On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  Nothing.

  Hmm. Well, maybe he was busy…or asleep.

  So I threw the phone on the bed and pulled my food out of the little fridge and microwaved it once Kelly’s was done. She sat at the little table and turned the TV on. She said she missed her family but then didn’t seem to want to talk much about it, so I nodded in agreement and pulled my food out of the microwave.

  I missed mine too, but I wouldn’t have missed this experience for all the world. Even when shit was bad, I was living my dream.

  She had some dumb movie on the boob tube, so I got up and fetched my phone off the bed. I planned to check in on Facebook or Twitter to see if anyone who’d been to a recent concert had posted anything, but I had a notification on the front of my screen—a text from CJ. I’m thankful for a lot of things. What about you?

  I smiled when I saw it. I sat down and scooped up a bite of the reheated mashed potatoes. What did I want to say in reply? I can’t think of anything I’m not thankful for. I pressed send and then sent a follow up. Life is good!

  It was only seconds before he responded this time. Indeed it is. You home for Christmas?

  Shit. I think so, but maybe I need to make sure. We have a week and a half off… You?

  Yeah. A few days. Maybe we could hang.

  That would be cool. Was he serious? Was I wearing down his resolve? I knew I shouldn’t get my hopes up because CJ had led me along this far without anything happening—but, in all fairness, he had that stupid ass age hang up. Part of me wanted to tell him I’d fucked a guy who was probably twice my age—and then thought better of it. I didn’t think he’d appreciate that knowledge and definitely not the details. But I had already decided that if he chose to be stupid and make me wait, I wasn’t going to be a pristine car never driven off the lot just because he wanted to wait until I’d reached a magical number. Nope. I was going to have a few miles on me before that, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

  Text me or call me when you know for sure.

  Will do. There was nothing left to say, really…and yet there were thousands of words unspoken. Now I understood why CJ wrote lyrics. I’d heard his musical words, read them, felt them and realized that it was maybe easier for him to communicate through them. I could see how it might be less stressful to put everything into lyrics, because there was less chance of rejection and, if you were misunderstood, you could tell someone, “It’s just a song.” Whether or not CJ did that, he was a hell of a songwriter and, even if we never would hook up, I’d consider him a friend.

  Yeah…I guess I was thankful for him.

  * * *

  Saturday night, we were back to performing—and Liz and Barbie were back together. Dear God in heaven, I couldn’t keep up with them anymore than I could the stupid headlines in the tabloids, and if these two bandmates of mine were any reflection of other celebrities, it was no wonder some stars seemed to be on again, off again—because they fucking were.

  Before the show, they were giggling and grabbing at each other, laughing and playing, and I refrained from rolling my eyes. They were worse than the girls who had gone to my high school and just as tiresome.

  They were getting pretty serious before we headed back to our room after the show and even Kelly looked at me and whispered, “God, get a room!”

  When we finally arrived, things felt awkward, because Vicki was already sharing a room with the two of them. As we began unpacking the van, Barbie said, “Hey, would you mind bugging out of the room for a while?” She glanced at Liz before looking back to Vicki. “Unless you want to join us…Sticky.” She laughed then, a sound I think Barbie felt showed how much she loved life, but I’d always found it derisive and mocking. She had other giggles that sounded more genuine, but her hearty, raucous laugh was fucking fake.

  And Vicki wasn’t up for it anyway.

  I caught Andrew looking on, none too happy either but he didn’t dare get involved.

  So Vicki, Kelly, and I shared a room. We smoked a little weed, watched a crime investigation show that seemed more interesting than most, and passed out sometime before two that morning.

  It wasn’t surprising that Vicki wasn’t in our room when morning arrived.

  Two days later, we had our first scheduled radio interview, and Peter also announced that our second video would be out a week later. They’d filmed us singing our song “Walls Closing In” in various venues and had finally spliced together what they felt would be a great cut. Then, in a few months, they planned to release a third single and would do a lyric video. I was excited about the video releases, but I was even more excited about our radio interview, because I’d never done anything like it before.

  And, goddammit, leave it to my friends to fuck a good thing up. Barbie and Liz were bickering that whole morning, and they couldn’t blame their other three bandmates. We’d been giving them plenty of room to do whatever it was they had to do, probably because we didn’t want to get any on us when they exploded once more. With Barbie, it was just a matter of time. She was selfish and narcissistic, not to mention unrealistic, and I couldn’t imagine her ever having a successful relationship with anyone, let alone Liz, a young girl who was beginning to seem possessive and maybe even obsessive.

  I’d wanted to stay out of it, but the two of them were nonstop fighting in the van on the way to the radio station. I finally said, “Would you two shut the fuck up already? We don’t want to hear it.”

  Barbie glared at me and spat, “You shut the fuck up, Kyle. This is none of your business.”

