Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  “Someone died.”

  “I can see that.” The words taste bitter in my mouth. Senseless. These things are always fueled by hate, and bringing terror to what should have been a safe place. Accidents happen every day, and for that I’ve become hardened to most things. But this? This should never have happened. “They better catch whoever did this.”

  “Reporters say it might have been targeted at the band.”

  “This was last night?” I’m usually one to flip the news on before bed, but when I got back early this morning I was exhausted, both from dinner at Mama’s, and then eight hours following a client as she flitted all over Los Angeles.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know until it was all over Facebook today. I’m sorry.”

  The screen cuts to images from outside the stadium. The band, visiting the hospital and sitting with patients, the ones injured from the blast. I turn up the volume at the sight of Austin and the band.

  “Off Track Records, a division of WMI, declined an official press conference at this time, but that didn’t stop all four members of Three Ugly Guys, and front man Trent Donavan’s girlfriend Lexi Marx, from stopping by the hospital to visit survivors of the explosion.”

  They’re all there, but my eyes only see him. He looks exhausted. Worry lines etch his forehead and don’t disappear with his smile. The impulse to go to him, to reach out, hits me with an unsettling power. Which is ridiculous on so many levels.

  I regret my decision to not get his number when I had the chance, because I want nothing more than to check whether he’s okay. Of course he’s not, but still. I’d let him know he’s not alone.

  “The band didn’t spend much time with reporters, but what they did say reiterates the messages posted on social media accounts.”

  “We are devastated that something like this has happened and are working with law enforcement, our label, and contracted security to ensure the safety of our fans.” Trent speaks and appears so much older than I remember him a few days ago.

  A reporter shoves a mic at Sean Willis, which he graciously speaks into. “Our hearts are with everyone here and their families, especially Jessica Meeks, the concession worker who passed away from injuries she sustained.”

  Leighton, the latest drummer for their band, holds a young woman to his side. “We’ve personally committed to covering the medical care for what happened last night. We don’t want that burden to be a thought in anyone’s mind. Many of these people we consider family. They should be focused on fighting for a full recovery.” It’s the right thing to do, and I like hearing the commitment.

  The feed cuts to Austin, and I can’t help the way my pulse speeds at the sight of him. “We apologize to our fans. You guys have been amazing. We don’t want to cancel shows, but we refuse to put anyone else in danger. Know that we will make it up to you, and reschedule as many shows as it takes.”

  “Are you saying this isn’t an isolated incident? That you expect other venues to be targeted on this tour?” a reporter calls out.

  Austin’s lips pinch together and he appears seconds from going off.

  Trent shakes his head. “We aren’t speculating on anything. We are letting law enforcement do their job.” He puts an arm around Austin.

  The camera cuts out and pans back to images at the arena, but it’s Austin’s voice they use for the sound bite. “This won’t happen again. I can personally attest that we’re hiring the best security personnel possible.”

  Kalise clears her throat. “I should have called, but I was already so close and thought I could catch you before work.”

  “Shit. Work.” I dig my cell out of my bag and dial the number to my boss, Larry, the owner of the private security firm I work for. Crap. He’s gonna be pissed if I’m late.

  Kalise reads my mind. “I’ll drive you.”

  The line connects. “Just the woman I’m expecting to see.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m on my way now.”

  “No. It’s fine, actually. If you haven’t left your house yet, don’t.”

  Shit. He wouldn’t fire me for being late this one time, would he?

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Fifteen tops.” I turn the television off and signal for Kalise to follow me out the door. “I promise this won’t impact tonight’s client or the security detail.”

  “Jayla.” His tone is forceful. “Don’t come in. I’m calling you off.”

  “What? Why?” Key in the deadbolt, I freeze as my mind struggles to play catch-up. Is this about me being late? Or something more?

  “We signed a contract today, and I need you. In fact, they requested you specifically, and it’s in the terms of the agreement.”

  “I’m not a commodity you can trade.” My pulse kicks up with how easily I’ve been put off tonight’s gala. I spent the past month prepping for this job. No one knows the guest list or the venue better than me.

  “Sorry, Jay. This is important.”

  “Bigger than the Vanderkamps?” I don’t buy it. Larry and I have always been cordial, but it’s hard to believe this isn’t personal.

  “Big time, baby. You’re going on the road for the next six weeks.”

  “What?” We don’t do travel. Our firm is small and it’s not in the budget. My stomach fills with dread. “Who the hell has you sending me away?”

  “Off Track Records. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. One of their clients had a security breach before a show, and their lead is out for the rest of the tour.” He blows out a long breath. “Shit. I thought you knew these Three Ugly Guys. At least, that’s what I assumed after talking with their legal team.”

  Austin. I let loose a groan. I’m irritated he didn’t call or ask me before going to my boss. At the same time, I’m eager to see him again. After watching the news, I can only imagine what he’s going through, as well as the rest of the band. That natural impulse to help, protect, and serve steps up at the chance. “Please tell me I at least get paid OT for this.”

  “Jayla, Jayla. Don’t worry about it. I got you, girl.”

