by Lisa Suzanne
But I can’t drum right now because my kit’s already broken down and on a bus headed to Boston while I stand in a parking lot punching a bus.
Sometimes I really fucking hate the road.
And sometimes I really fucking hate myself, but that’s a different matter entirely.
“You wanna tell me what’s got you so fucked up tonight?”
I don’t answer, but my eyes automatically flick toward Maci’s bus. Even though she’s the reason I’m pounding my fists into my bus, just a glance at her bus seems to send a calming tranquility through me.
Mark nods. “Thought as much.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“You love her.”
I roll my eyes.
“Admit it, man.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does.”
“I asked her if she’s Dani.” I blurt out the words. Mark and I have no secrets.
He looks surprised. “You did?”
I nod. “I went over to apologize. She had a picture of you and me from high school.”
He shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face before he lets out a low whistle. “Jesus.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sealed it for me.”
“What did she say?”
I glance over at her bus again. I can’t help it. “She didn’t admit it, but I saw it in her fake blue eyes. It’s her.”
“And you just left?”
“No, dude. She ran away from me, locked herself in the bathroom. So I bolted.”
“Out here to stick your fist through the bus,” he finishes for me. “Did it help?”
I shrug.
“Reese!” Mark yells into the quiet night. His wife appears on the bottom step of their bus.
“Yeah?”
“Can you go make sure Maci is okay?” he asks her.
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut like this’ll all go away if I will it to. “Don’t go over there,” I say. They both ignore me.
“Of course,” Reese says, and she walks across the short space between buses, knocks on Maci’s door, and disappears up the steps a few seconds later.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask.
Mark just presses his lips together in a tight smile before he heads back toward his bus. I think about calling out to him, telling him he’s a motherfucker and he overstepped his bounds here, but it won’t do any good. So instead, I head to my own bus where I find the solitude I need and bury my feelings with bourbon.
CHAPTER TEN
ETHAN
A ray of sunshine falls across my eyes. I’m starting to feel my age and I definitely can’t drink like I used to. I squint as the blurriness comes into focus and eventually I force myself out of bed.
My bus is my home on the road. I’m a fairly minimalist guy and I only travel with the essentials. The essentials, aside from clothes and food, include my practice pads, a variety of drumsticks, speakers, and pen and paper. The front of my bus is sort of a mess, but I’ve got my practice pads set up near the corner just outside the bunks. I sit on the stool in front of my makeshift travel drum kit, pick up a pair of my heavy iron practice sticks, and start pounding.
I’m assembling a strong beat in my mind, and I can practically hear the lyrics that accompany this beat. I wonder if this is the one Maci and I should work on together—and then I wonder if we’re still actually doing that.
I get lost in the rhythm, even though this shitty practice set is nothing like my actual drum kit. I stop to jot down some notes about the rhythm, and when I set my pen on top of the pad of paper, I can’t help my glance over at Maci’s bus for the millionth time since this tour started. My blinds are open, and so are hers. I can just barely see her through the tinted windows of both our buses. She’s talking to Griffin with a can in her hand. I can’t tell from here what’s in the can—something so trivial but so telling. Is she drinking a root beer or something lemon lime or some sparkling water at ten in the morning as we arrive in a new city for a concert? I don’t know for sure because I’m not over there with her. Just one of a million tiny, insignificant details I’d know if only she’d give me the chance.
* * *
“Harder, harder, harder, ooooh yeah, right there. Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I mute the sound and watch the big finish on silent. I’m a single guy on a long tour across the country. Even back when I was fucking a different girl every night, I still watched a lot of porn. But now, this isn’t doing much for me. The girl is too whiney and her tits are too big for her petite frame.
I close my eyes and picture Maci’s naked form. I only got the chance to bang her a few times, but she was definitely different from everyone else. I try to remember the soft, tight feel of her. I picture the time we fucked when the condom broke, when I wailed away at her like I couldn’t ever stop. I think of my hands grabbing her tits roughly, the sly smile she didn’t even know she gave me when I’d push the line of decency, the way her eyes screwed shut when I’d line the pleasure with a hint of pain.
When my mind goes to the time we did it in the back of the limo without a condom, just a few naked dips in...I lose it.
I come all over my hand, and the release in the privacy of my own bedroom on my own bus feels good. As the warmth spreads from my balls up into my stomach, though, I find that the feeling fades quickly. There’s no afterglow when you take care of yourself. No one to kiss in the shiny gloss that comes after an orgasm. Instead, my hand’s all sticky and I need a tissue to clean off my cock. I grab a rag that could probably use some laundering and take care of the mess, and then I stare up at my ceiling in lonely desolation for a few quiet minutes.
My phone rings, and I glance at the screen. I suppose I can’t put her off any longer. “Hey, Pen.”
“Ethan Fuller, if you ignore my calls again, I swear to God I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Keep trying?”
