Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

“You got it.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Sean repeats Opal’s earlier question.

  “I don’t know.” Lipshitz leans back into his seat and draws a shaky breath. “But God, I hope not.”

  115

  Austin

  It’s hours before we’re given the all-clear to head over to the hotel, but by the time we do, the news is sprawled across every channel and social media feed. A dozen injured. Three of them in critical condition. Twelve people too many.

  We gather in the Presidential Suite, waiting. Minutes drown into hours, staring at the news coverage on the television screen. Helpless. That’s how I feel, and it fucking rattles me. I itch for a cigarette, though I rarely partake in the vice if I’m not drinking. I can’t believe this happened. And before one of our shows. What if the explosion had happened an hour later? Would I be in the hospital watching one of my best friends fight for their life? Or worse. We could be gathered in the morgue.

  “We need to find out who did this.” The demand leaves my lips with a vengeance that surprises even myself.

  “They have detectives on the scene. They’ll get to the bottom of this,” Casey says from behind the screen of his cell. He’s been on that thing all evening, and for once I’m thankful for the guy. He’s kept us informed, and while I’m sure he’s tasked with keeping an eye on us, he could have cut out hours ago. We aren’t going anywhere. I think maybe he doesn’t want to be alone either.

  “What about our next show? Could this happen again?” Leighton voices one of the thousands of concerns that races through my mind. “Are we still driving on to Denver tonight?”

  “WMI is sending out a team to deal with everything. We’ll meet with them first thing in the morning,” Casey says. “Local law enforcement too.”

  “And what do we do until then?” Trent runs a hand through his hair and pushing the locks back from his face.

  “Turn that off.” Casey waves to the television and pushes up from his seat. He stretches his arms overhead and lets loose a wide yawn. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll tackle the hard questions tomorrow.”

  I rise to my feet. “I want to visit the hospital.” The need is to be there, with the families. With those this affects more than anyone.

  “Okay, and I get it.” He meets my stare. “But you can’t do that. Not tonight. Not until we get more control of the situation.”

  “Situation?” Sean scoffs. “People are fighting for their lives tonight.”

  “Fuck.” Lipshitz squeezes his eyes shut and for a moment I think he’s about to cry. He opens them and inhales a sharp breath. “None of us were prepared for this to happen. It’s a horrible tragedy. I’m doing my best here, man.”

  “That could have been us inside,” Lexi says. Her words bounce off the walls, and the stark truth of them cuts deep.

  It would have been us had we not derailed Casey’s precious itinerary to go eat.

  “Try and get some rest, okay?” He sniffles and I think maybe he is crying, or about to.

  The urge to do the same hits me square in the gut and I don’t have the courage to answer him but for a nod.

  “You too, man. Thanks for taking care of us today. I mean that.” Trent blows out a long breath before walking Casey to the door. “Come get us in the morning, okay? We want to be involved in whatever next steps there are. And let us know if there’s an update . . . about those in the hospital.”

  “I will. ’Night.”

  The door shuts with a resounding thud and Trent comes back into the room looking exhausted, stressed, and on the verge of passing out. I probably look the same.

  “Casey was right. We don’t need to watch this.” Lexi picks up the remote and silences the television.

  “Anyone hungry? We could order food,” Opal offers from her seat next to Leighton.

  He nestles his face into the top of her head and drops a kiss there before hugging her close. “I can’t right now.”

  “Me neither,” Trent says.

  The thought of eating makes me want to vomit. By the looks around the room, everyone feels the same.

  “I’m gonna call Jess again,” Sean says before he heads toward his room at the far end of the suite.

  “I think we’ll call it a night,” Leighton says.

  “Us, too.” Lexi looks at her sister. “Make sure you eat something.”

  Opal nods. “I have some crackers in my bag.” She stands, hugs her so tightly I have to look away. The thought of losing either of these women is terrifying. I can’t imagine how Trent or Leighton feel right now.

