by Mia Storm
I nod. “You guys were awesome. Thanks.”
A girl comes up behind him and loops her arms around his neck. She says something in his ear that I can’t hear over the music and he turns and smiles at her. “So, help yourself to whatever,” he says before turning and following her toward the back of the lounge. They disappear through the door that looks like it leads to the sleeping bunks, but beyond the bunks I see there’s another lounge and I catch just a glimpse of Max before the door closes.
I weave my way through the sweaty bodies toward the door and follow Chipper through. There are couples in various stages of undress going at it in a few of the bunks, and I see Chipper is already one of them. I move straight through and push out the door in the back. When I emerge into the rear lounge, I notice two things. First, there are five girls, two of whom are topless. Second, there are only two guys: Max and my rhythm guitar guy, Aram.
They’re sitting in the middle of a horseshoe shaped couch that lines the back and side walls of the bus with a girl wedged between them and one more on either side. The topless ones dance with each other near the sound system.
I take a drink, trying to come off like this is no big deal. I’m not a moron. I get this is what happens on tour, so I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. I don’t even know Max. But for some stupid reason I guess I thought, since he invited me, he’d be waiting for me like a monk in the corner somewhere.
Max looks up and sees me and I expect some sort of guilty reaction, but I get nothing but a welcoming smile. He says something to the girl next to him, then rakes the hair off his face and stands and comes over to me.
“I see you got a beer.”
I hold it up. “Chipper set me up.”
“Good man,” he says. “Glad you decided to stop by.”
“I can only stay for a minute,” I say, realizing I should have just gone back to the hotel.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe next to me.
“Billie’s sick, so I think we’ll just hang out in the room.”
He nods slowly. “The Muse, right?”
I think about lying and saying no, but I nod instead.
He glances around the room, then takes my elbow and leads me back past the bunks to the press of bodies up front. “Sorry, Aram went a little crazy with the invites. It’s not usually like this.”
“Usually? How many times have you done this?”
His expression turns sheepish. “Okay, you got me. This is my first tour. But last night it wasn’t like this.”
I turn for the front of the bus and Max follows. “Well, have fun,” I say with a flick of my wrist at the crowd.
He glances that way then back at me and raises his eyebrows. “I’d have more fun if you’d stay.”
“Sorry, I promised Billie and I’m already late.”
He nods slowly. “My loss.”
“Looks like you won’t have any trouble filling the void,” I say with dubious glance back at the sea of girls.
He shakes his head. “They’re not you. No comparison.”
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that, so I drain my beer and set the empty on the counter, then turn and start down the steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Count on it,” he says.
The driver drops me at the garage entrance to the hotel and I keep my head down as I make my way up the elevator. I’m not really in the mood to deal with fans right now. My mind is still on everything that happened with Tro. He seemed almost like a real person for a few minutes just before he went onstage and made a total ass of himself.
“How’d it go?” Billie asks when I push through the door into our room. She steps through the bathroom door, all bundled into plaid flannel PJs and a bathrobe.
“It was good. Got a standing O for ‘More Than Nothing.’ How are you feeling?”
“Not sure I can eat yet.” She moves slowly to the kitchenette and takes a cup from the microwave, dropping a teabag into it. “But I’m keeping fluids down.”
“That’s good.” I go to my bag and pull out one of my baggy T-shirts.
“So, tell me more,” she says, bobbing her teabag in the hot water.
I think about everything Tro said before he went onstage. “Do you think I should find a different label for my next CD?”
Her eyes flash to mine and her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
“Because I don’t feel like Universal’s really getting me. I have a whole crapload of songs I really want to do for my next album, but I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let me do any of them.”
She goes to the desk chair and lowers herself into it. “I’m not sure that’s the best move right now, Shiloh. You don’t want to get the reputation for being difficult this early in your career. Phillip is negotiating in good faith and I think Universal understands that your next contract is going to require they give you a little more creative say.”
“Why?” I say, frustration flaring in my chest. “They didn’t give me any this time.”
She swirls her tea and pulls the bag out, tossing it in the trash can under the desk. “You’ve more than exceeded their expectations. They’re going to want to keep you in-house, and to do that, they know they’re going to have to keep you happy.”
I take a deep breath and move toward the bathroom. “I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am. You’ve totally broken out, Shiloh. You’re one of their front-list artists.” She grins. “Won’t be long before you’re upstaging Tro and the boys. Next tour, they’ll be opening for you.”
“He’s such a douche.”
“Who?” she asks, her face scrambling in confusion. “Phillip?”
I shake my head. “Tro.”
Her brows converge. “I don’t like the sound of that. What happened?”
I lean into the bathroom door and pound the back of my head against it. “He just pulled some shit that pissed me off.”
“Such as?”
“He told the whole arena that I made him want to…” I mimic his crotch grabbing grind. “And then he pulled this song out of his ass about getting lucky, but everyone knew it was me he was singing about.”
