Epic Lies (Epic Fail Book 2)

by Trudy Stiles

  We eat in silence, and I’m amazed by the speed and efficiency with which she eats. Half of her sandwich is gone as are most of the French fries. I look down at my own empty plate and realize I’ve eaten just as quickly.

  The guys are finishing up. Jake and Eddy, our roadies, are finishing the stage set-up.

  I down the rest of my beer and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “So, are you going to stay?” I ask, hopeful.

  “I think so. I mean, yeah, I can’t wait to see you guys play.” She’s enthusiastic, and I’m pleased.

  “Can I see you after?” What am I doing?

  She looks toward the bar and sees Mia continuing her flirtatious assault on the bartender.

  “As long as she wants to stay, I’ll be here.”

  I take a deep breath. “Good, I still owe you.”

  “What?” She’s suddenly embarrassed. “You don’t owe me anything. Seriously.”

  “That’s not an option.” I’m determined to make sure she knows how thankful I am for what she did for me.

  “Just buy me a drink, and we’ll call it even,” she blurts out.

  The waitress comes back. “Can I get either of you anything else?”

  Giselle replies, “A large ice water, please.” The lemon drops line the table in front of her.

  The waitress nods and turns to me, “And for you?”

  “Nothing, thanks. But can you switch their bill onto our tab?”

  “Of course.” She smiles and walks away.

  “Thank you. That was completely unnecessary.”

  “It’s just the beginning,” I say, and she flushes, a rose hue spreading across her cheeks.

  “Dax!” Tristan yells from across the room.

  “I gotta run.” I look around the still-empty bar. “It’s probably going to be a very quick set, considering there’s barely anyone here. So, stay put,” I order her as I stand up.

  “Thanks again for the food and drinks,” she says and smiles. Her smile.

  I jog toward the stage, and Eddy tosses me my sticks.

  Heath taps the microphone and says, “Hey, everyone. We’re Epic Fail, and we’re here to play some new stuff for all eight of you here,” he chuckles. Recognition quickly sets in throughout the bar, and cell phones light up as the patrons begin texting their friends. This place will be completely full by the second song. He should have stuck with our fake name, Sinus Cavity.

  I watch Giselle look around the room, her friend still throwing herself all over the bartender. Her gaze finds its way back to me, and I smile. Disbelief and awe fills her eyes, and she grins back, shaking her head. Her long hair falls and covers half of her face.

  She’s completely stunning, and she has absolutely no idea how amazingly beautiful she is.

  I intend to make sure she knows how much. She better not leave.

  I tap my sticks in the air above my head and start the show.

  Giselle

  Present

  TWO SONGS IN, and my heart is pumping. I’ve wanted to get up and dance since Dax started tapping his drumsticks together. The band is electrifying. The bar is packed with wall-to-wall co-eds and Epic Fail fans. This place filled up in less than ten minutes. I watched as people filed in, immediately swarming the small stage, pushing tables and chairs against the walls. Unreal.

  At least one hundred people stand between me and the bar, and I can’t see Mia anymore. Starbucks Guy is feverishly shelling out drinks. The show is incredible so far. Heath seems to stumble over a couple lyrics, but he doesn’t even care. Every time he smiles, girls scream, so his mistakes are forgiven or go completely unnoticed. Dax seems to be in the zone, feverishly banging on his drums. The music is melodic, and my heart pounds in time with the rhythm from his hands. He’s concentrating so hard with every single beat as sweat drips from his brow, his hair equally wild.

  Several photographers are escorted from the bar, causing commotion near the entrance. Their cameras are still flashing as they hold them above their heads. I’ve never seen real-life paparazzi before. It suddenly hits me that I know Dax Anderson. THE Dax Anderson. Drummer for one of the biggest rock bands of our generation. People are screaming his name, trying to get as close to him as possible. And he asked me to stay so he could see me after the show. I smile, and my pulse quickens. What could possibly come of this?