  While everyone wanders to their rooms, Opal hangs back and reaches her arms around my waist, not bothering to wait for me to initiate the embrace. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie because she doesn’t need to be weighed down by any more stress than she already is.

  “Sure?”

  “Don’t worry about me, little lady. You just take care of that babe.”

  “I do worry about you. You know I love you, right?” It’s a platonic kind of love. The affection a sister shares for her big brother. A gift I never expected. The power of her sentiment hits me unexpectedly and this time I do give in to the heaviness of it all.

  “I could have lost you today,” I croak out.

  “Shh.” She shakes her head and then hugs me tighter. “Don’t go there. I’m fine. We’re all here. Safe.”

  We’re the lucky ones. For whatever reason, fate spared us the untimely destiny, and instead we’re left to soldier on another day. With my arms around one of my best friends, I let the tears prick my eyes and vow to make good with all the days I’m granted from here on out.

  “Get some rest,” she mutters into my chest before pulling away to study my face.

  I nod. “Promise.”

  I don’t quite know when I pass out, but the morning comes like the blink of an eye. There’s no rumble of the bus engine, or sway that comes with wheels rolling down the open highway. Sean wakes me with a shake to the shoulder, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am and what happened last night. “Come on, man. Get dressed. Execs are on their way up now.”

  “Fuck.” I rub my hand over my face and glance around my darkened hotel room. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine, lazy ass.” He chuckles on his way out the door.

  “Fuck.” I didn’t expect to get any rest last night, or even fall asleep, but once my head hit the pillow, the day’s events crashed down hard and I couldn’t fight the pull of sleep. Apparently, I slept the entire night through. Making my way to the bathroom, I shower and pull on a clean set of clothes before joining the others. I can’t get the image of smoke churning above the arena out of my head, or the clip of victims being rushed by gurney to the back of the ambulances. My stomach rumbles with hunger and I almost feel a sense of guilt for giving such a basic need priority given the current state of things. How can I think of breakfast when people are fighting for their lives?

  “Austin, how nice of you to finally join us,” Vincent, one of the top executives for WMI, and a total douche in my opinion, says from his perch at the end of the long dining table.

  There’s a spread to his left— muffins, bagels, fruit, and coffee—so I take my sweet time strutting over to fix a plate before pulling up a chair. I don’t know why, but it gives me a simple sort of satisfaction to make him wait.

  “Shall we get started?” He clears his throat while I shove a bagel spread with cream cheese into my mouth.

  “Please.” Trent blows out a long breath and Vincent makes introductions for everyone gathered in our hotel suite. Some super sleuth team this is. Mostly lawyers. Old. White. Male. All uptight motherfuckers, if you ask me. No one does.

  “Where’s Rachel?” I interrupt before Vincent can continue.

  He levels me with a glare. “Miss Kinsley is in Los Angeles. We brought in our top dogs for this.”

  I appraise the old dudes in suits. Let’s hope they come with energy drinks. Or maybe pacemakers. Either way, I ha
ve no clue how they’ll be much help right now. “When can we visit the hospital?”

  “We’re not sure that’s the best course of action. We don’t want this incident to bring on bad press, or connect the band any further than it already is. We want you all back on a plane to LA as soon as possible.” He levels me with what I assume is a disappointed stare, only I don’t give two shits what this guy thinks of me.

  “Really, Vince? You don’t think heading to the hospital to hit on all the hot nurses would look good in tomorrow’s headlines?” I shrug off his assessment with my go-to humor.

  His stare hardens, not at all amused. “I’d like for you to not end up in jail. But we can’t all get what we want in life.”

  I hold up my hands. “Only making a joke.”

  “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  “And I couldn’t agree more.” Now it’s my turn to look pissed off. “Which is why I want to go to the hospital. Those people could have been us.”

  “We all want to go,” Trent says.

  Vincent glances at Lipshitz, his lips pinched with a sour expression.