  “Larry, Larry. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Fine. Time and a half.”

  “Double.”

  “Don’t be like that, baby,” he draws out the words and I refrain from gagging. I don’t respond. He’s a fool if he thinks ‘baby’ works on someone like me. “Time and a half, and when you get back we discuss your promotion.”

  My heart leaps with his offer. I don’t know whether he’s serious or just pulling leverage, but either way I’ll hold him to it. “Promotion with a raise.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Now turn around, go home, pack your bags. Find someone to feed your fish because they’re sending a car at six a.m. tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have a fish.”

  “Good. Makes it easier to leave.” He clears his throat. “Don’t screw this up, Jay.”

  “Yes, sir.” I end the call and turn to Kalise.

  She’s been silent this entire time, watching me from across the apartment landing. She lifts her keys and dangles them. “We going or not?”

  “Not.” I drop my gaze, shaking my head a few times before I meet her stare. “I’m going on tour.”

  She lifts her brow in question.

  “Three Ugly Guys.” It hits me, suddenly and very real, what exactly I just agreed to. “I’m going on tour with Three Ugly Guys.”

  Her eyes bug out and then her face splits with a smile. “Oh, my fucking God! Girl. On tour? With that hot rock star boy of yours? Oh, honey, you are so screwed.” She laughs like it’s some joke.

  And hell, I think she’s right.

  117

  Austin

  She’s on board. I don’t know how the suits pulled it off, but last night before we caught a plane back to LA, we were informed Jayla Miller accepted the position of temporary head of security for the remainder of the Three Ugly Guys North American tour.

  And thank fuck for that. I don’t see how I or any of the guys w
ould have been willing to head on to the next show without increased safety measures in place. We can’t take any more risks.

  Visiting with the victims and their families last night was a sobering experience. That can’t ever happen again. Not on our watch. Our security team before was obviously not enough. We were all naïve to think something like this couldn’t happen.

  I check the time on my phone before staring out at the horizon from my place on the patio. It’s almost time to head out to Off Track Records for a few meetings, and I can’t deny I’m looking forward to them, only because they involve Jayla.

  I can’t wait to see her again. I thought about calling her or texting, but held off because as much as our past connects us, she’s a stranger. A stranger I trust with my life. With this band. I don’t know why, but I do. I know we’ve had years apart, but inherent goodness doesn’t change, and Jayla Miller has always been a saint.

  Doesn’t surprise me that she’s had a career in law enforcement or security. She always tried to protect me from the shit that went on at home, and school too. But I wonder what led her to such a tough profession. It doesn’t quite fit the girl I knew. Her parents always expected her to go to college. They worked labor-intense jobs like my mom did, and were gone a lot of the time. But Jay’s parents pushed her to do well in school, get good grades, whereas I was a lost cause.

  The school thing never came easy to me, and my mom knew it. Honestly, the only reason I pulled straight B’s my freshman and sophomore years was directly related to the girl next door. The one I was crushing on and who always wanted to study.

  I delight in knowing I’ll finally get to fill in the years we’ve had apart. I never stopped thinking about her. She was so much a part of my life, until she wasn’t. We were latchkey kids, with big responsibilities and too much freedom. I never had to explain myself to Jayla. She always just knew. I always crushed on her, even when she broke my heart. But still, she never made me feel like an idiot, even when I embarrassed myself. It’s weird, because I feel as if all of these crazy circumstances—her showing up unexpectedly at the meet and greet, the need to hire better security, all of it—have given me something I didn’t realize I’d been hoping for.

  A second chance. A replay. The chance to get to know her. Even more, the opportunity to win back my best friend. If I’m being real, I’m hopeful for more. Like a chance to prove to her my skills in the bedroom have improved exponentially since the last time we explored our sexual tension. I’m not holding my breath, because I know it’s a long shot. But I have six weeks to charm my way back into her life.

  Challenge accepted.

  “Come on. Let’s head out. Sean and Leighton left already.” Trent stirs me from my thoughts and I glance up from where I lean against the patio wall. His gaze glances to the joint pinched between my fingers. “Really? Dude, we’ve got meetings all day.”

  “Don’t be such a tight-ass.” I snuff out the flame and tuck the weed on a decorative rack of potted flowers.

  “You realize you haven’t changed, like at all, in the fifteen years I’ve known you.”

  He’s not wrong. I’ve been hiding joints from Trent’s mom since we started hanging out in high school.

  “And that’s a problem?” I paste a grin on my lips and push past him, walking through the house and toward the garage.

  “I guess not.” He sighs but I hear it—the sliver of concern. I can’t hide from Trent. Drug and alcohol use, as recreational as it is, have become a behavior of concern, considering everything we’ve been through this past year.

  “I’m cool. Swear.” I turn and catch his gaze, holding his stare to convince him everything’s fine. It’s not. But I’m not spiraling out of control. This shit with the explosion has me rattled, and smoking helps me relax. I’m sure it’s the stress of all that’s happening, but every time I’ve tried to sit still since finding out that concession worker died—because she was hoping to get a closer glimpse of us—I can’t stop my heart from racing.

