Rising

by Lisa Swallow

The smile he gives is apologetic but also concern. Jem doesn’t want to know about Tuesday, but Jax has spent time trying to get me to talk about her. In the early days, Jax attempted to talk to me about Dan, too. He soon learned it wasn’t worth it; I wouldn’t allow anyone to interfere and hid as much as I could. Jax recognises when Tuesday’s around, but has given up trying to understand her.

  ****

  A couple of hours later, Jax and me sit on the edge of the stage chatting as the brothers finish setting up their gear. Will and Nate contain enough excitement for all of us. They’ve always amused me, their enthusiasm for life infectious. On my dark days, spending time with the brothers helped. Their positivity radiates to those around, and multiplied by two, the twins always bring a great vibe to anywhere they go. This reflects in their music, and is why Ruby Riot’s music could never have a downbeat sound.

  What would it be like to have a twin? Will and Nate are identical and telling them apart isn’t helped by their decision to rock the same image. I tease them sometimes, saying they should get their names tattooed on themselves since they have plenty of others. They made a concession – both have pierced eyebrows, but Will’s is the left and Nate’s the right. Their identical spikey black hair doesn’t help; the only option is to get close enough to see. The pair plays on this with chicks that take an interest and I’ve heard them offering to show girls other differences in their appearance, differences not visible when they’re clothed. I laugh, at their idiocy and at the girls who fall for it.

  Jax shows me the latest viral videos on his phone, not-so-hilarious footage of guys our age doing stupid things. Gluing their mouths together with superglue is funny, why? I feign interest but keep checking the time on my phone. Every night we’re due on stage, I freak out for a few hours before. My mouth has a mind of its own and I’m best avoided altogether because when adrenaline courses through me, things never come out well. The guys tend to leave me alone or ignore any outbursts. They know what to expect, and I’m heading in that direction again.

  I haven’t seen Jem since this morning when we left his house and weirdly went our separate ways to travel to the same place. I piled into the hired van with the guys and Jem said he had something to do before he started the trip to Manchester. I don’t think Jem’s sleeping again because recently the door bangs waking me in the early hours to indicate he’s going down to the gym, and then when he comes back I wake again. Some nights I hear him playing in the early hours. What concerns me is I worry about Jem.

  We both hide but parts of us seep through.

  Things cooled between us when I refused to go to the police on the day after Dan tried to get in touch with me again. Jem insisted but I was too hungover and not in the mood for him to interfere. I didn’t appreciate his comments about fixing me, or the weird look he gave me when he told me he wanted to help. That’s too reminiscent of Dan’s ‘help’: taking control.

  Jem’s face is a pissed off red when he stomps into the stage area. I don’t miss the fact his look lingers on where Jax’s arm is around my shoulder, or how he avoids meeting my eyes. This is the other thing that concerns me. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him and I’m aware of something between us that was there but never mentioned in the time we spent alone in his house. Unless I’m imagining it. I don’t know.

  “What’s up, man?” asks Jax, dropping his arm.

  “I’m not used to dealing with this shit,” Jem says. “I usually just play and don’t have to deal with venue managers and crap.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “They’re screwing around over door sales percentages or something. I don’t understand this side of things.” Jem’s half-talking to himself. “And why the fuck are you two sitting there?”

  I stiffen. “What?”

  “Will and Nate are sound-checking. You guys think you’re too good to join in?”

  “We’re done, they had some sound issues they wanted to double-check,” I retort.

  “You do this as a band!”

  “We do this how we always do it!” I say and stand. “We have our way of doing this.”

  Jem glares at me. “You have to do things my way when you’re on tour with me.”

  I straighten. “What the fuck? Since when?”

  “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

  “And we don’t?” This isn’t helping the pre-show anxiety.

  “You have a lot to learn, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart? Since when did he call me such a condescending name? “Fuck this!” Relieved that my self-control manages to limit me to just those words, I stomp away to the Green Room. I need to get ready anyway, I’m still in my scruffy track pants and loose flannel shirt, and I’m not performing in those.

