Copyright © 2014 Sonya Loveday
This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manor whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Sprinkles On Top Studios
http://www.sprinklesontopstudios.com/
Formatting by Sonya Loveday
Formatted by: Sonya Loveday
Editor: Editing Services by Cynthia Shepp
http://www.cynthiashepp.com/
Published by Sonya Loveday
Fist Edition
ISBN: 1505355230
ISBN-13: 978-150535523
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
I TAPPED MY CREDIT CARD against the counter, sure there had to be some sort of mistake. “Can you check again?”
The ticket agent’s eyes peered over her wire-rimmed glasses. “Sir, I can assure you there is no ticket booked for a Mr. Jared Jackson on flight 1019 to Los Angeles. If you’d like to book another flight, I can help you. Otherwise, you’ll need to collect your bags so that I can help the next person in line.” Her eyes darted over my shoulder at the empty cue line.
“Seriously?” If it weren’t for the fact I needed to get to L.A., I would have told her exactly what kind of bitch she sounded like. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek and handed over my credit card.
She plucked it out from between my fingers, snapping it down on the counter by her keyboard. “I’ll need your driver’s license as well.”
Flipping my wallet open, I pulled out my license. I didn’t give her the chance to snatch it out of my hand as I slapped it on the counter and pushed it over to rest beside my credit card. Two could play her game. Only I could do it better. My mean streak was about a mile wide, and she didn’t realize how close to the middle she stood in it.
As her fingers clicked away at the keyboard, the second hand on the clock, hanging across from me, ticked away. Anger bubbled under my skin, heating my blood to a boil. I’d been standing at the counter, trying to sort out why there wasn’t a ticket waiting for me, for over forty-five minutes. Those minutes spent with Becky the Airline Bitch, who couldn’t smile if her life depended on it.
She’d been nice too, up until I mentioned that there had to be a mistake—that my band manager had said there would be a ticket waiting for me. Her patience ended when I tried calling Woody, and he never answered. And what kind of fuckin’ name was Woody anyway? I could feel my anger building to the point where my restraint would snap. If Becky bitch-face sneered at me one more time, I’d snap and be hauled off to jail. I had to keep my patience if I wanted to make it to L.A.
A smile kicked up at the corner of her mouth before she schooled her features. “Unfortunately, Mr. Jackson, that flight is full. I can put you on the next available flight out if you’d like.”
Of course it was full. “When is the next flight?” I couldn’t help the anger laced within the words I hissed at her through clenched teeth.
She didn’t even bat an eyelash. “The next flight leaves at 6:15 and arrives in Salt Lake City at…”
I stopped listening. I didn’t need to hear anymore. I’d been booked on a flight with a layover, and Becky bitch-face enjoyed every moment of making my day even shittier than it was before I’d strolled up to her counter. “Fine.”
Her fingers went back to the keyboard and the printer beside her spit out my tickets. She plastered a fake smile on her face and handed me my tickets along with my credit card and license. I flipped my wallet back open as she put the printed baggage tags on my guitar case and duffel bag.
Snatching the tickets off the counter, I clenched them in my hand when she dumped my guitar onto the conveyor belt behind her. I would raise all sorts of hell if my guitar showed up in L.A. busted to shit. My jaw ached as my teeth gnashed together to keep the words trapped behind my teeth. The need to spew the warning at her ate at me the longer I stood there. I needed to walk away before it was too late. Forcing myself, I bent down and picked up the backpack sitting between my feet, punched my arm through one of the straps, and walked away.
AFTER SKATING THROUGH SECURITY WITHOUT having to fully disrobe or be pulled off to the side for the contents of my backpack, I drew in a deep breath to settle down. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about my situation, but sure as shit when I spoke to Woody next, he’d get a damn earful. Fucker should have had my tickets there like he said they’d be. It made me wonder what other sort of surprises I’d be encountering because of him.
I found the gate for my flight, but I didn’t feel like sitting for the next three hours. On the other side of the concourse were shops and food vendors. I’d never felt so alone in my life. So cut off from who I was. Before I could shoot a text off to tell the guys and Riley that my flight was changed, my phone rang.
Woody’s name flashed across the screen, and I felt my face pull into a sneer when I answered.
“You weren’t supposed to answer,” Woody said with a trace of surprise in his tone.
I maneuvered past a group of people to find a spot where I could talk to him without someone eavesdropping on my conversation. “That’s funny considering there was no ticket for my flight.”
“The fuck you mean—no ticket?” Woody sounded as pissed as I was.
Moving further down the wide concourse, I found a spot by a section of pay phones. I eyed them curiously. I thought they’d gone by the wayside, like ten years ago.
“Jared!” Wood barked into the phone.
“Like I said. When I got up to the ticket counter, there was no record of a flight booked for me.”
“It happens. Just go buy a fuckin’ ticket and get your ass here. I’ll pay you back once you’re in L.A.”
