Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  Silly.

  The minute we arrived he had interviews so I busied myself getting ready. He texted that he’d meet me downstairs at the gala, and before I left our hotel room I felt the most beautiful and desirable I had in all my life. But now? Now I feel foolish. My flouncy pink skirt appears childish compared to all these successful women in elegant gowns, accompanied by men in tailored tuxedos. I wish I could have come in with the band, but Coy didn’t offer and I refuse to be the nagging tagalong.

  “Name?” The woman at the check-in table assesses my dress with a polite, impersonal smile. A slight lift to one of her eyebrows is her only tell that she thinks I don’t belong here. What she doesn’t know is that I already agree.

  “Jessica Moore,” I say, and she scans her tablet. My pulse races as the volunteer at her left checks in three couples while my woman puzzles over her screen. I can feel the sideways glances as the line at my back lengthens with every second she doesn’t find my name. I wish I could fade into the wall. Even reevaluate my decision to pick a fabric that stands out in this sea of black and white. Damn it. “I’m a guest of Coy. Coy Wright. He’s playing in the band tonight.”

  She nods with a flash of a smile. “There you are! I’m sorry about that. We have you seated at table Thirty-Four, but please enjoy the appetizers and silent auction for the next hour.”

  “Thank you.” I skirt the table, chin down, and follow the couple ahead of me until we’re inside the vast ballroom. My breath hitches at the grandeur of it all. Add it to the list of experiences I never would have been exposed to without Coy. As much as the crowd of strangers intimidates me, the beauty of it all momentarily steals my fears. I place my clutch at the table and look around for Coy, but when I don’t spot him I decide to walk around. The silent auction fascinates me the most and I walk from art display to golf resort basket and onward. The generosity of the offerings is amazing. I’d never be able to afford these things, let alone place a bid, but it’s uplifting to see so many people coming together to help children.

  An oversized framed photograph stops my wandering. It’s a portrait. A nude, but everything important is covered as the woman folds her legs up over herself. It’s not the lack of clothing that captivates my attention, though; it’s the pure desperation in her eyes. Fear, but also strength. An unbridled searching. My heart races. “My Shelter” is the title, Anonymous photographed by J Moreno. I rest my hand over my chest and my pulse thrums through my fingertips at the low cut neckline of my dress.

  “Jess. What the fuck?” Coy chastises in his low growl.

  I startle at his words and my eyes widen as I meet his angry glare. “Baby—”

  He grips my arm just above my elbow and yanks me behind him. His strides are long and I have to take two steps of my own just to keep up. His fingers tighten, digging into my skin enough to bruise. My eyes train on the marble tiles of flooring and how the tips of my shoes play peek-a-boo as the hem of my skirt swishes with each step.

  What have I done wrong?

  He doesn’t like my outfit. My first guess. Or maybe the way I was openly gawking the scandalous photograph. Maybe one of the men nearby was checking me out and I didn’t notice. My mind races with possibilities.

  Coy pushes open a wooden door and yanks me by the arm into the cool night air. We’re on some small secluded patio overlooking manicured gardens and the ocean beyond. I don’t study the view long because my boyfriend’s furious glare fills my belly with dread.

  Why can’t I do anything right?

  I always screw things up for him.

  “Coy, I’m sorry. I—”

  “Save it.” He drops my arm and glares even harder. His jaw works back and forth and I know he’s trying to hold back the rage that boils just beneath the surface. “Are you trying to make me lose my fucking mind?”

  “What do you need? Tell me. I’m sorry, I only wanted—”

  “This is a big night for me. I don’t need you walking around dressed like a fucking slut! God damn it, Jess, what were you thinking? Your tits are practically falling out!”

  “I wasn’t . . .” I choke on my words, my eyes filling with tears that won’t fall. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll go change now.”

  “Right, and miss my fucking show? We’re on in fifteen.” He spits the words and they hurt more than any physical slap. He knows I have nothing with me to change into. More moisture gathers in my eyes, clouding my vision from seeing his utter distaste, but I know it’s there. “Selfish, Jess. Fucking selfish. Do whatever you want.”

