Everything We Are

by Janci Patterson

  Can we just hire him already?

  What did that mean?

  “Yeah,” I say. “What’s the time commitment? You’re looking for someone to fill in for the tour?”

  For a second, Jenna looks worried. “No,” she says. “I mean, yes, we do need someone immediately, but we’re looking for a full band member. You’d be on salary, travel with us on tour, and then have about a month off before we start putting together our next album. Do you write?”

  “I’m not a composer,” I say, but immediately realize writing music doesn’t work the same in pop as it does in classical, where composers need to play a little of everything in order to write, but they almost never master any one instrument. “But I can work out cello parts to the songs on your first album, if you want me to play those, too.”

  Jenna looks at Alec, and he looks more impressed than irritated, which is probably the best I’m going to get.

  “That would be great,” Jenna says. “Mason was going to sit out the old stuff, but if you want to play, that would be fantastic.”

  I smile at her. She sounds way too eager about this, and Alec is glaring at her. I have no idea what kind of stroke he had that inspired him to suggest I join them, but I’m still riding the high. I’ll take it.

  “One last thing,” Jenna says. “I’m sure by now you’ve read why Mason left us.”

  I nod. “He stole money from you.”

  “For drugs,” she says. “It turns out Mason had this whole other life he wasn’t telling us about. None of us are saints, but we’re serious musicians and we work hard to keep this about the music.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  But Jenna isn’t done. “For that reason, we’ve started undergoing random drug testing. Alec and I do it, too, so it’s fair. Our manager Phil handles the whole thing, and even Alec and I don’t know when it’s coming. But if anyone fails—no matter who—they’re out. That’s the rule. Do you think you can handle that?”

  I stare at her. “None of you do drugs.”

  “No,” she says. “Not anymore.”

  This is the best news I’ve heard today—which is really saying something—and I start to wonder if I’m still back on my dad’s couch, dreaming. “Yeah, okay. That’s no problem. I can pass a drug test.” Even the Suboxone won’t show up on a screening unless they test for it specifically.

  She stares at me, and for that instant, I feel like she can see right through me. She knows how hard it is for me to stay clean every day. She sees the struggle, the siren call of the needle that wakes me every morning, sings in my ears until I fall asleep at night.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Yes. I’ll pee in a cup today, if you want. I can pass anytime.” Hell, I’ve been tested every day since I left rehab, just to get my maintenance pill. If I fail, I have much bigger problems than getting kicked out of a band.

  Jenna smiles. “Excellent. Phil will have the first test for you tomorrow, along with the paperwork. Want to meet Alec and me back here in the morning, and we’ll get you signed?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  Jenna grins like this is the best news she’s ever had, and all I care about is continuing to see that smile.

  Four

  Felix

  When I get to the studio the next morning, I’ve got more on my mind than just Jenna. I’m signing a contract for a job. A real job that isn’t selling cigarettes or teaching cello to whiny kids who hate the lessons and never practice. Sure, I’ve had paying gigs before, but never anything consistent, without an end date.

  Whatever is going on with Alec and Jenna, the longer I think about it, the more certain I am.

  I cannot let it mess this up.

  Alec comes to the door when I knock. “After this you’ll have your own key,” he says, “so come on in.” He walks me down to the studio where Jenna sits on the couch. Her black hair is pulled back into a braid, the streaks of red threaded through like ribbon. She’s wearing another short skirt, this one in a shimmery silver, with a tight black t-shirt. The cellist’s chair sits empty right in front of her. My pulse, which has apparently missed the message about not screwing this up, races at the sight of her. I pull the chair back to take a seat, while Jenna grins at me and hands me a contract.

  “You can take a few minutes to look it over,” she says. “It’s pretty standard. You won’t earn royalties on this album, but your salary is right there at the top. You could negotiate for more next time, but this is what Mason was making, so it’s set in the budget at least until the end of the tour.”

  I’m staring at the number at the top of the page, right under their names and mine. I’d say it’s more than I’ve ever made, but that’s not exactly impressive, given I’ve never had a full-time job. Even my gig at the Kum-N-Go—which was amazingly a gas station and not an actual brothel—had only been part time, and nearly every dime I’d earned there went to drugs.

  This, while far from millions, is enough to get both a decent apartment and a head start on paying back my dad. Two things that just days ago seemed desperately out of reach.

  “Does it look all right?” Jenna asks.

  She sounds nervous, and I nod. “Yeah, it’s great. That’ll be fine.”

  Alec sits down next to her, closer than yesterday, and I notice too late that my knees are almost touching hers. I clear my throat and push back my chair, reading through the first page of the contract to avoid meeting his eyes.

  “Some things to note,” Jenna says. “There’s a tour schedule attached. If you have any conflicts, let us know, but we really need you there for every performance.”

  I glance at the schedule, but I already know it’s fine. For me, every day has only one task in it, and that’s to stay clean. I can’t think past the next hour sometimes, so I sure as hell haven’t planned weeks in advance.

  “No problem,” I say. “I’m in.”