  “It’s going to be a tight schedule, but I think we can work it in.” Casey remains neutral in his tone. Suck up.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  One of the old dudes clears his throat. “We don’t know if the package you received at Christmas is connected to the explosion yesterday, but it’s an assumption we’re going off of until the cops prove otherwise.”

  “Given the timing of the explosion and the proximity to the stage, law enforcement believes your band was the target,” another one interjects.

  “My God,” Trent mutters. The news isn’t a surprise, but to have it confirmed makes it all the more real.

  “What’s the long term plan here?” Sean glances from him to Vince.

  “The security for the tour will need to be beefed up. Darren is out.”

  “Wait. Why Darren?” I can’t believe they’re firing him. He’s been with us for years.

  Vince’s jaw locks and for the first time since he started talking, appears uncomfortable. “Darren was on site when this happened. He sustained burns to more than thirty percent of his body.”

  My stomach drops. The severity of this situation hits me with a new force. I don’t know why, but my brain didn’t automatically connect that these victims would be people we’ve known and trusted for months. “Who else?” I barely manage.

  “Robbie and Leo suffered burns too. Not as badly.” Both are roadies who’ve been with us for years. “Adam, no burns but a broken rib and arm.” One of our sound techs. “The rest are all employees of the venue. One didn’t make it through the night. She was a concession worker.”

  The room goes silent but for a few shallow breaths.

  “What was she doing backstage?” Opal asks but I can already guess.

  “Hoping to catch a glimpse of the sound check,” Vince confirms.

  Hoping to see us. The realization guts me. Silence settles over the room and I slide my plate to the center of the table, my appetite no longer present. I can’t even muster the courage to glance up at my bandmates.

  “So, what’s our next move?” Trent’s voice is void of his usual bravado.

  “We’re looking into hiring someone, but that could take several weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Sean’s brows shoot up and his gaze sweeps the table before settling back on Vince. “What happens between now and then? We won’t risk our safety or our fans.”

  “Canceling at this point wouldn’t be cost effective,” one of the suits says matter-of-factly.

  “Cost effective?” Sean ask incredulously. He narrows his stare on the suit. “How many people need to get hurt to make it worth your time?”

  The suit glances from Sean to Vince, an unsure grimace wedged on his lips. “I can’t tell if he’s asking a serious question.”

  “We won’t play without new measures in place,” Trent states. Normally, he doesn’t speak for us, but there’s no doubt we all feel the same.

  Vince tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Then you’d be in breach of contract.”

  “This is bullshit!” Sean slams a fist on the table’s edge and it rattles the tableware.

  “I think I have an idea.” I clear my throat and raise my gaze. The room goes quiet. By their unimpressed expressions they aren’t expecting much. It only makes me want to prove everyone wrong. “I know who our new head of security will be.”

  “This should be rich,” Lipshitz mutters under his breath.

  “Care to share it with the rest of us?” Trent’s lips twitch with the trace of the first smile I’ve seen since yesterday.

  “She’s the perfect woman for the job.” I meet Vince’s unamused stare. “And diversity is something I value. Don’t you?”

  Sean groans and shakes his head. “We aren’t hiring someone you fucked.”

  “Good thing I didn’t, then.”

  “Austin.” Trent squints up at the ceiling and pinches the bridge of his nose. I don’t blame him, because most of the time my ideas are shit. Only, the more I think about it, this one’s perfect.

  “Trust me on this one.” I stare him down until he meets me gaze.

  He blows out a breath. “Trust you?”

  “Yeah, this is about our band. The safety of our fans. I wouldn’t fuck around with either of those.”

  “That’s fair.” Trent nods to Vince. “Let’s hear him out. At least feel out this option. Beats the alternative.”

  “Okay, Aust.” Vince taps his pen against the notepad in front of him. “Who is she?”