How was it possible to get angry so many times in one day? “Listen, Woody, I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing…”
His voice boomed out over mine as we tried to talk over one another. “Now you listen, you little fucker. I own you. You got that? You signed a contract. One that legally binds you to me for the next two years. Buy your fucking ticket and get your ass on the next flight.”
The call disconnected, and I pulled the phone away from my ear. I stared at it, not quite believing he’d talked to me like that. Up until I’d signed on with Destroying Doubt, he’d been kissing my ass. My entire body vibrated like a hive of bees that had been knocked over. Oh, I’d get my ass on a plane all right, and when it landed, I’d be shoving his contract right up his Boss Hog sounding ass. Fuck him.
A sick feeling twisted through my stomach. Had I walked away from everything I’d known to be treated like shit? Did I make the right choice? I hadn’t even left Alabama yet, and I was already homesick.
My stomach rolled as I clutched the phone tight in my hand. I had to calm down before I flipped the fuck out. I needed a beer, several of them, but it would have to wait, since my age was in the mood to screw me over too. I’d thought about having a
fake ID made before I set out, but I’d shoved the idea out of my thoughts because once I’d hooked up with the band, my age wouldn’t matter anymore. The beer would flow in rivers, and the girls would come in waves.
I snorted. Lots of girls. I liked that thought.
The perky voice of a stewardess rolled through the air, announcing a flight as I passed by the gate. Travelers stirred from their seats, collecting their stuff as they chatted amongst themselves. A man holding a briefcase checked his watch, straightened his suit, and then marched up to be the first in line, like boarding the flight first would get him where he needed to be faster.
I knew that feeling. I wanted to be where I needed to be and not have to wait around, but that wasn’t going to happen for either one of us. My quick-flash temper wouldn’t make things happen any sooner than they were meant to.
Priorities. It was all about priorities. And what was two years of my life compared to the rest of it? Fuck Woody. He’d get his contracted time out of me, and I’d make a name for myself out of it. Then I’d bury the fucker when I walked away from him as he begged me not to leave. Now that…that was a thought that would keep me going.
Before I’d had a chance to cool down, my finger scrolled over my phone, going through my contact list. Ace would talk me through it. He always managed to have the right answer when shit got out of hand.
What I hadn’t expected was the way he answered the phone. “Your timing sucks, bro.”
“The fuck, man? I’m sitting here twiddling my damn thumbs, and it’s a bad time for you? Whatever.”
When Ace sighed, I knew I’d guilted him into talking to me. “Did you just say twiddling?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, fuckin’ twiddling. My ticket wasn’t at the counter, and now I have to wait another three hours to get on the next flight out. Can you believe that shit? My band manager said ‘it happens, buy the ticket and I’ll get the money back to you’. I already hate him. The fuck am I gonna do, Ace? I signed my name on the damn line, and now he’s being a douche.” I couldn’t stop the words rolling from one into the other. Hadn’t I just made my mind up that I’d make the fucker pay when it was all said and done?
“It was probably just a mix up. Don’t freak out yet. If the guy is a real dick, then tell him to shove his contract up his ass.”
Ace’s advice ran along the same as my thoughts. I’d just ride it out and see what happened. Besides, I really didn’t want to end my music career before it even started.
“So what’s your concert schedule look like?” Ace asked, pulling me back to the conversation.
I had to laugh. There wasn’t a single thing I knew about the band’s schedule. I had no idea where we were headed after L.A. or what we’d be doing while there, and it made me realize how blindly I’d walked into that part of my life. So ready to be somebody—to play in a band—I’d all but handed my entire existence over to a complete stranger. “I have no idea.”
If it bothered Ace, he never let on. “Let us know when you find out.”
“I will. It sucks though, 'cause I won’t be there to see you graduate boot camp.”
“Don’t worry; I’m sure Riley will tape it for you.”
“You’re pretty serious with her…” It wasn’t a question, more of an understanding. How long had he loved her? It seemed like forever. Watching them was comical. Neither one of them had any clue how the other felt. Ace and Riley were made to be together. It was a warm and gooey kind of love that made me want to run for the hills. Not me. When and if I ever found a girl, I’d want her as smart-assed as me. I’d want her to challenge me—keep me on my toes. It’d make things a whole lot more interesting. And the sex, hopefully, even better.
Nope. No warm and gooey for me. I wanted raw, uninhibited, and reckless.
“Yeah, I am.” Ace sounded whooped. “Don’t be inviting her to any wild ass parties while I’m away.” His tone hardened, and I could picture the look on his face, all deadpanned and shit.
“Yeah, yeah. When have I ever put Riley in a bad situation? Relax, bro.” Talking about Riley, home, and Ace not being around made me feel like I’d left half of myself behind. I had to get off the phone or I’d jump in a cab and go home. Being in a band was all I’d ever thought about. I couldn’t let a bout of homesickness pull it out from under me. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. I just wanted to let y’all know my flight was delayed.”
