Limelight

by Alyson Santos

  So what’s the end game for a woman who owns the world but inserts herself into my nightmare?

  “Will you just come back inside? It’s freezing out here.”

  “Give me a minute,” I say, voice monotone. My tears freeze into something darker, harder, as I squint through the bars toward the street.

  Another night in the candlelight

  Not bright enough to see my scars, just enough to

  Fight, fight

  I’m Jesse Fucking Everett. Tormented, broken, and gifted beyond reason. I’m on stolen year twenty-three. Twenty-three years of Life trying to beat my ass six-feet into the ground. But I’m breathing. Why?

  Fool me once.

  Even Mila Taylor can’t fool me twice.

  ∞∞∞

  I go back inside. Calm, resolved, and cold from more than a Philadelphia winter. The kitchen quiets when I enter. Eyes shift in nervous patterns.

  I stalk past Reece and grab a beer from the fridge. Bottle caps are damn loud in exotic silences.

  “Okay, so tell us more about this club,” I say to Mila.

  She’s listening for all the words I don’t say, but it’s time for her to see how I survive.

  Her eyes search mine for a message she won’t find, and she finally clears her throat. “Well, Smother isn’t a huge venue, but it’s a university crowd, and they’re dedicated. The club doesn’t do a lot of live shows but are famous for their signature theme nights. It’s a perfect fit for what we want to do. We can propose a band night, and if they’re in, they’ll do it right. Leon Stonewell knows how to draw and manipulate a crowd.”

  The guys bounce their heads in thoughtful agreement, and I’m happy for them. Heaven knows they deserve a flirtatious brush with Hope. Mila leaves out the part where she and I still haven’t figured out our shit.

  The glint in her eyes, the clench of her fists as she leans into her scheme, this woman wants to make us as much as she wanted to break us a couple months ago. Our “potential” is crack to talent junkies like record execs. Managers. Promoters. Fans who all want to believe that we can achieve their dreams. Like Mila. She’ll see the truth soon enough.

  “When are you thinking we’d do this?” Parker is building spreadsheets and booking equipment rentals in his head.

  “I’m going to propose early May. That gives us plenty of time to construct our vision and put together a show worthy of the hype.”

  “What hype?” Derrick’s head jerks like he just woke up.

  Mila’s smile makes me wonder how deep her reservoir of sass runs. “Did I forget to mention the publicity portion of the plan? You work your magic. I’ll work mine.”

  The guys are too busy exchanging hell-yeah smiles to notice her warning look to me.

  ∞∞∞

  The way her eyes trace my body when I pull my shirt off accentuates the tense lock of her shoulders.

  I grip the button on my jeans and watch her chest inflate with a quick breath.

  “We need to talk,” she says finally. Her eyes, though. They don’t want to talk. They caress my skin until my zipper becomes painful.

  “Can it wait until after my shower?”

  I don’t wait for her to answer. Well, my body doesn’t. It’s hard and ready and pretending to search for a towel as it shrugs off the jeans. Mila’s breath catches at my boxer-briefs’ effort to hide my arousal. Her eyes must have forgotten she wants to talk.

  “What is it?”

  “We…”

  Damn, she’s easily distracted. I allow my amusement to play on my lips as I approach. Is it fair? No. Like everyone else she believes she knows what’s best for me. I should let her comfort herself with the fight for my future, but I’m bored with it.

  Those curves, though? Her hair? The wit that slices and knocks me down? I’m so not tired of that.

  She can talk all she wants while I interact with the skin on her neck.

  “You were saying?” She tastes like raspberries today.

  “Jesse…”

  Maybe she’s pissed but not enough to fight me. No, her hands are just as guilty as they grip my ass and force my hips into hers. I back her against the closet door.

  “I’m serious about rehab. You need…”

  “I need what?” I breathe through raspberry mist.

  “Help,” she gasps out.

  “Hmm.” Maybe, but not with this part.

  ∞∞∞

  She’s quiet when we finish. Quiet while we clean up. Quiet as we get dressed after our shower.

  Shit.

  “I hate how you do that.”

