by Kacey Shea
The last day I saw Brianna, I threatened to call CPS on Steve if he didn’t stop. She was six years old. Steve and I got into a fist fight that left my body and my ego bloody and bruised. I was going to move out when I turned eighteen anyway. Steve gave me the push to pack my shit and never look back. Only life’s not so simple. I was the only one who protected Brianna, and after I left she must have felt so alone.
Two years ago my mom called in a panic after Brianna showed up out of the blue, claiming her dad threw her out. While Mom stepped out on the patio to call Steve and light up a cigarette, Brianna ransacked the apartment and made off with all the cash and what few valuables she could find. Steve and Mom had been long broken up by then, and apparently Brianna had been skipping school and hanging with a bad crowd. Local law enforcement found her cell in a trash can at the Greyhound station a few days later. Given her behavior leading to her disappearance, foul play wasn’t suspected.
No one had heard from or seen her since, and from talking to a few of her friends, we think she might have made her way to LA. Which is why my mom reached out. Brianna had always looked up to me. But Bri never came to see me—if she even made it to LA. She’d be seventeen today, and the private investigator I hired to locate her is convinced she’s one of thousands hiding in plain sight as a victim of human trafficking. That or another unthinkable possibility, but I refuse to believe she’s dead.
“I’m just asking,” I grumble into the line so I won’t go off on my mother. I blame them for not being better parents, but mostly I blame myself. If I’d been braver, I would have actually called Child Protective Services on my mom and Steve. Then maybe this would have never happened. If I hadn’t left, or had checked in more, maybe Brianna wouldn’t have felt the need to run.
“That girl won’t come here; her daddy and I aren’t together. And she stole my jewelry and two hundred dollars too.”
“Which I replaced.”
“But she doesn’t know that. And before you bite my head off, I’m not mad about it. Brianna was a good kid. It’s the teen years that changed her. Shame too. Waste. She was such a pretty girl.”
There’s nothing I can say to that. I’m tired of this conversation, and the walk down memory lane.
“But I didn’t call to talk about Bri,” my mom snaps. I’m almost relieved for the change in topic. I already know why she’s calling. It’s the same every time. “I’m a little short on rent.”
“How much?”
“Whatever you can spare. My hours got cut this month. It’s been a struggle. Did I tell you Dale moved out?”
Dale? Last I remembered she was with Eric. Or was it Ron? I honestly can’t keep up and stopped trying. My mom’s co-dependence on men is something I’ve accepted. She attracts guys who are users—namely she supports them financially because she doesn’t like being alone. Until she decides she deserves more, nothing will change.
“Three grand enough?”
“That’s perfect, sweetie.”
Sweetie. I roll my eyes. Pet names only roll off her lips when I send her cash. It’s okay. I have the money. I’d set her up with more if I wasn’t certain she’d blow it all on one of her conniving boyfriends.
“I saw you on the news. You’re all over Facebook with those videos you’re making.”
“Yeah.”
“The woman on there with you? She reminds me of your friend from high school. The one who lived across from us.”
I can’t tell if she actually recognizes Jayla or she’s just generalizing that all black women look alike to her, but for whatever reason I don’t tell her it’s actually Jayla in the videos.
“Speaking of that”—I swallow a surge of anger—“did I ever get any letters? Back in high school?”
“In the mail?” She laughs. “Honey, how would I know? That was over ten years ago.”
“They would have been from Jayla Miller. Our neighbor. After she moved.”
“Jayla! That was her name. She had an older brother too, didn’t she?”
“The letters?”
“Austin, I don’t know about any letters.”
“It’s fine.” But it’s not. Whatever shortcomings my mom has, she’s not much of a liar. I take a little solace from the fact she wasn’t so hateful to keep Jayla’s letters from me. It was Steve. I’m sure of it more than ever.
The green room door swings open and my bandmates emerge, along with the girls. Trent tips his chin toward the waiting carts ready to drive us through the concourse and onto the stage.
I hold up one finger to indicate I’m coming. “Hey, I’ve got to go,” I say to my mom.
Jayla leaves the guys at the golf carts and struts over before I can end the call.
“Sure, of course. The money? Can you wire it Western Union? I don’t know how much longer I can put off the manager. He’s been leaving notices all week.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t care about the money. And as bad as it sounds, it doesn’t bother me knowing my mom is struggling financially when I’m not. It doesn’t matter how much I send, she’ll always need more. “I’ll send it tomorrow. ’Bye.”
“’Bye, Austin.”
I pocket my cell phone and breathe out in relief. She won’t call for at least another six months.
Jayla catches my gaze and lifts her brow. “What was that about?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. A heavy cloud of guilt settles on my shoulders. I should tell Jayla about my mom. The call. Brianna. The private investigator I send way too much money each month to find lost girls. But I can’t put any of this on Jayla, and I won’t risk pushing her away now that we just found our way back. The pressing need to find Brianna, wherever she is, eradicates any regret I have about keeping all of this from Jayla. For now, at least.
“Nothing,” she repeats, leveling me with a stare that calls bullshit.