  Alec gives Jenna a look. “There’s one more thing,” he says. I spot the plastic cup inside a ziploc bag on the arm of the couch.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Like I said, you can test me anytime.”

  “Not that,” Jenna says. “On the last page, you’ll find a non-disclosure agreement. After you sign that and the contract, you’ll receive some information. If you reveal it to anyone, you’ll be fired. We’re just as serious about that as the drug test. And even if you leave us for any reason, if word gets out because of you, we’ll sue.”

  I look up at her. “Like, your new songs, things like that.”

  Now she and Alec exchange a look. There’s definitely something I’m missing.

  “Among other things,” Jenna says.

  I look down at the line where I’m supposed to sign. “You should know that I’ve been staying with family. Is it okay if people overhear when I practice? I guess I could make sure I always come here, but my dad and my sister won’t—”

  “No,” Jenna cuts in. “That’s no problem. I mean, when you’re working on new material, make sure they don’t record you, but even if something like that got out, it would probably just be good for publicity, especially since it’s just the cello part.”

  I stare at her. She seems even more nervous than before, her fingers toying with the end of her braid. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what you just said,” I say.

  Her smile is forced this time. “Ready to sign, or should we give you a few minutes?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m ready.” Alec hands me a pen and I scrawl my signature at the bottom of the contract, and then again on the NDA. “Okay, so what’s the big secret? Do we work for the Russians? Are we spies for the DEA?”

  “No,” Jenna says. “We’re not dating.”

  I choke on my own spit. I’m well aware that she and I aren’t dating, but I’m not sure how to respond to this statement of the obvious.


  “Alec and I,” Jenna says quickly. “We’re not together.”

  I catch Alec giving me a knowing look, and I try to play my stumbling off as surprise.

  Damn it, Gabby. I knew she was hitting on me.

  “We were,” Jenna says. “We broke up about a year ago. But we’d already built the band around being a couple, and our first album had so much success that we didn’t want to just abandon the whole thing and start over. So, for now, we’re living together, but not living together, you know? And no one outside of the band can know.”

  I’m sure I should be thinking about what this means professionally, but my mind keeps stuttering over this one thought. Jenna isn’t with Alec. They aren’t together.

  God, is she available?

  “Okay, yeah,” I say. “I see why that would be a big deal. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “No one,” Alec says. “Even Mason hasn’t talked, because he knows damn well we will sue his ass, and we’d do the same to you.”

  “You won’t have to,” I say. “I swear.”

  Jenna looks between the two of us and smiles, sincerely this time. “All right. So that’s settled. Felix just needs to pee in this cup and then we’ll get all the paperwork to Phil and get you copies of the music. The LA kickoff concert is in a week, and then tour just over two weeks after that. First practice is the day after tomorrow. Think you can get up to speed by then?”

  “I’ll try,” I say, but my mind isn’t on the work.

  Jenna hands me the cup, and Alec leans back on the couch, crossing his arms, his eyes boring into me. While I’m now sure he has everything figured out, I get why he allowed Jenna to hire me.

  And I’m flying so high I don’t even know what to say.

  Five

  Jenna

  Alec waits about thirty seconds after Felix leaves the studio before turning to me, and I’m all too conscious of the way my heart is still pounding, of the warm, happy flush I feel all over at being near Felix. At knowing he’s joining the band.

  “Oh my god, Jenna.” Alec shakes his head. “What the hell was that?”

  “What?” I say, convincing exactly no one.

  Alec leans back into the couch. “Never mind. I know exactly what that was. You need to get laid. Bad.”

  I give him a withering look, but as much as I don’t love getting sex advice from my ex-boyfriend, he probably has a point. It has been a long time. At least, that’s what started running through my mind shortly after I first met Felix.

  I’d blamed my nearly-a-year of self-imposed celibacy, and Felix’s general gorgeousness—oh my god, that smile—for my shamelessly-forward flirting, something I haven’t done in a very long time. And definitely not in front of my son like that, though I know he’s too young to get what I was really talking about. But the truth is, I’ve met lots of hot guys since Alec and I broke up, and I doubt I’m suddenly so much more desperate for action now than I was, say, last week.

  No, there’s something more to this attraction I have to Felix. Something stronger, this indefinable pull, there from that very first meeting. I feel it still, my eyes wanting to drift to the door he just walked out through.

  “And clearly,” Alec continues, because knowing when to drop something isn’t exactly his strong suit, “he’d be up for it.”

  “Because you know him so well.” Really, though, I’m pretty sure this intense attraction is a mutual thing, even if I’m not as quick as Alec to assume he’s ready to jump me. For all I know, he’s super religious and saving himself for marriage or something.

  “He could have a girlfriend,” I point out. I really don’t love this thought, but I don’t actually think it’s true. I saw the look in those incredible blue eyes of his when we told him Alec and I weren’t dating—there was the expected surprise, of course, but I could swear there was something else.

  Something like hope.

  My heart both flutters and aches at the same time.

