by Luana Ferraz
Things get worse when we leave right after the show without talking to the fans, since The Hacks have an early morning show appearance in Edinburgh tomorrow. It takes no time for them to start complaining online. Todd and Tyler have a bit of a fight in the back room of the bus, which the rest of us thankfully don’t witness. We still hear a raised voice every now and then, but keep pretty much out of it.
I also don’t get a moment alone with Pete. Or Tyler. Or anyone else. It’s really weird. It’s like all the previous concerts and all the hours I spent crammed with all of these people inside a bus didn’t exist. Everything feels so strange, different, new. I feel so out of place. I can’t think straight. Just a few hours ago I was sitting in my living room, enjoying a private concert by Tyler Hackley, and now I can’t even catch a glance at him.
We reach a rest stop after a few hours, where we’re parking for the night, and I’m really thankful I’m not the only girl around anymore. Lindsey and I band together for dinner, and for a shower—something I’d probably wouldn’t have the courage to do if I was alone, sadly. We keep watch for each other, and she asks about Paul since Pete obviously filled her in about what happened. She’s appalled and we spend a few moments talking trash about him.
Then, I ask her if she’s staying until the end of the tour.
“Hopefully,” she answers. Damn. I feel so out of the loop. I really need to talk to Pete.
But when we get back to the bus, he’s nowhere to be seen. I spend some time talking to Neil, who politely asks about grandma and how I’m holding up.
“Fine,” I say, and, for once, it isn’t a lie.
He tells me about the plans for the next day, to which I only half listen. I’m only half present. I think a part of me stayed behind.
I decide to try to get some sleep, so I head to my bunker. I check social media, just to realize the fans are really angry, so I update the band’s account and close the app. I watch some random episodes of British Bake Off—my favorite—until the bus is completely silent. Everyone is asleep.
And, just like that, it’s over. Everything is back to normal. Everyone is where they’re supposed to be. And I can’t sleep.
DAY NINE
I toss and turn in the cubicle, too cold one minute, too hot the next. Everything is too still, too silent, too closed off. I wish the bus was moving, then it would probably lull me to unconsciousness. Since that’s not gonna happen anytime soon, I get up. I’ll just spend the rest of the night watching videos online. It’s the safest bet.
I wrap myself in my blanket and head to the kitchen area. I pause when I see someone sitting on the farthest booth, his back turned to me. It’s all dark, except for the light coming out of the window, to where his face is pointing. His profile, lit up by the yellow glow, looks almost supernatural. And ravishing. Which is irritating. For all I know, he could be posing for a magazine. It should be illegal to look this good, especially in the middle of the night, at such a distance, and in the dark.
I take my phone out as quietly as I can manage, giving in to the urge to capture the moment. And then I walk towards him with the same caution.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, and he jumps. “See?” I point to him, grinning.
“Well, you came out of nowhere.” He rolls his eyes.
“I was somewhere,” I argue.
“Somewhere very quiet,” he narrows his eyes. “Can’t sleep?”
“I asked first,” I say, sitting opposite him on the booth.
“No,” he says.
“Yes, I did!” I insist.
“‘No’ is the answer,” he gives me a pointed look.
“Oh, right,” I nod. “Same.”
“Not in the mood to dream of me naked again?” he asks unflinchingly.
My heart beats in my ears as I am reminded of the last thing he said to me. I decide to play his game.
“I didn’t know whether you were naked or not, hence why I was asking,” I say, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.
“I probably was,” he smirks.
“Oh, I see, you’re the skinny dipping type of guy,” I squint my eyes in what I hope is a judgmental look. He shrugs.
“And you’re the skinny dipping type of girl,” he says.
“No, I’m not,” I argue.
“Then why were you dreaming about being naked in the lake?”
“Probably because it’s one of my greatest fears.” I mean, honestly, how many diseases would I contract if I did that? I shudder only to imagine. Then, I add, “Which makes it a nightmare, not a dream.”
“You should try it,” he says with a serious face. “Face your fears, you know.”
“Right,” I snort. “Not in the lake, though.”
“I recommend the ocean,” he continues.
“Another public place, great,” I joke. Then I narrow my eyes, studying his shameless face. “How often do you do it?”
“Not often,” he chuckles. He looks away, towards the light, and for a moment his whole face is lit by that yellow glint. “We have this studio place in Malibu, it’s near the beach. I know a spot nobody ever goes to because you have to climb down a steep hill. So, not exactly public.”
“You have a studio in Malibu?” I raise my eyebrows.
“It sounds fancier than it actually is. It’s a rented place, an old house. It only has one bedroom. But you can hear the sound of the waves at night.”
“You like the beach,” I remark.
“Who doesn’t?” he asks, then he gives me a baffled look. “Don’t tell me you don’t. First The Beatles, now the beach, you’re making it hard for us to be friends, Lizzie.”
Lizzie. That makes me smile. Damn him.
“I like the beach,” I confess. “We don’t have many options around here, though.”
“Well, if you’re ever in California…” he trails off.
“Thanks.”
