[Off Track Records 01.0] Detour

by Kacey Shea

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sean murmurs so only I can hear. Trent and Austin follow behind, but they lag enough I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  “Sure. I’ll bite.” I have a feeling whatever he’ll say next is supposed to make me feel better.

  He tightens his hold around my shoulders so we’re touching sides, then hunches lower so his head tilts to mine. “This.” He squeezes my shoulder with a wink. “Is totally pissing Trent off.” He laughs, a low throaty chuckle, and my own lips soften the scowl. For some reason that does make me feel slightly better.

  “You guys love giving each other shit, don’t you?”

  “But of course. It’s in the bandmate guidebook.”

  “Happy I could help.” I roll my eyes.

  “Better run before I shit my pants.” Sean drops a peck of a kiss on my cheek and jogs off toward the buses. I keep my laughter to myself, and take the longest strides my shorter legs can manage. Sean’s insight and kindness, however idiotic, leave me feeling marginally better, but I need to hustle if I’m to meet with a doctor before sound checks.

  The bus comes into view after a few more minutes of walking, and my phone vibrates from my back pocket. I know exactly who it is, even without checking—she always calls at the worst moments. I glance to the side and catch Trent’s curious stare. He opens his mouth to speak and I reach for my cell and say hello before he can get out more than “I just—”

  “Happy birthday, Lexi!”

  “Oh, God. Not this again.” I cringe because I know the singing is coming next. “Mom, it’s not my birthday.”

  “It is! You know we celebrate it all month long.”

  “When I was five. Mom, I’m almost twenty-four. Can we at least move to a week-long celebration?”

  “Would it be so bad to let me have my way?”

  “Yes. It really would.” We reach the bus and Trent catches my attention to mouth the word doctor and point to the bus. “Hey, Mom. I have to run. I’ve got some things to take care of before the show tonight.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t want to upset you, but I went to see your father yesterday.” She says the words as if I care. She’s perpetually oblivious to the fact I don’t want a relationship with him. I get that she still loves him—some sick and twisted obsession I’ll never respect—but I gave up the fight. I just don’t get how she thinks I’ll change my mind.

  The rest of the band climbs inside the bus, but Trent stands outside the door, miming some kind of replay of the entire wing challenge and maybe a naughty doctor. A giggle escapes my lips before I can fight it and he motions me to wrap things up.

  “Mom. Let’s not fight. I really need to go.”

  Her voice is unusually hard and demanding. It takes me by surprise. “He’s dying, Lexi. He wants his daughter. You want to hate him, fine. But he needs you and time is running out. I know there’s a soul under all that black somewhere.”

  Anger boils with her accusation and demands. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before giving in to my temper. How dare she? I don’t owe him anything. “Bye, Mom.” I grind the words past my lips and end the call before I tell her to fuck off.

  I try, I really do, to be respectful of the person she is, even though we are so different. All I want is for her to do the same. My expectations, however low, are still too high, and I’m left with familiar disappointment. I’m on my own. It’s simply how it is. But I’m strong enough to take care of myself.

  “Finally.” Trent’s smile kicks up as I stomp toward him. “Doctor’s inside.”

  He’s trying to be friendly. Nice. But his consideration is only salt to the wound my mother just split open. “Fuck you.” I respond the best way I know, expecting that will be enough to push him away, at least for a few hours.

  Of course, he smiles wider. “With pleasure, my lady.”

  So damn frustrating.

  21

  Trent

  We play a packed show in Baltimore. The crowd screams, cheers, and brings out the best performance we’ve had so far this tour. When we finally make our way offstage after a second encore, we’re all soaked in sweat, both from the stage lights and the beast of a show we put in the books.

  The compliments and congrats the crew offer on the way to our green room bolster my already soaring confidence.