Billie rolls her eyes wearily. “That’s his gig, Shiloh. His whole image is sex. If he mentioned you at all, it’s a good thing.”
I shove away from the bathroom door and slam through it, then feel bad, because it’s not Billie I’m pissed at. I change and get ready for bed and when I come out, Billie’s in bed with a book, sipping her tea.
Her eyes widen when she sees I’ve changed. “You’re going to bed?”
I shrug. “No reason not to.”
She glances at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s only nine. Let me at least call room service and get you something to eat.”
“Not hungry,” I say, flopping onto my bed.
She looks at me for a long minute then lifts the phone and punches a button. “Yes,” she says when there’s an answer on the other end. “I need the largest tub of popcorn you have and two Cokes.” She nods with whatever the response is, then looks at me and adds, “Now that I think of it, bring us a pepperoni pizza too.” When she hangs up, she reaches for the remote and clicks the TV on. “Saw the new Marvel movie debuts on HBO tonight. It’s just starting.”
I roll on my side and prop my head on my elbow, looking at her. “I don’t really feel like watching a movie.”
She pats the bed next to her. “This is your first major concert, the start of what is going to be an amazing career. We can’t let it just go by without celebrating. If I wasn’t sick, we’d be painting the town tonight.”
I take a deep breath and haul myself up, sliding onto the bed next to her. I settle against her side and rest my head on her shoulder as the movie starts. She sips her tea and strokes my hair, and, slowly, my nerves settle.
“Have you thought any more about what we talked about?” she asks. “Me becoming your legal guardian?”
I think about what
Tro said, how sometimes family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. “What was your family like?”
“When I was your age?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
She breathes a laugh through her nose. “Crazy most of the time. I have four brothers, so our mother had her hands full.”
“Were you close?”
I feel her nod against the side of my head. “Still are, for the most part.”
“I guess I want you to do it…” I say, “if you really want to.”
“I’ll see what I need to do to get the ball rolling,” she answers with another nod. “I don’t think it will really change anything from a business or financial standpoint. All your accounts will remain in trust until you’re eighteen.”
I settle more snugly into her side. “I trust you.”
#
I wake to the ping of rain on the window, and when I open my eyes, I see Billie’s pulled back the curtain to the balcony. I blink awake and glance at the clock. Almost eleven. I roll to find her sitting at the small table near the kitchenette with her laptop open, sipping a cup of steaming tea.
“Morning,” she says, poking her head out from behind her laptop screen.
“How are you feeling?” I croak, pulling myself up to sit against the headboard.
“A little better.” She turns her laptop for me to see. “The press is calling you Lucky.”
There’s a picture of me on stage last night with the caption “Lucky Blows the Doors Off Madison Square Garden.”
I feel my face crumple. “Fucking Tro.”
She scowls at me for the language. “What about Tro?”
“That’s what he called me on stage last night,” I say, pulling my knees up and dropping my forehead onto them. I lift my head a few seconds later to find Billie’s eyes scouring the article.
“Your reviews are amazing. They loved you.” Her brows press together when she gets near the bottom and she looks up at me. “And they’re speculating whether there’s something…romantic between you and Tro.”
I take a deep breath and drop my head back against the headboard. “I told you what he did on stage.”
“But it’s just that, right? He hasn’t tried to…touch you or anything, has he?”
I think of the first time we met, how strong his hands felt on my arms when he pinned me against the wall in that storage closet backstage at The Tonight Show, and I hate the shiver that skates over my skin. “No. It’s all just innuendo.”
Billie bites her upper lip as she thinks. “As long as it doesn’t cross the line into physical, I think you should run with it. I hate to say it, but being seen as a lust object of Tro Gunnison—the man every woman is lusting over—could be your springboard.”
“Maybe I will let him touch me.” I glare at her as I throw the covers aside. “Then I can be his springboard. Right into jail.”
“Shiloh,” she says as I get up and slam through the bathroom door.
I get in the shower and let the hot water run over my clammy skin for what has to be half an hour before I even reach for the shampoo. When I finally come out of the bathroom, the rain has stopped and Billie is on the balcony, her hands braced on the rail and her head bent. She turns when she hears me in the room.
“I’m sorry,” she says, slipping back into the room. “I need to start thinking more like a parent if we’re really doing this guardian thing. And, as a parent, I don’t want Tro Gunnison anywhere near you.”
“Everyone knows Tro is all show, but I just don’t want that stupid ‘Lucky’ thing to stick.”
Her eyebrows raise. “Why not?”
“Because…” I trail off with a shake of my head, trying to find a way to explain the sick feeling in my stomach when I think about Tro calling me that. “The way he says it…I just hate it. It’s a stupid nickname.”
She goes to the table and flips her laptop closed. “Okay, as far as the nickname, if you really hate it, we’ll do everything we can to nip it in the bud.”
I drop onto my bed. “I’m just so frustrated. I feel like my whole career has been hijacked by the label and now…all this shit with Tro. I just want to be in control of something, you know?”
