by Kacey Shea
“For real? You write? How did I not know this?” Sean straddles the bench seat.
“Because I never really meant to tell anyone.” Opal narrows her stare and points at me, but I can tell by the hint of her smile she’s not angry I outed her.
“Sorry, not sorry.” I mock glare.
“Can I get in on this, too?” Austin comes around the far side of the table.
“Heck, yeah.” Opal pats the open space to her left.
Trent chuckles and takes a seat across from Sean. “Might want to up that to hell yeah if you’re gonna write music with us.”
“Sorry, habit.” She glances to her lap with embarrassment.
“Or make it your signature phrase.” I wink, encouraging the no-fear Opal to return. Trent was joking, and I get it, but she shuts down with that crap. “It’s different. Refreshing. Everyone uses hell yeah, but you’ll stand out in the crowd.”
“We gonna sling compliments back and forth or jam out?” Sean says.
“Let’s go again. We’re still working on the verses, but here’s what we’ve got so far.” I count it out and play the guitar. The guys watch my hands and Trent scoots closer to Opal. She holds up the notebook with her lyrics arranged for this song, and after the first go through Trent joins in. Their voices harmonize and complement in a raw and sultry sound.
Sean taps his palm onto the wooden bench, setting the pace and keeping rhythm.
Austin’s head bobs, his eyes memorizing every chord I strike.
We get to the part in the song without lyrics and stop. Sean immediately leans over, and both he and Trent discuss possibilities with Opal. She scratches them down on the paper.
I hand over the guitar to Austin. “It’s yours.”
“You sure? You don’t have to—”
“No. It’s yours, unless you think you can’t keep up.”
“Please.” He chuckles and accepts the instrument.
“Yeah, let’s try that!” Trent nods, and points to Austin. “You ready, man?”
“I was born ready.” Austin strums a chord, I count us off, and then everyone comes together.
My chest tightens and my pulse races with a feeling I’ve never experienced. There’s something special about this moment. Being outside on this gorgeous day, the sun shining from behind the clouds and a cool breeze rustling the leaves overhead. The creative energy that fills this air, everyone’s collaborative talents coming together to make something new. This is what music is about. Not just performing, but creating something that didn’t exist before. As close to magic as there is.
I glance at everyone’s faces, inhale the day—a little humid with the lingering scent of cut grass—and I memorize this moment, not sure how many more I’ll get but appreciating the sacredness.
We work for the next hour, sharpening the lyrics and sound until it’s a complete song.
“Damn. I’m loving this.” Trent leans back onto his elbows and squints his eyes up at the sky.
“We could work it into the set. After Hollow.” Sean taps Opal’s pen against the page full of notes.
“Fuck, yeah.” Trent glances at all of us before landing on Opal. “It’s perfect. That is, if you’re okay with sharing. We didn’t really work out copyrights and permissions.”
“You want to play this song? On stage?” She swallows hard as if she can’t believe him. This girl has no clue how talented she is, or how good the song is.
“Yeah, we add in drums, some sick electric riffs, and our fans will go ballistic. I hope you’ll be there, too. Aust does all right on backups, but he hasn’t really nailed that feminine octave.”
“Bitch, please.” Austin bats his eyelashes and puckers his lips. “I’m fabulous and you know it.”
Trent rolls his eyes. “What do you say?” He holds Opal’s gaze, his own hopeful.
She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and wrings her hands together in her lap. “Can I think about it first? I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I might freeze up.”
“No way. It’s in your blood,” Trent says, admiration and confidence in his tone. His comment strikes me weird. What blood? He coughs, clearing his throat and letting loose a laugh. “I mean, hanging around with all of us has worn off on you. You’d do great.”
“Let’s run through it one more time. Record it on my iPhone for now?” Sean asks.
We each nod our agreement, but before we begin Sean frowns at his phone. “That’s strange. Emergency conference call in twenty.”
“What?” Trent scrunches his brow.
“Our publicist from Off Track. She sent an email just now.”
Dread fills my gut. Is this about me? About what I leaked to Bedo, even though it wasn’t true? I brace myself for the fallout. Maybe I’m being paranoid. This could be about something else entirely. I have to ask. “Is everything okay?”
Sean shrugs and sets his phone in the center of the table, the recording app pulled up and ready to go. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Does it happen a lot? Emergency calls with your publicist?” I should keep my mouth shut and let everything play out, but the need to ease my apprehension trumps my good sense. If this is about my involvement, I could get sent home immediately. I’m not ready to leave.
“Our publicist.” Trent clasps my shoulder and gives a little shove. “You’re a part of this shit show too now. And no, but whatever it is they’ll take care of it. Nothing comes close to what we’ve already been through.”
“Cool.” But it’s not cool, and his friendliness only makes my betrayal that much worse. If he was an asshole or a piece of shit I could rationalize what I’ve done. But Trent has been nothing but welcoming since we hit the road for this tour. I’m the ass in this scenario. I hate myself for it.