  “Do what?” I scrub a towel over my hair, search for a shirt, any damn thing to avoid Real Talk.

  “Use sex to distract from what’s going on inside.”

  “You hate sex with me?” I almost wink to complete the total asshole ensemble.

  Her groan would be adorable if it didn’t mean she’s committed. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. The sex, the jokes. You’re hiding, and now that I know how much, it kills me!”

  Hiding. No. Protecting maybe.

  Surviving.

  I glance at my phone and curse. “I’m late for rehearsal. The guys are waiting. Rain check?”

  Glacial eyes turn to razor-ice but my defense is too legit.

  “Fine. I have work to do anyway.”

  16: REUNIONS

  I suggest Estates, but one of the things I always loved about the NSB guys is their denial of god status. They’d rather do Benson’s. Pitchers of pedestrian beer and uninspired bar food. I’ve seen Casey Barrett eat fries I wouldn’t have touched when I was a starving ward of the state. Dude is an inspiration.

  I also don’t tell Mila that “hanging with the guys” would be a music blogger’s Olympus. She had no problem curling up on my bed with her laptop while I have my secret chinwag.

  I secure us a table in the most secluded part of the bar and watch for “The guys.” They’re easy to spot when they enter and knock Benson’s off its axis. Until this moment, I was the biggest celebrity in here. This shitty dive has no clue what to do with icons like Luke and Casey, and I wave them over to our table.

  “Dude,” Casey says with a grin. He adds an awkward hop to his step to maximize the volume of squashed peanut casings. They scream with each stomp, and I laugh at his enthusiasm. God, I‘ve missed these guys.

  “’Sup,” I say, rising from my chair.

  “Hey, man. Good to see you.” Luke tugs my hand for a yank to his chest and firm arm on my back. Casey shoves my shoulder like I’m his little brother or something.

  “Glad you could make it. Thanks for coming by.”

  “Of course,” Luke says. “Like I said, we’re passing through.”

  “You headed up north?” I ask.

  “Nah, south actually. Baltimore, baby!” Casey demonstrates the “Baltimore” dance, which looks more like an uncommitted stripper routine. His smile, though. It’s contagious, and I realize my lips still haven’t flattened into their usual scowl. Did I mention I missed these guys?

  “What’s in Baltimore?”

  “Wedding shit,” Casey sings with a Baltimore Dance reprise.

  I laugh as Luke smacks him.

  “You’re lucky Callie isn’t here,” he says.

  Casey smirks and reaches over him for a handful of peanuts. “She hates this shit as much as I do.”

  Crunch.

  “You finally picked a date?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir,” Casey says through a mouthful of peanut. “September fourth.”

  “Awesome! Congrats, man.”

  He pops another nut in his mouth. “Thanks. I wanted to do the judge thing, but you know Cal. Has to do the whole dress-frilly shit to make everyone else happy.”

  Luke shakes his head. “You’ll be glad you did, Case. Especially when you see what Callie has planned.”

  Casey rolls his eyes. “Those two.”

  I laugh. “What?”

  “Luke couldn’t be my best man because he’s Cal
lie’s maid of honor.”

  Luke snorts and shoves him. “Shut up, loser.”

  “Is she making you wear that tutu shit?”

  “You mean tulle?”

  “Why the hell do you even know that?” Casey picks up a menu and focuses on me. “What’s good here?”

  “Nothing really,” I say with a smile. “But the wings won’t make you puke. Plus, they’re cheap.”

  “Perfect.”

  I signal the server who takes our orders. She gives Luke and Casey an extra-long opportunity to add to it as she hovers, eyes wide. Izzy can’t believe that:

  1. He’s here. At her table.

  2. And he’s here. Also at her table.

  3. And we want wings and three seltzers.

  I’d forgotten Luke doesn’t drink. Right, he’s the one who fought his demons and won.

  “So how’s life on the rocks?” Luke was never one to play things subtle.

  I shrug. “Fucking sucks, but we’re working on it.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  Mila Taylor has moved in and adopted me as her pet.

  “We have a few ideas to get back up.”

  “Like?”