  I’m midway through getting changed when Jax appears, walking through the door without knocking. He halts and stares, I only have panties and a thin black vest on.

  “You could’ve knocked!” I snap.

  Jax has seen it all before. In the early days, I changed in filthy toilet cubicles but soon swapped to half-stripping in front of the other guys when getting ready for gigs. I’m not shy, and they’re used to it now. I’m not exactly curvy and I doubt they find me attractive, as evidenced by the ‘semi-guy’ comment in the hotel room.

  “You okay?” Jax asks.

  “He’d better not be like that at every gig.”

  “This manager gig is new to him, but we should listen to him. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like being spoken to like I’m a kid.” I dig around in my bag for my black dress.

  “Well, we are to him and you kinda behave like one sometimes.”

  I glare, choosing to ignore the dig. “He’s only five years older!”

  “And wiser.”

  I make a derisive sound. “Not really.”

  Jax runs a hand through his thick blond hair and fixes his pale blue eyes on mine. “Don’t fuck this up. Be nice.”

  “Nice? You’re asking me to be nice? This is Ruby Butler you’re talking to here.”

  “Very true.” Jax catches sight of something and points. “You got new ink. When was that?”

  The short vest exposes my stomach, revealing the pattern of red roses and thorns stretching across my lower belly. “It’s not that long since you saw me almost naked! I got it a couple of months ago.”

  The door opens and Jem walks in. Instantly I hold the short dress against myself, and Jax steps back tucking his hands under his arms. Jem’s eyes widen and in them, for a split second, is the reason why being semi-naked in front of Jem is different. I’m not imagining Jem’s attraction to me; the desire just flickered across his face.

  “What’s going on?” Jem asks.

  “Nothing. I was admiring Ruby’s tattoos,” says Jax.

  Jem narrows his eyes.

  “I’m getting changed, if you don’t mind.” I pull the dress over my head.

  “Sorry. Okay.” At least he has the decency to be embarrassed.

  “Then I’m going to have a smoke, if that’s okay with you?” My hair sweeps forward as I grab my combat boots and shove my feet in. “Don’t worry, I’ll be present and correct, ready to go on stage, sir.”

  Snatching my cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of my discarded pants, I leave the room.

  ****

  Jem

  Jax launches into one of his Q&A sessions about my early Blue Phoenix gigs and all I can picture is Ruby semi-naked with him. Ruby semi-naked with me, and my hands on her skin. I fight the memory of Ruby revealing her tattoos in the kitchen – and what else she revealed with them. I’ve spent a few nights fighting my overactive imagination’s attempt to picture what would’ve happened if things had gone further, but my subconscious took hold and pushed her into my dreams. Big pat on the back for not taking advantage, but shit that night hasn’t helped my fantasies about this chick.

  Now this, and in the pit of my stomach seethes an emotion I’m unfami
liar with recently. Jealousy.

  For years, I’ve felt nothing and then in this last couple of months the whole range of emotions has assailed me. Anger, despair, grief, and a shitload of guilt over people and events from the past. The suddenness and strength with which these emotions can overwhelm are what pull me backward. I know why the dreams about Liv began again, the one thing from my past I can’t go back and fix.

  After rehab, I had apologies to give and amends to make. It was fucking hard, but I went to Dylan, and we worked through all the crap of the last couple of years. I apologised to Sky for how I treated her and we’ve reached a wary stalemate. Liam was cool apart from another lecture about how Dylan’s and my behaviour screw around with the band. Bryn just shrugged me off and said the real apology will come from staying clean, because this time I almost killed the thing I love the most. Blue Phoenix.

  Now Ruby stirs other emotions beyond the physical lust I’d have for girls before.

  I worry about Ruby when she goes to work in case Dan appears. I care whether she’s okay when she spends half a day in her room without coming out. I’m happy when we sit together, even if it is in silence.

  And I’m fucking jealous when I see Jax’s hands on her.