  Bedo’s inside waiting to greet us, his eyes trained on the cell phone that might as well be glued to his fingers. The thick rope of his gold chain glints with the illumination from the ceiling fluorescents. It rests against his white collared button down while his maroon corduroy pants bounce with a nervous beat. Bedo doesn’t travel with us on the bus, but he makes it to almost every performance. After a show like tonight he should be beaming with pride, with dollar signs in his eyes, because we rocked that packed arena. But the pinch of his lips gives me a suspicion this visit is going down like a trip to the principal’s office. My mind runs through the possible infractions but comes up blank . . . Unless he discovered the reason behind our fresh eyebrow stylings.

  Shit. I don’t think he’d appreciate the humor in our panty burglar escapades.

  “I’m sure you can guess why I’m here, and while I can’t say I’m not surprised. I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me. As your manager I deserve honesty. Forthrightness. It’s the only way I stay ahead of these stories.”

  I glance over to Sean and Austin, but they appear as lost as I am. Iz pulls a vape—the one Lexi got him—from his pocket and clicks it on, his inhale and exhale the only sounds in the room.

  “Really? No one has anything to say?” Bedo sets his phone down. Oh, shit. That thing is an extra appendage. He’s not fucking around. I don’t know what he wants from us, though. So we pulled a prank? It’s not like we’re gonna rat each other out or blame it on one person.

  Sean pulls his arms across his chest and flexes his arms. He’s a blockade. No one can break him.

  But when my stare flicks to Austin, I realize we’re screwed. Sweat drips from his hairline, down his forehead, and the eyebrows Lexi helped reconstruct with a brown makeup pencil are starting to blur. He runs the back of his arm across his forehead, taking with it his perspiration and most of the eyebrow paint.

  Bedo’s stare lands on Austin. “What in the fuck happened to your face?”

  That’s all it takes for Austin to turn into Mr. Loose Lips. “It was the panties! Okay? It was the goddamn panties! Haven’t we suffered enough? We don’t need a verbal lashing from you, too! Look at me, man.” He scrubs his palms over his face and the rest of the makeup wipes clear. “I have no fucking eyebrows!”

  Bedo blinks. That’s all he does. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t react in any other way and I wonder if Three Ugly Guys is just too much for one person to take. We aren’t the first band Bedo’s worked with; he’s been in the biz for thirty plus years. But maybe at some point there’s a limit for all the stupid shit one person can endure.

  None of us speak as Bedo gathers his thoughts—or sanity, more likely—and it’s uncomfortably quiet with the click click whoosh of Iz’s vape the only background noise.

  “One. I’m going to ignore the panty comment. I don’t even want to know what depravity that involves. Two. The lack of eyebrows? When you’re in public put on a damn hat.” He snaps the last part at Austin. “Now, what I came here for, and what I want to know, is why no one informed me that Sean and Lexi are dating.”

  No fucking way. The green eyed monster within my mind rears its ugly head and I grip the couch cushion so I don’t leap across the room to punch Sean in the face. Him? Her? How? Why? When? It can’t be.

  She should be with me.

  Nervous laughter leaves Sean’s mouth and he rubs the knees of his jeans. All eyes are on him, and it’s not only Bedo staring at the man in the hot seat.

  “We had a promise. No one fucks her.” I sound like a bitter loser, but I can’t seem to control the betrayal and disappointment that take over my thoughts.

  “Dude.” Sean looks around, meets each of our stares,
lands on me last. “Really? There’s nothing going on with me and Lex. If anyone one has been crossing that line, it’s you.”

  Relief settles the coils of my muscles. I didn’t realize even my fists were clenched. “Sorry, Sean.” I mutter my apology, and Bedo’s pinched glare is now trained on me. Fuck.

  He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to the ceiling as if it contains more answers. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” He shakes his head again and picks up his phone. “Well, the press is having a heyday with these photos.” He tosses the device to Sean.

  Austin leans to the left to peer over his shoulder. “Fuck, look at you. Young and in love. When’s the wedding?” he teases and Sean shoves him back.

  “Let me see,” I say and Sean tosses the phone to me. Crap. There it is. If I wasn’t a witness, I wouldn’t believe Sean. The way his head leans down to hers and they’re both smiling. Someone snapped these on our way back from the wing challenge, not far from the stadium.

