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

by Jamison, Jade C.

  Liz spoke again. “So…knowing all this, how are you feeling, Vicki? Are you rested? Will you be ready to rehearse in September?”

  Vicki looked down at her hands but, once more, Danielle did the talking. “As long as that fucker’s not involved, she’ll be ready.”

  What would that mean for the Vagabonds? For starters, it meant we had some work to do.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  I MIGHT HAVE, from time to time, hated the fact that Liz was from money, but she was not your typical rich girl. She wasn’t into fashion (well, I’m talking seasonal fashion where designers tell you what you should and shouldn’t like from year to year—she was more a classic rock type of dresser), girlie shoes, or designer bags. She wasn’t into namedropping or fine dining. She didn’t talk about last year’s family skiing trip or their annual summer vacation to Cabo. She didn’t talk about Botox and she definitely hadn’t invested in breast augmentation.

  She was wealthy, but she didn’t act like it.

  I credited the music. To be rock or even punk (where her predilections led her) meant rebelliousness but also struggle. Rich people—at least all the ones I’d ever known—couldn’t typically relate to a lot of those themes—partying while drinking cheap beer, trying to scrape together money to pay the rent, going to a regular school with regular kids…there was nothing aristocratic about our music, and Liz had learned to experience that life through the music she’d discovered she loved.

  Life on the road had solidified it.

  Even though Liz now owned her own place (well, her dad might have forked out the money for it), she still relied upon her parents for a few things, and this was a case where I didn’t blame her one bit and was, in fact, grateful…because the first thing she did after learning about Vicki was call her family’s attorneys to get us out of our contracts with Peter while ensuring we still had a record deal with our label.

  What really sucked was our money situation. Obviously, Peter had the records to back what he said, but we wound up hardly getting anything for all our work and success. I knew we’d had expenses both on and off the road, but I was guessing that, as part of his contract that I hadn’t signed (my parents had because I hadn’t been of age—not that I’m complaining, because I probably would have done the whole damn thing for free), he had a huge fucking salary. There had also been a clause about hired help, meaning Andrew (who was paid for doing what exactly?), TT, and Bad Dog, as well as all the other people, some of whom we’d met and some we hadn’t. I glanced at some of the expenses and some of them made sense—like renting the studio—but other things, like a charge from a spa, I had no clue.

  Liz’s lawyers seemed good, though. They got us out from under Peter, even though his contract with us had been for five years. I would have screamed bloody murder if they hadn’t, considering he was practically a child molester.

  The lawyers also managed to keep us with our label, and they were expecting an album from us before the year’s end. While the lawyers battled with Peter, we began work on rehearsing. It was good to be back together and playing new stuff. Vicki seemed stronger and healthier than when we’d met with her and her mother. She had color in her cheeks again and looked like she’d put on a couple of pounds. She was smiling again too.

  And, when the lawyers were done extricating Peter from our lives, they got an agency to represent us. But all of this took time and all we did during those weeks was practice, because Peter was trying to claim ownership of the music Liz had written on the road—but we were going to do everything we could to keep it from him—burn it and bury it if we had to.

  That would have been a shame, though, because Liz had penned some awesome stuff. Well, I had helped with a couple of songs too, but only the music part. She still had the gift of words much better than I.

  By the end of September, we were going stir crazy, but Liz assured us things were progressing as they should. She asked the four of us if we wanted to move into her place, because it was plenty big. My mom and dad were okay with it, because I promised to visit every weekend, but moving in with Liz did a couple of things for me—the first thing was it saved me driving to Colorado Springs and back every day and the second was that it got me closer to CJ. He might have declared us to be in fuck buddy status—what that meant to me was that we were going to hook up as often as we could while he was still in town. Death Crunch was going on tour right after Thanksgiving, so I could enjoy him for a good, long while. I think I was hoping to change his mind, make him feel about me the way I did about him, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t going to let him know that it hurt—no one could know that—but I was going to take pleasure in that man while I could.