  I’ve fooled myself that Ruby in my house for a couple of weeks meant nothing; that she was hanging out until we safely went on tour. I allowed Ruby a glimpse into myself and I saw a different girl, one who has triggered a desire for somebody else to share my new life with. Bryn’s right, this is heading in a direction bad for my grip on sobriety. I can’t get attached to a girl like her - or any girl currently. Back in her life with the boys, Ruby’s relaxed and at home, the distance has reformed and I need to keep things this way. When we finish this tour, she needs to leave my house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jem

  As the days pass, the tightness of Ruby Riot places me further on the edge of Ruby’s life. This allows me to back off, which will make asking her to leave a ton easier when we get back. Two weeks and ten gigs, the band holds up well. This is what I needed to see. There’s no real friction apart from what comes out of Ruby’s mouth before she goes on stage and the guys are used to that. In a weird way, Ruby breaks the tension.

  Liam and Bryn came to a couple of the gigs and their approval reinforces this is the right decision. Only Steve’s thumbs up is needed now. He hasn’t been in the UK recently. His wife has him tied down to their house in the States so he’s asked for a full demo. The excitement on the guys’ faces when I tell them I have studio time booked after the tour is priceless. Even Ruby cracks a smile.

  Tonight Ruby Riot played their last gig of the tour to a crowded venue in Oxford. Their sets get tighter, the audiences bigger. There’s a weird fatherly sense of pride toward them, although my feelings for Ruby remain increasingly un-fatherly. The bad thing is, the more I resist my brain’s attempt to develop an emotional attachment to her, the more I want her in my bed. Yeah, I want her out of my house but in my bed; I’m still a selfish bastard.

  Guys hit on Ruby after gigs every night and I watch with a combination of jealousy and amusement, depending on how she responds to them. Curiously, Jax intervenes most nights and gives outsiders the impression the guitarist and lead singer are an item. I’ve heard her thank him for getting rid of unwanted attention and he shrugs it off but this gnaws at me. I know the four of them share a room at each hotel; and who knows what happens following the late night, drunken sessions I keep out of. At least those thoughts reinforce that my dumb, sober brain needs to find someone else.

  Yeah, right, apart from she’s cock blocking me, Jem Jones passing on groupies who inevitably pass themselves onto the other guys.

  Heading back to my room after the gig, I find Ruby sitting on the floor in the hallway, resting against my suite door with her eyes closed. I pause, wishing the sight of her didn’t fire up the irritating mix of desire to screw her with the longing for her attention. We’ve barely spoken in days. Ruby’s plain grey top is scooped across the neck and has slipped on one side, past the ink to the top of her black lace bra. Not helping. Her amazing legs stretch in front of her, wrapped in black yoga pants; barefoot, toe nails painted bright red to match her fingernails. I pull the room’s keycard out fighting the usual image of those legs wrapped around my body.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  Ruby opens an eye. “I’m too tired to deal with people. The guys are really going for it tonight and I want to sleep.”

  I laugh at her. “It’s ten p.m.”

  “Two weeks of this and I’m fucked. No idea how you guys tour for months on end and don’t burn out.”

  “The current state of Blue Phoenix answers that question.” I slide the keycard and push open the door. “I’ll get you a drink and you can hide out here for a few hours.”

  “Thanks.” Ruby stands.

  I hold the door like the gentleman I’m not and catch her fresh-showered scent as she passes, rewinding me to our days alone in my house.

  “Shit, if I’d know your rooms were this big I’d have asked to stay before,” she remarks as she crosses the penthouse to look over the skyline. “This is an apartment, not a hotel room!”

  Stay?

  “I like my space,” I say as Ruby sits on one of the sofas opposite the bedroom.

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  Was that a loaded comment? “Did you want a beer?”

  She looks at me curiously. “No, I don’t like drinking around you. Hadn’t you noticed?”

  I hadn’t but now she mentions it, this explains why she avoids me after most gigs. I convinced myself she avoided me for other reasons.

  “Yeah. Okay. Coke?”

