There wasn’t. I took no joy in that fact when what I needed just then was a job to focus on.
Instead, I willed myself to try to relax. After a few moments, I began to enjoy the music, even catching myself softly singing along with them as I got caught up in it. My body began to unclench, my shoulders loosened, the song becoming like a sort of therapy.
“How are you holding up, Nessa?” Billy asked quietly a few minutes later. “With your mom and all that.”
So much for unclenching. I looked over at the man standing beside me, disbelieving he would presume to ask me how I was holding up. Especially with reference to her. I guess he probably cared in a dad sort of way but he was not my dad.
As I stared at him, he was clearly waiting for my answer. Like he actually expected one and didn’t realize asking me was way too personal. That my dad respected him and he was otherwise a nice guy was all the kept Blurty from making a very angry appearance just then.
But I had to say something, so I bit out, “I’m good,” as I turned my head and looked away from him again. I have no idea if he believed that lie, either, but it hadn’t been his place to ask, so it’s not like I felt bad about it.
Whether he believed it or not, at least he was wise enough to accept it and not say anything else.
I wanted to get back into the music and give my brain a bit of a break from everything going on inside my cranium, but Billy bringing up my mother seemed to be the thing that sent me past the point of no return. There was no coming back from thinking about her now, especially as the clock ticked away and it was only a matter of hours before I would see her.
I muttered something about checking on the venue for the next day’s concert and walked away from him quickly, not giving him a chance to try to stop me.
I hurried down the backstage stairs and the service hallway to the big door that led to the lot where the bus was parked.
“You okay?” Ven asked from his post by the door.
“Fine,” I said, continuing on with my string of lies, handing them out to anyone who crossed my path, like they were flyers for the band. “I’m going out to the bus.”
Ven pushed away from the wall. “I’ll walk you.”
I’d already learned there was no point arguing with the security guys. They were there to do a job, and they were going to do it, even if a teary teenager wanted nothing more than to be alone.
It was because he was there to do a job, and had no part in my drama, that I felt I owed it to him to give him a heads up. “Warning,” I said glancing up at him. Way up—he had to be something like six foot five. “I’m probably going to start bawling in two seconds, but it’s not because of you or anything you have to worry about or can fix. Just...please don’t ask me about it.”
He gave me a slightly alarmed look but then offered a curt nod and pushed open the door for me to walk through.
His willingness to just let me be and not ask any questions made me kind of want to hug him. But that would have been weird. Not to mention that I hadn’t been kidding about the crying being imminent and I did not want to slobber all over this giant hulk of muscle while he awkwardly stood guard. So I just walked alongside, thanking him telepathically for being exactly the security escort I needed.
Father/Daughter Ugly Cry
The security team typically stayed outside the bus unless there was a good reason (like when they first joined us and wanted to make sure everything was secure, or if they proved their humanness and needed a bathroom). While it was their job not to interact with us socially, I wondered if they felt claustrophobic inside the coach. The bus was roomy and made to feel like a spacious home, but it was still a bus with cramped quarters. Those security guys were big and probably wouldn’t even fit in our bunks; Graeme, the tallest guy in the band, barely did and every member of the security team topped him by a few inches.
So instead of escorting me all the way inside, Ven just reminded me to keep the door locked and to call him or Stefan if I needed anything or required an escort anywhere. Grateful for his professional distance, I thanked him and unlocked the bus door with my key. Knowing he was watching, I made a point to lock the door behind me before I climbed the stairs.
I sighed in relief when I determined Gary wasn’t around; I truly was alone. I kicked my shoes into the box and dropped to the sofa to give myself a few minutes to decompress and try to sort out my head.
As I thought this, I had the random thought that we’d learned in biology that the brain runs on glucose. Clearly, I needed some sugar before I could be expected to make any great epiphanies about my life.
I hauled my tired body off the couch and took the few steps into the kitchenette so I could rifle through the pantry. It was liberating that I could do it without the pressure of impatient hungry boys and their grabby hands behind me, desperate for sustenance.
I nearly hooted in jubilation when I discovered a forgotten box of chocolate chip cookies that had somehow been pushed to the back of a cupboard, obscured by cans of soup. I took it out and poured a tall glass of milk, placing both on the kitchenette table before ripping a paper towel off the roll to serve as a napkin. With everything in place, I sat so I could snack and figure out my life.
I’d barely gotten as far as contemplating how dunking them in milk made the stale cookies way more palatable when my phone binged a notification.
Of course, my moment of sugary chocolate solitude was short-lived. What else did I expect? Though I still mourned the loss.
I licked the remnants of cookie and a chocolate smudge off my fingers and took a swig of my milk before inhaling a deep breath and sliding my phone out of my pocket.
The message was from my father. He’d sent a text to tell me Linda had finalized the details of the media meet and greet for before the Phoenix concert the next day. It would be held at a local hotel near the concert venue in one of their meeting rooms.