  Mia falls into the booth, and her forehead hits the table with a ‘thud.’ “Mia?” I ask and watch her hands fall to her sides. She’s out cold. “Mia? Mia!” I yell, and she twitches and giggles at the same time. She’s completely hammered.

  “He showed me his tattoo. He likes me,” she mumbles, and she’s back to heavy breathing and snoring.

  “What the hell, Mia?” I ask, but she can’t hear me. She literally went from zero to fucked up in less than an hour. I quickly text Dottie from my phone, letting her know we’re ready. I slide out of my side of the booth and next to Mia, making sure to grab her clutch. I look up, and I can’t even see the stage. Fans are jumping up and down, screaming. The music reverberating from within and causing the crowd to surge. I only see Heath and Garrett as they are both in the front of the stage, bending over their fans, Heath singing into the microphone. His eyes are closed, and I can tell he’s feeling every single word he’s belting out. The only part of Dax I see are his hands holding his drumsticks, and they seem to be flying in the air uncontrollably.

  I grab Mia’s hand and yank her from the booth. As soon as she’s in a standing position, I wrap my arm around her waist, her arms limp at her sides. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  Somehow, I’m able to make it to the door, and the bouncer looks alarmed. “Is she okay?” he asks, arms and chest pumped out like he’s a superhero or something.

  “I could use some help, please,” I respond, and he swoops in and takes her from my arms. If only Mia could see the fuss being made over her right now, she’d be giggling.

  The warm air hits my face as soon as we exit the bar. There’s a line of people that goes on for as far as I can see. Girls screaming and guys playing air guitar. Dottie’s car is double-parked, and she jumps out of the driver’s side and runs to open the back door closest to us. “Oh boy, is she okay?” she asks, concerned.

  The bouncer slides her into the back and looks at me with pity. “Take care of your friend.” He rushes back inside and has to block at least a dozen people from rushing into the bar. It’s complete mayhem out here.

  I get into the car next to Mia, and she falls into my lap. Dottie looks over her shoulder as she shifts into drive. “Are you girls buckled up?”

  I pull the seatbelt over my shoulder, and as soon as I fasten it, I make sure Mia is secured. She’s snoring so loudly that it makes me laugh.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this. What happened tonight?” Dottie glances at the clock, and then says, “It’s only nine-fifteen!”

  I shrug, but then remember the salad she ordered for dinner. I have no idea how many drinks she had at the bar, but I can only imagine that it was too many in too short of time.

  “I think she drank a lot. Way more than me,” I say as I hold Mia’s head firmly on my lap. I know I left at least one and a half lemon drops at the table. I smooth her hair out and pray to God that she doesn’t puke all over Dottie’s car.

  “Hang on tight, I’ll get you home as fast as I can.” I can tell she’s thinking the same exact thing. Neither of us wants to clean up vomit.

  Dottie keeps her promise and pulls up in front of our townhouses. “Hold on, let me get the door for you.” She jumps out and runs around to my side of the car. I lift Mia’s head and try to keep her stable while I attempt to find her keys in her clutch.

  As soon as I find them, I hand them to Dottie. “Can you open the door for us?”

  “Which one do I unlock?” Dottie asks as she grabs the keys from my hand.

  “Six,” I say. My house is number eight, and Mia’s is six.

  Dottie rushes to open Mia’s front door, and then
comes back to help me walk her into the house. Mia is mumbling something, and the only coherent word I hear is ‘Starbucks.’

  Once inside, we place her on the couch, and her breathing begins to even out. She’s snoring.

  “Thank you so much, Dottie.” I reach into my front pocket and find one of the twenty dollar bills that I shoved in there before we left. I try to place it into her palm, but she jerks her hand away.

  “I will not take that, young lady,” she says sternly.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “You’re my best customers, and a tip like that isn’t necessary. Just keep calling me when you need a ride around town, okay?” she says as she walks out of Mia’s house. “Do you think she’s going to be alright?” she asks, concerned.

  I look at Mia, slumbering soundly on the couch.

  “Yes, she’ll be fine.” I hope.