  She nods and I return with a can from the fridge to where Ruby’s stretched out on the cream cushioned sofa, legs crossed at the ankles. Resting her head on one arm, Ruby’s scarlet hair flows behind almost touching the floor as she gazes at the ceiling.

  “It’s been a while since we talked,” I say.

  “I see you every day.”

  “I mean, since we chatted, me and you.”

  Ruby twists her head toward me. “I guess not. Maybe because you’re hiding behind Jem Jones again?” she suggests.

  “And you’re Ruby again.”

  “There’s our answer.” She looks back to the ceiling.

  “You look healthier even if you do feel burnt out,” I tell her.

  She twists her head toward me. “Healthier?”

  “Not as skinny.”

  She pushes to sit. “How much attention do you pay to my body?” she asks in a low voice.

  “It was just a comment. Don’t get so defensive!”

  “I’m not! I’m just saying, don’t make me worry that you’re perving on me.” She adjusts her top, pulling further toward her neck.

  “Jesus, okay, I was saying you look better after all the shit from a few weeks ago.”

  She pulls a sour face. “Again, don’t.”

  When we disagree, there’s a weird thing that happens, a clashing of wills as we stare at each other waiting to see who’ll back down or get the last word in. I’ve given up trying. Apparently satisfied she’s reprimanded me enough with her stern look; Ruby shifts her gaze to the open door behind where I’m standing.

  “Oh! Your guitar!” Ruby points at the acoustic leaning against the end of the bed. “Is that a classic Martin?”

  Thank fuck for that. I thought we were going down the route to things that shouldn’t be said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, I bet it’s a rare if you own it.” How many people could identify a guitar from a distance?

  “OM-18,” I say with a small smile. I have a collection; this one isn’t exactly my most expensive, but I love the sound. I may not be in the band, but my music comes with me.

  “Serious? Can I try?” She looks at the acoustic with an amusing awe.

  “Sure.”

  Ruby heads to where the guitar rests against the wall in the bedroom. Picking it up as
if this is a precious heirloom, she perches on the edge of the king-sized bed and hauls the strap across her shoulder, then balances the guitar on her lap. “You got a pick?”

  I toss her one from my pocket. I have never been in a room with a chick who’s more impressed and excited by the sight of my guitar than being with Jem Jones. But she’s no ordinary girl. This is Ruby, the mind-blowing woman with her amazing voice, talent, and a body that dances into my dreams on a too frequent basis. The twinge in my chest grows, as she strums the opening chords of a Ruby Riot track, “Shellshock”. I could push the hair from where it falls across Ruby’s face, brush her skin with my fingers, kiss her. Crap, Jem.

  “Who writes your lyrics?” I ask and cross to sit next to her on the other edge of the king-sized bed.

  “Me and Jax, mostly him.” Her focus remains on the guitar but she stops playing. “Huh. I don’t often play acoustic. One day I’m going to get myself a really rare Gibson. I bet you have a crap load of guitars. I know that’s what I’m spending my money on if I get cashed up.”

  “One or two, and I’m sure one day you’ll have a collection of your own.” I smile and lie back on the bed, tucking my hands behind my head. “Play me a song, Ruby Tuesday.”

  “Why did you call me that?”

  “It’s who you are, isn’t it? Play me something.” Ruby taps the edge of the guitar. “Go on. Then I’ll play something for you.”

  She purses her lips. “Okay, but only because I want to play this awesome guitar.”

  I smile to myself when I hear the opening chords to “Rising”; typical of Ruby to do this when I told the band never to play my songs again. Only this time the sound reaches inside my heart. The memory of the day I wrote the song, of Phoenix being as new as Ruby Riot joins the images. “Rising”, the first real song we wrote. I knew at that moment we’d be big and I’d sacrifice anything to get there. I didn’t realise the sacrifices came later.

  Aware Ruby’s stopped playing, I sit up. “Don’t stop.”

  “Your breathing’s funny, are you okay?” She removes the strap from her shoulder.

  “Just rewinding in my head. You’re making me feel old. I wrote that song eight years ago.”