by Cassia Leo
He could barely get the words out through his clenched teeth. “I'm not drinking.”
“Fine. Then get your head out of your groupie's ass, sweet as it is, and apologize to Krist. Make this right. If we fuck up another tour, we can kiss the label good-bye.”
We? How about him? Their agent’s words rang in his head. The label will replace you if they have to. The guys didn’t even realize. Everything they’d built, none of it really belonged to them. They’d sold their souls for a private jet and a six-album contract. They were all expendable. “I will. When we're all in Vegas.”
“Now.” Moe tossed something at him. A flash of orange. His lucky guitar pick. “Tell him to get up here.”
Lock slipped his phone from his pocket and swiped his thumb over the screen. Come to Moe’s room. He flicked his pick over his knuckles the whole time he waited.
Moe let Krist in, and they both settled on opposite ends of the couch. He’d come, Lock half expected him not to, but Krist wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“The last time we all sat around a hotel coffee table, it was your intervention,” Krist said.
Moe laughed, thumping his fist against his knee. “Burn!”
Lock gnawed the inside of his cheek. Yes, because his sobriety, or lack thereof, was such a joke. “I thought you didn’t want to be a punch line.”
“Sorry, man. But that was a good one.”
Krist covered his mouth, hiding a smirk. Assholes, both of them.
“Fuck this. I’m leaving tonight. I don’t even know why I bothered to tell you.”
“I think you have some business to attend to first.” Moe jerked his head in Krist’s direction.
Right. He'd accepted the pick. The bargain was made. “It’s between me and Krist. Get the fuck out.”
“It’s my room.”
“Moe, please?” Krist kept his gaze on his lap as he asked.
“Okay.” Moe stood, pointing at the both of them. “But nobody fucks in my bed but me.”
Lock felt all the air sucked out of the room with the slamming door. He didn’t have anything to apologize for; he hadn’t made Krist any promises. Hadn’t done anything Krist didn’t want him to do. The only difference was Hailey. She’d seen something in him, brought something out of him that hadn’t been there before. A kindness. A yearning. And Krist had gotten caught in their undertow. That part wasn’t fair.
“I’m sorry, Krist. I know what happened was too much.”
“Whatever. It’s cool.” Krist pulled at the loose threads surrounding a hole in his jeans.
“I can see that it isn’t.”
“Am I hurt? Yes. But it’s on me. You don’t have that much power, Lock. No matter what you think.”
“I don’t think—”
“Shut up. I appreciate the apology, even if it was under duress. Just don’t lie to me.”
He could do that at least. Tell the truth. “Okay.”
“Why are you heading to Vegas early? To get away from me?”
“No.” The lie felt too easy; he backtracked. “Yes.”
“You know Moe thinks you’re drinking again. I thought so too until last night. Now I just think you’re going to self-destruct all on your own. Go to Las Vegas. Run away. Do whatever it is you think you need to do. Just don’t take the band down with you.”
“I won’t.”
“I can forgive you for a lot of shit, but I won’t forgive you for that.”
*
Hailey shut the flat plastic cover on the window, blocking out the orange sunset. Would it get brighter when they were in the sky? Hopefully Lock liked the dark. She stared straight ahead at the faux wood paneling. Or maybe it was real wood. Private jets probably had the best of everything, down to the plush leather seats. Her fingers gripped the arms, drawing crescents with her nails.
Footsteps warned her of Lock’s approach, and she shut her eyes. If he thought she was asleep, he wouldn’t talk to her. He wouldn’t ask questions.
“You all right, babe?”
Or maybe he would. She nodded but didn’t trust herself to form words. At least, words other than help and oh God and I’m scared. The plane pulled forward in a series of turns that made her insides twist.
He settled into the chair beside her, rustling the leather and sending a wave of his subtle musk to calm her. “Because you look like you might puke.”
“I’m not going to puke.” Mostly because there was nothing in her stomach. She hadn’t been able to eat the preflight supper at the small airport. Lobster with cream sauce and asparagus with goat cheese. Even thinking about it made her stomach turn over.
