Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  “Yeah? I never saw him.” I give my brother an accusing stare. He knows better than to rile Mama up with the third degree. I get they’re protective of me, but I’m almost thirty years old. I don’t need a babysitter.

  “Well, that’s funny.” He meets my stare with a raise of his brow. “Because Reggie mentioned he saw you walk into your building at almost three in the morning.”

  “And what was he doing out at that hour?”

  My brother shrugs off my question. “I’m just saying. I don’t see why you’d be coming back to your apartment so late. Especially when I thought you had the night off.”

  “We’ve already established I was working.”

  “Sure about that?” My brother raises his brow.

  I open my mouth to say something not nice and not at all appropriate for my mama’s dinner table.

  “Desmond! Enough. Leave your poor sister alone,” Lina shakes her head.

  He smiles, completely satisfied to have riled me up. Smug too, because we both know his interrogation will have Mama up my ass for weeks. She was bad enough when I first moved out. Doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-nine years old, my mama would prefer I don’t live alone. Better yet, she probably wishes I’d meet a nice man and get married. Only, that’s never going to happen.

  I love my job. Even more, I love that I can provide for myself and afford to live in the city I call home. I don’t need a man.

  “I wish you would at least get a roommate. Maybe one of your friends?” Mama offers between bites of food.

  “I don’t want a roommate.”

  “You’re too isolated. You work too much. I can’t help but worry.”

  “Mama.”

  “I’m right. You know I am. Look at your brother. Your cousins. They’ve all found good wives. Desmond wouldn’t have met Lina if she’d been working all the time.”

  Desmond wouldn’t have met Lina if her mother and mine hadn’t conspired after church to bring the two together, but I don’t mention that. The last thing I need is my mama meddling in my dating life.

  “I’m young. I have lots of time.”

  “You’re not as young as you think, Jayla.”

  “Okay, so this was fun.” I push away from the table, thoroughly annoyed that I was sucked into this conversation, and that somehow I finished my entire plate of food. “Anyone else have news?” I glance at my sister-in-law and shoot her a pleading look.

  She smiles softly, glancing into her lap as though she’s been caught. “Well, actually . . .” she glances over at my brother and it’s then I notice his broad, proud smile.

  I already know what she’s going to say. They’ve made this exact announcement twice before.

  “We’re pregnant.”

  My jaw drops open and I hold back the impulse to comment. At this rate they’re on track for an entire basketball team. My initial shock morphs into a sting of jealousy, but thankfully I’m forgotten in the celebratory chaos.

  Mama shouts, her joy overflows as she pushes out of her seat and hurries around the table. “What? When? Another grandbaby! I’m so happy!” She pulls Lina into a long embrace, and then my brother.

  “We’re only a few months along, but we couldn’t wait anymore,” his mouth stretches with a wide grin, and he wraps his arm around his wife.

  Lina smiles and touches her belly, though she’s barely showing. “It’s been so hard keeping this a secret.” She flicks her gaze from my mama, and then over to me. “Exciting, yes?” Her smile wavers, as if she’s unsure about my reaction.

  Crap. I realize I haven’t moved or said a thing. I force my lips into a smile and nod my head. “Very exciting. I’m so happy for you.” Emotion clouds my tone and I have to fight back tears. I don’t know why it hits me like this. I am happy for them. They deserve this happiness.

  But I don’t.

  That’s the harsh reality. I won’t ever experience what Lina and Desmond are. I don’t allow myself to get sad about it often. Most days, I rarely think about it. But this news blindsides me, and my initial reaction is pain. Sadness. Loss. Jealous longing for another normal moment I’ll never have.

  “I better get going.” I wipe my lips with the corner of my napkin and push away from the table. “Mama, can I help you clear the table?”

  The surprised and anxious stares that meet my gaze tell me I’m not doing a great job masking my feelings.

  “You won’t stay for dessert?” Mama asks, almost as if she’s insulted.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes and bristle. She knows damn well I have to work tonight, and that I’m trying to watch my weight. “My shift starts in an hour.”