I roll my eyes and paste on a smile that doesn’t feel quite right. “Another sponsorship offer because of our kickass videos.” The lie tastes bitter on my lips but I push forward anyway. I swing my arm around her shoulder and walk us toward the waiting carts. “Hey! Why don’t we tape a new one after the show? It’s been a while and I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.”
She wriggles out from beneath my arm, a scowl hiding her beautiful features.
I stop walking. “Jayla?”
She clenches her jaw and shakes her head, holding one hand up between us. “We’ll talk later, okay?” She keeps walking toward the carts.
I jog to her side.
“Come on, big boy!” Sean pats the open seat across from him and Jess. “You’re gonna make us late.”
I’d rather take a seat next to Jayla, but she jumps in next to the driver of one of the other carts. Begrudgingly, I climb in across from Sean. If he notices my sour mood, he doesn’t comment on it. Probably because he’s too wrapped up in Jess.
A few minutes later, our crew is deposited at the backstage entrance. The packed stadium repeatedly chants the initials of our band name. “3-U-G. 3-U-G.” Sound techs wait to hand us the in-ear equipment. I slide the flesh colored buds into each ear and hook the battery operated receiver into my belt so it rests over my back pocket.
I should be thinking about the show.
About the opening song.
Anything to do with playing in front of thousands of screaming fans.
But there’s one person on my mind right now, and I can’t seem to drag my feet to the stage without being sure she’s not pushing me away. So instead of lining up by the stage hand, I turn and stride over to where she’s working.
“What’s wrong?” she says as I approach.
“We’re good, right?” I want to reach out and hold her hand in mine, but I hesitate because we haven’t really established any terms to whatever it is we’re doing.
“Focus on your show tonight.” Her gaze softens as if she wants to release my worries. “We’ll talk later. Okay?”
Surprisingly, it’s exactly what I need to settle the seed
of insecurity rattling my mind. “Yeah, okay. It’s a date.” I take a step back, wink, and aim my pointer fingers at her. I swear she fights back a grin, but I don’t have time to stick around. I hustle back to the stage.
She wants to talk. That’s a good sign. Right?
136
Jayla
Austin and I have to talk. If he thinks I’m avoiding him, I’m not. Today has been insane, and by the time we load up to head out to St. Louis, all I want to do is fill my belly and put my feet up. But I can’t do either because I have reports to upload before tomorrow, schedules to approve, agendas to finalize, and time to squeeze in for a private conversation with Austin. All of which feels impossibly overwhelming.
“Jayla, come on. Ditch the salads for one night. This is Chicago deep dish,” Sean tempts as I take a seat at the full table.
“I’m fine.” I wave off his offer and stab a cherry tomato onto my fork. “Besides, there might not be enough.”
“There’s plenty,” Lexi pushes the open pizza box my way.
My mouth waters at the sight of sauce over thick layers of cheese and toppings. I’ve been so good this far. If I had a scale to weigh myself, I bet I’m down at least five pounds. Most things I can resist, but after such a long day, it sure would be nice to overindulge. “Okay, I can’t turn down pizza.” I push my salad to the side to wrap up for tomorrow and grab a plate.
Austin deposits a piece onto my plate with a wicked grin. “Some things are irresistible.”
I should roll my eyes, or glare, but instead his comment sends my mind down memory lane—back to his hotel room—and damn, he’s right. My thighs press together as my body tingles with awareness. He was absolutely sinful, and I want another taste.
“We knew you had a weakness.” Opal winks, and for a second I fear she read my thoughts.
I force a laugh when I realize she’s talking about the pizza, not Austin. “Yeah, I’ve been sticking to my diet, but rules are meant to be broken every now and then.”
Austin coughs, and quickly reaches for his bottle of water.
My face heats with the double meaning to my words, and I keep my gaze on my plate. The pizza is good. The best kind of cheat meal, and I can’t find it in myself to feel guilty. I want a second piece, but I don’t want to be bloated later, so once I’m done with my slice I finish off my salad too.
“Hey, I haven’t seen any videos posted lately.” Opal leans back into her seat and finds my gaze across the table. “If you need someone to hold the camera, I’m game.”
“I was just saying we need to do another,” Austin says through bites of pizza. He grabs his beer and takes a long swig. “What do you say, Jayla? Do we have time tomorrow?”
No! The response almost flies past my lips. Now is the perfect opportunity to tell the band about my phone call with Vince. But I don’t want to create a rift between the guys and their new label. They’ve told me enough about their last manager and how he screwed them over to sell out, that I can’t imagine Vince’s threat to take me off this job would go over well. Deep down I also have to wonder if I told them everything, would they take my side or even believe me? I’d like to think they consider me more than an employee, but life has taught me to be wary.
“Hey.” Austin lowers his voice, but we’re all gathered at one table. Everyone hears. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Before I answer, Opal gasps. One hand flies to her mouth while the other holds her cell. Her hands shake as she drags in a breath.
“What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” Leighton’s eyes widen with a mixture of shock and fear.
Opal shakes her head. “No.” She drops the phone at her side and says it again. “No. It’s not that.”