“Then maybe we can make that little dream of yours come true,” he smirks again, looking at me.
“Nightmare,” I correct him.
“Nightmare,” he repeats in a whisper. And keeps staring. I keep staring back. I’m trying really hard not to picture that scenario in my head. “What?” he asks after a while.
“Nothing,” I shake my head, trying to get rid of the images. Then I decide to change the subject a little, “I was just wondering how many girls you took skinny dipping in Malibu.”
“None. You’d be the first,” he says with no hesitation. Then the smirk comes back and he adds, “Don’t you wanna be my first?”
“Tyler!” I gasp.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop,” he laughs, looking away, actually embarrassed.
“You’re making it hard for us to be friends, Hackley,” I tell him.
“Well, in my case, it’s on purpose,” he answers, making me shake my head.
“Are you always this forward?”
“Hmmm… yes?”
“And it works?”
“Well…” he shrugs, thinking for a while. “Most of the time, I don’t even have to talk, so…”
“Right,” I snort. Flashes of that night in the club come back to me. “It shows.”
“Jesus…” he sighs, widening his eyes. “Should I change my strategy, then?”
“You have more than one?” I ask, leaning on the table and resting my chin on my hand. He laughs again.
“What’s your strategy?” he asks.
“Ignore them until they go away,” I say, which is actually true.
“And it works?”
“Usually, yes.”
He chuckles, and then insists in a different tone, “No, I’m serious.”
“Me, too!” I say. “I don’t flirt with people, Tyler. You shouldn’t be so surprised.”
“But… you do… like… you…” he stutters and I can see his cheeks turn slightly pink.
“Hook up with strangers?” I help him, even though I’d love to just wait and see what he’d come up with. He nods. “Yeah, sometimes. Usually with
those who don’t talk.”
He smiles with that. Not the smirk. The smile. I start to like this interaction.
“But nothing serious?”
“No. Not since… not in a while,” I sigh. “You?”
“Not in a while,” he repeats. Then, he takes a deep breath, and adds, “In five years and two months, to be more specific. I wish I wasn’t counting.”
“It’s hard not to,” I blurt out. I look away when I see his surprised face.
“How long?” he asks softly.
“Four years,” I say. Then, I take a deep breath and add, “Seven months, and sixteen days.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, making me look back at him. I hate to see the pity in his eyes.
“I’m not,” I say firmly. He doesn’t move. “At least it’s over, you know?”
“I know,” he sighs. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. How do we go back to flirting? “Her name was Brittany,” he offers voluntarily.
I try not to scoff at that.
“How long were you two together?” I ask, since he seems to be wanting to talk about this.
“Three years,” he says.
“That’s a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“She… she…” he stutters again, looking for the words. After a while he sighs and looks back at me. “She did break my heart.”
Ouch. That still hurts. I shouldn’t have mocked him. This is not the direction I wanted this to go.
“And made you swear off the female species,” I try to joke.
“Not really,” he chuckles. “Did A—” he stops himself before he says his name. I appreciate the consideration. “Did he make you swear off the male species?”
“Something like that,” I shrug.
“That’s bad news for me,” he says. I look back at him, unable to hide the smile. How is it so easy for some people?
“Shouldn’t be, since I’m not your type,” I remind him.
“You’re not,” he says.
Then he leans over the table, a bit farther than the middle. I retreat in reflex. But he just stops there, staring. Staring into my eyes. And, then, staring at my lips. Dammit.
When his eyes are back on mine, I lean forward. I can see him stop breathing. I don’t think he actually expects me to do it. His eyes widen the closer I get, but he doesn’t move. That is, until I touch my lips against his.
It’s light and soft. He motions to move his hands, but I hold them in place. He doesn’t fight. So, I press a little harder against his mouth. He releases the air he was holding and cocks his head to the side, so we can fit better. His tongue snakes out and he licks my bottom lip. Slowly. Now I’m the one holding my breath.
I bite the corner of his mouth and smile at the way he tries to turn it into a real kiss. I resist until he stops, letting out a small sigh, but not pulling away. He rests his lips against mine again and just stays there. That’s when I open my mouth and let him show me what he’s got.
He’s such a good kisser. It’s slow, and soft, and sultry. Nothing like I’d imagined. Well, given that the image I had was him eating off that girl’s face in the club…
Shit. What am I doing? My mind flies away, to the corners where I kept my worst assumptions hidden. I break the kiss suddenly, looking at him in despair.
“Is this what you wanted all along?” I ask.
“What?” he frowns.
“Is this why you insisted on the label to hire us? Was this your plan all along?”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, confused.
“Getting into my pants! Was this—”
“What?!” he gasps. “Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am?”
He stares at me in disbelief. It’s enough to make me believe him, really. But now I ruined it.
I let go of his arms and sit back on the booth, unsure of what to say. I mean, I could say sorry, but now he knows what I think about apologies. There’s a chance he’ll get even more offended if I say sorry.
“I told you, you’re passionate,” he breaks the awkward silence. He doesn’t sound angry but I still can’t look at him. “You’re talented. You’re… honest.”
“And paranoid,” I add.