  “Baby, don’t.” I reach for his arm.

  He grabs my hand away, this time so hard I almost fear he’ll break a bone. The hate in his glare is more than I can take. I shrink back when he raises the other hand.

  A loud cough clears the quiet patio and a man steps from the shadows. Shit. Coy’s going to be livid—more so than he already is. The man isn’t a stranger, though. It’s Sean, and I’m not sure if it makes things better or worse. Embarrassment washes over me anew and I drop my gaze to the pattern in the stone pavers.

  “Everything okay out here?” Sean asks.

  “Just fine.” Coy turns to block my body from view and lets loose a relaxed chuckle. “Sneaking some one-on-one time with my girl before we go on.”

  The silence stretches between the men like some sort of standoff. God, I pray Coy’s bandmate didn’t overhear our conversation. While I’m thankful for the intrusion, the retribution I’ll pay later for his embarrassment won’t be worth this short reprieve.

  “Did you need something, Sean?” Coy’s voice holds challenge.

  “They need you. Some label execs want to meet the newest drummer. They’re in the green room.”

  “Cool, man.” Coy turns to wrap me in his arms. He pulls me flush with his front and drops his lips to my ear. To the average observer his gesture appears sweet, affectionate, and loving. But I know better. This is a warning. “Cover those tits or don’t bother coming back inside.” He backs away and I can’t help but cross my arms over the front of my dress, slinking back closer to the rod iron railing.

  I need to leave. I need to change. I’m such a fuckup.

  Coy strides to where Sean holds the door leading back into the ballroom. He steps through, but when Sean doesn’t follow he turns, cocking his chin in question. “You coming, man?”

  “Nah, I need a smoke. Besides, those reporters don’t wanna talk to me. I’m old news. They want you, man. Go. Enjoy the spotlight.”

  Coy stares at Sean, and for a moment I fear he’ll refuse to leave without him. I know he doesn’t want anyone to see me and what an embarrassment I am. His eyes flick over to where I stand and then meet Sean’s with a forced smile. “Cool, man. See you inside.”

  The door closes with a thud. Sean moves to walk in my direction but I turn away. The night isn’t freezing but a chill works its way up my spine at being left alone with a man who is not Coy. It was bad enough this morning, but now Sean gets to witness first hand my poor choice in clothing. I want his approval. Not that Sean would be attracted to me or that I want him to be. He’s too successful and famous to look twice at a woman like me. Besides, I’m with Coy. I want Sean to like the dress because he so generously offered his money for the shopping spree and I feel as though I’ve let him down, too. I’m also overly conscious of the fact my girls are on full display and what a tease I must look like, showing up to this fancy event so inappropriately dressed.

  His footsteps approach but I train my eyes on the edge of the horizon, where the fog rolls in along with the tide.

  “Cold?” He slides out of his coat jacket, stands at my side, and holds it out to me. He’s far enough away that he has to stretch his arms to their full length, almost as if he wants me to turn and look at him. His hand is covered in tattoos, all the way to where his wrist disappears into the cuff of his black dress shirt.

  I fight the urge to meet his gaze, instead directing my eyes back out to the night. I shake my head no.

  He waits a
moment and I wonder whether he’s lingering in case I change my mind. I’ve already made a fool out of myself—and out of Coy—and my boyfriend won’t be pleased if I walk back indoors wearing another man’s coat. Sean places the jacket back on and I sneak a glance at his profile. He pats around his pockets and I guess it’s for a lighter. Surprising, since I’ve never seen him smoke, but he did tell Coy that’s what he came out here for.

  He pulls out a baggy and when I realize what it is, I almost laugh. Scooping a handful of trail mix, he pauses before putting it in his mouth, and turns his chin to catch my stare. His lips pull into a warm smile. “Sorry, I’m always hungry.” He tosses the food in his mouth and crunches before holding the bag out to me.