  Barbie moved in too, but Kelly and Vicki stayed home. Vicki, I think, because her mom wanted to keep her close, tucked under her wing, and I couldn’t really blame her. Kelly, I wasn’t sure about. She seemed to be distancing herself from us, and I wasn’t sure why. I’d always liked her, loved her energy, but there’d been times where she’d clearly wanted to put some space in between herself and the rest of us…like she was with us but not. When all was said and done, I started to suspect that she was pretty religious and hadn’t ever told us. If that was the case, I could imagine why she wanted to treat us more like a job than like family.

  Liz’s house. Holy shit. She bought a small place in Manitou Springs. Well, smallish. Small compared to her parents’ mini mansion in the Cheyenne Mountain region. Small compared to the White House. But it would be considered pretty large by middle-class American standards. It was located in a wooded area, and I loved to drink a cup of coffee outside every morning, just to take in the view and smell the fresh air. As the weather grew chillier with the season, I began to reconsider my outdoor coffee but, I was going to enjoy it while I could.

  I was beginning to grow bored and found myself watching too much TV and eating too much crap. There was only so much time I had to spend keeping my social media presence alive. Besides, a lot of people online pissed me off. Because I was feeling listless, I began considering dabbling in drugs again, but I fought the urge. I wound up making some resolutions. I started working out every day and reading again. I’d been a huge reader as a kid and in my early teens but had stopped when I got in high school. Now, I rediscovered the library and visited it once a week. I also saw CJ as much as I could. And then…I started writing songs too. I bought a notebook and began writing poetry, making myself write a few pages every day. Most of it flat out sucked—but there was always at least one line I thought would be usable by the time I was done.

  That was my little secret.

  The Vagabonds—we five girls—were meeting three days a week and practicing for three to five hours on those days. Because we had to wait for all the legal shit to simmer down, we were taking our time. We had a chance to really perfect the songs and make them as good as possible. I found myself humming them when I was alone, falling in love with them. Liz had outdone herself with the lyrics this time. They covered themes like deception, growing up, finding strength in oneself, and a couple even had to do with being in a band and touring. I felt like our musical style was evolving too, and we were writing some good music together—but we’d discovered that when we were still touring the first time.

  Living with two other women—really living in a home (not on the road, eating out, and having someone else clean up after us)—was pretty interesting. I’d never considered myself a neatnik, but Barbie’s constant messes were driving me crazy after just three weeks. Liz, ever the diplomat, created a cleaning chart, and we each cleaned a different room each week, and it rotated—either the living room (and the hallways), the two bathrooms (okay, so that was more than one, but they were small), or the kitchen. We all talked about what clean meant and what duties we’d do. Barbie was a bit snippy about it at first but finally relaxed and got on board. We also had to clean up after ourselves when we used the kitchen, and we started making a few meals together, where we’d all cook and clean
together. It was nice because we started feeling like sisters instead of coworkers or enemies.

  I even tried to let go of some of my irritation with Barbie.

  I worried about her sometimes, because I knew she sometimes forced herself to throw up when she thought she ate too much. If she’d seemed to be really down on herself or did it all the time (or started to look skeletal like Vicki had), I would have worried more…but this was Barbie I was talking about. No one loved Barbie more than herself. She didn’t have a skewed self-image as far as her body proportion went, even though there was no denying that she seemed to think a lot more about herself than the rest of the world did. But that was Barbie.

  Rehearsals were going well and we were beginning to get our songs down pat. By Halloween, we had our full album ready to record, so we began meeting twice a week to run through the full album. We also started talking about what we wanted our singles to be and what the videos would be like. We didn’t know if we’d have any say in the matter, but we were dreaming big. Kelly just didn’t seem to be as into it as the rest of us and I didn’t know if anyone else noticed.

  By then, it was just a waiting game.