Penny laughs. “Ass. Listen, I booked you a solo radio show tomorrow morning. Mark’s on a local news show and Steve and James are taking Angelique and Morgan to some fancy hotel and they’re not to be bothered. It’s in Connecticut and they want you in-studio. Make it work.”
“What time?”
“Six.” She says it so fast I almost miss her apologetic tone. I’m not really one for early mornings.
“Tomorrow?” I ask. I’m just verifying my publicist actually booked me for a show at six o’clock in the morning. In a new city. The morning after a concert.
“Yep.”
“Fuck you.”
“Don’t go to sleep. That’s like three LA time. Just be sober by then.”
“You’re an asshole,” I say. “I’m gonna have to get something to keep me awake.” I’m hinting I’ll take drugs as a way to piss her off. It’s part of the flirty banter we have. I say shit to piss her off, and she acts like band mother.
“I swear to God, you make this job so much harder than it has to be.”
“Yeah, well I’m also keeping you gainfully employed,” I say dryly.
“Considering the messes I’ve had to clean up between you and the old Mark, you’re damn right.”
I chuckle. “I miss the old Mark.”
“I don’t. This new leaf he has...just leave him the hell alone, you hear me?”
“Whatever.”
“Vick told me bus call is midnight tonight, so I expect your ass to be there and ready to travel to Connecticut.” Her tone is firm and I hate her a little more than usual.
“I told you not to book me on morning shit.”
“And I told you I’d take your request into consideration. I did, and then I tossed it in the trash. Listen to me, we’ve gotta strike in Hartford before your show on Tuesday to get your fans excited.”
“Fine,” I mumble.
“How long’s it been?” she asks.
“Since what?”
“Since you had sex.” She says it like it’s obvious. “You’re usually not this cranky unless you�
��ve got too much spunk sitting in your nuts.”
“Real professional, Pen.”
She laughs. “I’ve already texted Chuck firm instructions to have you there on time.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“One more thing before I let you go.”
I exhale an exasperated breath. “What?”
“We’ve got Vail-slash-Dane studio time booked in New York and Vick tells me she and Maci’s manager are working to find something for you and her in Chicago in a couple weeks. Is that still the plan?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. It’s probably not, but Maci’s professional enough that even if she wants to avoid me, she won’t avoid my band.
“Okay, just making sure because it sounded like Maci’s guy expressed hesitance.”
“Get it booked,” I say. “I’ll make sure Maci’s there.” And if she’s not, then I’ll just use the studio time to practice my solo shit.
“What’s going on with you two?”
“Honestly? Absolutely nothing right now. But I’m working on it.”
“She’s a good one, Ethan. And I know beneath your asshole douchebag exterior, you are, too.”
“Thanks, Pen. Means a lot coming from a cunt like you.”
She laughs. “Love ya, Fuller.”
I laugh, too. “Back at you, Hayes.”
We hang up, and I realize I need a plan. Maci and I still have a song to write. We got a decent start, and I have more ideas, but I want to write it together with her, not on my own. This is our song, our thing, not mine and not hers. I don’t have any idea if she’ll still be on board for this, though, and I can’t figure out what the fuck I did that she won’t even give me a second of her time or admit who she really is to me.
Fuck it. I wash my hands and take my semi-relaxed ass over to her bus. I knock on the door, and Griffin steps down to answer it a second later. I really fucking hate this guy, and not just because he’s already warned me off of her twenty-seven thousand times. He’s like her goddamn gatekeeper, and I just want to get in to see her. Usually security in a bus lot isn’t quite this necessary, but I suppose Griffin is just trying to keep the bad guys—namely me—out.
I let him keep me from her for two damn weeks on this tour already, and I’m not allowing it a second longer—not when I need to see her again as badly as I do.
“What do you want, Ethan?” Griffin asks. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and this could be my way in—exploiting his weakness.
“Maci and I started writing a song together, and I’d like to finish it. Alone.” I say the last part as almost an afterthought, though I don’t want him around when I’m trying to write.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong.”
He chuckles and blinks. His fist tightens on the handrail. “No, Ethan. That’s where you are wrong. She’s not feeling well and she needs rest.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, immediately on alert.
“Same as yesterday. Food poisoning.”
“Let me in,” I say. “I’ll take her to the doctor. I’ll take care of her.”
I put my foot up on the bottom step, but Griffin blocks my way even more with his body.
“I’ve got it handled,” he says.
“You took her to the doctor?” I ask.
He nods. “Last night before the buses took off.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“That’s classified.”
“You’re not the FBI. Why won’t you tell me?” I ask. I wonder if it’s because he’s lying—maybe he doesn’t really know at all.
He shrugs. “I like seeing you miserable.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not. I work for Maci, not for you. I’m here to make this tour as comfortable and safe as possible for her, and every time you show up, both those things are compromised. I have a feeling it isn’t food poisoning at all.”