  “Oh, no, thank you.” I can’t believe he’s packing trail mix. Not only is this a swanky event with tons of free food being offered on polished silver platters, but he’s a famous bad boy rocker . . . smuggling snacks. If People ever got hold of this they’d have it in a full page spread. Probably up the sales of trail mix across the nation. At that I do giggle.

  He laughs and cocks his head. “What? I get hungry. I always come prepared.” He winks and I don’t know why, but my mind automatically assumes he’s making a sexual reference. I remember his bare chest this morning all glistened with sweat. Is he really always prepared when he comes? I’m horrible, and my skin heats with further embarrassment for thinking about Sean like that.

  He crunches on a few more handfuls of food, shifting so his back leans against the rail until the food is gone. He rolls his neck. “God, I hate these things.” He shifts uncomfortably.

  “Charity galas?” Curiosity gets the best of me. This man, the entire band, has ignited an unnatural interest. I sneak another glance as his mouth pulls up in a smirk.

  “No, smartass. Dress clothes.” He lets loose a gravelly chuckle.

  Twisting to study his face better, I lean my hip on the railing and face him. His smile, a little wicked and even more genuine, pulls my own lips into a grin. “Me, too,” I admit.

  “What? Not possible.” He shakes his head.

  “Why? Only guys are allowed to hate dressing up? Sexist much?” I delight in the smile that stretches his lips wide. “I’m more of a jeans and T-shirt girl.”

  “My kinda girl.” A little thrill bubbles up with his words and while I should avert my gaze, I can’t help but delight in watching his face as he takes me in, an unhurried perusal that begins at my shoes and ends when he reaches my stare. “You look gorgeous tonight. You know that?”

  At his words my smile falters and I remember just how I look, along with Coy’s stinging words. I turn back to the landscape.

  “You do know that, right?”

  I don’t know how to answer Sean without my insecurity creeping into my voice so I ignore his question. He scuffs his heel on the railing and pushes off, taking a few steps forward and letting the empty plastic bag drop to the ground. Thank goodness. He’s going to leave and I can forget his kindness.

  “Jessica.” My name falls from his lips with such urgency, I have to turn and meet his gaze. His eyes, the irises brown and almost molten, cause my pulse to quicken, but he offers a sincere and kind smile. “You look beautiful tonight. You’re as pretty in jeans and a T-shirt, too, but you need to know these socialites don’t hold a candle to your beauty.” He holds my gaze and I can’t look away. I can’t breathe. I can hardly think. Not with his compliment holding me immobile. The way he speaks, with so much conviction, I almost believe him. Almost.

  My eyes drop as guilt crashes over me. I shouldn’t be out here with Sean. Soaking in the joy from his words. Coy, my boyfriend, is the reason I’m here tonight. Without him I’d be nowhere. Have nothing. “I better get inside.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He leans forward and dips down so our eyes meet. His are full of apology and concern. “I’m not hitting on you. You’re with Coy and I respect that. I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are. All women deserve to be told the truth.”

  His words sting and I have to blink back the moisture in my eyes.

  “Sorry, that was supposed to make you feel better, not worse.” He rubs one hand at the nape of his neck and blows out an exaggerated breath.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’m an idiot. I apologize. Can we go back to where you were smiling like you might want to be friends?”

  My brow furrows at his question. Friends? “You want to be my friend?”

  “Sure. I mean, you are living in the room across from mine. And coming on the road with us, right?”

  “Yes.” I nod and anxiety creeps into my belly at the thought Coy might change his mind and leave me behind. Especially after wearing this dress. “That’s the plan.”

  “Cool. Then I say, friends.” He holds out his hand. Waiting. Patiently. Until I finally place my palm against his fingertips. He winks and releases my hand with a quick and friendly shake.

  “Friends,” I force a smile.

  “I’ll be a good friend. Promise.” He traces his index finger over his heart. “Shit.” He pulls his cell from his back pocket and glances at the screen. “Gotta get ready for the show, friend.” He winks again with his use of the word friend, and it makes me smile for real this time. He’s almost to the door when he stops and jogs back over.

  Nerves bubble in my belly at his approach, and I back up a step before I realize why he came back.

