by Kacey Shea
“They build those days into the tour, usually along longer routes. Our driver stops to sleep for the day and we get to play hookie.” He meets my stare and when I don’t say anything he chuckles and raises his brows. “It’s a day off.” He bumps my elbow with his, just as the radio host for our next interview steps into the room.
“Oh, cool,” I mumble before he struts over to greet the DJ. A day to myself. Cool. But at the same time not. I don’t know what exactly a day off feels like. Or what I should do. Hopefully I can hang on the bus, but if not I’ll find some way to pass the time out of everyone’s way. A diner? Coffee shop maybe?
Out of the blue, a pang of homesickness hits me. Not for Denison, but for the way things were. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go home and visit Grams, sit down with her for a glass of sweet tea, or pick up the phone to give her a call. I’ve been doing a good job of not thinking too much, or longing for what can never be, but moments like these stop me right in my tracks. The sadness is as deep and aching as it was that first week she passed.
“Opal?”
I lift my chin to find Leighton holding the door open and everyone else gone from the room. Crap. I can’t get lost in my head right now. I need to focus on my job today, and be sad tomorrow. I force a smile and slide the strap of my bag onto my shoulder.
I expect him to smile back. To say something or make a joke, but he doesn’t quite meet my gaze. I pass through the doorway and his stare drops to the floor, wordlessly leading the way to one of the recording studios a few yards away.
Leighton’s been off since we arrived at the first interview. His carefree manner is wound tight and I don’t think it’s from the new glasses. Not that anyone else notices. They’re too caught up in playing their parts. Trent the charmer takes the lead in each interview like a seasoned pro. Austin has his dirty jokes. He’s shameless, and each time he opens his mouth I have to look away. Even without a mirror I know for certain my skin blotches with a deep blush. Sean the stoic man of muscle surprises reporters with his heartfelt answers. And Leighton, he’s the center of interest.
Maybe that’s what’s bothering him? I would hate to be badgered with personal questions about how he earned his place. Everyone is fascinated by the newest member of Three Ugly Guys. I don’t blame them. My own interest piques with each question and answer.
Where did you grow up? Who taught you to play? Musical inspiration. In each interview I learn a little something more about this talented man.
Best thing about being on the road with Three Ugly Guys? Of course Austin interrupts by shouting “women,” which leads to a twenty-minute debate between him and the DJ about different cities and their per capita ratios of beautiful women.
Aren’t you kind of young? Leighton’s jaw clenches with this question; it’s been asked at every single interview.
Who did you blow to get this audition? Someone actually asked that! Seriously, some DJs have no shame when it comes to ratings.
I step into this next recording room and find a chair out of the way to settle in for the interview. I pull out my cell and post a few of the photos I took to Trent’s social media accounts. It distracts me from most of the interview, but I can’t help but tune back in once I’m done.
“Girlfriends. Are we allowed to talk relationships?” the DJ asks.
Austin blanches and his efforts are rewarded with laughter.
Trent holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m happily off the market and take every opportunity to discuss my love for one Lexi Marx.”
“Yeah, they’re taping now, right? So, does this mean we’ll get an added bonus with her reality special?” the DJ presses. “An inside look at 3UG maybe?”
Trent shakes his head. “No way. The special is all her. They’re actually wrapping up along with her tour and I cannot wait to have my woman back in my arms. T minus thirteen days.”
“Us, too. He’s a lovesick pain in the ass without her.” Austin rolls his eyes, but by the smile in his voice, I don’t think he really minds.
“What about you, Sean? We haven’t seen much from you since your backyard adventures went viral.” He’s referring to the X-rated photos of Sean and Jess, and as Austin clued me in, the catalyst for kicking their former drummer out of the band.
“Yeah.” Sean’s jaw clenches back and forth. “Amazing that a breach of security is an acceptable and celebrated practice in today’s world.”