  “A retired cop. Head of security for a private company.” I’m stretching the truth now and making shit up. I have no clue whether she retired or quit, or what her title is, but it sounds more enticing this way. “Jayla Miller.” A fucking gorgeous woman. A woman I would surely love to fuck. Throwing her name in the ring holds less than noble motives—motives that include charming my way into her heart and her bed—but beyond that I have a strong feeling she’s someone we could trust to keep us all safe. I might be wrong about a lot of things in life, but I’m going with my gut on this one.

  “I have her number, but maybe we should go straight to her supervisor?” I pull the business card from my pocket, because yeah, I’ve been carrying it around in my wallet since the other night. I aim for an innocent smile, but by the sets of eyes staring me down, I don’t think I’ve fooled anyone. Flipping the card toward Vince, I hope I haven’t made the biggest mistake of my career.

  116

  Jayla

  The croon of Sam Cooke blares through my Bluetooth speaker, transforming my humble apartment to a 1950’s club. I sway my hips to the rhythm and sing along as I pull the bed sheets up and smooth them out before tucking in the sides.

  “Yeah.” I can’t help but sing along and let my body go as I arrange the pillows. “Yeah.” There’s something about the songs from this decade that speak to my soul. I can’t be in a bad mood, not possible, with these classics streaming through my speakers.

  I slide open the closet door and choose a crisp white blouse and dark dress slacks for work tonight. My phone interrupts with my reminder alarm as I’m still getting dressed. Crap. Time to leave. I had a harder time than usual pulling myself from the bed this afternoon. Too many night shifts in a row, overtime because of the holidays, and the concert on my only night off in weeks finally catch up to my body.

  I slide my feet into shoes, button up my shirt, and grab my phone off the dresser on the way into the kitchen. Pulling the fridge open, I snag the snacks I packed earlier and toss them into a lunch bag with a few ice packs. My phone pings with an incoming message and I glance at it.

  Aaliyah: You okay?

  Why wouldn’t I be? Grumbling to myself, I continue getting ready. I’ll respond to her once I’m on my way to work, or maybe tomorrow. I don’t have time to chat feelings. I don’t even have time to think about them on my own. Tonight’s a big job for an even bigg
er client, and I can’t afford to be late. With over two hundred guests and managing a team of ten, I won’t have much downtime.

  I head into the bathroom, check my makeup in the mirror’s reflection one last time, and sling my bag over my shoulder. As I reach for the doorknob, a knock from the other side startles me and my heart practically jumps inside my chest. I check the peephole to find Kalise standing outside. I pull the door open. “Hey.”

  “Are you seeing this?” She pushes inside and straight to my living room.

  “I have to leave for work. I didn’t know you were stopping by,” I say, annoyed and confused at both her intrusion and lack of explanation.

  “Where’s your remote? How do you turn this thing on?” She points at the TV, and when her gaze catches mine I see the panic in her eyes.

  “Kalise?”

  “Just turn on the damn news!” She throws her hands up. “I swear, for someone up-to-date on current events, sometimes you live in your own cave.”

  My irritation morphs to concern. I shut the door and grab the remote, knowing she won’t leave or explain until I do. I flip to my favorited channels and glance at her for direction.

  “Any one. It’s everywhere,” she says.

  I click on a national station, prepared to view one more headline and incident of blatant racism caught on film. Another random and violent act of hate is what I assume. I can’t count the number of times Kalise and I have sat huddled together as we watch such events unfold.

  But the images that play out on my television tonight aren’t what I expect.

  “My God.” My hand flies to my mouth as I take in the scene outside the arena in Salt Lake City. It takes a second for my eyes to wander to the scrolling headlines, and then my vision blurs. “Is he—?” I choke on the question. I can’t lose Austin, not now. Not after I finally saw him again.

  “They weren’t there.” Kalise grips my hand in hers, her voice strong. “I’m sorry, I should have led with that.”

  “Yeah.” I release an exhale and try to recover from the pit of dread that twists in my gut. “What happened?” I don’t know why I ask. The headlines say it all. An explosion. Pre-show, thank God. I can’t imagine the carnage if that venue had been full.