Rescue (Ransom Book 5)

by Rachel Schurig

  “You hardly have anything to worry about in the pipes department,” I say. I mean it too. I wouldn’t call myself a huge Ransom fan, but it’s impossible to live in this country and not have heard them a fair number of times. Daltrey Ransome can sing.

  “We should totally work out some duets,” he’s saying excitedly. “For the tour.”

  “Assuming you guys pick us,” James says cheerily. I wonder if they can hear the edge under his voice. He doesn’t trust them, I realize. He thinks the audition thing wasn’t just Lou’s idea. And if there’s one thing James hates, it’s any kind of pretension. If someone isn’t straight with him, it’s impossible for him to respect them. I watch our manager talking to Will Ransome through the glass, and I wonder if he’s right.

  “Well, if we have any say in it, you guys are definitely opening,” Cash says, laughing. He shakes my hand. “Cash Ransome.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Layla gesturing at her cleavage, a clear sign for me to lose my flannel shirt. I meet Cash’s eye instead. “We’ve actually met. At the Houston Festival, summer before last.”

  His eyes widen. “Oh, yeah. I totally remember.”

  James makes a scathing noise, and I hope the Ransomes don’t hear.

  “You guys played a set, right? You were really good.” He grins. “I mean, you were good just now too. Obviously.”

  It’s funny, but he doesn’t seem to be half as flirty as I remember. He actually seems about as respectful as his older brother. Maybe I should have lost the flannel.

  There’s one Ransome who hasn’t said a word yet. He’s standing behind the oldest one, practically hidden from view. I struggle to think of his name—he must be the bassist. That would be… Lewis? No, that’s not right. They’re all named after rock legends.

  Reed seems to sense where my attention is, and he takes a step aside to reveal his brother. “This is Lennon,” he says, shoving the guy’s shoulder a little bit. Now that Reed is out of the way, I can get a good look at him. Definitely the bassist. While Reed and Daltrey are fair and blond, Lennon favors Cash. A little shorter than his fairer brothers, stocky but not quite as muscular as Cash. He’s smiling, his expression polite, but there’s something drawn about his face. He looks… sad, I think, before telling myself I’m being ridiculous. He’s smiling as he shakes hands with my bandmates, whatever sadness I thought I detected long gone.

  “You have a beautiful voice,” he says when he gets to me. He shakes my hand, the way he did with everyone else. Am I imagining it, or did he hold on for just a second longer than he had with the others? Up close I can see that his eyes are dark brown, his lashes long enough to make most of the girls I know jealous. What in the hell, Haylee? Analyzing this guy’s eyelashes?

  “I was so stoked when the label said they had you guys in mind to open,” he says, releasing my hand. But he doesn’t turn away, addressing his words to me. “I remembered you from Houston. You guys really killed it that night.”

  I don’t remember meeting him that night, and I’m surprised to hear that he remembers us. Unless, of course, he’s bullshitting me. But somehow I don’t think he is.

  “You guys were supporting a new album then, right?” Daltrey asks. “Your debut?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan says, shooting me a glance from the corner of his eye. “That was our first record.”

  “I figured you guys would be headlining by now,” Cash says. “The crowd was super into you.” Lennon frowns at him, shaking his head, and Cash seems to realize belatedly that what he said might be offensive. “I mean, you should be headlining,” he says quickly. “I hope you didn’t get mired in endless label bullshit.”

  “Nothing better for stalling a career than putting a label in charge of it,” Reed agrees.

  “Nah, the label has been good to us,” Dylan says, throwing a glance to the control room. “We took a little time off after our first tour and…” Four sets of eyes move in my direction, and I tense even though my bandmates look away quickly.

  A little time off. That was a cheery way of putting it.

  “Well,” Reed says, looking between us. He’s clearly picked up on the awkwardness. “Hopefully we’ll get a contract worked out with the label and the European tour will be a good way to come back from the break.”

