[Off Track Records 01.0] Detour

by Kacey Shea

  I can’t believe he left.

  I always knew he would, but it stings more than it should.

  No one ever stays when the shit hits the fan. It’s better this way, before things got too complicated. Before our lives were endlessly intertwined. I made the right choice. But fuck . . .

  Why does it hurt so badly? I can hardly catch my breath.

  The boys are gone and won’t be back anytime soon. The minute Trent walked off the bus I grabbed my guitar and notebook, barely able to stumble back to my bedroom and lock the door without losing myself in a fit of tears. Only then did I let myself cry. I had my pity party for one, and when I couldn’t find peace in that, I turned off the light and tried to find sleep. But snuggling into the bedding only increased my thoughts of Trent. How only hours ago his body, strong and capable, made me feel every inch of arousal, with every touch of his hands on my skin, every kiss, and that glorious tongue. He marked me, owned me, and I’ll probably never be able to sleep in this bed without remembering.

  The seconds turn to minutes, and minutes to hours. Without a glance at my phone I know it’s almost time to roll out of this city and head to our next stop. The bus engines roar to life. The rumble is soothing, familiar, and the exhaustion of the day presses down. My eyelids flutter shut and I’m close to giving in to sleep when I hear the guys board the bus. Their drunken banter, faint enough I can’t make out the words, heightens my awareness. As much as I don’t want to, I strain to listen for his voice.

  I shouldn’t have. His singing is loud enough to greet me. “In the jungle, the mighty jungle . . . Fuck! Pick up your shoes, jackass. I ’most killed myself.”

  There’s a scuffle and more words I can’t make out. I consider stuffing a pillow over my ears but instead sit up so I can eavesdrop better.

  Bang, bang, bang! The beating at my door startles me, and my pulse races at an unhealthy pace. The knocking continues even louder.

  “I know you’re in there. Mmm sorry, Lex. Sexy Lexi with the fucking sexy legs. Please open the door.”

  I don’t, though. I don’t answer in hopes he’ll stumble back to his bed and sleep it off. I wonder how much he drank. If he hooked up with any girls. Damn it, Lexi. Of course he did. He’s Trent Donavan.

  “Open the fucking door!” he shouts. The bus thrusts forward, and there’s another thud against the door. It may have been his body.

  “Go to bed, Donavan! She’s not opening the door.” Sean. He’s always looking out for me.

  “I can’t! I need to talk to her! Lexi! Lexi please. Please, please, please, baby. Open this goddamn door. I’ll shout all night until you do.”

  “Someone shut him up!” Austin.

  “Lexi, come out and talk to me, baby.”

  When he calls me baby my anger from before resurfaces like a tidal wave. Baby. I’m not his baby. I have a name, and I refuse to be grouped along with all his other babies. Shoving off the covers, I pad to the locked door and bang my fist at the thin panel. “What? You want me to come out? What then, Trent?”

  “We can work this out,” he says, sounding so pained and so close it’s as if he’s leaning against the door.

  My body battles with my mind, hand already on the knob, but I can’t give in. “We can’t work this out. I don’t want to be with you.” I whisper it so low I’m not sure he’ll hear.

  “You do! I fucking know you do!” he screams and the doorknob rattles. He swears and hits the door again. “Like all the other women tonight. Everyone wants something from me. You want me.”

  I draw my hand back. His words burn. “You’re an ass!”

  “Open the door, Lexi.”

  “No. No! You don’t get to come here and demand shit from me. And I refuse to come out and smell the stench of some skank all over you!”

  “I don’t smell like anyone else, Lexi. I swear I didn’t fuck anyone tonight.” His words slur with his begging, but they don’t make me come closer.

  “How can I believe you?”

  “You just can. Fuck.”

  But I can’t. I can’t believe and I can’t trust. Maybe that’s not his fault. Maybe it’s just me and how broken I am. Either way, I step back and climb into bed, and drag the covers around my body like a shield.

