“Hey, Gary,” Nessa said in a low voice as she reached us and then turned to me. “What are you still doing up?”
I shrugged. “Just holding down the fort with Gary. What are you doing up, Vanessa?” I asked with a smile.
Her blush was exactly what I needed at that moment. It intensified as she stumbled out her excuse. “Uhhhh...Just grabbing some water. Can I get you anything, Gary?”
He pointed at his full glass. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Right,” she said, glancing over her shoulder but Will hadn’t emerged from the washroom yet. “How far are we?”
“A couple of hours. There’s a rest stop up the road a bit—I’ll probably grab a few minutes to stretch my legs and use the washroom.”
Nessa nodded, though she looked like she’d already checked out. I wondered if she’d even been listening. “Well, I guess I’ll go back to bed,” she said.
“You’re going to get that drink first though, right?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes at me and resorted to soundless name-calling, expecting me to read her lips to get the message. Which I did, loud and clear. Still: pretty darn entertaining.
Just then, Will came out of the bathroom and gave a little wave. He looked pointedly at Nessa for one lingering moment and then climbed into his bunk.
“I should hit my bunk,” I said, groaning as I hauled my butt out of the comfy chair. “Good night...er...Good morning, Gary,” I said.
“Sweet dreams, Sandy,” he said.
I put an arm around my friend and pulled her against me as I tugged her toward the kitchenette, whispering in her ear, “I won’t tell, but I know there’s something going on with you and Will.”
She gasped and leaned back away from me to look in my eyes. “What?”
I lifted an eyebrow at her. “Please,” I mouthed and then leaned in and said right into her ear, “You’d better fill me in on this asap.”
She whispered, “Are you mad?”
I shook my head.
“You sure? You said you had chemistry.”
I pushed away from her so she would see me roll my eyes. “Only to force you to make a move. You two were moving sooooo slow. I couldn’t stand the waiting anymore.”
“Because I don’t date on tour!” her voice was still mostly breath, but her wide, incredulous eyes added the exclamation point.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Shut up,” she said without heat. Her shoulders were slumped, and I knew it was because hooking up in the middle of the night on the tour bus, even if it was just for flirting and talking, sort of made a liar out of her with respect to that whole, ‘I don’t date on tour’ mantra. She had the best of intentions and was way stronger than me, but I could hardly blame her—hormones could be very powerful things.
“It’s happening though, right?” I asked.
She bit her lip and looked toward the bunks, her cheeks pinking adorably.
“Never mind,” I said. “I already know.”
I got an eye-roll for that.
“Don’t worry; I’m not going to tell. I’m seriously really happy for you,” I said, looking into her eyes because I really meant it.
She nodded in thanks. “It got weird with Andy, I don’t want it to—”
“It won’t be like that with Will,” I said, sure of it. One hundred percent sure. Will wasn’t an arrogant douche who wanted to be adored more than he wanted a girlfriend. He was a good guy. Good enough for my best friend.
It struck me at that moment how far I’d come in such a short time—thinking that a famous rock star like Andy wasn’t anywhere near good enough for my friend—a mere mortal girl.
“What?” she asked. “What’s got you smiling like that?”
“Nothing,” I said, suddenly really, really exhausted and tired of talking. “I’ll explain later.”
I removed my arm from her shoulders and was about to head to bed when she grabbed my arm. “What about you? Tell me about your night.”
I managed to rustle up a tiny bit of energy and did a little cowboy dance, miming swinging a lasso. “Yee haw,” I said softly with a wag of my eyebrows.
I didn’t let on that I was sad about the thing with Ted being over before it started, that I sort of wished it was more than just a hookup. I don’t know why I didn’t want her to know—she was my best friend, after all. It just felt complicated to explain, especially here and now while I was half asleep and we were whispering as the bus swayed under us, motoring down the road. Maybe I felt stupid about getting caught up in him, especially when I knew going in that it was a time-limited offer.
As she looked at me for a long moment, looking like she wasn’t done with the subject, I made a big production of yawning, barely covering my mouth with a palm before I rolled my neck and said a pointed, “You can stay up if you’re awake and have things to do. I’m heading to bed.”
Her withering look told me she understood I was clearing the way for her hookup to proceed.
I bumped my shoulder into hers affectionately. “Please make sure I’m up by quarter past never. I’m so sleeping in.”
“G’night,” she said, giving me a push toward the morgue.
As I began the climb into my tiny bunk, it squeaked under my foot. Suddenly Will’s head poked out from his. I nodded toward the front of the bus and gave him a wink as if to say, “All yours.”
He gave me the same wide-eyed stare Nessa had just a few minutes before, and I had to suppress a laugh, but seriously, did they think I was blind and clueless?
RV Park
When I woke up and pulled my earplugs out, the first thing I noticed was that the bus wasn’t moving. The second was that it was quiet, and it wasn’t the not-so-quiet of a bunch of people who were trying to not make noise, but still spoke in hushed tones and rustled around the bus. No, this quiet was the sort of dead silence that told me everyone had left.