  I can feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, and I want nothing more than to run from the room. No one is looking at me anymore, but I can still feel their eyes. I wonder if the Ransome boys noticed where the others were looking. I wonder if they will put two and two together.

  “Hey, you guys want a beer or something?” James asks suddenly, and I’m sure he’s responding to the panic he can surely read on my face. Better than anyone else, James would know exactly what I was thinking in that moment. He nods at the booth. “Looks like the suits are content to talk among themselves for the foreseeable future.”

  “I never say no to beer,” Cash says, following James over to the mini fridge. Dylan grabs some folding chairs from the side of the room, and we gather in the lounge space in the corner, each taking a beer. “This isn’t bad for rehearsal space,” Daltrey says, looking around. “We’ve been holed up in this concrete dungeon over in West Hollywood for the past week.”

  Dylan snorts. “We don’t usually get such nice accommodations. They wanted to impress you, I think.”

  Cash holds up his beer. “Little did they know all they had to do was provide a few Heinekens.”

  “How long have you guys been playing together?” Reed asks.

  “James and I have been together… what?” I look at my oldest friend. “Ten years?”

  “Sounds about right. We met up with Dylan and Layla after high school. And Lance joined us when we signed.”

  “I’m the ringer,” Lance adds. “They brought me in to class them up a bit.”

  Layla and I snort. “Yeah, you’re super classy, Lance,” I say.

  “What about you guys?” Dylan asks. “You been playing long?”

  “Since we were kids,” Daltrey says. “We were playing together pretty much before we could walk or talk.”

  “That’s sweet,” Layla says, batting her eyelashes at him. He smiles at her in a way that tells me she’s barking up the wrong tree. I have a sudden recollection of there being some big drama in the paper about him and a girl a few years back. I wonder if she’s still around. It takes a lot for a guy to ignore Layla Kerry when she turns on the charm.

  “Have you guys ever played in Europe?” Cash asks.

  “Nah,” Lance says. “Just the States and a few stops in Canada.”

  We were supposed to tour Europe, I think. That’s what they told us when we signed. A debut album supported by a huge tour in the US then ride that buzz all the way across the ocean. It hadn’t panned out, of course. Nothing had.

  “You’ll love it,” Reed is saying. “We get great crowds over there.”

  “I’m surprised the tour is so short,” Layla says. “You guys are huge overseas.”

  There’s a sudden quiet in the room, and I think I see the Ransome boys glance at Lennon. It’s funny—he has the same expression on his face that I’m sure was on mine just a moment ago—slightly panicked, more than a little nauseous. But it all happens so fast I can’t get a read on the rest of them.

  “That’s my fault,” Daltrey says quickly. “Daisy—that’s my girlfriend—she’s having a baby this winter, and the doctors don’t want her flying past December. So we want to be back in the states before we get to that point.”

  “Wow,” Dylan says as I shoot Layla a sympathetic look. Definitely barking up the wrong tree. “That’s awesome. Congratulations, man.”

  Daltrey’s resulting grin is so cute it’s like a punch to the ovaries. If there was ever a guy excited about becoming a dad, it’s him. Lucky girl, I think. Whoever she is.

  “Thanks. We can’t wait.”

  “And the rest of us,” Cash says, punching his brother’s arm, “can’t wait until he’s up to his elbows in diapers.” H
e nods toward the guys in my band. “Lead singers, you know? It’s good when they get dragged down to earth every once in a while.” He grins at me. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” With that blond hair and those icy-blue eyes, I have a feeling his brother does need to be brought down to earth on occasion.

  Everyone laughs—except Lennon. He’s sitting directly across from me, idly playing with his beer cap. I don’t think he’s said a word since he introduced himself before. As the guys and Layla continue to talk about the tour, I find myself watching him. He’s a lot quieter than I would have thought. Everything I’ve ever heard about Ransom painted the brothers as the loud and boisterous types. Guys who play hard and party harder. Our brief meeting with Cash and Reed back in Houston confirmed that impression. If I remembered correctly, they both were pretty drunk. Of course, so was I, making it a little hard to remember the details.