As we record this last take, the high of writing a new song deflates under the reality of what I’ve done. I’ve always been a resourceful kid, but I have no idea how to dig myself out of this one. The lack of control spikes my anxiety. My only move is to hope for the best and even I recognize that kind of plan is fucked from the start.
“Here’s the short of it. We think someone’s leaking stories to the press. A crew member. A relative. Someone with a personal vendetta or who could use the financial gain.” Julie, Off Track Record’s lead publicist says all the way from LA. We’ve gathered around Trent’s cell phone, switching to speaker for this call.
“A rat,” Austin says incredulously. “You’re saying we have a rat?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Julie clears her throat. “This isn’t the mafia, but yeah.”
“Could it be someone at the label?” Trent asks.
“We’re investigating the possibility, but considering the longevity in which everyone on the team has worked with you, we think not.”
Trent runs his hands through the long ends of his hair and tucks them behind his ears. “So, what do we do?”
“You need to take extra caution. With private phone calls. Personal matters. Look around before speaking. A conversation that’s overheard can be twisted, well, to the next TMZ headlines.”
Stay away from your drummer. I school my features because I swear if I make one move they’ll notice the sweat beading on my brow. I’m so fucked.
Sean chuckles but it’s humorless. “For the record, Jess and I aren’t engaged.”
“Yeah, it’s like they’re finding new and creative ways to make shit up.” Trent shakes his head. “They don’t need an insider to write this stuff. Who’s to say it’s coming from within? Anyone could claim to be a long lost friend and make up lies.”
“I understand, and that’s a possibility as well, but as your publicist, I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Julie.”
“Also, if there’s anything you’re keeping from us—something the press could catch wind of and run with? It’d be prudent to let us know now so we can mitigate any negative effects. I don’t need to remind you the board of directors wasn’t happy with everything that ha
ppened last month.” The more she goes on, the more guilt eats at my fears. I did this. It’s my fault. We wouldn’t even be having this conference call if it weren’t for the lies I told.
“Oh?” Sean slams a fist onto the table, making the phone bounce on impact. His tone laces thick with sarcasm. “They weren’t happy our friend lost himself in addiction? Funny, ’cause they didn’t have a problem when he played shows high as fuck. Why is that, Julie? Oh, right. Because everyone was getting fucking paid.”
“Sean, calm down.” Trent reaches his arm out to his friend.
Sean shoves it away. “I won’t calm down. This is fucking bullshit!”
“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” Julie says. “I apologize. You’re still grieving.”
“Don’t. Please, don’t pretend you know how I feel.” Sean scoffs.
Austin leans forward in his chair to speak into the phone. “Look, we’ve been laying low. We aren’t partying hard anymore. We’re killing these shows. Sold out shows, I might add. What more do you want?”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open. Keep us informed of shit before it hits the fan. That’s all we can do right now.” The tension builds in the silence after Julie speaks, and stretches through the line.
“That all?” Trent finally says.
“I think so. Oh, there is one more thing.”
Sean groans, his head falling back. “Give us something good, Julie.”
“Bedo won’t make it to Boston. Family emergency. But he’s already contacted the stage manager, reps at the venue, and everything’s in order for tonight’s show.” I might be imagining it, but everyone seems to perk up at the news. They really don’t like my uncle. I’m beginning to share the sentiment.
But emergency? What emergency? For the first time since walking out, the need to check on my parents flashes in my mind. But is there really a family problem? Since it’s my uncle I don’t trust, this isn’t just an excuse to get out of a daylong flight.
“Okay. That all?” Trent rolls his eyes as he reaches for his cell.
“For now. We’ll talk soon. Bye now.”
Trent ends the call and shoves his phone into his back pocket.
“You know? Our music label should have our back.” Sean crosses his arms over his chest and his jaw ticks from where it’s clenched. “Why the fuck do I feel like we’ve scrapped through the great exposition after that call?”
Trent blows out a slow breath. “That’s because Julie is a shark. She’s got our best interests at heart.”
“That’s assuming she has a heart,” Sean grumbles.
“She’s got our best interests because we pay her salary.” Austin shrugs. “Loyalties only lie as long as our value. That’s how it is.”
“It was easier when we we’re nobodies.” Trent rubs his eyelids. His body is taut with stress. Stress I’ve added.
Austin shakes his head. “Speak for yourself. I like my ramen-free diet.”
“Have you ever thought about switching labels?” The question pops out of my mouth before I consider the consequences. Shit. Obvious enough?
“No.” Trent shakes his head. By some miracle he doesn’t notice the anxiety written in my words. “Loyalty means something. I get that you’re just coming in, but Bedo and his team believed in our greatness back when no one else did.”
Trent’s answer hits like a punch to the gut. He’s right, I don’t understand this kind of loyalty. My father, a shrewd and brilliant businessman, taught me early on that allegiance lies as long as the relationship remains beneficial. These guys operate under a different kind of morality, one I don’t understand. A brotherhood. I’ve witnessed it in the way they treat each other like family. Opal, too.
Didn’t they accept you, too? I didn’t realize it was something I even needed, or how conflicted I would be. Is there a way to right my wrong? I wish, but if there is, I don’t see it.