Ace chuckled. “You killed that when you called.”
What the hell had he been in the middle of when I called? And then it dawned on me. “Yeah, well, if I’m not gettin’ any, why should you?”
“Bye, asshole.”
“Later, Ace.”
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and set off to find a place to get something to drink.
There was a small souvenir shop not far from where I stood. I grabbed a soda from the cooler, paid for it, and headed back to my gate. Waiting sucked—waiting with nothing to do sucked even worse. Unzipping the front pocket of my book bag, I pulled out my iPod and my headphones. Kicking back, I let the music carry me away. One day it would be my music keeping a stranded traveler company.
WHEN THE TIME CAME TO finally board, my ass was already numb from sitting, but my excitement had clawed its way back to the surface. I snagged a window seat, stowing my bag under the seat in front of me.
When the plane lifted off the ground, I fought the tightness in my throat. Goodbye Alabama, hello L.A.
I leaned my head against the window, watching the ground disappear as the clouds carried me on towards my future.
THE LAYOVER IN SALT LAKE City wasn’t bad. By the time I’d gotten off the plane, and then found the gate headed to L.A., the plane was boarding. Of course, it was my luck I’d get the middle seat on that flight. It didn’t stop me from leaning over the guy beside me to get a look at the city as we approached. It was only fair since he’d fallen asleep when the plane took off in Salt Lake City, snoring like a damn chainsaw in my ear for most of the flight.
When the tires bumped along the tarmac, my stomach lurched with it. We rolled to a stop as the captain came across the speakers, spouting whatever it was he said. With my ears popping, it was hard to tell. It didn’t matter. I was where I needed to be.
I scooted out in front of a mother wrestling a diaper bag and one very pissed-off toddler. She gave me an apologetic smile when the little she-demon kicked me, screaming as she threw herself on the floor.
Behind her, her husband took the bag from her hands, and she hauled her daughter up. “Sorry about that.”
I shrugged. “I feel like doing that myself.”
The mom gave me a knowing smile. “I’m just glad she waited until we landed.”
I pulled my bag over my shoulder and walked down the narrow isle, putting some distance between me and the kicker.
The heat from the outside seeped into the enclosed ramp leading into the airport. It was weird not feeling the cloying humidity that was so common in Alabama. One of many changes. It was nice not feeling like a hot, sticky mess after only being in it for a few minutes.
I followed the throng of people to the baggage claim, hoping with everything in me that my guitar made it in one piece. I arrived at the carousel and bounced in place until I saw my bag. When my guitar didn’t show, I made my way to customer service. The lady behind the counter smiled pleasantly at me. “Ma’am, my guitar wasn’t on the belt.”
Her eyes twinkled as she spoke. “We don’t put oversized items through the baggage carousel. Let me see your ticket, please.”
I handed my ticket over at the same time a man entered through a door behind the counter. My guitar was in his hand. I blew out a relieved sigh and wanted to jump over the counter to snatch it from him.
He saw the look on my face and slid the guitar case across the counter. “Yours?”
My hand slid through the handle, and I didn’t waste any time flipping the catches. Saying a silent prayer to whatever music God was listening, I lifte
d the lid. A sigh of relief burst from my lips. She’d made it in one piece.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Jackson?” the lady at the counter asked.
I looked over at her, paying attention to her name tag. “Yes, thank you for your help, Sara.”
She typed something in her computer and handed me back my ticket. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I stuffed the ticket in my book bag and pulled out my cell phone. “No, ma’am, I’m all set. Thanks.”
The strap for my duffel bag cut into my shoulder as I wandered through baggage claim, looking for a place to set everything down so I could call Woody to find out if I needed to get a taxi, or if he’d had someone picking me up. I pushed off the aggravation sneaking up on me. All of this should have been planned out. I should have had a ticket waiting on me in Montgomery, and I should have had someone at the airport… or at least an address to give to a taxi driver.
Woody answered on the second ring. “Jared! I was just sitting here wondering when I’d hear from you.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. That was not the same pissed-off Woody I’d talked to before I left home. What the hell had happened? He almost sounded happy to hear from me.
Woody’s voice rattled from the speaker, and I put the phone back to my ear. “Can I get an address so I can catch a cab?”
Woody scoffed. “Absolutely not! I’ll send someone to come and get you. Sit tight. They’ll be there in fifteen.”
He hung up on me without even saying goodbye. I shot off a quick text to Ace, letting him know I’d made it to L.A. and that I’d call soon. After that, I sent another quick text to my parents. My mom replied almost immediately, telling me to call her in a week or so since they’d be out of the country.
I ran my hand down my face, feeling weary and ready to relax. The flight had keyed me up more than I’d realized. Having to wait for someone to come get me really tested my patience. I hated waiting on people. I could have been halfway to wherever the hell it was I was headed to.
End Note Page 1