  “Can you text me tomorrow morning to let me know that she’s okay?”

  God, I love this woman.

  “Of course. And thank you so much, Dottie. You’re a life-saver.” Dax’s words ring in my head, and I realize I left without saying goodbye. He called me his ‘life-saver’ more than once tonight, and I can’t help but think that I deserted him at the bar.

  Dottie leaves, and I hear her car drive off. I sink on the couch next to Mia and rub her hair. “What am I going to do with you, Drunky McDrunkerson?” She snores louder. Not a chance she’s waking up anytime soon.

  I slide off her shoes and look around the room for a blanket and spot one draped over the chair in the corner. Once I fetch it, I tuck it around her on the couch. There’s not a chance I’ll be able to get her upstairs by myself. But she doesn’t seem to care–she breathes deeply and tucks her hands under the pillow she’s resting on.

  “Mia?” I say her name softly, but loud enough that she should hear me.

  She snores.

  “Mia, I’m leaving. Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Mhm,” she mumbles and her eyes flutter.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mhm,” she mumbles again.

  She’s fine.

  But I’m seriously going to give her hell tomorrow. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw her this drunk. I’m thankful that I didn’t drink the three lemon drops placed in front of me tonight. If I was as drunk as Mia right now, I’m certain the two of us would have wound up in an alley somewhere near the university. Or worse.

  I bend down and kiss her forehead. “Goodnight. I love you,” I whisper and walk toward the front door.

  As I’m about to leave, I remember that my house key is somewhere in her clutch. I dig through it and see a napkin folded in half. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I unfold it. It says Trent and has a phone number scrawled on it. I smooth it out and place it neatly on the counter so she can see it when she wakes up tomorrow morning.

  I grab my key and lock her door from the inside before pulling it closed. I walk down her steps and turn left toward my house, letting myself in and locking the door behind me.

  What the hell happened tonight?

  My completely wasted best friend is passed out face first, and I hung out with a rock star. A really, really hot rock star.

  Whose life am I living right now?

  I’M STARTLED AWAKE by ringing and slap my alarm clock, but it doesn’t silence the sound. Where’s my phone?

  I pat around on the bed next to me and find it, unlocking the screen–it’s midnight. Wait, that’s my doorbell. Mia?

  I run down the stairs as fast as I can and unbolt the door locks, pulling it open. My hallway is flooded with bright lights from a large SUV parked in front of my townhouse, a large figure standing in my doorway. Holy shit, it’s not Mia.

  I gasp and back away from the stranger, my heart is racing and I reach into the open hall closet for the aluminum bat my father gave me when I moved out on my own. I grip it, and bring it up to my ear, and get into a swinging–fight stance.

  “Whoa, Giselle, it’s me,” his voice strong, but gentle. Dax?

  I drop the bat in the hallway and back up further into my house. He switches the light on in the foyer, and that’s when I realize I’m not wearing any pants, just a long t-shirt and panties. Fuck.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, embarrassed, my eyes darting around the room for something to cover myself with.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–they told me you left unconscious.” The look of worry leaves his face, and now he just looks confused.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looks around nervously. “Can I come in?”

  Seriously?

  “I guess?” I respond tentatively.

  “Wait, I’ll be right back.” He turns and jogs down my stairs, reaching into his car to turn off the lights. I take this opportunity to swipe a pair of yoga pants that were in a ball on the couch. That’s when I notice that my house is a disaster, clothes everywhere. The jeans I had on earlier tonight are on the floor near the kitchen with my shoes at the bottom of the stairs. After leaving Mia in her house, I came back here and undressed, dropping clothes and accessories along the path upstairs to my bedroom. I was exhausted, even though it was early.

  He walks back in as I’m pulling the yoga pants up. My hair is a disaster, covering most of my face. I must look like that creepy girl from the horror movie The Ring.

  After he closes the door behind him, he stops. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I shouldn’t be here,” he says, apologetically.

  He turns to leave, and before he opens the door, I say, “Wait!” His hand drops from the doorknob, and he looks at me.