23
Opal
I wrote a song! I did that.
Okay, I helped write the song. But the words? They’re mine.
I can’t wait to tell Lexi. She’s the first person I thought to call, but then stopped myself. I won’t be the clingy and needy little sister. She’s almost done with her tour, and in just over a week she’ll be free of the cameras too.
As much as I long to have my sister, I can’t help but reflect on everything I probably wouldn’t have done had she been here. I doubt I’d have gotten a tattoo. New clothes. Learned to play guitar. And I wouldn’t have spent my morning writing a song with Three Ugly Guys.
I understand myself enough to know I’d have sat in her shadow. Lexi Marx is bigger than life. Bold and unapologetic. She’s everything I’m not and I would have used that as an excuse to stay stagnant. But this time on the road has taught me I’m capable and valuable in my own way. I’ll never be her, but I don’t want to be.
I’m just trying to figure out who I want to be.
The guys spend the afternoon working with the tour manager. Between sound checks and interviews with press, I have the entire afternoon to myself. Normally I’d spend that time baking, but instead I walk over to a café and spend hours arranging ideas and writing in my notebook. Tonight the label booked us each rooms at a nearby hotel, so I feel no guilt because we won’t be eating on the bus anyway. Now that I’ve heard what’s possible, I can’t stop imagining all these lyrics paired with music. If there was such a thing as a song writing bug, I’m bitten.
I took a risk today. I’ve been taking more and more and it’s exhilarating. Thoughts of guilt or shame don’t cloud my mind, and it’s as if I’ve let a light into my life. The possibilities feel endless. As I head back to the bus to change for tonight’s show I decide to go with one of my new outfits, a little black dress that falls mid-thigh with a halter top that shows part of my tattoo if I lift my arms. I use the pasties, a bra-less option the ladies at the lingerie store suggested, and I pull on fishnet tights to go with my black combat boots, also new. I even take the time to do my makeup, going for more than my usual blush and lip gloss.
Damn, girl. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I don’t even look like myself. Gone are my country roots. Wrong. I’m still me. The outside doesn’t change that. But for the first time I have the freedom to explore how I want to express myself. This rock ’n roll chick is a little too much work for an everyday occurrence, but her chin lifts with confidence in the reflection. Even my red hair calls out for attention, the long waves loose around my shoulders a striking contradiction to my pale skin.
My phone pings with an alarm. The show’s about to start. Before I lose my nerve, I toss it into my bag and head out to watch my friends rock the house.
The guys bring down Boston. Their best show yet. If it’s possible, they get better with each show. Afterward, I follow them over to the exclusive after party they’re slated to appear at for a local station. Held in a private room off of the auditorium, dozens of excited listeners gather for free appetizers, an open bar, and most importantly, the men of Three Ugly Guys.
I don’t know how they do it. The schmoozing and smiling. The small talk and laughter. But Austin, Trent, Sean, and Leighton take it all in stride and make it look effortless. As if they’re having the time of their lives. I should be mingling, too, but I can’t seem to push myself out of my comfort zone. Instead I grab a water from the bar and find a place to people watch.
It works for a while, but after an hour Austin spots me across the room where I’ve reverted to my wallflower ways. He saunters over, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Why are you dressed like a sexy little kitten?” His eyes are hooded, and I swear my heart skips a beat. He looks at me as if I’m the most beautiful woman at this party, but I can’t tell whether that’s more because he thinks I’m pretty or from the shots of tequila he threw back a few minutes ago.
“It’s just a dress.” I narrow my gaze and try for a chastising glare.
His lips pull wide with a lazy grin. “No. It’s not just anything.”
I hold his gaze until I can’t take the heat. “Good show tonight.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs and takes another step closer, crowding my space. “I really love to play. You know that?” His voice is deep in my ear and scatters goosebumps across my flesh.
My lips part, a reply on the tip of my tongue, but the words short circuit and my mind goes blank under his stare. Wow. I’ve never had the full Austin. I’ve seen him do this after other shows. Find a woman or two and completely shower them with attention until they become putty in his hands. I’m not sure I want to be putty. I’m not naïve enough to believe he took those different girls out for an evening stroll.
His fingertips slide down my arm, from below my shoulder until they reach my wrist. “Do you want to—?” The fact he’s slept with a different woman in every town is all it takes to sour his advances.
“No,” I snap louder than I mean to. It’s rude, but I have no desire to be another name on his long list of conquests.
His brows rise and he takes a step back. That smirk is still in place as his gaze drops to my arm. “I was going to ask if I could see the rest of your tattoo.” He chuckles and I’m thankful for his humor. He’s giving me a pass, or he’s only been teasing, and either way I don’t want things to change between us. I really do value his friendship.
I roll my eyes and turn to my side, lifting my arm high enough that he can see the ink.
“Damn, girl. That’s fucking sexy.” His gaze dances with mischief.
“Get a good look, because I’m not showing you again.”
“Fair enough.” He nods. “Wait. Hold my beer so I can take a picture.”
I drop my arm back to my side and shove him playfully.