“You’re insinuating I somehow made her sick?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She seems to get worse every time you’re around. What does that tell you?”
“Are you a fucking doctor now?” I spit out.
“No, man. Just a guy who cares about that girl, and I’m not about to let you fuck her up even more.”
“Griff?” I hear Maci’s voice call from somewhere on the back of the bus.
“Yeah?” he yells back.
“I need some more crackers,” she calls.
“Let me,” I say. I’m pleading and I know it, but he holds the keys for me to see her.
“No, man.”
“Did she tell you not to let me on?”
“Not in so many words,” he admits.
“Then you’re keeping me from her, and I need to see her.”
He blows out a breath and turns around without inviting me on the bus. I take the fact that he didn’t say no as an invitation anyway and I climb the steps to follow him.
He grabs some saltines off the counter on his way toward the back of the bus, and I trail behind him through the forward cabin and the bunks, and then we’re at her door.
This place feels like home. I’ve spent almost as much time on Maci’s bus as I have on my own, but hers has this touch of home mine’s missing. A woman’s touch, maybe—something I never considered important, but suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the entire world. My bus is all dark and black and masculine, while hers is white and bright and feminine. I should hate it since its cheerful optimism goes against everything I believe in, but it smells like lavender and I want to spend every waking second on it.
With her.
Touching her and kissing her and loving her.
The word scares me even in my head—love. It’s so heavy for four little letters. I write songs about it, act like I know what it is...but I don’t. Having never experienced it myself...well, it’s hard to give away something you’ve never had.
My mother flashes through my mind. She might’ve loved me, but she had a funny way of showing it. I loved her with everything I had, but all her attention went to the assholes who walked through the revolving front door of our house.
If I were a psychologist, I’m sure I’d put together the reason I love Maci’s bus so much is because it has this sense of home to it I’ve never felt in any other place before...except a high school hallway as I rolled a brown strand of an innocent sophomore’s hair between my thumb and forefinger. It was a transcendent episode in an otherwise nondescript life of a brooding teenager, a strange and lovely possibility for the future a seventeen-year-old never even hoped for as he smoked weed and practiced drumming on a shitty three-piece set that cost a hundred bucks secondhand. I pieced together more from various Goodwill stores and dumpsters behind music schools. It took me forever to build my first real kit, but finding the individual pieces became something of a challenge. And then my best friend Mark completed my set with a Christmas gift one year: the floor tom I’d been searching for.
I still have that set. It’s in the basement of my LA home, a stark reminder of where I started and how far I’ve come. The brooding teenager still resides inside, though, and I fear the only one who can get him to pack up his bags and leave sits on a bed on a tour bus asking for crackers from her manager.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” she spits when her eyes fall on me.
God, she’s beautiful. Even from the doorway, I see the way her eyes flash with anger, and all it does is fuel my need for her further as my cock presses roughly against my zipper.
“I came to talk to you,” I say softly.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she hisses. “Griff, do your goddamn job for once.”
He looks hurt by her words, and he should feel hurt by them. He works his ass off for her, and she undervalues him by far. He’s clearly in love with her, given up any chance at a life of his own by agreeing to travel the country as her sidekick, but he has no chance with her. Not when I
’m in the picture, that’s for sure.
“He told me I wasn’t welcome,” I say, “but I ignored him.”
“Great security staff I’ve got,” she mutters.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.
“Debatable.”
Griff looks back and forth between us like he’s watching a tennis match.
“Physically you’re safe.” I shoot her my smile that melts the panties off most women, but I find it doesn’t work on her. Damn shame.
“Am I?” she asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She raises a brow, and the broken condom flashes through my mind. That was an accident for both of us, not something that happened intentionally. I’ve had a pin of anxiety in the pit of my stomach since it happened.
“Nothing,” she mutters.
Griffin finally pipes up. “You want me to get rid of him?” he asks. I glance over at him. He’s got a couple inches on me and he’s buff as fuck, but I’ve got the advantage of speed and a big fat dose of don’t-give-a-fuck on him. I could take him.
To my utter shock, she shakes her head. She takes the first bite of cracker as she sits in bed. “Can you give us a few minutes?”
Griffin purses his lips as if he doesn’t approve and then he disappears out the door. I slam it behind him and grin smugly at my girl on the bed.
“You feeling any better?” I ask. I sit on the very edge of the bed, far away from her to give her the space she clearly needs.
She doesn’t return my smile. “Don’t sit. Don’t get comfortable. I just wanted to tell you to leave me alone.”
I ignore her words and watch as she drops her cracker, crumbs spilling everywhere on her blanket. “You know the old saying about not kicking a girl out of bed for eating crackers?”
I expect her to crack a smile, but she doesn’t. Instead, she glares at me. Apparently my expectations are way off.
“Come on!” I laugh. “That’s funny.”