That would have been fine and nothing of great note—pretty much standard operating procedure for us. But then he added the detail that Linda and Sandy had arranged for all my ‘friends’ to meet us there, too. The Rosewood/Westwood group was flying in mid-afternoon and would be taking a car service from the airport so I wouldn’t have to worry about their transportation. He made it sound like I was looking forward to the visit, which was pretty funny, though it did make me wonder what Sandy had told him about my relationships with Emmie and the others.
Though I guess since I’d come to him in spring to ask if Wiretap could play the year-end gig at Rosewood, and Emmie had been the one organizing it, it wasn’t a stretch for him to assume Emmie and I were friends. I also wondered if he knew Will and Emmie used to date. Or if he suspected Will and I were about to. He knew Andy and me were no longer a thing, but what else did he know?
Not that I was going to fill him in on anything. But I made a mental note to connect with Sandy to get a sense of what he knew about whom.
The meet and greet was to get some promo shots of Emmie with the band to show their endorsement of her charity. Lots of handshaking and photo ops—nothing the guys weren’t used to.
Oh, and by the way all my ‘friends’ would be staying at that same hotel before they flew back to New York the next day, so the plan was to go there after the concert to hang out for a while before hitting the road (the drive to El Paso was only about six hours) so I’d have more time with them. It was hard to be angry at my father for making plans that he thought I’d appreciate, but again, where was Sandy in all of this?
Will you be there? I typed back to him. But what I really wanted to ask was, “will Sandy be there?”
I’m going to try. Sandy wants to get back. I’d like to be there when Em arrives. Can’t promise yet, tho. For sure in El Paso.
Right, because El Paso was where I’d be meeting with my mother. I wondered where we were going to be meeting her—not on the bus, surely. Dad would have arranged somewhere private. Especially c
onsidering how he wouldn’t want any media attention and, closer to our inner circle, the boys had no idea what was going on. But the biggest need for privacy was probably because he had no idea how I was going to react to my mother.
Which made two of us.
I had to assume he’d probably arranged for a spot in the hotel where we’d be spending the day layover between Phoenix and Austin. I wanted to ask so I could feel more prepared, as much as I could be prepared for such a meeting. But I didn’t want to start any conversation that included the details of my mother’s return—I was too tired to go down that road.
Dad either felt the same or picked up on my vibe of not wanting to go there. How are the guys doing? he asked.
Fine. better tonight for sure, I reported and then felt I needed to add: I’m not with them—on the bus.
My phone rang instantly. If I hadn’t just been texting with him literally two seconds ago, I would have ignored it.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to sound put out even though that was exactly what I was feeling.
“Everything okay?”
Why stop lying to people now? I thought as I assured him I was. “Just tired,” I added. At least that part was true and very believable—tour life was grueling; no one knew that better than he did.
“Kiki said you were getting a little burned out. I’m sorry about that.”
Plus there’s that whole elephant in the room that is your mother, I heard him not say. Though he may as well have.
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said (another lie). And then, because Blurty was feeling restless and didn’t seem to care that I didn’t want to get into it, I asked, “How are you doing? With everything, I mean.” I punched up the word ‘everything’ in case he thought I was just being polite.
He sighed and paused for several long moments, which meant he got it. “I don’t know, to be honest,” he finally said. “I...I feel like I should have a real answer for you. I mean, it’s not so complicated a question: How are you doing? But I’m feeling blindsided and out of sorts, and nothing makes sense right now. So I guess I’m probably doing about as well as you are.” He laughed humorlessly and then added, “No, you’re a superstar who’s not the over-emotional type your dad is. I’m sure I’m not managing anywhere near as well as you.”
He was assuming I was holding it together. The way I had when she’d first disappeared. Somehow, I’d pushed my own feelings aside and had been there for him, trying to pick up the pieces when she’d ruined our lives.
But I was starting to think that my refusal to deal with her abandoning us, under the guise of helping him get through it, had been no more healthy than his breakdown. I’d held onto those feelings—the abandonment, rejection, anger, and hurt—for five years and the burden now felt very heavy on my shoulders. Also, I was awfully tired of acting like I was keeping it together.
My eyes filled with tears and while I shook my head, it took me a few seconds to be able to speak into the phone. “Dad?” I squeaked out.
“Yeah, honey,” he said, his voice breaking and I knew it was because he heard me getting upset.
“I think we need to have Dr. Carmichael with us when she comes. Okay?”
“Of course,” he said, sounding relieved. “I was going to suggest it anyway, but I’m glad you did. He’s great to talk to, right?”
“Yeah. I...I’m glad he’s with us,” I said and then took a deep breath before I went on. “He’s helping Max a lot. Maybe it was fate that you brought him on.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I’m glad he was able to join us. I just hope he won’t double my bill.”
I snorted, relieved for a reason to laugh. “He’s worth it, even if he does.”
“Whose side are you on?” Dad demanded, but he was laughing.
“Yours,” I said, and then the humor left me as I realized the truth of my words. “Always yours, Dad.”
I heard him take a breath and then he said, “Same here, Nessa. I love you like crazy, and I’m so proud of you. You’re the best daughter any dad could hope for and more, you know that, right?”