“What about your fans? They support your music. They want to know everything about your lives. Don’t you think this kind of comes with the territory?” Oh, this guy has balls. That or he’s trying to get a rise out of Sean.
“They wanna know whether I’d rather eat pancakes or waffles? It’s waffles, by the way. Or my exercise routine? Sure. But when it gets to the point that someone’s photographing me and my girlfriend while we’re in the privacy of our backyard, and it’s rewarded with a fat check?” Sean blows out a harsh breath, and his jaw knots with anger. “I think it’s taking things too fucking far.”
By the DJ’s nervous expression, he wasn’t completely prepared for Sean’s rant. Trent’s jaw ticks as if he’d like to say something, but doesn’t.
Leighton studies the floor with an almost bored expression. Seriously, what gives with him today?
“Send the photogs my way instead.” Austin breaks the tension. He reaches behind his back, grabbing the collar and pulling off his shirt. Dear Lord.
The DJ barks out a laugh. “Uh, you do know this is a radio show, right? We don’t have cameras in here.”
Austin’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Yeah, well, one can never be too prepared.”
“For all you listeners, Austin Jones has removed his shirt right here in the studios of SLAM 96.7.” His board lights up with incoming calls. The disc jockey claps and he’s practically giddy. He points to the rest of the guys. “You all don’t seem one bit shocked about your friend getting naked.”
“It’s more surprising he didn’t start with the pants,” Sean deadpans.
The DJ raises his brow. “Kinky.”
“You have no idea.” Austin winks, flexing his arms and folding them across his chest. His tattoos pop under the lighting above. I could stare all day. His eyes find mine.
Busted. I glance back at my phone and pretend to do something important, but I can feel the heat that floods my cheeks. I can’t help it. He’s ridiculously gorgeous in that bad boy rock star way.
“That’s it, I need a selfie. Social proof we’re not making this up.” The DJ hops off his seat and poses with Austin for a second before finding his place in front of the mic again. “Okay, back to business. We only have a few minutes left so we’re gonna do a lightning round. The only rule? One word answers. No explanation.”
The guys nod, and a trace of entertainment plays in the air. I don’t blame them. After a day of the exact same questions, this format is refreshing.
“What’s something you hate?” The DJ glances up from the paper in front of him.
“Rules.” Austin flashes a wicked smile.
Sean leans back in his chair. “Shellfish.”
Trent leans forward, his elbows on the counter. “Liars.”
Leighton winces. “Losing.”
“Favorite sex position?”
“Fifth.” Sean answers first.
The DJ’s brow scrunches. “What’s that? I haven’t heard of fifth.”
“That’s what I’m pleading.”
Everyone laughs.
“Cowgirl,” Trent says and then lets loose a chuckle that causes me to look away. I do not need specifics on how my sister and her man get it on.
“All of them.” Austin grins.
“That’s three words.” The DJ raises his brows.
Austin shrugs. “Remember, I hate rules.”
Leighton taps his fingers against his knee at a frantic pace, but doesn’t move to open his mouth.
“Still need your answer, Leighton.”
“Come on, kid. No going green on us now. Th
at is, unless you’re still a virgin,” Austin goads and it’s enough to draw a reaction.
Leighton flips him the bird, lifts his gaze to the DJ and leans into the mic. “Doggie.”
“Don’t we all, kid.” The DJ laughs. “Okay, last one. What’s something you’ve never had, and always wanted?”
“My own island.” Austin really doesn’t play by the rules.
“A wife,” Sean says through a smile. He’s totally smitten, and my inner romantic swoons at his sincerity.
Trent runs a hand through his hair, tucking the longer locks behind his ears. His gaze is somber. “A father.”
This time Leighton’s ready. “Love.” His answer flies from his lips with conviction. That one word rumbles from his chest and it’s enough to grip my heart, pull the strings, and strike a chord within my soul. In one word he detonates any good sense I had to guard my heart, because what he wants? I desperately want it, too. To be loved, and to love. To belong and to be desired. To be tethered to this world in something more than a passing moment.