  “If this is nothing, that’s fine. But if it’s something, we need to prepare for damage control when you two inevitably break up. But we can use this to our advantage. Hype up ticket sales for the remaining tour dates. Budding romance between two young rock stars. It’s a story everyone loves.”

  I hate it. And I hate the way Bedo talks about Lexi as if she’s some sort of prop. We sell out shows on our own.

  “But we’re not a couple. We were just talking. I think I told her I had to shit. That’s why she’s laughing.” Sean nods to the phone still clenched in my fingers. Damn it. I hate these photos more than I should. My subconscious unleashes my vexation on the poor phone. Returning the cell to Bedo like a game of hot potato gone wrong, I attempt to get a handle on my feelings.

  “I’m just saying if it were, it wouldn’t be the worst. Especially when they connect who she is.”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to say anything about that,” Austin says.

  “You aren’t.” Bedo stands and just like that he’s done here. “And since you fuckers played two encores tonight and Austin decided to make love to his Fender during every one of his solos, you four only have . . .” He glances at his phone. “One hour until the bus leaves. I’ll have dinner delivered.”

  “What? We can’t go out? Who are you, our mother?” Austin complains, but my eyes stay on Bedo. Something in his dismissive attitude rubs me wrong. The guys continue to bitch and whine about the lack of celebration tonight, but when Bedo leaves the room, I follow.

  “Hey, Bedo, wait up!” I call out before he turns a second corner and I lose him in the bustle of roadies already tearing down, packing up for the next show.

  His eyes snap up from his phone screen and his lips pinch. “Don’t try to persuade me. You’re not going out tonight.”

  “No. Not that.” And it’s not. What I want to ask is far more uncomfortable because of the doubt that seeps out along with the question. I’ve never not trusted Bedo, that he’s got our best interests at heart or that he’s on our side, and I’m almost certain he’s not gonna like what I have to say.

  “What? Spit it out, Trent. I have a ton of work and an early flight to catch.”

  “You aren’t going to say anything to the press, are you?”

  His brow gathers and lips lift in a trace of a smile. “About Lexi and Sean?” He tilts his head as if he’s trying to uncover more than the answer with his stare.

  “No. Not that.” I shake my head, my hair falling into my eyes until I brush it back. Even though the idea doesn’t sit well, I know it was false. My concerns run deeper than a little celebrity romance gossip. I peer around and drop my voice. It’s not crowded per se, but I don’t need some roadie or security guard to overhear. “About her father, and who he is?”

  Bedo’s eyes widen and his smile leaves his face. “You know legally I can’t.”

  I don’t like how offhand he is. How he leaves himself just enough of a loophole. Like we both don’t realize how easy it is to leak a rumor to the press. As if they won’t have a feeding frenzy with the truth. I’m overcome with a desire to protect her. To keep her secret safe.

  “Don’t.” The word leaves my mouth in a growl. “If it hits the press, you’re fired.”

  Bedo straightens his spine, and an offended scoff escapes his mouth. “Anyone can discover that information, Trent. It’s public knowledge. The right person recognizes her or puts two and two together—that’s all it takes. I can’t control it.”

  Most of what he says is true, sure, but again I’m left with the certainty that Bedo’s not being one hundred percent transparent. The feeling’s not based on fact or experience; just my gut. I take a step closer because I tower over him and I can be intimidating when I need to be. Besides, Bedo might be our manager, but ultimately he works for the band and myself, and if he does anything to hurt Lexi I won’t have a problem cutting him loose.

  “Come on, Bedo. You’re the best in the biz.” My lips pull into a wide smile that doesn’t show my teeth and I raise my brow. “Do your thing. Make your magic happen. And make damn sure no one talks about Lexi’s father. You can do it. I have faith in you.” I clasp my hand on his shoulder and squeeze too tight.

  Bedo’s jaw works back and forth until he responds with a winning smile. “Of course, Trent. Consider it done.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” For good measure I give him a pat on the back that might leave a mark. “See you in Philly?”

