I can watch if a message comes in.
Anne kicks her legs out into the aisle. “So what do you do with the groupies when you find them?”
“Escort them off,” West answers, still staring at me. You okay? he mouths, and I nod.
Anne goes about putting her earbuds in and tuning us all out. Simon pulls out a magazine and begins flipping through it, and a quietness fills our little area filled only by the sound of Anne’s music and the low buzz of talking from other areas of the bus. It’s quieter than I thought it would be on the tour bus. Half of the people are already reclined back with their eyes closed, and right as I think this, Simon closes his magazine, slips on a pair of dark shades and reclines back as well. West pulls out a spiral notebook, flips it open, and begins scribbling, and idly, I watch him.
“Lyrics,” he tells me, as if reading my thoughts.
“I’ve always wondered how that happens with you musicians.”
“Well, you’re a musician, too. How does it happen for you?”
“I never thought of myself as a musician.” I glance out the bus’s window, my thoughts wandering. “I just strum whatever I feel like strumming. It’s my escape.”
West doesn’t immediately respond, and I bring my eyes back to his to see him thoughtfully studying me. “Mine, too,” he quietly says, and it strikes me as so odd. What does he have to escape from?
I want to ask him this, but for whatever reason I say instead, “Have you…have you always been so popular, so comfortable around other people?”
A soft smile creases the corner of his eyes. “You should meet my sister. She’s the popular one.”
“You have a sister?” I can’t imagine having a sibling. Growing up, Bluma was about as close as that came. I can’t help but feel a little jealous that West had that.
“Her name’s Vianca. She’s turning s
ixteen soon.”
“You two close?”
His face turns sad, but he nods. “Yes, we’re close. What about you? Brothers? Sisters?”
I shake my head. “I have a best friend, Bluma, that’s about as close as it comes.” And that’s the first time in over a month I’ve said Bluma’s name out loud.
“Maybe Bluma can visit you this year on tour.”
I nod, even though I know there’s no way that can happen. I can’t have anything from my past coming into my present. It hurts to think I’ll be eighteen before I see Bluma again.
“Want to try the ‘Where you from?’ question again?”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “How about you talk, and I’ll listen?”
He closes his lyrics book. “Okay.”
Yes, definitely, that’s easier. The more he talks, the more I don’t have to say anything. Sitting here in our private little area, not touching, yet companionable and comfortable.
“I grew up in North Florida on an island. Vianca and I went to a private school pretty much our whole lives. No, I’m not a surfer, which is what most people think when I tell them I grew up in Florida. Yes, I dated pretty much every girl on the island,” he teases.
I smile at that picture. West really is just so out there about everything.
“I met Simon when I was just a kid, and we’ve been playing in our version of a band ever since. We did this competition in Orlando and snagged a deal out of it.” He spreads his arms. “And here we are.”
“What about your parents?”
West makes a face and shakes his head. “We’ll save that for a different conversation.”
Seems as if I was right. I’m not the only one with secrets.
He leans forward. “Now, you ready to tell me where you’re from?”
“Washington state.” Just saying the truth races a weird anxiety through me.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, huh?”
I smile a little. “No, I guess not.”
“What made you choose the crazy life of a roadie?”
“I like all the moving around,” I honestly tell him. “I need it.”
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