“I kinda like that,” he says.
I look back at him, at his smiling face. Why is he smiling?
He leans over the table again, pausing and waiting for me. Gosh. What is he doing to me?
I kiss him again and this time I let his hands free. He only uses one of them, to cup my face, while the other is supporting his weight over the table. I run a hand through his hair as well, his smooth hair. Damn, those fanfiction writers have no idea. Or maybe they do. I wonder how many other girls got to run their hands through his hair in those texts. How many other ships there are. How many other supporting bands. Shit.
“What now?” he asks when I pull away.
“I’m just…” I shake my head. I’m helpless. “How many times did you do this? How many opening acts did you… kiss?”
“None. You’re the first,” he says quickly. Then he cocks his head to the side, thinking. “You’re the first female opening act, though. So, maybe the first of many.”
“You wish,” I snort, rolling my eyes. Such a Tyler thing to say.
“I don’t, actually,” he smiles. “Not many, anyway. Just the one.”
Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. When did he get so good with words?
I’m about to give him his reward for being so poetic when Neil walks in on us.
“Good morning, night owls,” he says, observing us with sleepy and suspicious eyes.
“Is it already morning?” I take my phone to check the time.
“Not quite, but we have an early start today,” he says as he gathers the things to make coffee. “Not you, actually, you should be asleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“I see,” he turns to me, and then to Tyler. “What are you doing?”
“Talking,” Tyler answers. I just nod. Vigorously.
Neil glances back and forth from me to him, but says nothing. He turns around to start on his coffee and I see my opportunity to slip away.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” I say, faking a yawn.
Tyler glares as I walk past him. I make sure Neil is not looking to blow him a kiss and wink. He only shakes his head, but bites his lip to hold back a smile.
Of course, I’m not physically able to sleep. I can only think about his lips and his eyes and his hair. Crap. What will we do now? I have to talk to Pete.
***
I lie still as if my life depends on it. The hours drag on. I fall asleep for a second when the bus takes off, but wake up again with the chatter going on around the bus. Apparently, everyone is up already. I grab my phone to see what time it is and find a message from and unknown number.
‘Hey just Becky! Sorry to bother you, but grandma forgot a few clothes at the hospital.’
Beneath it, there’s another message, sent fifteen minutes later.
‘It’s Patrick. The nurse.’
I frown. Why is he texting me about forgotten clothes? I’m about to tell him to call grandma’s house as I’m sure the hospital has her number, but stop myself. She might want to get there herself to collect them. Maybe Patrick sensed that, too.
‘Thanks,’ I reply. ‘Will have someone come by to pick them up.’
As I’m typing, I receive another message, this time from Lindsey.
‘Are you awake? I’m really hungry but Pete is still sleeping.’
Pete. I’m worried. We haven’t had a proper conversation since I left. I need to get him alone. I’ll have to tell him what happened.
Ugh. What happened? I can’t decide if it was right or if it was a mistake. As much as I really wanted it to happen—and that it was really good—it doesn’t change the fact that our relationship is mainly professional. That I barely know him. This tour was supposed to be about our careers. T
hese past few days were definitely not about anyone’s careers. I don’t want last night to get in the way of what really matters here. That’s why I need to talk to Pete—he’ll have the answers.
‘Yes,’ I text Lindsey back. ‘Really need a wee, getting up now.’
I open the curtain of my bunk at the same time Lindsey opens hers. She hugs me as I walk by her to the bathroom. I grimace as I see my reflection—the wild hair, the dark circles under my eyes, the spots that are starting to appear on my skin due to all the junk food we’ve been eating on tour. I sigh, cursing myself for not bringing my make-up bag in here with me. But then I think fuck it. We’re all way past appearances by now.
“… we’re gonna have like half an hour for you guys to get ready,” Neil is saying as I enter the kitchen. The Hackley boys are seated in a row, listening to his instructions, resembling small children.
“Morning,” I mumble as I move to get a mug and fill it with coffee. They answer in unison and Neil goes right back into detailing how their morning is going to go.
I avoid looking over as I move to sit with Lindsey, my back turned to them.
“Morning,” she smiles.
“So, how did you sleep?” I ask.
“Not so great, to be honest,” she makes a face. “You?”
“Same,” I say, looking down at my cup.
“Do you ever get used to sleeping in a bus?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t know,” I shrug. This is my first time having to do this.
“You better,” she says, “soon this will be your life.”
I look back at her, smiling. She’s always so supportive.
“You’ll have to get used to it, too,” I say.
“Yeah,” she mumbles, avoiding my gaze.
Damn. Was I wrong? Are they still fighting?
“Now, you,” Neil approaches us, pointing a finger at me. “You and Pete have the whole morning off.”
“Okay,” I nod.
“You can spend it however you want, but, I have a suggestion” he says, a funny look on his face. “I think you should do something special for the fans. I was thinking,” he continues, sitting down beside me, “you could use the last gig as a type of homecoming thing, since it’s near your hometown. So, my idea is that you and Pete come up with something fun for the fans to do and win tickets to Glasgow.”