A sudden snore, one that I now recognized as Gary’s, came from a bunk closer to the back of the bus, making me smile. Okay, so there really was no such thing as complete, dead silence on tour. But this was about as close as it could get.
I anchored my feet against the far wall of my bunk and reached my arms overhead, pressing my palms into the top end in a surprisingly satisfying stretch. After waking up my muscles, I grabbed my phone, not surprised to see it was after noon, which explained the lack of bodies on the coach.
As I looked through my messages, most of them were social media alerts and spam—still nothing from my dad, which was starting to get a little concerning. I sent another message to that unknown number and waited while I took a quick glance at everything else.
No response again. I wondered if it was a throwaway phone that he’d, you know, thrown away. But then why get in touch in the first place?
I was going to have to call my grandmother because this was getting weird. I gave my father until that night to contact me, and if not by then, I’d call her.
Once I was done with my own stuff, I did a pass of the various Wiretap feeds to make sure no more drama had occurred while I was sleeping. My scheduled messages had gone out as planned, getting a ton of responses and forwards, which was great. I’d have to check later to see if anything needed responding to, but at a quick glance, all was positive. Even just overnight, their numbers had gone up exponentially.
The internet was blowing up with love for Will’s performance of his grandfather’s song, making him an even bigger deal than he had been just hours ago. I was so glad he was staying on and not just because I liked him and he was the perfect guy for my best friend. He was meant to be in Wiretap and with him staying on, everything was falling into place. They couldn’t have asked for a better launch and first weeks.
Except for that whole stalker thing, of course. Speaking of, I navigated to her Instagram feed, which I had bookmarked, but Laura Bishop had been oddly silent, which meant either she was done w
ith Max (unlikely) or she was regrouping. Hoping for the former, I suspected it was, unfortunately, the latter and figured maybe she was on the road to our next gig. Not much we could do now but hope she wasn’t literally following the tour bus.
Hmm. Unlikely that she was, but I’d check with Tony in case it was a possibility. We did not need her showing up at our rest stops and layovers.
With the preliminary social media check out of the way, I wiggled into some clothes (a feat that had not gotten much easier with practice), grabbed my little toiletries bag, and rolled out of my bunk to start my day.
Gary was still softly snoring when I emerged from the bathroom a little while later, feeling like a real human again. A ravenous human, but a Homo sapiens nonetheless.
I bent down to look out through the windows and saw the bus was indeed situated in the RV park, nestled among trees and other large recreational vehicles. Some had awnings and barbecues set up—it was a real family summer vacation place. I bet if I listened really hard, I would hear the high voices of children playing in the distance.
It was at that moment that I realized we were just days (how many, I wasn’t sure) away from the fourth of July, a day that held bittersweet memories for me. I’d spent my early ones as many kids did: at family cookouts where I’d eat a lot and struggle to stay up late enough to watch fireworks. But then, as I got older, more and more summers were spent in Europe. No cookouts. No fireworks. And worse—family that didn’t care so much to be together. The Thibeault family really put the independence in Independence Day.
I shook off the thought and was about to turn to grab a swimsuit out of my bunk to join everyone at the pool (because where else would they be?) when I noticed a guy striding quickly and with purpose up toward the bus. It only took a glance to recognize the blonde tangle of hair and the rigid set of Max’s shoulders as he approached. Though something was off about his stride. I’d lived and worked with the guys enough to notice, even in such a short time, that something was different about his walk.
Then he seemed to sidestep for no reason, and I was immediately reminded of my father at Christmas one year when a client had sent him an expensive bottle of scotch, and he had been determined to put a solid dent in it. He’d done a lot of sidestepping that night, so much that he’d nearly fallen down a flight of stairs.
I told myself that it had to be another explanation, because Max, the guy who had signed a contract saying he would remain booze and drug-free, couldn’t possibly be drunk. But as I thought this, I realized he was headed straight for the bus. In an effort to head him off, I slid into my flip-flops, and, as quietly as I could, went down the stairs and through the door, closing it softly behind me.
“Max,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh look, it’s just the girl I wanted to see.” There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t like. One that made me get my back up immediately.
“Are you having a stroke? You must be,” I said and crossed my arms. He did a double take, complete with a bunch of slow blinks like he was trying to bring me into focus as I went on. “Because there is no possible way you are drunk right now. Is there, Max?”
But then he got close, right up in my face and I could smell it on him. Not a disgusting stale-brewery-been-on-a-bender-for-weeks kind of smell, but just enough of a bite of something strong to confirm my suspicions.
He swallowed and blinked a few more times before saying, “How could you?”
It was my turn to do a double take. “How could I what? Know that you’re loaded? Please. It’s obvious.”
He shook his head and laughed humorlessly before he looked away. “No. Be with him.”
Whoa. Be with him? Was this about last night? “What is happening right now, Max?”
He didn’t say anything, and I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me. I was about to repeat myself when his head swiveled and he looked at me. “What’s happening? I have no idea. No, that’s not true. I do know what’s happening. My entire freaking world is falling apart.”
“You’re drunk,” I said.
He shrugged not denying it. Which, how could he?
