Unfaded

by Julie Johnson

  She looks like a fucking meteorite — sparkling in silver and black. Her kohl-rimmed eyes are a stunning shade of honey, even from twenty feet away. Her lipstick is a deep scarlet, an homage to the great Bethany Hayes — and a distracting one, at that. I’ve been fixated on her mouth all night, whether it’s pursed in anger or pouring out lyrics.

  The moment she stepped out of her dressing room, it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to throw her over my shoulder, carry her back inside, pin her up against the nearest wall, and kiss her until every trace of red was off her lips… until she melted in my arms and admitted, once and for all, that she’s mine and always will be.

  Which may explain why I had not even an ounce of remaining restraint to control my reaction a few moments later, when she confronted me about my recent attitude.

  “Thank you for coming,” I tell a middle-aged mother and her teenage daughter as I sign their album, shooting daggers at the man hugging Felicity over the top of their heads. “Your support means the world.”

  Feeling the weight of my stare, Felicity looks up, straight at me. The light in her gaze goes dark as soon as our eyes meet, shuttered in an instant as the air between us fills with memories.

  You’ve been ignoring me, shutting me out…

  You ripped my heart from my chest.

  You’ve been so cold I can hardly breathe…

  I’m not your boyfriend anymore, baby.

  We both glance away at the same moment.

  “Hey there!” I wink at the next two girls in my line, making them blush and giggle as they approach. “Thanks so much for coming out tonight…”

  Rinse.

  Repeat.

  “Yes, this is Francesca.” The Route 66 agent listens for a moment to whoever is on the other line, then sighs deeply into her cellphone. “No, you were supposed to pull the busses around the back of the venue.” She pauses. “Well, that’s frankly unacceptable. Now it’ll be a mob scene.”

  She clicks off her phone with an angry jab of her finger against the screen, muttering under her breath about basic competence. She looks up to find me, Felicity, Aiden, Lincoln, Carly, and two of the security guys whose names I can’t ever seem to remember, all staring at her with raised brows.

  “Apparently, the buses are in the side lot, not the back lot. Even though I called twice to confirm the pickup point.” Her lips purse. “You’d think such a simple task wouldn’t require vigilant supervision, and yet…”

  “Francesca, it’s not exactly a crisis.” Aiden’s voice is placating. “We can walk to the side of the venue.”

  “That’s not the point.” She adopts her most severe expression. “The point is, I’m your label representative, not your tour manager. It’s not my job to be juggling these details, nor can I leave all my interns at your disposal. As I told you weeks ago: you need to find someone who can handle these things while you’re out on the road. Issues will crop up, and I won’t be there to fix them, except on the rare occasions I fly out to see one of your shows. I have other artists that require my attention as well.” Her expression is acutely disappointed, as though we’re disobedient children. “Did you not get in contact with the potential tour managers I recommended?”

  “Those guys were sleazy as they come,” Aiden mutters.

  “We are not discussing whether their personalities could win a manners pageant.” Francesca crosses her arms over her chest. “Frankly, I’m not concerned with what they’re like, so much as what they can do. All of the candidates I sent to you were thoroughly vetted for experience and job performance. I don’t see why their demeanors should be a contributing factor.”

  “Spoken like the corporate robot you are,” Lincoln mutters lowly.

  “Linc,” I growl. “Watch it.”

  He holds up his hands in defense. “Just speaking the truth.”

  “Francesca…” I try to find some middle ground, before this situation implodes. “I apologize if we’ve been making you step outside your job description here. While we appreciate your recommendations, we’ve dealt with enough people in this business to recognize who we can and cannot work with. Those candidates simply weren’t a good fit. We’ll find the right tour manager eventually.”

  “And in the meantime?” Her tone is sharp. “You’re leaving for Las Vegas in less than an hour. You expect to find a surplus of viable candidates while you’re out on the road for the next three and a half months?”

  A fraught silence descends on the room — shattered by the delicate clearing of a throat.

  “Maybe I can help.”

  Everyone looks over at Carly, varying shades of surprise etched on our faces. She flushes under all the attention, but holds her ground. “I can keep things organized. Manage some of the moving parts, so to speak, keeping y’all free to focus on the music. Just temporarily, of course,” she adds, shrugging. “Until you find someone more qualified.”

  “You?” Francesca asks arching an auburn brow.

  “Yes, me.” Carly’s eyes flash and her tone acquires some steel. “Look, I may not have any experience in running a tour, but I’ve spent the past five years running a stage at one of the most popular music venues in Nashville. I know how to deal with roadies, organize a schedule, sweet talk stubborn sound technicians, and even convince the most melodramatic musicians—” She shoots Aiden an interesting look. “—to go on stage at their proper set times.”

  Aiden looks undeniably red around the collar. Whether with anger or embarrassment is anyone’s guess.

  “The tour is already planned,” Francesca murmurs, thoughts churning in her eyes. “It would merely be a matter of putting out small fires as they arise — coordinating with the venues before and after arrival, confirming reservations, checking in and out of the hotels, making sure the catering crews restock the bus at every stop, keeping the stage crew on schedule… That sort of thing.”

