by Mia Storm
I feel my face scrunch. “Do you ever listen to yourself?”
“You can’t tell me it’s not working. Face it, you want me.”
I lean in a little. “You are kind of making me love you…”
His eyes light as he sticks a finger in the air. “Ah-ha! She admits it.”
“Like a big brother,” I add.
His face wrinkles in disgust. “You’d kiss your brother?”
I just give him a look.
His expression clears and something sparks in his dark eyes as he leans closer. His face is an inch from mine when he finally stops and lifts a hand to stroke my cheek. “Okay, then. I just have to step up my game.”
I grab him by the T-shirt and pull him closer. “You can step up anything you want,” I whisper in his ear. “It’s not going to get you into my pants.”
“It’s not your pants I want into…yet. It’s your heart.” His black eyes somehow grow darker in the dim lighting as he grasps my chin softly and forces me to look into them. “You will love me by the end of his tour. I guarantee it.”
I push up from the couch. “I should head back to my bus.”
“Uh-uh,” he says, catching my arm. “Not while it’s still your birthday.”
I tug my arm out of his grasp and keep moving, but just as I get to the stairs, the door of the bus hisses open and Tro steps through.
“Heard this was where all the cool kids were hanging out.”
Max is past me in a flash, blocking the stairs. “Sorry, dude. Closed party.”
Chipper brushes past me on his way to slug Max upside the head. “You’re a fucking moron, you know that?” He yanks Max out of the way. “Come on in, Tro. You’re always welcome on our bus.”
Tro glances at me, as if waiting for my okay.
“I was just heading out, so—”
“I thought we just determined you were staying till your birthday is over,” Max cuts in.
I spin on him. “No, you determined that. And I told you to go to hell.”
“You never told me to go to hell,” he says with a shake of his head.
“In my mind I did.”
“Come on, Lucky,” he pleads, grasping my elbow.
“You need to listen to the lady,” Tro says through a tight jaw.
I turn and he’s just behind me, his eyes fixed on Max’s hand on my arm. “I’ve got this,” I tell him with a warning glare.
He holds his hands up in surrender and that’s when I notice what looks like a rolled paper with a ribbon around it in his hand.
I spin on Max. “And I told you not to call me Lucky.”
“Fine,” he says, his glare nearly slicing Tro in half. He backs away, then turns and disappears into the back of the bus.
“Didn’t mean to cause a problem,” Tro says low, just for me.
“You didn’t.” I shoo him down the stairs and follow. “And don’t get used to coming to my rescue, because I don’t need your help.”
He huffs a laugh. “I’m past thinking you do.” He holds up the roll of paper in his hand. “I actually need yours.”
“Is it a present?” I ask.
He smiles a little. “Think of it however you want: a present, a peace offering. I’ve got the bones of something I think would really work for you.”
I slip it out of his fingers and pull off the ribbon. It’s music, scratched out by hand onto a piece of hotel notepaper. And the title is “Lucky’s Song.”
Chapter 11
Tro
We get to her bus and it’s only as we stand here, where she kissed Max the other night, that I realize I didn’t really think this through. I want to play what I’ve written for her, but I’m not sure I can be trusted if she invites me inside.
She holds the paper up in the direction of the streetlight¸ but it’s too dim for her to get a clear look. When she reaches for the door and pulls it open, my gut knots.
“You know,” I say when she starts up the stairs. “You can just let me know what you think after you’ve had a chance to play it a few times.”
“I want to hear it now,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me, irritated.
“Okay…go ahead.” Then I see the solution. “Read it over, then Skype me so I can hear you play it. We can tweak whatever you think. I’m Fingers12345.”
“Skype?” she asks with raised eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Just do it,” I say, turning for the road. I feel her watching after me, but I don’t look back. Because if I do, there’s every chance I’m going to cross a line I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I hop in a cab and I’m not even halfway back to the hotel when there’s an alert on my phone. StageRat292 wants to connect on Skype. I laugh and accept. A second later, there’s another alert that StageRat292 is calling. I hit the video icon and Lucky’s face appears on my screen.
“It’s incredible.” She holds up the paper. “You wrote this?”
“It sort of wrote itself.” I try to come off like it’s no big thing, but that electricity is pulsing through my veins and I don’t think I’m able to keep it out of my voice. “Play it for me. I want to hear you do it.”
She sets the phone down and I can only see her left arm and the neck of the guitar as she fingers the strings. But when she starts on the lyrics, and her voice comes through the line, I want to climb right through the cyber and kiss the living fuck out of her.
Which is exactly the reason I couldn’t stay. For once in my sorry life, I made the right call.
She finishes and picks the phone back up so I can see her face.
“So…” I say. “You like?”
Her eyes go wide. “Jesus, Tro. What do you think?”
“Um…”
“I love it. It’s fucking amazing.”
I slouch deeper into the backseat of the cab. “That’s the kind of stuff you should be recording.”
She blows out a derisive laugh. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“Have you thought any more about jumping labels?” I ask.