  He steps back, out of my reach. “Yeah. And I’ve got radio spots lined up in the afternoon. It’s a tight schedule before you play The Mann, so be ready to work the crowd.”

  I walk backwards a few steps and slap my chest with a wink. “I’m always ready, baby. That’s why you love me!” He grumbles something under his breath, but I don’t stick around to find out what. I’ve got to grab the guys and get on the bus. The extra pep in my step has nothing to do with the blonde pixie who’s already on board and waiting. Most likely decked out in a big sweatshirt and shorty shorts that bring all the attention to those strong, shapely legs. Legs I imagine wrapped around my waist. Or my head. Nope. That’s not the reason I jog the rest of the way. Not at all.

  22

  Lexi

  Steam so heavy I can hardly breathe fills the bathroom and clouds the mirror. I use the corner of my towel to rub a circle and my reflection comes into view. After a shower I don’t look half bad considering the past twenty-four hours. I hum along with The Doors album streaming through my phone and even though I’m tired I can’t help but sway my hips. Using a wipe from my makeup bag, I remove the last of my eyeliner that didn’t scrub off under the stream. Next, I squirt body lotion onto my palm and rub the lavender infused cream onto my legs.

  My body aches with exhaustion, but the promise of a giant bed, pillows, and cool sheets spurs me forward to finish my beauty routine but forgo drying my hair. I can’t believe I have the room to myself for the next four weeks. The privacy alone is just short of amazing, though I’m still pissed about Trent letting me win and calling in a doctor. I don’t like to be controlled. I can take care of myself. He meant well and the help came without strings, but there’s a piece of me that loathes it.

  Teeth brushed, I wrap the towel snugly against my chest and collect my dirty clothes, bag, and cell. The music cuts short with the buzz of my ringer and I smile before picking up. “Hey, Amie.” I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear.

  “Lexi! I just heard they had to call a doctor for you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I was fine. Trent overreacted. I didn’t need a doctor.” I open the door and am glad to find the band is still out. I need to grab the last of my things from my bunk and the drawer I was storing my clothes in. I’ve already moved my acoustic over, and Trent cleared a spot for my clothes while I was being examined.

  “Really?”

  “I was already getting better. Besides, twenty-nine wings will clear a person out.” I work and talk, dumping my stuff onto the bed and going back for
the rest.

  “What? Are you joking? You are making no sense. You sure you okay?”

  “I’m fine. The doc gave me some B12 shot and I’m like a new woman. Even after playing my show.”

  “I heard you played great. And another packed house. Keep this up, girl. The label is itching for a full album.”

  “I’m ready. I’ve got the music and I’ve been writing new stuff, too.” In the open dresser, I rearrange my shirts, skirts, lazy day clothes, and underwear.

  “You are the hardest working woman I know. When we get closer to the end of the tour, we’ll work out specifics on recording.”

  I blow out a breath when I hear the rumble of the bus coming to life. I’m dragging more than I know and the guys will be back soon. I still need to get dressed and grab a water bottle from the kitchen before I pass out. My gaze drops to the rumpled sheets from last night. I wonder if they smell like him. Fuck. Of course they do, he’s been sleeping here for a month. The independent woman in me wars with the desire to use Trent for a body pillow again.

  In my derailed train of thought I realize I haven’t answered Amie. For someone who cannot shut her trap, she’s unusually quiet. “So, is that all? It’s getting late and we’re gonna roll out soon.”

  “Lexi.” Her tone is serious as I prop my butt on the edge of the bed. “I don’t really know how to bring this up.”

  “Just say it, Amie.”

  “Your mom called me.”

  “Okay . . .” And now I’ll be calling my mother tomorrow to reiterate boundaries.

  “She filled me in on everything going on with your father. I’m so sorry, too. I know you weren’t close, but still.” She’s sorry for me, sorry for my dad, but the sympathy isn’t needed.

  “Is there a point to all this?” I snap because I’m over this conversation.

  “Do you need to take some time from the tour? To go see him? It’s not in your contract, but given the circumstances, I’m sure I can work something out.”