  “Let me wrap it up for you. You can eat it later.”

  “Mama.” I stare pointedly and shake my head.

  “So stubborn,” she mutters beneath her breath, but we all hear. By the stern lines around her mouth, I’ll be leaving with leftovers regardless. I don’t know why I even argue. It’s easier to let her have her way.

  I take my plate to the kitchen and rinse it off at the sink, thankful to have a reprieve from their stares. By the murmurs through the thin wall they’re talking about me. I get the feeling they talk about me often, and I try not to care what my mama or my brother think. I live the best I can. I dare anyone else to do better.

  Using a dishcloth to wipe my hands of the soapy water, I turn and steel myself against the pity and judgment I’m sure to meet. I’ve put in a lot of work to get to this point. I won’t let anyone take that away from me, not even my own insecurities.

  “Lina.” I walk straight for my sister-in-law and offer her the heartfelt embrace I should have earlier. “I’m so happy for you. Take care of this little one. And yourself.” I step back, proud of the smile I’ve put on her face. “If you need anything, call me. I can come help with my nephews.”

  “I will,” she says. “Stay safe tonight.”

  “Yeah, and call me if you get back late again.” My brother echoes my mother’s concern. “I don’t like you coming home alone.”

  “I’m fine. Promise.” I hug him and then walk over to Mama to do the same. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

  “I packed this for you.” She grabs the tinfoil wrap from the edge of the table, and I have to hand it to her, she’s gotten resourceful, having this all ready to go without even setting foot in the kitchen.

  “Good night, Mama.” I kiss her cheek, take the package, and grab my coat from near the door.

  “Next week?” she asks, as if I could tell her no. Or as if I’d have any other plans.

  “Yes, Mother,” I call over my shoulder and step out into the apartment hallway, attempting to sound less like a sullen teenager and more the adult woman I am today. I love her. She means well. But hell, is she overbearing. I opt for the stairs to work off a fraction of the calories I consumed at dinner. As soon as I hit the street, my face stings with cold.

  The bus stop is just up the street, and I hunker into my coat as I make the short walk. The office isn’t far from Mama’s, and with this weather I’m looking forward to picking up one of the company’s sedans for tonight’s detail. At the bus stop structure, there’s an elderly man hunched into the corner, a lonely shopping cart holding his possessions and helping to shield him from the weather. My heart goes out to him, as it does most weeks.

  “Sir, are you hungry?” I speak loud enough to rouse him from sleep.

  He pushes his knit beanie up to meet my stare before reaching out to accept my offering of Mama’s cookin’. He mumbles something that sounds much like, “You’re an angel,” and he doesn’t waste another second, unwrapping the foil and peeling off a bite to gnaw in his mouth. “Bless you.”

  Gratitude for what I have—mental health, a job, a safe place to live, and food to fill my belly—overcomes my earlier irritation and sadness. I have a good life, more than most, and thanks to this man, I’m reminded of how much. “Bless you, too. Stay warm tonight, sir.” My words are interrupted by the groan of a rumbling engine and
the slow squeal of brakes. The approaching bus rolls to a stop and I lift my hand, waving good-bye to the man.

  The long night of work ahead, missing Austin at the club last night, and even my mama’s nagging seems inconsequential in this moment. A few words from a stranger with far less than I serves as a reminder of how blessed I am. As I scan my bus pass and find a seat a peacefulness washes over me, and for the first time all day I’m able to take a full breath without anxiety threatening to take over.

  114

  Austin

  We leave Los Angeles late in the afternoon, flying to meet the crew in Salt Lake for this evening’s show. I’m exhausted. Spent. But there’s no rest for the wicked and we have another ten weeks on the road before we head back to LA to record our next album. I’m glad we planned to have the buses drive ahead last night; otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten Jayla’s number.

  Speaking of numbers and burning holes in pockets, it takes every bit of my willpower to not pull out my phone and contact Jayla. Everything between us feels unfinished, unresolved, but that’s probably all on my end. When she left Phoenix our junior year I never got to say good-bye. I’ve thought of her a thousand times since then, but after a while I gave up hope of ever seeing her again. Now that I have, there’s an insatiable need to fill in all the years we missed. While I was making a name for myself, chasing my rock ’n’ roll dreams, where was she?