  Bending over, he retrieves the bag he dropped. “Littering is bad for the earth.” He grins and shoves it into his coat before heading back inside.

  It’s only after he’s gone I realize he never took out a cigarette to smoke.

  “Friend.” I say the word aloud and relish in the fantasy that he actually meant that. I haven’t had a friend, just a friend, in years. Maybe since I was a child. And the thought of having an ally in this world—outside of Coy—is a blessing in itself.

  The door swings open and three older gentlemen step outdoors, pulling cigars from their breast pockets and intruding on my solitude. I blow out a breath and prepare to face the crowd again. Walking to the door, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored glass of the window.

  Am I beautiful?

  My dress. My hair. My makeup.

  All the exposed skin on my chest. Shit. I beeline for the ladies’ room.

  Inside the restroom, I catch my reflection, even more clear, and burst into tears. Not a practical or helpful solution, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m a cross between a Playboy Bunny and a teenager trying for sexy at her high school prom. Neither look acceptable for an event like this and the only other thing I have in the hotel room upstairs to change into is a pair of jeans and T-shirt. I have an old hoodie, but that’s not appropriate either.

  A woman clears her throat and it’s then I realize I’m not alone. The restroom attendant offers me a tissue, not quite meeting my eyes. “Here, sweetheart.” Her kindness only causes more tears to flow.

  “Excuse me, do you have the time?” I ask because my clutch with my cell inside is sitting at my place on table Thirty-Four in the center of the ballroom. I need to get back inside, at least to get the key, but I’m also worried I’ve completely missed my chance. There’s no way I’m walking back inside like this, not for Coy to see, and the thought brings even more tears.

  “Seven-fifty, and don’t cry. You’ll mess your makeup.”

  I’d be insulted if not for the fact this woman reminds me of the grandma who’s cast in almost every family film I’ve seen. Her smile is gentle and she waits until I raise my eyes in the mirror to speak again. “See. Beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I sniffle and dab the wetness from my face without wiping away any makeup. I blink to try and clear the redness from my eyes, but that’s useless. Great, now I appear both a whore and high.

  “Now, how can I help? I don’t want you to cry.”

  I blow out a shaky breath and stand a little closer to the mirror to fix my makeup and hair. “Nothing. I just . .
. I should have worn a different dress, I think. I’ve made my boyfriend upset.”

  “But why? The boyfriend should like, no?” She waggles her eyebrows and I know it’s to make me laugh, only I don’t because it confirms what I’m wearing is much too risqué.

  “Hey, everything okay?” A woman steps out of one of the restroom stalls and begins washing her hands. Her gown must be two pieces, and the skirt of the dress, a black floor length fabric strewn with gold flecks, catches the light and sparkles with her movement. It’s edgy, but her lace overlay top is conservative with a high neck and long sleeves. Something I wish I’d paired over my own dress.

  “Sorry.” I clear my throat and lift my gaze when I realize she’s long since washed and dried her hands and is now waiting for my response. Her face is familiar. Of course, she must be famous. She’s here, isn’t she.

  Oh my God! “Lexi Marx.” Her name pops out of my mouth and I cover my lips, wishing I didn’t sound so starstruck.

  She smiles just a little before her brow pulls together with a frown. “What’s wrong with your dress?” She tilts her head and stares so hard I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over myself. As if I’d be able to hide it. Her gaze lifts and she cringes. “I’m sorry, I was listening in the stall. That was rude of me.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just . . . uh, my boyfriend didn’t see the dress before I bought it. He gets jealous and I . . . I didn’t think.” I glance down, embarrassed. I assumed I was the only one in here besides the attendant. Now I’ve just blabbed my dirty laundry in this restroom for not just anyone to hear, but to Trent Donavan’s girlfriend. Not a good first impression. I need to be more careful. She could have been a reporter for a gossip column. As it is, I hope Lexi will let this go once she learns who I am.

  “Nonsense. You are rocking that dress. It’s gorgeous on you. I’d never get away with something like that. I’m so short, it’d probably go to my shins!” She laughs and turns around. “Unzip my top?”