  “I’m sorry for scaring the shit out of you,” he says.

  “It’s okay, but why are you here?” And how the hell do you know where I live?

  He walks toward me, and I gesture toward the couch and watch him sit hesitantly.

  “When you weren’t in the bar after the show, I asked the bouncers if they saw you leave. They told me you had to be carried out by your friend because you had passed out.” His brooding eyes grab mine, and my heart melts. “I was worried.” Holy Swoon. Holy shit.

  “It wasn’t me,” I say.

  “What?” He looks confused. “No offense, but you had at least three martinis.”

  I feel my face flush. Does he think I’m a lush?

  “Excuse me, Mr. McJudgey, but I didn’t drink them all. I only had one and a sip of another before Mia passed out, and I had to carry her from the bar.”

  He drops his head into his hands and shakes his head. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I should go.”

  He begins to stand up, and I say sternly, “Sit. Down.”

  He complies and falls back onto the couch, looking slightly amused.

  “How did you know where I live?” I ask.

  A smile plays across his lips as my heart begins to pound out of my chest.

  “I looked on your phone.”

  “What? When?”

  “When we were navigating back to my house. The day you saved my life.”

  “Oh.”

  Wait.

  “But why?” I ask, and I suddenly realize I’m standing toe to toe with him, hovering over him as he reclines comfortably on my couch.

  “Like I told you tonight, I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  “Showing up here at midnight, scaring the living shit out of me, isn’t ‘something nice,’” I say, using air quotes.

  “You’re standing on my feet,” he smirks, and I look down.

  “Oh. Sorry.” I back away, folding my arms over my chest. Crap, I’m not wearing a bra.

  I’m not sure he’s noticed, but his eyes drift lower and then back up to my face.

  “Are you done scolding me now?” he asks, grinning again.

  I huff. “I suppose, but like I told you tonight, you don’t have to do anything for me. In fact, we’re even since you paid for our food and drinks.”

  He shakes his head and stands up. “I’m really glad you’re o
kay, I was seriously worried about you.” He looks around, “How’s your friend Mia?”

  “She’s sound asleep, probably dreaming about Starbucks Guy. She lives next door, and I tucked her in hours ago,” I respond.

  “Good. You’re a good friend,” he says as he’s walking toward my front door. “Lock the door behind me, please, you never know who could show up this late at night.” He’s chuckling as he starts to let himself out.

  I reach for the doorknob, and our hands brush against each other. He pauses, then reaches for my face and brushes the wild mess of hair away from my eyes. I tense up. He’s staring at me, searching my face for something, his eyes settling on my lips for too long. His hand grips my face, caressing my cheek. Oh my God, is he going to kiss me?

  My pulse quickens, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat.

  But then, his hand suddenly drops to his side.

  “Take care of yourself, Giselle.” He walks out and pulls the door shut.

  I exhale loudly, heart still pounding, my hands shaking.

  “Lock the door,” he says from outside.

  I slowly turn the locks and slide the chain into place. He waits on the other side of my door until he hears confirmation of his request, then I hear him walk toward his SUV and start the engine, pulling away.

  My phone buzzes, and I grab it off the counter.

  Dax: Thank you for saving my life.

  What the–

  I search through my contacts. He must have added his name when I drove him home. Then I search through the outbound texts. There’s one from last Friday from me to him with my contact information attached.

  He sent my personal information to himself.

  I walk down the hallway, almost tripping on the aluminum bat that I nearly decapitated him with.

  My heart drops when I realize that I probably just saw Dax Anderson for the last time.

  Dax

  Past

  Age 17

  THE STARS AND CONSTELLATIONS in the dark sky above me begin to blend together, becoming blurry. Tears stream down my cheeks as I think of my last few days with Lara. She was comatose while I cried and complained about being kept in the dark about her condition. My anger was directed at her and her family. I shouldn’t have been like that, and I feel sick to my stomach. My guilt takes control and squeezes the life out of my heart.