  But if I call her, what do I say? I’m on the road for the next two months, it’s not as if I can ask her to dinner. I have a shit ton of money and I considered inviting to fly her out to meet me for a show on the road. Some women would be blown away by that gesture, but something tells me Jayla isn’t one of those women. A strangeness settles in my mind as I try to foster a better plan. Uncertainty stops me from taking any real action. Doubt, it’s a feeling I’m not used to experiencing, not when it comes to women. So, why now?

  I don’t want to blow it with her. That’s the difference. Anyone else I’ve pursued was purely for pleasure, a temporary need to be satisfied. I’ve never wanted more. But with Jayla everything’s different.

  “What time’s sound check?” Leighton interrupts my thoughts from across the aisle. The plane tilts with its descent for landing. “Opal’s hungry.”

  “Again?” I bug out my eyes and she glares. It might be intimidating if her smile didn’t begin to break.

  “I’m eating for two, remember?” She tries to act put out but she’s so damn excited for that baby it’s pointless.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off. “The love child needs to eat. I get it.” I glance at Leighton. “I’m beginning to think you’re the one milking this baby thing just so we stop for food all the time.”

  Leighton shrugs. “I can neither confirm nor deny those allegations.”

  I turn back to the rows behind us and tap Trent on the leg. “You good with that? We go eat before heading to the stadium?”

  He pulls out one of his ear buds and shrugs with a grim smile. “Not my call. Ask Lipchitz.”

  “Fuck.” I cuss under my breath and brace myself as the plane lands. One of the changes since Off Track Records was acquired is the difference in management styles. We didn’t know how good we had it before. Or if we did, we didn’t fully appreciate the freedom we had. World Music Industries, WMI, has a different approach to managing their big money makers, and one of those is to stick a leech on us. Okay, so Casey Lipchitz isn’t exactly a blood sucking parasite, but it sure feels like it. It’s as if they pay him to suck all the fun from things, and I’d bet money he’s already waiting outside arrivals for us to disembark.

  A few minutes later my suspicions are confirmed. I raise my hand to bite back the desire to grimace as the man comes scurrying forward.

  “Hiya, Austin. How’s it hanging?”

  Did I mention the guy says hiya? All one word. It’s weird and too fucking chipper.

  “Hey, Casey. Fancy meeting you here.” Trent greets him with a handshake, and slides me a look.

  “Good flight?”

  “Slept like a baby.” Sean shrugs. “Can’t beat that.”

  “Jess back at work this week?” Casey asks.

  “Yeah.” Whatever was left of Sean’s good mood evaporates at the mention of his girlfriend staying back in LA. If it were up to him, she’d join us for the entire tour. Her job allows her the freedom to meet up with us for a few days every week or so, and that’s fine by me. It’s bad enough Trent has Lexi, and Leighton’s a package deal with Opal. At this rate we’re gonna need another fucking bus.

  “We’re hungry.” I slap Casey on his back a little too hard. “Let’s grab a late lunch, yeah?”

  “I don’t know.” He chews the inside of his lip and unlocks the screen of his cell as if he hasn’t memorized our entire literary. “We have a tight schedule.”

  “Loosen up a little, man. Life’s more exciting on the edge.” I shoot him a wink and hike the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder.

  “Okay, yeah. Sure.” He blows out a long breath and surfs for options. “We’ll stop on the way. Someplace fast.”

  Trent chuckles. “Come on, Casey. We’re not stopping for fucking Subway.”

  Lexi lifts an eyebrow. “You too fancy for sandwiches now?”

  “No.” Trent shakes his head. “I pay attention. Opal can’t have it. Listeria or whatever the fuck is bad for the baby.”

  “Aww, thanks Trent. But I can find something anywhere we go. Maybe work on the potty mouth instead?” Opal grins.

  “No can do. Lexi likes my filthy mouth.”