  Was Lennon always the quiet one, or was he having an off day?

  Suddenly he looks up from his beer bottle, his eyes going directly to mine. I freeze, and it feels like the rest of the room goes quiet, though from the corner of my eye I can see Layla still talking. Her words don’t register, none of them do. All I can think about is the look in Lennon Ransome’s eyes.

  I thought he was sad before. Now I knew that sad doesn’t begin to cover it. He looks exactly the way I always do when I happen to catch sight of myself in the mirror. His eyes are dark and filled with an emotion I know all too well.

  Lennon isn’t just sad. He’s broken. Just like me.

  Chapter Four

  Lennon

  Before we head overseas, the label throws us a huge party. They rent out a club in Manhattan, inviting all kinds of industry people and all of our friends. It’s a good party, even if I’m not really in the mood for it. They get some celebrity chef to cater, and there’s an excellent bar set up. They clearly spared no expense.

  My first order of business after arriving is to find a quiet spot, preferably near an exit, to relax and enjoy my beer in peace. I get my wish—for approximately three minutes. That’s how long it takes for Reed to find me.

  “How ya doing, man?”

  I close my eyes briefly before turning to my older brother, forcing some semblance of a smile onto my face. It’s a struggle. I never realized how annoying four little words could be. Then again, I never thought I would hear those words so many damn times. Every day. From every brother. Not to mention my dad. And guys from the label. And Paige and Sam and Levi and, and, and…

  “Great,” I say. “How are you, Reed?”

  “Fine, fine.” He looks out over the room. “Pretty good crowd.”

  I nod. “Looks like the label’s going all out.”

  “Dad says they’re really pleased with the sales volume so far. The album’s been holding pretty steady into the fall.”

  He doesn’t have to fill in the blanks for me to know that they’re relieved by that. My little shenanigans this summer meant cutting the US tour early, not to mention starting Europe late. Though no one in the family would ever admit it, I was pretty sure the label wasn’t the only ones to wonder if the revised schedule might slow down our sales. On the other hand, entertainment media likes nothing better than a little speculation. And they devoted plenty of ink and airtime to wondering what in the hell we weren’t telling them about me after my motorcycle accident.

  “Len?” Reed asks, and I shake my head, realizing that I was zoning out. I need to watch that. It’s bad enough they’re constantly asking me how I feel—it will only get worse if I start showing obvious signs of brooding.

  “I’m fine,” I say, my voice a little sharp. He watches my face long enough to make me want to scream. “Reed.”

  “Okay,” he says, but I know he doesn’t believe me.

  “Where’s Paige?”

  “Around somewhere. She was talking to Karen and Daisy the last time I saw her.”

  “Won’t she be looking for you?” Translation: please walk away.

  “Nah. Daisy had an ultrasound today. None of them have been able to shut up about it for hours.”

  “What about Dad? Have you seen him?”

  “You trying to get rid of me, Len?” He gives me a quick grin.

  “Yes. Is it working?”

  He laughs, slapping my back. “Not even close.”

  To my great relief, I catch sight of Daisy and Paige heading our way across the room. Paige is talking a mile a minute while Daisy nods. “Looks like she can’t get a word in,” I say.

  Reed sighs. “I know the feeling.”

  But as his girlfriend approaches, his smile grows. He might tease her about her motormouth as much as the rest of us, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that Reed is every bit as crazy about her as he was from the start. I feel a pang of something like loneliness somewhere deep in my chest and look away.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he says as she sidles up next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

  “Hi, baby,” Paige says in that cheery way of hers. “Hey, Len. How’s it going?”

  I should really start keeping track, I think. We have to be nearing some kind of record for number of times someone can be asked a variation of that question.

  “Fine, Paige. Just like I was when I saw you in the limo earlier.”