  “We’re…” Doing a huge favor for your arch enemy. “Working on a new track. It’s had a good response the couple of times we played it live.”

  “Yeah? Sweet. You have a sample?”

  I pull out my phone and queue our latest mix. It’s by no means a pro job, but it’s better than the shitty work tape I showed the guys.

  Luke holds it to his ear, and Casey leans in.

  I try to temper my grin at their reactions.

  “Dude! That bass line,” Casey says.

  I nod.

  “Four on the floor, baby! Hot damn.”

  Now I can’t contain my joy. Of course Casey would pick up on the EDM influence.

  “Shit, and trap? Fuck, what is this monstrosity?”

  I laugh. “Thanks.”

  “And by that he means masterpiece. This is sick, dude.” Luke hands my phone back. “You’ve got to get that out there.”

  “Like I said, we’re working on it.”

  He nods, and we quiet as Izzy distributes our seltzers. Also a bowl of unrequested limes… because only the best for Benson’s clientele. I wonder what we’ll get next courtesy of star-struck bar staff. Maybe ranch and bleu cheese? A guy can dream.

  “So what about in the lady department?” Casey’s question comes with mischievous big brother brows and excessive innuendo.

  “Nothing too exciting.”

  “Well, you’re young. Best to play the field while you can.” He’d probably pat my cheek too if he could reach me. Casey’s all of two years older than me and is the only person I know whose version of asshole is everyone else’s charming. I swear the guy could make a cockroach crack a smile. Do roaches have lips? The stuff Casey Barret makes you think.

  Izzy’s back. “Your wings will be out in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  She visually measures each millimeter of water in our glasses to be sure we’re properly hydrated. The pile of limes we didn’t order is still untouched. We’re also good on the utensils we don’t need.

  “You sure you don’t want something from the bar? Can I get you any ketchup?”

  “Thanks, Izzy. All good.”

  She nods even as she’s hesitant to accept this.

  “Hard to believe the Jesse Everett’s at your table, huh?” Casey says, eyes wide with wonder.

  Her lips turn up slowly, then break into an open grin. “Sorry. Yeah. I mean. You’re… and you’re…” She clears her throat. “I’ll go check on those wings.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grins to me after she leaves.

  I shake my head. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

  His hand flies to his heart. “After I just wrote you a blank check with that chick?”

  “Ha. Whatever, dude.” I drain my water. Where the hell is our server when you need her?

  “Wait!” Casey smacks Luke’s arm. “You see that? Our little guy was lying. Oh my god, did you”—he looks around and leans close—“lose the V-card,” he whispers.

  “Fuck off!” I laugh, shoving him back to his side of the table.

  He gasps. “Language!”

  “Okay,” Luke mutters, smirking too. His expression stills. “So, how’s everything? You keeping your shit together?”

  “Sure,” I lie. Am I lying? What’s with all the subjective questions anyway? “I’m doing okay.”

  “Two days ago you sounded ready to jump.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, well, Jonas will do that to a guy.”

  “Your father?” Luke’s face always pinches into unrest at the mention of family. He has his own ghosts, which makes it hard to ignore him.

  “Yep. The bastard’s back.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” My glass is still empty so I pretend to want a lime. I pick one out of the bowl… and have no clue what to do with it.

  “You into limes now too? Heard it’s a big thing on the East Coast,” Casey snickers.

  I shove it in my mouth. Hell, Jonas already left a sour taste anyway.

  I add a lip smack at the end for style points and drop the peel on the table.

  Izzy approaches with two large plates of wings. Ranch, bleu cheese, and a mystery sauce.

  “Dinner’s served, boys. I had the chef throw in his special garlic sauce for you.”

  She legit winks, I guess because that’s what you do when you deliver extra garlic sauce to rock icons.

  “Thanks, Izzy.”

  “You need more water, hon?”

  I have to block Casey who raises a fist to his mouth to cover his laugh.

  “Please.”

  “You got it, sweetie.”

  She’s never called me sweetie. Ev. Er.

  “I was wrong,” Casey wheezes out. “She might not sleep with you, but I bet she’d babysit.”