  “Yeah, actually, it is. You’re so damned loud, you’ve made it all our business. So help me, God, if you fuck up this radio interview, there will be hell to pay.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Barbie said the words, but I could tell she was only half confident. She knew that she’d not only have to answer to me but Liz and the other girls as well—not to mention Peter, even though he had no hold or sway over her at all. She looked at Liz and nearly shrieked, “Fine, bitch. I like boys better anyway!” She turned and faced the window, crossing her arms over her chest. Liz too looked the other way.

  She’d been hurt again. I felt bad for her, but it was obvious to me and probably everyone else there that Barbie was not a person who cared about the feelings she trampled while in a relationship. I could even see that when I saw how Andrew looked at her. It might have been a fling to Barbie (as I suspect most of her “relationships” were), but the people she had intimate relations with had somehow believed what they’d had with her was more.

  Vicki…man, she must have been high. She leaned forward so that her chin was resting on the back of their seat, her face in between their shoulders, and she said, “So…you two lesbians or what?”

  Liz turned and gave her a look that could only be interpreted as cool refusal to answer. Barbie, though, whipped her head around, her blonde hair flying out from behind her, and said, “Hell, no. We’re just experimenting. That’s what girls our age do, right?” Liz’s face gave her away. That statement too was a knife in her belly. I knew then all I needed to know about Liz’s sexual orientation—not that it mattered in the least. Barbie might have been experimenting, but Liz was in love…and Barbie was fucking breaking her heart. I could see it in Liz’s eyes, and it made me want to wrap an arm around her and tell her to let it out, to cry until she felt better.

  But I knew stoic Liz would never, ever do that—not in a million years.

  Holy shit. This was going to be a hell of an interview.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE RADIO STATION was underwhelming. It was smaller than I’d expected, especially since it was billed as the biggest rock station in hundreds of miles. I shouldn’t have judged them, though, because—while we were waiting to go into the studio area—we were sitting in a waiting area that was piping the show through speakers and not only did they play good music, but the DJ was entertaining and intelligent.

  The girls were quiet as we waited. Now, I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t think it was
because they were silently reflecting upon what they wanted to talk about. No…I knew they were all pissed off at one another. Peter and Andrew stood and paced, looking at various posters and other memorabilia on the wall, but they too were mute. I suspected that my angry cohorts would choose to not participate in the interview, where they might take their bitterness out on the DJ.

  That should have been my hope, but it was certainly not reality.

  When we were finally led into the studio, the DJ smiled and took off his headphones. “Hey, ladies. My name’s Steve, but I’m known as Rockin’ Russ on the air. Do you want me to show you a list of the prefab questions or do you just wanna wing it?”

  We all looked at each other. I didn’t realize a preview of the questions was a possibility. No one jumped at the chance, so I said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind looking it over.”

  He nodded and picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to me. He was playing an old Asking Alexandria song, and I said, “Great tune.”

  He gave me half a grin and nodded again. Ah, a man of few words.

  I glanced down at the questions. There were tons, and that made me think that we were either going to be there forever (not likely, considering we had a show that evening) or he wasn’t going to ask them all. It started out with questions like Tell me what got you first interested in music and How old are you girls really? How did you first meet each other? We hear Liz writes most of the music and lyrics. Is that true? Tell me about your writing process.

  They all seemed pretty standard and straightforward. I had no idea he had a strong knack for improvising and changing gears when he needed to.

  So, as the song got near the end, he arranged a few big mikes in key points among the five of us and told us to speak clearly into one of them when we would answer questions. Once the song was over, he started talking into his mike, launching into an introduction about my band. “Hi, gang. Rockin’ Russ is on the air, and I have here in the studio today the five young ladies that make up the rock band the Vagabonds. The first thing I’m struck by is how young they look.” He glanced at us and grinned. “No offense, ladies.” I shrugged but my silent partners—especially Liz, Barbie, and Vicki—kept their lips pursed. All of them looked skeptical. “Why don’t we start there? Just how old are you all?”

  Barbie rolled her eyes. Her mood was showing. “Old enough to not have to answer that question.”

  Liz was a tad more professional but no happier to have that be the first question. “Does it matter? Aren’t we viable musicians, no matter what our age?”

  Russ shook his head. He kept a calm demeanor but I wondered how long he’d be able to keep his cool when dealing with my group. He said, “Ah, Liz. You mind if I call you Liz?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You have hit the nail on the head. I think it makes your music even more impressive. How many artists struggle and write and perfect their craft before they are what we consider good—or even great? Success doesn’t usually happen overnight and the Mozarts of our world are few and far between. So, let me tell you, it impresses the hell out of me that you girls aren’t old enough to vote but are rockin’ with the big boys. You don’t want to answer the question? Fine. But I think your audience respects that you are young but writing and playing music we hear from bands twice your age.”