And for one crazy second I wonder whether I might be the one to give it to him.
87
Leighton
Everything about today is fucking with my head.
My uncle and the fact I lied to give him what he wanted. Worse, I’ll probably do it again. I shouldn’t give it a second thought. I did what I had to do to keep my place in the band. I got mine. Anyone else would do the same. But I feel like scum. Like the traitor I am.
Making it worse? Opal’s sweet and constant kindness. It’s as if the universe is intent on dousing salt in the wound. A wound I caused. The afternoon of interviews isn’t any better. Knowing I screwed over my bandmates while they treat me like I belong, as if I’m one of them? It all feels wrong.
The only place I find peace is on stage.
We rock Milwaukee hard and the crowd rises with the energy.
Music is my consolation. It always has been. The notes of a song have the ability to take me away whenever life is too much or I just don’t fit. Soaked in sweat and beating on the toms, I feel that power take hold. Transform my mood. Provide inspiration, light, and breathe new life into an otherwise lonely existence.
I can’t help but wonder whether we’re doing that now. If the thousands of fans who come out for our shows chase that same connection? It gives new purpose to my role, and I shove all the crap from the day out of my mind, determined to play my fucking heart out and leave it on stage.
The set goes by in a flash, and when it’s time to head back to the bus I’m almost disappointed. My mind amps up with the still-screaming fans, and music might as well pump through my veins. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to sleep. Not anytime soon.
“We going out tonight?” I ask Sean as we’re ushered back to the bus by the stadium’s security crew.
“No time. We roll out in an hour.”
“Fuck.” I rub the tension that gathers in my shoulders.
“It’ll be worth the day off tomorrow.” That’s right. I almost forgot. An entire day to ourselves while our driver rests. Over the next few months we don’t get many of those, and while I could play every night for the rest of my life, I realize burnout is real and self-care is necessary.
Sean claps me on my back and nods ahead to where Trent steps inside. “Don’t look so glum, kid. Opal’s cooking.”
“Yeah?” I don’t know any personal assistant who also prepares meals in addition to regular job responsibilities, but Trent hit the freaking jackpot with her. My stomach rumbles with the promise of good food, and my smile builds with thoughts of the woman who’s cooking for us. And while I should use this conversation as an opportunity to glean info about Opal, I don’t have it in me. Not right now.
The scent of baked bread, chicken, and goodness hits my nostrils before I’ve even made it inside the bus. The meal isn’t quite ready so we take turns using the shower while our driver Jay pulls out onto the road ahead of schedule.
“I think I need a dinner bell,” Opal says, and it’s almost comical how fast we all sprint to the table. Tonight there’s no joking. No idle conversation. Just the occasional clink of silverware against dishes as we stuff our faces. Maybe it’s only because we’ve been going non-stop since we rolled into Wisconsin, but this is quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had.
“Opal, you outdid yourself.” Trent pushes back from the table to retrieve another beer. He pops off the top and settles himself back into his seat. “Really, thank you so much. This was better than any takeout.”
Sean nods. “So good. You could open a restaurant.”
“Y’all are so sweet.” She drops her gaze to her plate with a grin.
“Dude, we fucking slayed tonight.” Austin leans back from the table after scarfing down his second plate. Of course, he’s still shirtless from his earlier shower and I catch Opal staring at his chest for at least the tenth time tonight. I guess I should be thankful he’s wearing pants. I wish she would look at me that way.
“Best show yet,” Sean says.
“Our new drummer has chops.” Trent winks and maybe it’s dumb but his compliment warms my insides. I don’t look for affirmation from others, and it’s even more welcome when unexpected.
I move the last bite of food across my plate with my fork. “I’m just lucky to be here.”
“We’re lucky to have you, brother.” Sean tips his drink.
Lucky? If he only knew. Guilt bubbles to the surface and brews in my gut.
“Fuck. I feel like going out.” Austin leans forward in his seat and rubs his hands together.