She lowers her gaze. “Not really. Billie says we’re close to a new contract with Universal. They’re giving percentages and escalating royalties. She says we’re not going to do better anywhere else.”
“First of all, that’s bullshit, and second of all, even if it wasn’t, if you record the music you were meant to record, the money will follow.”
Her face pulls into a skeptical squint. “That’s seriously what you’re going with?”
I shrug. “It worked for me.”
“Yeah, because you willing to say anything and take off your clothes anywhere.”
My turn to laugh. “So you’re saying my success has nothing to do with my music?”
She drops the phone and the screen goes black. For a second I think she’s gone, but then the phone lifts and I see her cynical expression. “Did you hear me say those words? I just meant that your music is only part of what made you so huge.”
“You say you’ve got a friend who writes?” I say, to derail the in-depth analysis of how I got where I am.
“My best friend, Lilah,” she says with a nod. “She’s the reason I’m here.”
The cab driver pulls up to the curb in front of my hotel and I toss some cash over the seat before getting out. “Let me hear something she wrote.”
She sets the phone down again, and this time manages to prop it where I can see both her face and the guitar. Her fingers glide over the strings a few times as she thinks, then start on an up-tempo rhythm that puts what I wrote for her to shame. “This one’s my favorite.”
I head into the lobby and nearly walk into the wall as I listen, because I can’t take my eyes off of the screen. I’m off the elevator and at the door to our suite before she’s done, but I don’t go in. I feel like this is something private, just for us. I’m not willing to walk in there and let the guys wreck this.
When she finishes, she takes a deep breath and looks at the phone. “She wrote that the last summer we spent at her g
randma’s.”
“It’s fucking…” I trail off with a shake of my head because there’s not a word. “You need to be recording that shit. I’m serious, Lucky. That shit’s going to get you wherever you want to go in this business. Your friend has something special.”
Her fingers dance distractedly over the strings in another melody. “She’s been my inspiration from way back when we were just kids.”
I crack a smile and slide down the wall ‘til my ass is on the floor. “You’re still just a kid, Lucky.”
She shakes her head, no humor on that incredible face. “I haven’t been a kid for a long time.”
My laugh is automatic and more bitter than I intended. “Yeah, I get that.”
Her gaze lifts to mine and even through the cyber, it pins me in place, looking for the lie. “Do you?”
I hold her eyes and give her a small nod.
“No one writes much about your past,” she says suspiciously.
I lift a questioning eyebrow at her and give her my best smirk. But it’s all just to hide the fact that a steel band just constricted around my chest and I can’t breathe. “And you know this because…?”
A scowl creases her forehead. “Shoot me, I Googled you.”
“So, what did you find?” I ask, my heart speeding in my chest even though I’m well aware of what’s out there.
“All your Wikipedia page says you is that you grew up in Alabama, and your mom died when you were three and you never knew your dad.”
My heart pounds in my throat at the lie. So far no one’s dug deep enough to find the truth and I plan to keep it that way.
“What else does it say?” I ask to get her off the topic of my lowlife old man.
“It says Roadkill started in Shreveport, Louisiana when you were seventeen, and you guys relocated to Austin just before you signed with Universal and your first CD went triple platinum.”
“That’s just about it,” I say dismissively.
Her scowl deepens. “There are a lot of gaps there.”
I give her the look that always throws the lady journalists off when they’re asking too many questions. “You sound awfully interested for someone who hates me.”
“I’ve been in the public eye for less than a year and my Wiki page is twice as long as yours.” Her eyes narrow. “Which makes me wonder what you’re hiding.”
I blow out a laugh and shake my head. “Everything.”
“I don’t get how you can do that,” she says, throwing a hand up in frustration. “Everyone knows every fucking thing about me, and you seem to have dodged all the hard questions.”
“We took different paths to get here,” I say. “Yours was very public, and that fucking show you were on used all your ‘human interest’ crap to drive up their ratings.” I lean more heavily into the wall. “I, on the other hand, sort of came out of the blue. So they only know what I tell them.”
“Who raised you after your mom died?” she pushes.
“An aunt,” I lie.
“What were you doing in Shreveport when you were seventeen if you grew up in Alabama?”
“Washing dishes in a roadside dive.” I put on my cocky asshole mask to deflect any more questions. “Grim came in to the diner, ordered a burger, and that was the start of Roadkill. We traveled around Louisiana for most of the next year in Jamie’s old Chevy Crew Cab, played seedy bars for free booze, and the seeds of greatness were sown.” I try to read her through the screen, hoping she’s satisfied with the tidy bow I’m putting on the story. “It grew pretty fast into respectable bars for actual cash, then opening for bigger local bands on tour, finally to a record contract and…” I cuff out a laugh. “…what do you know, a fucking star is born.”
“But why were you in Shreveport? You didn’t answer that,” she presses. “And your dad was nowhere in all of this?”
I drag myself off the floor. “Listen, Lucky, I gotta go. But think about what I said about talking to other labels. That stuff your friend wrote is fucking magic.”
I log off before she can ask any more questions and head into the suite.
Chapter 12
Shiloh
San Francisco.