  CJ and I went to a couple of haunted houses on Halloween. He made a hell of a sexy vampire, but I think I outdid him. I was looking for cool costumes online and found a “sexy cop,” and it looked like a police uniform with shorts instead of slacks and a pushup bra—obviously not a standard cop shirt. And heels. It drove CJ crazy and we had a wild night of sex when we got back to his place.

  When we woke up the next morning, we went to Denny’s for breakfast. He was texting a lot and I didn’t think much of it, but when we were finishing our last cup of coffee, he asked, “You have any plans Tuesday night?”

  “We rehearse that day. We’re usually done by six, though. Why?”

  He grinned. “I wondered if you wanted to eat dinner at my mom’s.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think about that, but it had to be positive, right? Yeah—he wouldn’t want to introduce to his mom a girl he considered to be a skanky whore. But what if his mom hated me? I felt nervous all of a sudden, but I knew I couldn’t say no. That would be even worse. “Yeah, sure.” I smiled as he picked up his phone and texted his mom back, letting her know I’d said yes.

  I was nervous but forgot about it until Tuesday. I’d fretted a little about what to wear and then I realized that I just had to be myself. I didn’t have to impress her and it didn’t matter if she liked me or not. It would be nice if she did but not the end of the world.

  When CJ picked me up, he said, “Two things. I didn’t tell mom we’re actually…you know…”

  Seriously? The big bad rock star didn’t tell his mother we were fucking? Well, I could kind of understand not being crude about it…but he could have told her we were seeing each other. “Dating?”

  “Yeah…‘cause, you know, we’re not serious.”

  I needed to get used to that—his nonchalance about what he considered our non-relationship. It continued to gnaw at me, but I needed to be happy with what CJ was able to give. Better fifty percent than zero, I figured. I was going to say something sarcastic, but my curiosity trumped it. “So what are you going to say, CJ?”

  He gave me a sideways glance that could have been because he was keeping his eyes on the road, but I figured it was more because he didn’t want to look me in the eyes. “I’m going to tell her the truth. We’re friends.”

  Ah…the friend zone. But that didn’t really count here. Yeah, we were friends, but we’d crossed that line. I knew he wasn’t going to tell his mom that we were friends with benefits. He also wouldn’t tell her that I was spending the night at his place about three nights a week now.

  And why? Because in less than a month he’d be back on the road…and our incredible chemistry would likely be forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  DANA FORTMAN WAS a tough, spirited lady, and I liked her right off the bat. I could tell she was CJ’s mom—they had the same dark eyes and dark hair, but she seemed to have some Latina blood. She looked exotic and beautiful—and too young to be his mother.

  When she opened the door, she took me by the hands and pulled me in her house, CJ right behind me. “So good to meet you, Kyle. Chuckie’s said a lot about you.” She hugged me then, and I felt warm. CJ had been talking about me to his mom? That had to be good, right?

  “Nice to meet you too.” I wasn’t going to lie and say that CJ had told me a lot about her—because he hadn’t. She took our coats and then invited us into the kitchen. It smelled amazing. My nose picked up a subtle hint of cumin in the air, as well as the more powerful aroma of cooked chilies and onions, and I saw a bowl of tortilla chips on the table with smaller bowls of salsa and guacamole beside it. CJ leaned against the fridge and I stood next to him. He made sure not to touch me. At all. Hmpf.

  “It smells great in here, Mrs.—” I paused, because I knew CJ had said their last names were different, but I couldn’t remember what hers was.

  “Fortman, but please call me Dana.” She turned for just a moment, her face breaking into a big smile. She was wearing big gold hoop earrings, something I didn’t think I could personally pull off, but she looked great. She was about my height and build, so CJ towered over us both. “And thank you.”

  “Sorry about forgetting your last name.”

  “Don’t be.” She laughed. “Chuckie had to tell me more than once that you were a girl. You know, ‘cause he’d say something about Kyle, and I kept thinking you were a boy.”

  I smiled. “Honest mistake.”