  “I can do that,” Carly says, nodding. “Well… I think I can do that. Eighty-six percent certain.”

  “Comforting,” Aiden mutters. “You’d probably say the same about brain surgery if someone handed you a scalpel.”

  Carly shoots him a frosty look. “Oh, you don’t want to see me with a scalpel in hand, Aiden. I might just use it on you, if you keep insulting me.”

  Lincoln laughs.

  “I for one think it’s a great idea,” Felicity chimes in, stepping up to Carly’s side.

  “Of course you do,” I mutter under my breath.

  Felicity’s icy gaze snaps to mine. “What was that, Ryder?”

  I shrug casually, shoving my hands in my pockets and keeping my mouth shut. I’m tired of fighting with her, tonight.

  Tired of fighting with her, period.

  “No thoughts at all on the matter?” Her eyes narrow on me. “Strange, you were simply full of opinions earlier.”

  My teeth clench to avoid taking the bait. “I suppose since Carly was already planning on tagging along for the first leg of the tour… she might as well make herself useful.”

  Felicity’s brows lift and her mouth goes slack — whatever she expected, it wasn’t a show of support.

  “Really?” Carly beams at me hopefully.

  I shrug, winking at her. “If it means we can stop talking about this administrative shit, I’m cool with it.”

  “Here, here,” Lincoln mutters. “We just played our first goddamned show! We’re supposed to be celebrating, not talking shop.”

  Aiden glowers. “Don’t you think this warrants an official band vote?”

  “A vote? Fine.” Felicity holds up her fingers and starts tallying. “I’m in, Ryder’s in, and the way Linc’s been grinning for the past two minutes, I’m guessing he’s in, too.”

  “Damn straight,” Linc says, waggling his brows at Carly. “I call top bunk, babe.”

  She snorts.

  “There you have it,” Felicity tells Aiden, waving three fingers at him. “Majority rules. Carly stays on as our temporary tour manager.”

&nbs
p; “But—”

  “Aiden, I’m tired. It’s been a long day, and I’m going to bed.” Felicity hooks her arm with Carly’s, then glances at Francesca. “Where did you say our bus is parked?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The women disappear in a tight formation of high heels and attitude.

  Pissed as I am at Felicity, all I feel in this moment is pride. She’s come so damn far from the meek girl who used to live above a bar back in Nashville, too scared even to sing in front of anyone. Burying her name, her talent, her personality deep down where no one could appreciate it, out of an unyielding sense of self-preservation.

  But now, it’s on full display for anyone to see. Now, she’s strong enough to command the attention that was always rightfully hers.

  It’s sexy as hell.

  Linc chuckles lowly as he watches the women vanish out of sight. “A blonde, a redhead, and a brunette walk onto a tour bus…”

  Aiden looks at the ceiling, unamused.

  Laughing at his own joke, Linc disappears down the hall. Two of our security guards detach from their four-man unit and trail after him. When they’re gone, Aiden looks at me with desperation in his eyes, as if I can somehow save us from this fate.

  I can’t save you, man.

  I can’t even save myself.

  “You want to talk about it?” I ask instead.

  His brows lift. “About what?”

  “Whatever it is about that girl that gets under your skin so effectively.”

  His hands fist at his sides. “How many times have I asked you to talk about Felicity?”

  I blink. “None.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fine. I don’t need to know.” I shrug. “But whatever it is, figure it out. Never seen you this on-edge before, man. I don’t like it.”

  “If that were true, you never would’ve let her stay.”

  He storms out of the room without another word, his eyes dark and his muscles tense. If I didn’t know better…

  I’d say he was in love with that girl.

  I wait awhile before I follow, taking a moment to regroup. The weight of this night presses heavily against my chest. I can’t help thinking Lincoln was right, earlier. With all these secrets… this tour bus is going to be pretty fucking crowded.

  Chapter Fifteen

  felicity

  It’s nearly midnight, but there’s still a crowd staked out in front of the venue when we step into the warm August air — enthusiastic fans hoping for one final glimpse of us getting into our bus, as well as paparazzi waiting for a money shot they can sell to gossip rags and entertainment websites. They line the metal guard rails that cordon off the path from the building to the buses, snapping photos and waving excitedly when I emerge through the doors.

  I hear Lincoln and Carly chatting as they follow me out, but I’m too tired to focus on their conversation. Now that the adrenaline of the show has worn off, exhaustion is hitting me full-force. My very bones feel weary as I lift my feet to walk, following Francesca through the gauntlet of screams and cheers.

  “Felicityyyyyy!”

  “We love you!”

  “Great show tonight!”

  I should probably stop and sign impromptu autographs, but I can hardly rally enough energy to wave. All these lights, this noise. All this yelling. Fake laughs at strangers’ jokes and big smiles despite aching cheeks… I feel utterly drained, my soul-batteries depleted to the dregs. My introverted self is screaming for a reprieve, if only to recharge with a good book, a cup of tea, and some quiet.

  I see the light at the end of the tunnel: two black sleeper coaches that say WILDWOOD on the side in the same brush-script font that decorates our album covers and guitar picks, website headers and merch-store items. There’s one bus for the road crew and equipment, the other reserved for the band.