Home.
We’re seven weeks into our tour. It’s our twenty-fourth show and I’m exhausted. But tonight my best friend Lilah and her boyfriend Bran are coming to the show. It’s been so long since we’ve had any time together and I’m dying to see her.
We drove all night from Portland and pulled into the lot at AT&T Park at dawn, but the day has been full of interviews with the local TV shows and sound checks. That’s the part I’m getting really tired of. Onstage, I feel the same energy I always have. When I’m performing, I’m in my zone and I don’t worry so much about fucking up anymore. But it’s the interviews, where they still ask about my love life and all kinds of other crap that isn’t anyone’s business but mine, that wear me down. I’m starting to get why Tro doesn’t do them.
Max grabs me on the way out the door after the sound check. “The buses aren’t leaving till morning, so the guys are all going into the city after the show.” He grins at me. “Been a while since we’ve had a carriage ride. You should come.”
“Sorry. I have plans.”
He frowns. “Your manager has you on too tight a leash, Shiloh. This is your coming out party. Live a little.”
I shake my head. “It’s not Billie. My best friend is coming tonight, and I really just want some time to catch up with her.”
He throws his hands in the air. “You’re really not making this fair, you know. I’m charming and loveable. You should be out of your mind falling for me by now, but you keep dodging me.”
“Don’t take it personally,” I say, backing away a step. “I don’t do love.”
He looks stricken. “But everybody loves me.”
Now’s the time. I take a breath and get serious. “Look, Max, you’re a really cool guy and all, but…” My hand moves in a circle between us. “…this just isn’t going to happen.”
All the play leaves his expression. “You know Gunnison’s only giving you the time of day because he wants into your pants.”
I raise my eyebrows at him and smile a little, trying to lighten the blow. “And that’s different from you, how?”
His eyes remain hard for a second, but then he shakes his head as his jaw unclenches. “You really have no fucking clue what you’re missing, Lucky. I’m seriously all that.”
I decide to let the “Lucky” slide. Everywhere I go, people are calling me that. It’s like trying to stop a boulder rolling downhill. “I’m sure you are.”
He gives me that cocky smile and a small nod, then heads backstage. “See you tonight.”
“See you tonight,” I say, turning for the door. I hurry back to the bus because Lilah and her boyfriend are supposed to be here any minute, and when I get there, they already are.
“Oh my God!” Lilah squeals when I step into the bus. She slams into me.
“Got a call from security,” Billie says with a smile. “Thought you wouldn’t mind if I let them in.”
A big guy in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, with a longish dark hair and tattoos up his arms stands back near the couch with his hands in his pockets and his head lowered. Lilah told me her boyfriend was ex-Marine and older, but she failed to mention how hot he is. When she finally unwraps herself from me, she takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the bus to where he is.
“Lo, this is Bran.”
I shake his outstretched hand. “It’s great to finally meet you.”
He nods. “Congrats on all your success.”
“Thanks.”
Billie comes over with an envelope and pulls two lanyards out. “These are your backstage passes,” she tells them. “They need to be worn all the time or security will likely remove you.”
“This is so amazing,” Lilah says, looping hers around her neck. She looks at me and shakes her head a little. “I can’t believe this is your life now.” She holds up a h
and as her eyes widen. “I mean, I totally can. I always knew this would happen for you, but…” She makes a vague gesture at our surroundings. “I can’t believe it.”
I smile and pull her down on the couch. “God, I’ve missed you. How have you been? Tell me everything.”
She glances at Bran. “I’m good.”
She sounds unsure, and for a second I wonder if Bran is hurting her or something. But then she elaborates. “I’ve been to see my mom in jail.”
“Oh,” I say as understanding dawns.
Lilah and her older sister Destiny showed up at my group home one night when Lilah and I were fourteen. They were soaking wet and covered with soot, but neither of them would tell me exactly what happened. The next morning, Destiny told me that their house burned down. Their parents were methheads and ran a lab out of their kitchen, so it wasn’t really a surprise that they’d blown up the house, but the cops had hauled their parents to jail. That meant that Lilah and Destiny were on their own.
They managed to stay out of the system even though Destiny was only nineteen. But Lilah and Destiny never once went to see their parents in jail. Until now, apparently.
“How did it go?”
“Did you know my father died in the fire?” she asks.
I feel my face go cold. “I thought he was in jail with your mom.”
“Me too.”
We’ve texted each other hundreds of times since I left for The Voice, but I’m just now realizing it’s all been about me. She’s wanted to know about everything, from recording the CD, to where I was living, to how it was to tour with Roadkill. She must have been saving this for our face to face.
I shake my head. “Jesus, Lilah.” It seems like a pretty huge discrepancy, dead and jail, and I want to ask how she didn’t know, but Bran’s eyes find mine and in them I see his concern. There’s more to the story than the fact her dad’s dead. I want to ask her, but Bran’s look tells me now might not be the time.
She nods slowly, trying to put things together in her head. Behind her, Bran slides closer and rests his hand on her shoulder. She lifts her hand and lays it over his.