  ∞∞∞

  Dinner improves from there. Izzy eventually leaves us alone, and Casey gets wrapped up in pursuit of tiny chicken parts. Yeah, this afternoon is borderline fun, which is exactly why I’m not at all surprised when three almost-rock stars thunder to our table.

  “No fucking way!”

  We hear Derrick before we see him. Everyone hears Derrick.

  “Dude! You held out on us,” he barks at me.

  I shrug. “Hey, guys. Luke and Casey are in town.”

  “No shit!”

  Hope Luke was ready to be tackled by a six-foot-two drummer. Parker is more civil with a normal handshake, and Reece nods. Kind of. He never got used to sharing air with his idols.

  Derrick, though?

  “Oh, wings? Ah yeah!” He helps himself to a handful—a handful!—and drops to the empty chair beside me. Parker and Reece pull up chairs from a neighboring table.

  “Wha’re ya doim im hilly?” Derrick pushes through a mouthful of chicken.

  “Just passing through,” Luke says. “Wanted to say hi quick.”

  Derrick nods, swallows, and grabs Luke’s glass. “Right on.” He reaches for my napkin next. You know, so as to wipe hot sauce off his face in a gentlemanly manner. “How long you in town? You have to run?”

  Casey shrugs. “Not really.”

  “Hell yeah! You have to come by our place then. It’s right down the street. You probably passed it.”

  Fuck!

  “Uh, I’m sure they don’t want to see our shitty little place,” I say. Except my voice is more strained than playful. Luke is too smart to miss that.

  “Is this the band house you always talked about? We’d love to stop by.”

  The other guys look ready to shit their pants. Especially when he says, “Actually, Jesse played your new track for us. Mind if we discuss it a bit?”

  “Seriously?” Parker’s voice cracks, and I know I’m screwed.

  The exchange from hell continues on in a distant plane around me as I pull out my phone. How to get
rid of Mila… We need groceries? Not long enough. Spontaneous fumigation appointment? FML.

  “You okay, dude?”

  Someone says that. To someone. Me? I look up. Five sets of eyes watch me slowly tuck my useless phone back in my pocket.

  “Just checking my messages.”

  “Oh to see if—ouch!” Derrick reaches down to rub his shin.

  “We should hit the rehearsal room first.”

  ∞∞∞

  No. Everyone agrees first is the rowhome tour of hell. Damn, the devil will be so bored with me when I finally get there for real.

  I push through the crowd to reach the door first. “I need to grab something from my room quick.” If I can at least give her—

  “Hey, Jess.” Her smile fades as the foyer fills with former targets. Victims. Enemies.

  “Mila Taylor?” I’ve never seen Luke flustered. Never. But that’s my specialty: turning normal shit into documentary fodder.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. We’ve kind of become friends.”

  Now I’ve pissed her off too. I’m on a roll.

  “Friends? Right. Friends.” She forces a smile and offers her hand. Luke takes it with robotic grace.

  “Wow. Been a while,” he says.

  I’ve also never seen Casey look ready to punch a girl before. “What brings you above ground? Lucifer give you vacation days or something?”

  The guys snort behind us.

  “Right. Well, clearly you have plans I didn’t know about, so I’ll leave you to it.” Her lips are so tight, it’s amazing words even escape through them. Oh I’m in a shitload of trouble.

  “Wait, you all know each other?” By his grin, Derrick didn’t catch the tone or any of the previous exchanges.

  “We go way back,” Casey says.

  “Really? Wow! How…” We can see the moment when Derrick joins the rest of us in the present awkwardness. “Ohhh. She talked shit about you too, huh?” At least it shuts him up. Or not, when the silence turns from awkward to unbearable.

  I clear my throat. “So how about heading over to the studio?”

  Bodies are already moving toward the door before the matching chorus of yeps, sounds good, and okays joins in.

  “I’ll catch up with you,” I call after them. Except it’s Mila I have to catch when I turn around. I follow the sound of dishes banging in the kitchen. Back straight and fist clenched around a spatula, she’s prepared for battle—or murder. Death by pancake-flipper. I dunno…