She sits next to me and loops her arm over my shoulders. “Okay, new strategy. Shiloh Luck is her own woman, so tell me about her. What parts of Shiloh do you want the world to see?”
The question ties my tongue. A knock at the door saves me from having to figure out how to answer. I get up and throw on my robe before going to the door. When I peek through the peephole, I find Max standing in the hall, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
“Who is it?” Billie asks, and Max must hear her, because his eyes widen and he assumes a more relaxed posture, one hand braced on the doorframe and the other in his jeans pocket.
I pull the door open. “Hey.”
He grins. “Told you you’d see me today.”
“Yeah, but I was thinking later, onstage.”
“Some of the guys are heading into the city for the day. You in?”
“Umm…” I turn to look at Billie, who smiles and nudges her chin toward the door.
“You should go,” she says.
“You’ll be okay?”
She holds up her teacup as if toasting. “I’m fine. Go have some fun.”
I take a deep breath then turn back to Max. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a sec to change.”
His whole face pulls into a grin and he murmurs, “I could help with that.”
I roll my eyes and close the door, then go to my bag, riffling through it for something that’s not jeans and a T-shirt. All my stage and party wear is hung up, and I didn’t bring much else that wasn’t just for knocking around the hotel or bus. I finally come out with a tank and pair of shorts.
“You’re sure you’re okay with me going out?” I ask Billie as I change, half hoping she’ll say no.
She sets her teacup down and stands. “You don’t get many chances to just be a kid anymore. I think you need to take them when they come along.”
I don’t tell her I’ve never been a kid. The only difference is that I went from no one giving a shit about me to everyone giving a shit about me. I turn for the door.
“Just text me so I know where you are, okay?” she says from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and nod as I pull open the door.
Max is waiting in the hall when I come out. He pushes off the wall. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
I turn for the elevators, and we’re not even halfway up the hall before his hand is on my back. “You seriously kicked ass last night. Hope you know that.”
I shrug as he reaches for the elevator button. “Thanks. You guys were great too.”
A dubious smile pulls at his mouth as the doors in front of us slide open. “Just trying to keep up.”
He gestures for me to step in ahead of him and I do. The door opens in the lobby a minute later and when we unload and I look around, I don’t see anyone familiar. “Who else is coming?”
“No one. They were up late partying last night. Still passed out.”
I spin on him. “Then why’d you say ‘the guys’?”
His smile turns guilty. “Didn’t know if your manager would let you come if it was just me.”
Something tightens in the pit of my stomach. I have to work with these guys for the next two months. Things can’t get weird. I don’t think I would have let myself come if I knew it was just him. “Maybe this isn’t a great idea.”
He grasps my elbow as I turn, not hard enough to stop me, but just enough to convey that he wants to. “Listen, Shiloh, I’m not some pervert or whatever. I was just hoping we could hang out a little. That’s it.”
I take a deep breath. “So, what were you thinking?”
“Haven’t spent much time in New York, so all I know are the touristy things: Empire State Building, Central Park.” He points toward the door. “Times Square is right there, and I’m pretty sure we can get anywhere we want on th
e subway.”
I’ve never spent any time in the city. If this is my only chance to see it, I don’t want to miss it. Plus, after the morning rain, the sun is out and I haven’t spent much time outdoors in months. “Let’s start with Central Park and see how that goes.”
He grins and guides me to the doors. We spill onto the busy sidewalk and his smile fades when he looks up and down the street. “You know where it is?”
My face scrunches as I follow his gaze. There are people everywhere, and they all look like they know where they’re going. “I don’t even know where we are.”
He scratches his head then lifts his arm at a passing cab.
“I thought we were taking the subway,” I say as one pulls up in front of us.
He shakes his head. “That would entail knowing what we’re doing. This is easy.”
We climb in the back and he tells the driver where we’re going. It’s not till we pull away that I realize I have no money.
“I forgot to grab cash,” I say with a cringe.
He flips a wrist dismissively. “I’ve got it.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I say, seriously wishing I’d remembered money. I don’t want him thinking this is a date.
“So, tell me about Shiloh Luck,” he says as we weave into the slow-moving traffic. “I only know what everyone else knows. You’re an orphan who, despite all odds, somehow managed to win The Voice.”
I shrug. “There’s not much more to tell.”
He looks at me a long moment, his black eyes seeming to darken in the shadows of the backseat. “Somehow I doubt that.”
I turn and watch the city pass by outside my window. “This is what I’ve always wanted, ever since I was little and my best friend’s grandma taught us to play guitar.”
“How little?”
I think about the first time Lilah’s grandmother took us away from the city to her place in Mendocino for the summer. My foster family had three other foster kids plus two of their own, so they were happy to pack me a bag and send me out the door. “Seven, I think. She gave Lilah her guitar the summer we were ten. When we got home, we took it to the bus stop near her house and sat on that bench playing “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” by Bob Dylan all afternoon, because that was the song her grandma had taught us that summer.” I smile with the memory. “We made maybe five bucks.”