  Lexi bites her lip.

  Gross.

  “Uh . . .” Casey clears his throat, glancing up from his phone. “There’s a diner on the route. Good ratings and they have a private dining room. I’ll call now.”

  “Car outside?” Trent asks.

  “You know it.” A proud smile spreads across Casey’s face.

  Trent nods. “Thanks, Lipshitz. You’re the best.”

  Casey stills, opening his mouth as if he’s about to say something else, but snaps it closed and marches ahead instead.

  Trent chuckles and slings his arm around Lexi to follow. “What’s his problem?”

  I shrug. “No clue.”

  “He’s probably pissed he’s spending the next two months babysitting grown men.” Lexi rolls her eyes. She’s annoyed with the new label as well. They’ve been giving her a hard time for coming on the road with us. She’s supposed to be working on her next album. Which she is. They’d just rather she set up in some studio.

  The diner ends up being good, both with service and food, and we leave an hour later with full bellies. Our detour puts us behind schedule, and the fact we should be at the stadium running sound checks this very second makes Casey a ball of nerves. His knee bounces a hundred times per second and I want to tell him to stop acting like a little bitch, but it’s not worth the pout he’ll wear the rest of the night.

  I close my eyes and go over the set list, visualizing my performance, the crowd, and even the few willing women I’ll snag for entertainment after the show. Or at least I try to imagine it. My mind wanders back to Jayla. Her hard stare judges my fantasies. Fuck. I can’t even get it up for two nameless groupies in my daydream with Jay’s calculating stare in my head.

  The SUV comes to an abrupt halt with the afternoon traffic, and without opening my eyes I know Casey’s seconds from giving himself a coronary.

  “What the ever-loving-fuck?” The alarm in Sean’s voice grabs my attention.

  “Is that smoke?” Leighton asks, just above a whisper.

  My eyelids snap open and I crane my neck in the direction they’re all staring.

  Plumes of thick gray smoke rise in the distance beyond the bumper-to-bumper vehicles. A flash of red and blue lights whizzes past us and joins the gathering of first responders racing toward the massive building. And not just any building. The stadium we’re supposed to be inside.

  “Shit . . .” Trent drags out the word from the back seat
of our SUV.

  “Turn the car around,” Casey demands to the driver from his seat at my right. “Sir, please turn the car around.” His gaze bounces between his phone and the fire trucks and police cars in the distance.

  “What’s going on?” Sean turns from his seat up front to face us.

  “Where to?” Our driver flips a bitch before we’re stuck in the worst of the traffic.

  “Um, just keep driving. Straight. Away from that,” Casey directs, but he’s distracted. There’s something going on.

  “You got it,” our driver blows out a rush of air.

  Casey’s phone rings and I lean back in my seat to try and catch what the person on the other end says. Casey’s “okay” and “will do” and “keep me posted” do nothing to alleviate my growing concern that something is very wrong. By the silence of my bandmates, I’m not the only one.

  “Lipshitz. What’s happening?” Trent demands from the back seat.

  “There was an explosion.” The words leave Casey’s mouth in a rush. His hands shake from where they clutch his phone. “That’s all I know.”

  “At the venue?” Opal says.

  Sean’s brows knit with concern. “What about the show?”

  “There’s not going to be a show,” Casey responds and his gaze drops again to his cell. “Not tonight.”

  Trent shakes his head and grabs his phone. We all follow suit and as the madness behind us fades from sight, I search trending news for details as to what is going on. Lipshitz is eerily quiet, and his hollow cheeks grow pale. Worry and dread fill my gut.

  “Was anyone hurt?” Opal’s voice is soft as it cuts through our silence.

  Fuck. I don’t pray often, or much at all. But in our speeding SUV I offer a plea to the universe and its maker that no one is hurt.

  “Lipshitz.” Trent’s stern and calm voice draws our assistant from his phone. “What’s the plan here?”

  “We’re meeting at a hotel, after it’s cleared. For now, we drive.” He clears his throat and speaks to the driver. “Please keep us moving and away from downtown.”