  When I don’t respond he laughs, an intoxicated overzealous sound. “Open the door and inspect my dick. I didn’t fuck anyone, Lex.” He laughs again, almost a giggle as if he’s high. “How could I when Mr. Trent only wants you. I only . . . Please let me in. Let your jungle lion come back to his queen.”

  “Go to bed, Trent.” I grab my phone, click the do not disturb, and affix my headphones to play my go-to list. I can no longer hear him. I wonder from the occasional rumble of the bus if he’s given up on banging at the door.

  I don’t sleep well, my mind full of unrest, but I manage to catch a few hours. Early in the morning, when sunlight cascades through the cracks in the window shades, I ditch the headphones and cocoon myself beneath the blankets. The only sound that enters is the steady rhythm of the bus chugging down another US highway.

  A nagging feeling keeps me from falling back asleep, though. Regret. It’s something I don’t have much experience with. It pounds alongside my headache and burning eyelids, the aftermath of too many tears.

  The new day brings perspective, and I realize I need to talk to Trent. We can’t just leave things the way they are. Not with another two months of this tour on the horizon. I won’t be responsible for hurting him, for fucking things up with the band. The more I consider last night and the words he said, the more I come to understand how upset he was. Something I didn’t expect when I demanded he leave.

  I toss the covers off and step to the door, needing to use the restroom before I find caffeine and aspirin to kill the throbbing in my temple. Unlocking the doorknob, I twist the handle to open the door, and almost scream when I practically trip on the big body blocking my path.

  Trent.

  He groans, lifts his head, and rubs the sleep from his face. “Lexi.” There’s so much depth in the way he murmurs my name that my eyes begin to water. He scrambles off the ground, still blocking my path, but now I have to look up to meet his gaze.

  The other guys must still be sleeping because the only sound that stretches between us is the groan of the bus motor. “What are you doing on the floor?” I say just above a whisper.

  “I wanted to be close to you.” His gaze lowers and he reaches out until his fingers thread through mine. He squeezes, a simple touch, but it’s what I needed. “I’m sorry, Lexi. I’m sorry I left you last night. I should have never done that.”

  “I pushed you.”

  “But I know better than to fall for that. It won’t happen again. You can’t keep me away.” His lips kick up with a smile. “I’ll wait at your door until you open up.”

  “I’m not good at letting people in.”

  “We’ll figure it out together.”

  “How can you be sure? What happens when you get tired of waiting? Or dealing with my shit. What happens after this tour is over?”

  He steps closer still. Only a fraction of space exists between us, and even though I ache for his touch, to lean into him, I have to know these answers. I can’t go in blindly. I can’t get lost in him. The risk of losing myself is too high.

  “You’re still wearing my necklace,” he whispers, his eyes focused at my throat.

  “Well, it’s my necklace.”

  He grins, lifting my hand with his until he holds them both against his heart. The rock steady beat slows my nerves. “I’m glad you didn’t take it off.”

  “I’m scared,” I whisper. My eyelids lower because his stare is too much. Too knowing. Too full of love and promises and things I never expected.

  “We figure this out. Together.” His lips ghost over mine in a gentle kiss, one that’s careful because any more and I might break. “Together.” He says again and releases my hand. Both of his arms wrap me in an embrace that brings my body flush with his.

 
“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” I whisper into his chest.

  His lips rest atop my head as he hugs me tighter. “I’ve got you, Lex. If you push, I’ll pull. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Promise?” The question leaves before I can reel it back.

  He answers before I even try. “Always.”

  31

  Trent

  I thought I was living the good life. That I had made it. That the years of being broke and chasing dreams were worth it, because I had achieved the ultimate dream: playing music for a living; gaining fame and all the perks that came with it, including a seemingly limitless supply of money and women.

  I was wrong. So fucking wrong. Nothing comes close to the satisfaction and pure wellness that fills my soul. All from one woman. Because that woman is mine. Lexi owns me, everything I am, without pretense or bullshit. She’s the most honest, real person I know, and this past week together has been both exciting and enlightening.