  Daisy offers me a sympathetic smile. “Len, I want to introduce you to someone.” She slips an arm through mine. “If Reed can spare you for a second.”

  “Oh, he can,” I say quickly. Daisy smirks a little and leads me away. “Who do you want me to meet?”

  “No one. I just wanted to get you away for a minute. You looked like you were about to punch your brother.”

  I blow out a breath, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. “It’s like having a babysitter following me around all the time.” She opens her mouth, and I cut her off. “Don’t say they’re just worried about me. I know, okay?”

  “Wasn’t going to say that,” she says mildly.

  I blow out another breath. “Sorry, Daisy. I don’t mean to snap.”

  She pats my arm. “God, Len. You don’t have to apologize to me.” We walk around the perimeter of the room, and I try to let myself relax. Daisy is about the only person in my life right now who might understand how I feel. I offer up a small prayer of thanks that my little brother got his head out of his ass long enough to keep her around.

  “They should lay off a little after tonight,” she says. “I talked to Daltrey about it. He said he was going to talk to the other guys.”

  “Thanks, Dais.” I doubt it will actually pay off. It’s way too much to hope for that my brothers will stop driving me crazy. But I do appreciate the effort.

  “I hear you had an ultrasound today.” I look down at her. “Everything going okay?”

  “Baby looks totally healthy.” A little look of satisfaction comes across her face. It’s getting familiar, that look. I see it on her and Daltrey’s faces all the time. Like they couldn’t possibly be happier about the direction their lives have taken. A part of me feels a little jealous about that look, about that certainty that life is good and happening the way it’s supposed to. But mostly I’m happy for them. No one deserves that kind of happiness like Daisy does.

  “Are you going to spill the beans?” I ask. “Can I look forward to a niece or a nephew?”

  She laughs. “I’m not finding out. I want it to be a surprise.” She grins. “Which is killing your brother, let me tell you.”

  “Then by all means, keep it a secret. Anything that tortures Daltrey is a damn good idea.”

  She tilts her head a little so it’s resting on my shoulder. “I’m so excited, Len. We’re all going to have so much fun with this baby. Can you even imagine?”

  I try to, I really do. My brothers and Daisy, Paige, Sam, maybe Levi and Karen, all hanging out in Tennessee or on a tour bus somewhere with a kid. It’s hard to picture it, though, even with the evidence of her pregnancy becoming clear in her midsection. Then again, it’s har
d to picture anything beyond the next few weeks. When I try to see my life after this tour, everything seems hazy, blurred. Whatever the future holds, it’s not showing itself to me.

  I wonder if that should scare me.

  “Oh, look,” Daisy says, her eyes on something across the room. “I think your opener is here. That guy Daltrey is talking to has to be in a band. Normal people don’t just go walking around with hair like that.”

  “Are you saying people in bands aren’t normal?”

  She merely rolls her eyes before redirecting her attention to Dylan, Intrigue’s keyboardist, who, admittedly, is rocking a particularly bright shade of blue streaks in his spikey hair. “I’ve never heard of these guys, but Dalt said they were really good?”

  “They’re awesome.” I scan the room to see if the rest of Intrigue has joined the party as well.

  “Are there really two girls in the band?” she asks. “I’m totally in favor of that. We need a little more estrogen backstage.”

  “Hey, your best friend is coming with us. And Karen and Sam are meeting up with us in Paris. It’s starting to feel like girls are completely taking over—”

  I don’t remember how I was going to finish the sentence. I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Every bit of space in my brain is completely occupied by the sight across the room.

  Haylee. Haylee in a dark purple leather mini dress, her long black hair pulled into a messy pile on top of her head. The dress is strapless, showing off miles of bare ivory skin, vivid tattoos stretching across her right shoulder and halfway down her arm. She’s standing with her bassist—James, I think—by the bar, laughing at something he says, and I’m pretty sure there’s no air left in the room.