“You need gum or something; I can smell it on you.”
Without a word, he pulled a pack of mints out of his pocket and popped a handful in his mouth. A big handful that he crunched loudly. It would have been funny if I wasn’t so upset with him and we weren’t having this conversation that I had a feeling was about to go nuclear.
I waved him off when he offered me the pack. “Where did you get booze?” The answer didn’t matter as much as the one I really wanted, which was: Why?
“From home.”
I suddenly saw movement over his shoulder and panicked, but thankfully, it wasn’t Tony or anyone else from our crew—just kids throwing around a football.
“You know,” I said. “If Tony catches you like this, you’re out. Off tour, out of the band. Completely finished. Is that what you want?” I realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question; I really wanted to know what his endgame was. I wondered if he even knew.
“What do I want?” he said, his tone challenging.
“Yes, what do you want? What is going on, Max?”
His eyes scanned my face, but then he seemed to change tacks, the challenge draining out of him, making his shoulders slump a little. “Never mind.” He sidestepped, but deliberately this time, reaching for the door to the bus.
“No.” I moved into his way. “Gary’s sleeping. You’re not going in there to bash around and wake him up.”
“Let me by,” he said, trying to shoulder past me, but I stood my ground.
“No,” I repeated.
He looked at me again, his eyes hard, his gaze intense—nothing I wasn’t used to from him. “I’m not getting into this with you, Sandy.”
“Getting into what? What is happening? Why are you drinking, Max? You may as well tell me since you’re not getting on this bus.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, a very non-Max move. And when he was done, he glanced at me and then away, but not before I saw the tiniest quiver in his lower lip. Then, before I could say anything, he turned and started walking in the other direction.
I hated that he was walking away from me, but I was also worried he was going to run into Tony and ruin his career. “Max, where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. I jogged up to him and grabbed his arm, trying to spin him around, but he wouldn’t be moved. At least he’d stopped, though. It felt like déjà vu, this song and dance we had going on.
“What is going on with you?”
He shook his head. Seriously, why did he have to make it so hard all the time? I’d never had root canal, but it had to be better than this.
Shading my eyes against the blazing sun and cursing that I hadn’t had a chance to grab my sunglasses before running off the bus, I looked around and saw what looked like a tool shed tucked into a wooded area. There was a big padlock on the door, so we weren’t going inside, but at least we wouldn’t be in full view of the bus and anyone returning to it.
I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward it. “Come here,” I said, relieved when he didn’t fight me—at this point, I’d take even the smallest win.
I pulled him around to the side of the shed, thankful to get out of the direct sun, and leaned against the building, not letting go of his hand. I expected him to try to tug it away, but instead, he twined his fingers in mine.
It was so surprising that I looked down at where our hands were joined. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry,” he muttered as he pulled his hand away suddenly like I’d burned him.
Why had he done that? Why had he tried to hold my hand like... God, had Ted been right about him?
I looked up at him, my heart hammering in my chest because I had no idea what was happening. Or maybe because I did.
Then, like the hand thing hadn’t been weird, or hadn’t even
happened at all, he leaned in, his palms landing on the shed on either sides of my head, caging me in. His breath now smelled minty, which of course was better than boozy, but reminded me that he was still drunk. His eyes were intense, staring me down, not asking permission, exactly, but if they had been, I wouldn’t have granted it.
Probably. Maybe. Would I have?
No, what was I thinking? Getting tangled up with him was crazy. It was Max; I’d never thought of him that way, but now that he was standing there, close, looming over me, my thoughts and feelings became so muddled.
“Max,” I said, putting my hand up on his chest to hold him back from what I knew was coming next. Except then I had to deal with the fact that he wasn’t just Max, the guy I’d been avoiding these past weeks since I’d first insulted him in New York, but the super-hot boy band member in front of me who had a very defined body under that t-shirt. Pecs and abs galore. And that t-shirt was so, so thin.
Damn.
His eyes flicked up to mine. “Yeah?” he breathed, his eyes a little droopy and a whole lot sexy. “You asked what I want.”
Oh, I’m not so sure I want to know anymore, I thought, but was powerless to say anything all of a sudden. I just stared at him, frozen, until I realized my hand was still pressed to his left pec, right over his pounding heart.
I was about to pull it away when he leaned even closer, and his lips landed on mine.
I’d like to say I was surprised, but no, I wasn’t. Not even a little. I’d seen it coming a mile off. What was surprising was that I hadn’t stopped it. That I’d welcomed it.
And how freaking good it felt.
My hand, the one I’d put on his chest to keep him away, changed its mind and slid up and around his neck, my fingers twining in his hair.
His lips were soft but sure. There was no asking, only the assertion that he knew exactly what he was doing as he slanted his mouth over mine. Then he deepened the kiss, opening until I felt the slide of his tongue against my lips, tasted mint. Something ignited in me at that. Something that felt different than the kiss with Ted. The mechanics were nearly the same, but this wasn’t just a fun, nice way to pass a few hours, this kiss was incendiary. Yes, I said incendiary, a big, complicated word for what was a very big, complicated kiss.
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 57