  She turned back to the stove to stir the pot and said, “I got remarried after Chuckie’s dad left and took my new husband’s name. He died in a car accident a few years ago.” Oh, God. I didn’t know what to say to that, but she wasn’t pausing for me to react. “But Carl Slavin is a pox upon humanity, a real bastard of a human being.” Her demeanor became angry and I wasn’t sure how to react, but she softened immediately when she turned to look at CJ. “The only thing he was ever good for was providing me the sperm for the sweetest baby in the whole wide world.” She pinched CJ’s cheek. “My little Chuckie.” I’d almost forgotten that CJ wasn’t known as CJ to everyone. That name had been a fairly recent change for him but I’d always thought of him as CJ. I was going to have to get used to hearing her call him Chuckie.

  He grinned. “I love you, mom.”

  “Love you too, my boy. Now, why don’t you get something to drink for the two of you and then we’ll eat?”

  “Want a Corona?” He was asking me? Wasn’t I too young? I almost started laughing but his mom started talking.

  “I’m all outta beer, my boy. I’ve got some Jose Cuervo.”

  “Nah. What else you got?”

  “Diet Dr. Pepper and I saved some regular Dr. Pepper for you.”

  He asked his mom, “You need one?”

  “Nope. Got one.”

  So CJ got us both a soda out of the fridge and we both tried the chips with the salsa and guacamole. I wasn’t sure if they were homemade but they were delicious. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, Kyle. You just sit. I’ll bring the food to the table.”

  It was a hell of a spread. A pan of enchiladas and another of tamales and some green chili. She filled up our plates—didn’t ask what we wanted—and we sat to eat. There was no way I was going to tell her I wasn’t a fan of tamales—they’d always seemed a bit overrated. But smothered in her green chili, my tamale was a delight. After the first few bites, I said, “This is amazing, Dana.”

  “Thank you, Kyle.” I saw her wink at CJ as she used her fork to cut a bite off the enchilada on her plate. “Chuckie’s been telling me you are in that band I was hearing about earlier this year. The Vagabonds?” I nodded but couldn’t say more because she then asked, “Are you the singer?”

  I saw CJ shake his head. “No. Lead guitar.”

  “Oh. That’s impressive.”

  I grinned. “Thanks.”


  “How long have you been playing guitar?”

  “Since I was twelve.” I was already tired of answering that question for interviewers and…well, interviewers, but I didn’t mind telling CJ’s mom. She seemed genuinely interested.

  “That’s about the age I saw Chuckie start developing an interest in music. His sperm donor had left an old bass guitar in the basement. I’d sold all his other crap in a yard sale but I thought I might make more money on the bass by selling it on eBay or taking it to a music store. I hadn’t gotten around to it.” She winked at CJ. “Glad I didn’t.

  “Poor kid had begged for music lessons—piano, guitar, whatever—and I couldn’t afford shit. So it was like he was meant to find that bass that day. We didn’t have the internet back then but his grandparents did, and he managed to find a few sites that had basic instruction.” I knew how it went. All you needed was for one or two pros to give you a few tips. If CJ was anything like I had been, he’d absorbed it all like a sponge—and every musician became a potential teacher.

  “Anyway, you know the rest. Let’s talk more about you.” So we spent the evening mostly with me under the spotlight, telling CJ’s mom about my childhood, teen years pre-Vagabonds, and then the formation of the band itself. We talked a lot about the music scene as well—she was a hard rock and metal fan, so I knew where CJ got it…only his band had stepped it up a notch.

  By the end of the evening, I had fallen in love with CJ’s mom. She was funny, ballsy, and sweet. So fuck CJ. He and I could be just friends, but so could his mom and I.

  On our way back to his place later, after dessert, dishes, and a lot more chatting, CJ said, “Damn. My mom’s never taken a shine to one of my girlfriends like that.”

  I kept the snarl out of my voice. “That’s because I’m not your girlfriend, remember?”

  He chuckled. “You know what I mean.”