  Alec makes a dismissive sound. “If he does, he’s not all that into her.” Alec reaches over and picks up one of his guitars, an acoustic lying against the armrest of the couch. “I know the look of a guy dying to bang a girl. And the look of you dying to bang him back.”

  “Always such a way with words.” I roll my eyes. “This is why I write our songs. I’m not sure ‘Bang a Girl’ would appeal to our core audience.”

  Alec grins at me, and plays a quick chord progression, like he’s making that song up right now, and I can’t help but smile. We were always better as friends than as anything more, and I’m happy we’ve been able to keep that part of our relationship intact.

  Even if it means enduring conversations like this. With Alec.

  “Besides,” I say, slumping back into the couch, the ache getting stronger. “He’s in the band now. So . . .”

  “Exactly. So this thing you two have going on”—here Alec gestures with his pick between me and the empty folding chair, like the sexual tension is still hovering in the air—“you need to get it on, and get it over with. For the good of the band.”

  “So I’m supposed to just sleep with him once, and then . . . be over it?”

  “The rules say one-night stand. They don’t specify how many times in one night,” Alec says, with a sly smile. “But yeah. Spend the night with him. Get it out of your system. And then tomorrow after practice, he’s in the band and it’s over.” He gives me a look like he’s being magnanimous, making an exception to the rules just this once.

  And I understand why. It will be ridiculously difficult to be in the band with a guy I’m that attracted to and not do anything about it—if indeed Alec is right that Felix returns the inclination. But the rules we’ve set up give us the best possible chance of keeping our secret from the public. And though they seem to work better at meeting Alec’s relationship needs than mine, I agreed to them because they’re smart. They keep this incredible career we have going strong. We’re too new to weather a major scandal, and neither of us wants to move back to Ann Arbor and give up everything we’ve worked so hard for.

  Most importantly, the rules allow me, a single former-teen mom who came damn close to not even graduating high school, to provide a great life for my son, all while doing what I love—performing and writing music. And I know Alec dreads the idea of losing everything and ending up back home with his big Greek family and his old job selling appliances on commission, scribbling songs on receipt paper just to keep from losing his mind.

  People love our music. We shouldn’t have to lose all this just because we didn’t end up being the dream couple the fans want us to be.

  I chew on my lip, actually considering his suggestion, despite myself.

  When I’d first met Felix, I’d thought that maybe discreet one-night stands could be a good thing. Maybe this guy would just be fun and satisfying and wouldn’t leave me feeling sick and lost and a little afraid. Like all those years ago when I’d wake up in some guy’s dorm room and only vaguely remember how I got there.

  But then I’d heard him play, and we’d needed a cellist, and more than anything, I’d just wanted to have an excuse to see him and talk to him more. To get to know him, and find out if the incredible, haunting depth I could hear in his music matches who he really is.

  And I’d known then I was giving up my chance to sleep with him. Because I can’t imagine having a one-night stand with him and then working so closely together.

  I was already pretty sure I’d want more.

  “One-night stands aren’t my style,” I say with a sigh, and Alec groans.

  “Well, okay, but you’ve got to do something to get over it, because that”—again he gestures at the empty air between me and where Felix sat; has he developed pheromone-cloud vision or something?—“won’t play well with the story. I mean, if you really just need to get laid to take the edge off, I’d be happy to help.”

&nbs
p; “Oh my god, Alec.” I toss one of the couch’s small throw pillows at his face.

  “What? Just as like a favor for a friend,” he says, as if that makes it better. I think in his mind it actually does.

  “Well, thanks for your incredibly generous offer of pity sex,” I say, “but I’m going to pass.”

  “Your call. All I’m saying is—”

  “I know what you’re saying, Alec. So you can stop saying it now.”

  Alec shrugs, and starts playing the bridge to “You’re Reading My Mind,” the third song on our new album. It’s clearly pointed—all about the desperate longing at the beginning of a relationship—but I can almost hear the cello part to that, and see Felix playing it.

  Like he’s playing it for me.

  My body feels all warm again, all light like when he smiles at me.

  “He’s really good, isn’t he?” I ask, because despite my body’s reactions, Felix’s cello-playing seems a safer topic than any one-night stands I may or may not have with him. “Maybe even better than Mason.”

  “Maybe.” Whenever Mason’s name gets mentioned now, Alec gets this same hard look on his face. I think he’d rather just forget Mason ever existed than have to talk about him.

  I get why. The whole thing hurts me, too. He didn’t start out in our band, but like Roxie, he seemed to fit in almost instantly. He and I would hang out at the studio after practice sometimes, or back at my house, and he’d gush about the latest hot guy he’d met at Pinkberry or TCBY (frozen yogurt places being a surprising gold mine for Mason’s dating life) and I’d tell him about the latest fight Alec and I’d had.

  I’m not going to say we were BFFs or anything, but I’d thought we were fairly close.

  Apparently not enough that I had any idea of what was really going on in his life.

  Apparently not enough that he didn’t mind constantly lying to me—to all of us—and stealing money from us and generally treating us like shit when we called him on it all.