  She’s letting me in and I take that as a true honor. From city to city we give our best performances, and at night, tangled together in sheets, we learn each other’s bodies. But more than that, we learn our stories. Those sacred, insignificant moments in our lives, like first kisses and heartbreaks, tenth birthday parties and childhood friends, filling in all the spaces of our pasts. She hasn’t talked about her father, or the day Iz told me about when things went wrong, but I trust she will when she feels safe and ready. It’s quickly become my goal to earn that from her, because she’s already done that for me. I can tell her anything. Like I said, she owns me.

  The guys have been surprisingly good with things. Sure, they give us shit and complain about having to listen to us have sex, when in reality, I know they’ve heard worse. Lexi gives it right back, though, her feistiness and sarcasm unscathed by our new relationship. If anything, I’m the one struggling not to go ballistic every time one of the guys throws out an insult. Even in good fun, a protectiveness I can’t contain comes over me.

  We roll into Ohio, our third show of the week, and Bedo’s there to greet us before we head out for a press tour. The thought of leaving Lexi on the bus while we meet radio station hosts and give interviews doesn’t hold much appeal today, but it comes with the job.

  “Go, do your thing. I need to work on stuff anyway,” she says, pulling on a tight T-shirt that shows her curves.

  “A few things?” I raise a brow and meet her reflection from where I’m styling my hair in the mirror.

  Her face lights up with a smile and she almost bounces on the balls of her feet. “Amie called me when you were taking a shower. After this tour, I’m recording my first full-length album. In a professional studio, using a legit producer, not paid for with my life savings. I’m so excited!”

  “That’s great, babe!” I turn and pick her up when she jumps into my arms, squeezing her tight and swinging her in a half circle.

  “Sorry, I know that’s pretty average news for you, but this is a big deal.” She pulls out of my arms and tries to play off her excitement, but her eyes still hold their joy.

  “I remember what it’s like, Lex. It hasn’t been that long since 3UG was just a bunch of nobodies touring in a rented van, using tips to pay for gas and bumming a place to stay the night courtesy of our fans’ generosity. This is big. I’m so fucking proud of you. When are you going to record?”

  “Not ’til September. But she wants to book the time now.”

  “In LA?” I hate how needy I sound, but I can’t stand the thought of her being far away. I know it’s a possibility; more like a probability. We might share the same career, but logistically, it’ll be a challenge to be together after this tour.

  “Amie said she’ll email over some options. Right now, I just want to focus on getting my best songs ready. Maybe write something new.”

  “You’re gonna kill it.” I pull her in my arms for a kiss. The intention is a quick good-bye peck, but when her fingers thread into my hair and tug me closer, I lose myself in her spell.

  Knock, knock, knock. “Break it up, lovebirds. Time to roll, T,” Austin yells through the door.

  “That’s me.” I pull my lips away with a grin and Lexi shakes her head.

  “You may need to fix that hair.” She lets loose a giggle and steps back, climbing onto the bed where her notebook and guitar await.

  “It was perfect until someone messed it up.” Stepping in front of the mirror, I have to laugh.

  “What a bitch.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Nah. She can mess it up anytime.” I finish combing it down with my fingers and grab the door handle. “Later, Lex.”

  “See you soon.”

  Some stuff never gets old, like being onstage, or recording a new single, or even being awarded recognition from peers. But other stuff, like today when we’ve spent the last three hours going radio booth to booth, being asked the same questions and having to appear engaged when all I want to do is get back to the bus, I feel every bit the entitled rock star I am. Same fucking questions. Same fucking answers. It gets old.

  “Trent, you’ve been known for being a bit of a player with the ladies. Can I ask, how does the field in Ohio hold up compared to other states?” The disc jockey asking this wears a stupid smile.

  I tap an anxious beat against the denim of my jeans because I’m not exactly sure how to answer. Sure, Lexi and I aren’t seeing anyone else, but we also haven’t had that conversation. The one about how to deal with press, or really anyone outside this tour. I haven’t even approached the subject with Bedo, though I’m sure he suspects we’re together more than not. I lift my gaze to him instead of the DJ, and catch his narrowed glare. My guess is he also doesn’t approve.