  Okay, so by that point, I felt like he was just trying to smooth some feathers in the group. Did I think we kicked ass? Yes. Did I think we were “viable,” to use Liz’s word, and worthy of being heard? Hell, yes. Did I think we were as good as some of my favorites, both old and new? When I thought of some of my all-time favorite guitarists, like Hendrix, guys who played and wrote, like Cobain, and then bands who had in the past rocked it consistently (like Rage Against the Machine)…my answer was no. No, we were not as good. We were definitely better than all the bubblegum pop out there and I also thought we were equal to a lot of rock on the airwaves, but we were not and should not be considered great. We had a long way to go before that. I could see our shortcomings. I wasn’t so deluded that I couldn’t. But I could also see our potential. If he had framed the question that way, I would have agreed.

  However…I could see us not moving past this goddamned question and getting to more important stuff. The man wanted an answer. “I’m seventeen.” There. Simple. Direct and to the point. Fucking prima donnas.

  He looked at me and smiled. “Kyle, right?” I nodded. “Okay, folks, if you haven’t listened to the Vagabonds yet, let me play a little snippet—a solo from their first single ‘Dream World’.” The man was prepared. He clicked a button on his keyboard and the solo—the one CJ helped me craft during our first few moments together—played, building from a slow burn to the flaming crescendo and screaming final note before bleeding into the final chorus of the song.

  It still gave me chills, and I was the one who’d written and played the damn thing.

  The look on his face as he faded the music and grinned at me told me all I needed to know. This guy was a fan. Rock on. He wanted to promote us? I was completely on board. “Kyle, you wrote this solo, right?”

  “Yep.” After a second’s pause, I added, “With some inspirational help from CJ Slavin.”

  Russ raised his eyebrows. “As in the band Death Crunch?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” I grinned. “I call him Siege.”

  “Siege? I like that. So…you say he helped you. Helped you how?”

  “He kind of helped me think outside the box. You know…kind of reimagine the solo I had and just kind of…let my soul take over.”

  He laughed. “Only an artist would answer a question that way. But back to my original point. You girls are playing at a level far beyond your years. There are grown men in their forties who would kill to play like that.”

  It was like I was having my own conversation with the guy. “Well, they won’t get there by just dreaming, Russ. It’s hard work, man. If you don’t work for it, you won’t get it.”

  “Ah. Tell me more about that.”

  “I was twelve when I first held a guitar, and it was a passion for me. I learned everything I could about playing. My mom is a music teacher, so she taught me the basics—you know, chords, sight reading music, and stuff—but I took off from there. I’d listen to a song by one of my favorite bands and then try to duplicate it. I couldn’t get enough. I devoured it, and if—”

  “Let’s talk about that,” the DJ said, interrupting where I was going. I wanted to preach to wannabes—if you want to be great, you have to practice. You can’t do a half-assed job and expect to be loved and recognized. There’s no easy street to fame…not that I’d know. I mean, sure, I’d worked my ass off to be a great guitar player, but I also was no idiot. I knew I’d gotten lucky. Most guys were in three or four bands before finding the right magical combination and then finding a label. I’d never asked, but I suspected Liz had tracked Peter down and hired him, although I’d never know for certain. I only knew that my dedication and talent were only a small part of it. Luck had played into the formula as well…so maybe it was a good thing Russ had cut me off. “Who are your idols?”

  I grinned. That was an easy question. “Oh, God, I have so many. My main idols, though, are some of the greats, guys like Randy Rhoads, Kirk Cobain, Dimebag—”

  “Only the dead guys. You heading that way, Kyle?” I laughed and then he turned his attention to Liz. “What about you, Liz? Who are some of your idols?”

  I should have paid more attention to the bands and artists she named as influences, because Liz and I were so different musically, and, even though I think it contributed to a unique sound, I suspected it would make things more difficult down the line when we needed to work on our second album, when Liz wouldn’t be the main writer in our group. But I was off in dreamland, imagining that we would someday be one of the greats. We were already well on our way.

  I did catch that she loved Paramore. In fact, she said they were her main influence.

  Then Barbie took over, bragging about how great she w
as and what an important role she had in the band. I knew better. Sure, she had charisma out the ass and charmed the hell out of the audience and, honestly, she had a great voice. She sounded great with the music. But the girl didn’t write any lyrics or music, and she caused more than her fair share of drama. Sometimes, I felt like what she did contribute to the band wasn’t worth the cost.

  I’ll give Russ credit, though. He made sure he asked us all a question or two.

  About fifteen minutes in, he took a commercial break and asked how we were all doing. He offered to get us some water and called someone. A twenty-something girl with short dark hair and an even shorter skirt walked in with bottles of water that she passed out to us. Her makeup was dark around the eyes, and she had snakebite piercings on her lower lip. Liz didn’t take her eyes off her, and I had no idea at the time that it would drive the next round of questions.

  Russ came back and announced that he was going to play “Dream World” before continuing the interview. He excused himself for a moment and left, probably to go pee. Kelly was chattering, telling us that she thought this interview would only serve to make us even more popular and Vicki looked nervous. She was biting on her already too short nails, managing a weak smile for me when I looked at her.

  She was jonesing.

  If she could just keep it together, I’d be happy.