“Fuck.” Sean raises his brows with a knowing grin. “You just feel like fucking.”
Austin rolls his eyes. “Don’t we all? It’s the best after a show. All that energy, it’s gotta go somewhere.”
“You wanna . . .” Sean points at himself and then Austin. “I mean, Trent’s not in his room right now.”
Everyone bursts into laughter, even Opal.
“Fuck you!” Austin laughs and tosses his napkin across the table. “I can do way better than you.”
Sean puckers his lips. “Saving yourself for someone special?”
Fuck. I don’t want to hear the answer to that, especially when Austin’s gaze lifts to Opal.
“Let’s play a game,” I interrupt before she and Austin start making eyes at each other.
“Game?” Trent lifts an eyebrow.
Here I am trying to get them to see me as a man, but I’m asking to play games like some child. I tap my fingers at my sides under the table as my nerves skyrocket. Fuck it. I can’t take the suggestion back now. “Yeah, I’m too pumped up from the show to fall asleep or lay around.”
“I’m in. As long it’s not strip poker.” Sean winks at Austin. “Sorry, Aust.”
“I’ll live.”
“Okay, drummer boy. Your idea.” Trent leans forward on his elbows and steeples his hands under his chin. “What are we playing?”
“Never Have I Ever.” Next to Truth or Dare it’s the only game I can think of that doesn’t require a board or deck of cards. And while Truth or Dare has its benefits, there are things I can never share with these guys unless I want to kiss my job good-bye. I’ve done enough lying for one day.
The guys look at each other and nod their agreement.
Opal stands to clear the table.
“You in, too?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
Trent rises from his seat. “We’ll all pitch in and clean up. Get yourself a drink. We want you to play. Don’t we, guys?”
Hell, yeah. I do! I manage to stifle my enthusiasm with a grunt, letting the others convince her to stay.
“Okay,” she finally relents. “I’ll play.”
Hell, yeah. The next few hours of this trip just got a lot more exciting.
“Never have I ever been caught in the act by paparazzi.” Austin grins widely.
“That’s highly specific.” Sean tips his beer for a long swallow.
<
br /> I grin because once again I don’t have to drink. Resorting to this idiotic game as a way to change the topic of conversation wasn’t meant to be anything other than just that. A distraction. But it’s actually fun. Educational even. I haven’t looked at my cell to check the time because we’ve been laughing and talking non-stop, but it’s got to be pushing one or two o’clock by the collection of empties on the table.
I was surprised the guys didn’t object when I grabbed a beer. Even more shocked no one said anything after Opal took one, too. Not that she’s had more than a sip or two to drink. I swear the sweet girl act isn’t an act at all. She hasn’t done much of anything.
“Okay, I’ve got one!” Sean hits the table with his palm. “Never have I ever gone by a stage name.” He waggles his brows and everyone’s eyes zero in on me.
I tip my beer before taking a drink and let loose a deep laugh. “Got me there.”
“Leighton Stix.” Austin shakes his head. “Who the fuck came up with that name? I hope not you.”
“My mama if she named me right.” I wink and try not to think about my cringeworthy last name.
The guys all chuckle. They don’t care what my real last name is as long as it’s not Wellington. Bedo thought Stix would be a great conversation starter, but it felt more than lame in all the interviews today. A bit unoriginal and lazy if you ask me, but no one did. Since Bedo’s ass is on the line if anyone discovers my real name, I have some trust he won’t totally screw me over. Still. It’s pretty bad.
“Your turn, Opal,” Trent says.
She studies the label on her beer a long moment before a slow grin takes over her face. She doesn’t look at me though; instead her gaze lifts to Austin. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”
Everyone takes a drink except her and I.
“Not even one?” Austin flirts and I swear my chest burns with a flame of jealous anger.
She giggles, twirling the green glass bottle in her long pale fingers. “Maybe you should have to finish since you have the most.”
“Like he needs an excuse to drink more.” Trent laughs.