  “They say ladies never kiss and tell, so for this time only, you can call me a chick.”

  The DJ cackles and I tune him out, holding Bedo’s gaze in a stare down until the next question hits my ears.

  “They say rock is a dying art, especially with so many of the greats passing away this year, and now with the news of Richie Sands. How do you feel about that? Where do you see rock music in the next ten to twenty years?”

  Thankfully Austin answers, yammering on about how great music always survives and lives on.

  My fingers can’t move fast enough across the screen of my phone. Going straight to the search bar, I type in Richie Sands, and find the breaking news stories. He’s dying. Cancer. And because I can’t find an official press release, I can’t know how much of this is true and what’s exaggerated. I only know that I have to get to Lexi before she sees this.

  Bedo points at Austin, twirling his finger, a signal to wrap things up, and we finish the interview. I go through the motions, good-bye pleasantries and thank yous, but my heart isn’t in it. As soon as we are back in the SUV, I fire questions at our manager.

  “Did you know? Is he really that sick? What’s the prognosis? Does Lexi know?”

  “Whoa. Slow down, lover boy.” Bedo sets his phone on the seat while our driver navigates the route back to the stadium. “I’ve heard rumors for a while, but yeah, Richie Sands is dying. I don’t think he has long.”

  “Did you know?” I turn to Iz because he’s more silent than usual.

  “I heard rumors too. But you know how that goes, man.”

  “Does she know?” My gaze bounces between the two.

  Iz shrugs and Bedo picks up his phone, focused on his cell when he answers. “Your guess is as good as mine. Lori Mallory knows.”

  “Her mom? How do you know that?”

  Bedo holds his finger up, cutting me off to answer his ringing phone. “What’s the problem now? I told you to work out the pyrotechnics before tonight’s show. We’re six hours from go time. This isn’t child’s play.” He continues to go back and forth with whoever’s on the line for the rest of the ride.

  My thoughts race as I search my memory for every conversation Lexi and I have shared—whether there’s a possibility she is already aware her father is dying, or if her mother hasn’t
yet told her. And what kind of mother doesn’t tell her child something like that? I can’t come up with any indication Lexi knows, and my palms sweat, my nerves taking over. Goddamn, we just got together and now this, real life demolishing the carefully stacked trust we’ve been building. She’s stronger than any woman I know so I have to believe she’s tough enough to handle this. To not let it shake her. To shake us.

  “It’ll be okay. Just tell her,” Sean suggests with a nudge to my shoulder.

  I nod, acknowledging his words but not completely believing them. My leg bounces with nervous energy that only increases when the car pulls up alongside the tour bus.

  “Hey! Don’t be late for sound check!” Bedo shouts after me, but I’m already out the door, running to the bus.

  “Lexi!” I shout but find her exactly where I left her.

  “Trent? You okay?” She sets down her acoustic and pushes up on her knees.

  I drop to the foot of the bed. I can’t catch my breath. Fear. The fear of how this will hurt her consumes me, but I push the words from my mouth. “Lexi, I’m so sorry. I just heard the news.”

  She crawls over to me and brushes her palm against the scruff of my cheek. “What? What’s going on?” She doesn’t know. Her eyes hold so much care and concern.

  “About your father. Richie Sands. Lexi, he’s really sick.”

  She pulls back, her hand leaves my face, and she straightens her spine where she sits. “Oh. Yeah. That.” She’s not at all surprised.

  “Wait. You already know?”

  “That he’s dying of cancer? Yeah.” She picks up her notebook and flips through a few pages. As if it’s no big deal. “Hey, I want to run this song by you.”

  “How long have you known?” I rise and pace the length of the bed, unable to remain still as all that energy from before, the fear of how she’d take this news, courses through my veins again, but this time it’s fueled by irritation.