  Even sneaking down to the practice studio this morning didn’t help. The room began to feel like a cage. Not a response I was anticipating when music has always been my escape.

  Trent finally nods. The corners near his eyes still crinkle with apprehension but his lips twist up with the hint of a smile. “You’re a pain in the ass. You know that?”

  “Yeah, yeah, you love me.”

  “Who does Trent love? And who do I have to kill?” Lexi comes around the corner still dressed in pajamas and holding a steamy cup of coffee in her hands. Despite the threat, her face holds no animosity. If anything, she’s minutes from laughter. She trusts him. Any of the women I’ve slept with, and there’ve been many, would be jealous as fuck if we joked like this—rightfully so—but Lexi trusts that Trent would never cheat on her, and he feels the same. I suddenly ache for that kind of closeness. Trusting someone the way they do—it’d be nice.

  “Aust does, but don’t kill him because I don’t think our band can handle the search for another musician. We’ve got enough problems.” He places a quick kiss on her lips. “We’ll be at the studio late. Dinner?”

  “Yeah. Your mom’s planning lasagna. Your favorite.”

  “No, I want to take you out. Just the two of us.”

  “Oh.” Her lips curve up with her smile, and she glances to the floor before meeting his smitten grin. “Okay.”

  He kisses her once more.

  I take that as my cue and make a show of dragging my feet loudly down the hall and out to the garage. I shake my head at Trent when he catches back up. “I don’t understand.”

  “What? Love?”

  “Stupidity. Why you gonna pass up a free meal and go through all the hassle of going out—paps, fans—all for a sure thing? Lexi doesn’t need all that. She only wants you.”

  Trent meets my gaze over the hood of his car. “You’re fucking clueless. She doesn’t need it, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve it. I won’t stop showing her she’s important just because it requires a little planning and work. She’s my girl. I want her to feel special every moment I can.”

  I open the passenger door and slide into the seat. “I get it. Sort of.”

  “I feel sorry for whoever you end up with.” He brings the engine to life and checking his mirrors before pulling out.

  “What? Why? I’m a fucking catch.”

  “Sure, man.” He rolls his eyes and hits the remote to open the property’s gate. “Sure.”

  Imagine my disappointment when Jayla isn’t at the studio. From what I’ve gathered, mostly by flirting with the front receptionist, WMI sent her downtown to some meeting with local law enforcement and she won’t be here till after lunch.

  They’ve delayed the tour for the next three days. Apparently that’s how long it’ll take to put measures in place to safely get us back on the road, but I’m not entirely confident. Just because some team of analysists has weighed the cost versus risk assessment and spit out a benign number doesn’t change a damn thing. I’d feel better if the detectives in Salt Lake found who left the explosive to begin with. I try not to let the heaviness of the situation ruin my mood.

  Amid all of this, our label has us laying down tracks for a new single. WMI thought it’d be a good use of our time, since we’re here in LA anyway. I think it’s just another way for them to squeeze as much as they can out of our contract.

  The song is one we wrote with Opal and performed during a few live shows, so it’s easy enough to record. Only, the restlessness I’ve been fighting over the past few days is back in full force and rattles my nerves so badly I feel as though the walls are about to crash in.

  “I need a smoke,” I say to no one in particular, and shove to my feet.

  Trent glances up from his phone, but doesn’t pull the headphones from his ears.

  Sean taps a pencil against the notebook on his lap. His legs are extended, resting on the small table in front of the couch he leans back into. “Want company?”

  “No
, I’m good.” I’m not, but if he knows, he doesn’t argue. “I won’t be long.”

  “Don’t go all mellow on me. You’re up in fifteen,” one of the studio techs says absently from the soundboard. He’s a cool dude and I’ve joined him to hit a joint before, so his warning is nothing more than business.

  “I’m kicking it old school,” I joke, grabbing a pack of Camels and a lighter from the table.

  He chuckles but hardly lifts his gaze, his focus on the fiberglass window where Leighton wails on his skins from the other side.

  My strides are long and purposeful as I weave my way through the halls and out the back entrance. As soon as the crisp winter air and Los Angeles sunshine hit my face, I suck in a breath and exhale as if I’ve just run a mile. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it’s fucking annoying. My stomach aches, almost as if my insides have been tied in knots and I’m just now realizing it.

  I pull out a cigarette and light up, irritated that within a matter of days I’ve relapsed to a habit I’d all but kicked. I should go back to the patch again, get this under control before I completely fall back into old patterns. But I already know that won’t be nearly as satisfying. It’s not the nicotine I crave as much as the peacefulness of stepping outdoors, the slow drag of an inhale, an even slower exhale, and then the chill vibe that takes over my body. It’s my form of yoga, or meditation or some shit.

  “Oh, hiya, Austin.” Casey comes around the side of the building.

  And there goes my chill.

  “Hey, Lipshitz.” I brace myself for whatever crap is about to spew from his mouth. Even though I know he doesn’t smoke, I stick my cig between my lips and hold the pack out to him in offering.

  He shakes his head in the negative, but doesn’t leave when I exhale a long breath of smoke.