My spine prickles with alarm. She appears fine. It must have been whatever she saw on her phone.
Leighton runs his hand between her shoulder blades. “What is it?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, but she only holds it a second before turning to Austin. “Have you checked your social media lately? The YouTube channel?”
“No.” He shakes his head and a puzzled frown draws his brows together. “Why?”
“There are”—she swallows and licks her lips before glancing back at me—“some very ignorant and hateful comments.”
Oh. My stomach dips and I can’t settle on whether to be relieved or disappointed. Opal’s fine. Nothing is wrong. But I don’t have to look to imagine the racist and sexist comments that people I’ve probably never met left on our videos. Sometimes I hate the world.
“What? Let me see.” Austin whips out his cell phone.
Trent grabs it out of his hands. “No. Bro, you don’t want to read that shit.” He tips his head to Opal. “Can you delete the comments? Take them down.”
“Of course. Austin, send me your logins and I’ll take care of it.”
Austin’s jaw works back and forth before he blows out a long exhale. “Just take my phone.”
“That because you don’t remember your passwords?” Trent lifts a brow and passes the cell to Opal.
Austin smiles as if he doesn’t want to but can’t help it. “Maybe.”
“Don’t read that shit,” Lexi says to Austin. “You know better.”
He scrubs a hand down his face in frustration. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” She grins smugly, and then turns to catch my gaze. “Words are toxic. They fuck with your head, but we aren’t made of stone. I’ve learned it’s better not to read what people write about me or the people I love.”
I consider her words, and while I have no interest in reading the comments, I also have a different opinion on the matter. “Sometimes it’s not enough to turn the other cheek, or look away and pretend it’s not happening. I don’t have the luxury of ignoring what’s happening in the world.”
She nods, still holding my gaze, and flips her lip ring as she presses her lips together. We couldn’t be more different. Our skin tones are opposite. She’s tatted, pierced, and in my everyday world, I’d never spend time with someone like her. But we’re drawn together by this band, and if I’m honest, so much more. I respect her work ethic and talent, and she’s always treated me well. “You’re right. Sometimes it’s important to acknowledge and speak out against injustice.”
“That’s why our videos are important,” Austin says.
I don’t comment because I’m completely torn on what to do with those. If we were free to do whatever we wanted, I’d want to make another. They are important. Yet, I don’t want to be ripped from this tour. I don’t want to be sent away. Not yet. I hate that it’s a choice I have to make.
“Right.” I nod to Lexi and don’t restrain from holding back my point of view. “My friend Kalise says we have to bide our time and save our voice for the big things. No one listens to the person who complains about every damn thing. But people can’t not hear the truth if you meet them at their humanity. We’re all in this thing together. We’re sisters and brothers. We love. Hurt. Hope. We all bleed.”
“I like Kalise already.” Lexi smiles. “I hide behind my music, but I bleed through my lyrics. Maybe it doesn’t change the world, but it changes the world for those who need to hear my message.” She holds my stare and I swear she sees my past. The assault. And it hits me why she knows. She experienced something similar. We connect on a shared pain. My respect for her grows.
I catch Austin staring with an expression I can’t quite read because it’s one I’ve never seen him wear. It’s more than attraction. It’s more than pride, too. He’s looking at me as if he wants to hear more of what I have to say. My desire to have a relationship, a real and honest one, flourishes under his gaze and for the thousandth time today I allow myself to picture a future in which he and I are together.
“Comments deleted. Users blocked,” Opal states proudly. “At least, the most heinous ones.” She hands Austin his phone and he stops looking at me to take it from her. “I’ll go through the rest tomorrow and make sur
e I didn’t miss any.”
“You’re the best.” He smiles and pockets his phone. “Thanks, little mama.”
Jess and Lexi insist on cleaning up from dinner. The rotation of showers begins, and there’s a steady stream of chatter and movement as everyone settles down from the post-show high. Opal turns in early. She’s really showing now, and I can’t imagine being pregnant on tour is comfortable, but she never complains.
I settle myself into the bench seat with a cup of coffee and my laptop. If I stay focused I can knock this work out in an hour. My mouth opens in a yawn so big my eyes water. The pizza was a bad idea. My belly is full and this coffee could use an espresso shot or two to revive me from the food coma my body wants to give in to.
Speaking of things my body wants to give in to . . .
“Hey.” Austin drags out his greeting as he pulls out an empty chair. His gaze travels greedily over my body, lingering on my breasts until I’m certain he can see the hard peaks of my nipples pushing through my bra and T-shirt. I’d blame it on the air conditioning, but we both know it would be a lie. Self-conscience with everyone still up and about, I grab my laptop and pull it in to my chest.
Austin laughs heartily, drawing everyone’s attention.
I narrow my glare. “Excuse me, but I have work to do.”
“I think you should take a break.” He flashes a smile.
“I’m sure you do.”
“Good. We’re on the same page. Besides, I have a matter that could use your attention.”
I cock my brow at him and motion for him to continue. By the smug ass grin on his face, I doubt it’s an emergency.