“Ugh, stop gushing, old man!” I said through my ugly cry tears.
He laughed, though it sounded suspiciously sniffly. “Fine, point taken. I’m a little emotional, and maybe it’s unwanted. But that doesn’t make it less true, and I’m your father, so you have to listen to it. And I mean it. Having you on tour and watching you work has only validated what I already knew about you.”
I wiped my tears on my paper towel, avoiding the spot of chocolate chip. “Thanks, Dad,” I whispered. “I love you, too.”
He paused before saying, “All right, good.” Then he took a deep breath and changed the subject, thank God. “That’s enough emotion for today. Let’s go over what’s going to happen tomorrow...”
I woke up to my phone binging in my head and buzzing against my thigh. My white noise app was still running, so I tugged the earphones out and as soon as I did, was almost deafened by the silence on the bus. As my ears adjusted, I began to hear the regular nighttime sounds: faint squeaks of the moving bus, soft snores, and after a moment, the unmistakable sound of a fart (sadly, a very common occurrence on a bus full of humans, especially ones who ate a lot of junk food when they could get away with it). It was followed by Darren’s stage-whispered, “Excuse me,” and then a couple of masculine-sounding groans.
It shouldn’t have made me smile to hear it after this many days enduring all manner of bodily functions, but sue me, because it did. There wasn’t a lot I loved about living in such close quarters, but the moments like this, when it felt like a real family—the kind of family I’d never had—were my favorites. Until they got really funky-smelling, that is.
Clearly, the guys were all back from the concert and had been for some time, long enough to decompress and roll into their bunks and begin to doze off.
I was very thankful (and maybe a little put out at the same time) that no one had come to bug me and ask what was wrong that had made me leave the concert early. Though I guess the guys wouldn’t necessarily know how early I’d left since they were busy on stage. And Billy might have told them I’d returned to the bus to catch up on paperwork.
Though, while no one had come to disturb me, I suspected that I likely had a text or two from Will, checking in on me. He was probably at the front of the bus now with his phone in his hand while he sat up by himself, giving in to his frequent insomnia.
While I liked that he was so thoughtful, it reminded me that I never had responded to his message from before, asking me about the offer from Legion Thunder.
While I was going to do the mature thing and tell him if he wanted to go, he should, I wasn’t quite done sulking about it. And until I had made total peace with the idea, I was worried I’d either choke on the words or would come across like I didn’t care.
Although, I probably could literally phone it in and tell him I thought it was a great opportunity by text. He wouldn’t know that I was crossing my fingers or punching my pillow in my bunk as I typed it.
Whatever. Time to be mature and get it done, I told myself. But when I swiped open my phone preparing myself to do the right thing, which meant potentially saying goodbye to Will, I saw right away it wasn’t his text that had woken me up.
It was Emmie’s.
Emmie
Looking forward to tonight—Wiretap’s been kicking butt! Loving watching their ascent to superstardom. And then she sent a string of emojis—hearts, guitars, star-eyed faces.
Did she have to be so nice? It was the middle of the night on the west coast, but already the morning (early morning, but still, not exactly obscene morning) in New York. That she’d said she was looking forward to ‘tonight’ made me think she was getting ready to head to the airport. That was going to make for a long day for her if she was already up (and with so much enthusiasm—Sandy was going to hate her just for that).
I sent her a message
back: It’ll be fun! Thank you so much for all your support.
Oh hi! Didn’t expect a response. I’m so happy Dave is getting what he deserves.
That took me a second to figure out because, of course, I jumped to the conclusion that she was talking about me and him. And I couldn’t tell context. Was she being passive-aggressive about us being together? Maybe she wasn’t as nice as I’d thought.
Except, no. She probably didn’t even know that we had something going on.
Or so I thought until she sent back: BTW, Sandy says you and he are dating and you feel weird about me coming. Don’t! We r great friends, but that’s all. Promise!
What is it called when you want to murder your best friend? Bestacide? Assasifriend? Because I was definitely considering it.
And anyway, Emmie sent before I knew how to respond. I’m with Danny! can’t wait for you to meet. He’s amazing.
While I wasn’t eager for this whole meetup that, despite her assurances, was definitely going to be awkward, I admit I was curious to see this guy that she’d passed Will over for.
For me, I mean, she sent as I sat there, trying to figure out how to even engage in this conversation. Dave is perfect for you, I’m sure!
Holy backpedaling. Was she nervous? Could she be feeling weird about seeing Will after they broke up and she was now seeing someone else? I’d never known anyone to so awkwardly ramble on in text messages before, but that’s what it seemed was happening. I actually felt bad for her and cringed at my screen as the weird comments kept coming. Comments like: Dave is in a real boy band! As though this was news to me. And her next gem: I can’t believe he shaped his eyebrows! So funny.
When I didn’t respond, she asked if I was still there.
Oops. I wasn’t exactly being responsive. But what was I supposed to say? It was just getting awkwarder the longer she went on.
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 74