  Home sweet home, for the foreseeable future.

  We’re nearly to the coach doors when a woman breaks free of the crowd. Before the security detail can react, she’s around the metal barricades and stepping directly into my path. I go still, the world crashing to a sudden halt as I stare at her, hardly recognizing the frail creature before me. She stares back, her feverish gaze roaming my face, my dress, my bare legs. The hair, the heels, the red lips.

  “You grew up,” she whispers. Her smile is as wobbly as her footing. “You’re so beautiful.”

  And you’re so changed.

  I’m vaguely aware I’ve stopped breathing, but I can’t seem to remember how to start again. Smiling lopsidedly, the woman lurches forward, as if to embrace me…

  And all hell promptly breaks loose.

  Two members of my security team close in, grabbing her before she makes it another inch. She doesn’t fight them as they haul her back toward the metal barriers like a limp sack of flour.

  “Stop!” I cry out, barely recognizing my own voice. “Please, stop. Don’t hurt her.”

  York and Linden pause to look at me, their beefy muscles on full display as they hold her in place.

  “Do you know this woman?” York uses his sternest voice, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth between me and the woman in his grip.

  I feel Carly and Linc pressing close at my back, concern ebbing off them in waves. In the distance, I hear a growing chorus of curious murmurs from the crowd on all sides, as well as the ceaseless sound of camera shutters clicking down, immortalizing this moment for all eternity.

  “She’s… she’s my mother.”

  I hear a soft gasp from Carly. A low curse from Lincoln. The guards drop their hold but don’t step away, their eyes locked on the woman who raised me — her bloodshot eyes, the too-thin arms sticking out of a sweater that’s seen better days.

  Dread churns inside me, potent as whatever drug is flowing through her veins.

  “Sweetie, I knew you’d be happy to see me if I came!” She smiles, a jittery flash of crooked teeth. “Can we go somewhere and talk? I need to… You should… We’ve got some things to discuss with you.”

  We?

  I feel suddenly faint. Disembodied, as though I’ve shifted into slow motion while the world around me carries on at regular speed. I can’t keep up. Can’t respond. Can’t move. Can’t breathe.

  Paralyzed, my mind spins with just one question.

  Is he here, too?

  Before I can move, she reaches forward and clamps her hand around my bicep with surprising strength, considering how she’s wasted away since I last saw her. She’s a shadow of her former self — her curves replaced by gaunt angles, her once-lustrous chestnut locks hanging dull and limp around her drawn face.

  I try to pull out of her hold, but she clutches me with the tenacity of a barnacle.

  “Come on, sweetheart, I just want to talk.” Her eyes shift restlessly across my features. “You want to talk to your Momma, don’t you?”

  Linden and York look conflicted about whether they should intervene. Carly murmurs my name, her voice saturated by apprehension. Francesca is chewing her lip, worried about the spectacle we’re creating as more and more press snap photos of our strange huddle.

  My mother starts tugging at my arm, trying to pull me away from the group. To get me alone.

  I want to stop her. I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

  But…

  I’m five years old again, hiding in the closet from the monsters in my own house.

  Distantly, I hear the sound of a door banging open as someone tears out of the building at top speed.

  I’m six, and the oak table is in pieces on the kitchen floor, legs snapped clean through, just like the bone in my arm.

  “Felicity.” She licks her lips, a nervous habit.

  I’m seven, wedging a chair under my bedroom door before I go to bed, in case they come home from the bar screaming again.

  “Let’s go, sweets. It won’t take long.” My mother shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting around like a fish in a bowl as a towering figure appears at my side.

  �
��She’s not going anywhere with you.”

  The growl is so potent, so ferocious, I’d be scared if it didn’t recognize the man it’s coming from. Slowly, with meticulous precision, he reaches down and peels my mother’s grip from my arm, digit by digit. He tosses her hand away like a piece of garbage, replacing her hold with his own. His warm, callused fingers stroke my skin, as if to erase an unwanted stain.

  Ryder.

  The world rushes back, time resuming its normal flow as a breath bursts into my screaming lungs. I look up at him, his towering presence a welcome sight despite the dark fury contorting his features, and am overcome by the most irrational thought.

  He’s here, now.

  I’m safe, now.

  “I suggest you turn around,” he mutters in the coldest tone I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. “And crawl back under whatever rock you slithered out from.”

  My mother’s face contorts into a glare. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

  “Oh, I know all about you, Kandace.” His voice is lethally soft. “And the few stories Felicity told me about you and your husband were enough for me to decide, with absolute certainty, you’re never getting near her again. Certainly not alone.”

  “You don’t control my relationship with my daughter!” she hisses, her eyes flying to mine. “Tell him, sweetie. Tell him you’ll talk to me.”

  Bolstered by Ryder’s presence, I finally find my voice. “I don’t have anything to say to you, mother.”

  At my words, Linden and York close in again, each manacling one of her arms in a massive grip.

  “How dare you? I’m your mother!”

  The laugh sounds more like a sob. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”