“Okay,” he said in a contemplative tone. His fingers were warm and dry against her palm. She startled and pulled away, but he caught her hand. “Relax. We’ll be in the air soon.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
“I’m fine. Really.” Her words were somewhat betrayed by the high pitch of her voice. God, why couldn’t she be smooth and classy and blasé like a hundred other women could be—and had been? Why did she have to be so…like herself?
He would see right through the clothes and the sway of her hips and the wild sex she’d never really had before. He’d see how boring she was, and if there was one thing she had learned about the rock-and-roll lifestyle in the past two days, it was that boring was a cardinal sin.
“You ever flown before, Hailey?”
Oh, the way he said her name made her feel strangely alert. A fraction more in tune with him than the airplane surrounding them. He had that kind of voice: magnetic, melodic. Thousands of people packed into a stadium just to hear him, and she couldn’t resist him either.
The plane picked up speed. His thumb made circles on her palm, around and around, giving her courage.
She took a deep breath. “There weren’t a lot of family trips, if you know what I mean.”
He didn’t pause, not even for a moment, just one circle around the other, one breath and then another. “I don’t really know what you mean, but I hope you’ll tell me someday.”
Someday. Oh God, she wanted someday. But they only had one day left. She wasn’t sure she’d be ready to bare her soul—or her family’s sordid past—by tomorrow. But for the first time, the thought of not opening up, of not being vulnerable, terrified her. Like watching the threads break one by one and knowing she would fall.
She liked the circles he made, but she wanted more. She wanted him to sing to her. But she couldn’t ask him to do that. It seemed like too much, even if he had done it for thousands of people last night. He wasn’t a puppet who had to perform when she pulled the strings.
A sudden image came to her, of Lock’s agent berating him for something after the show. And then again on the way to the airport. Schedules to keep. Commitments to make. So maybe he was a puppet after all, but she wasn’t his master.
“Will you…will you talk to me?” she asked, suddenly desperate to hear him.
“About what?”
“Anything.” They were down to hours, and she needed every pitch he could make, every breath and groan charted in her mind, a map to study in later years. I went there once. A story she would tell herself.
He was quiet a moment. “There were a lot of family trips for me, if you know what I mean. But they weren’t really vacations. They were business as usual.”
She looked at him then. The overhead panel bathed his face in a soft light, as if he glowed from within. He’d lost the edge she’d seen before, almost as if the ritzy hotel had made him sharp. Hackles. Defenses. But they were down now.
“What was the business?” she asked.
“Music, of course. You didn’t know? Cate James. She was famous back in the seventies for breaking up Royal Velvet. But then she hooked up with my dad and the rest…” He made a sweeping gesture toward himself, the plane. Everything.
“Is history,” she finished softly.
“Yeah, I got pretty comfortable on planes. Didn’t always end up on the same flight as my paren
ts. There were scheduling conflicts. Tutors for me and rehearsals for them. And break-ups. My parents were always on the verge of divorce. Sometimes they’d split for a few days, sometimes for months. That’s how I met Krist. My mom hooked up with his dad while they were touring together. It didn’t last. Nothing lasted. Except the party, but I wasn’t supposed to know about any of it. Just read about it in the tabloids like everyone else.”
Her heart clenched. She imagined a little boy reading tawdry headlines and trying to understand. “That must have been tough.”
He chuckled. “Poor little rich boy. Don’t waste your worry on me, beautiful.”
She shook her head. He wouldn’t want her sympathy. But she had to know… “Why did you follow their footsteps?”
“Everyone I knew was in the business. I guess when other kids want to get away from their parents, they go to college. I went on tour.”
“Just like that?”
“Put the band together. Worked our asses off. Just like that.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I know you didn’t. Lifetime of inadequacy at work here. I don’t want the special treatment or the expectations that come with being Cate James’s son, but I get it anyway.”
She knew all about that, how she could never escape her mother’s shadow, how she would forever be deemed unworthy. “I’m sorry,” she said, though the words were inadequate.
Their gazes met and held, a conduit for silent messages. His: My path was set a long time ago. And hers: Mine too.
He looked past her to the window, which was still closed. “Don’t look now, but we might be ten thousand feet off the ground.”
“What?” She slid the covering up, and sure enough, they had somehow lifted off without her even noticing. Her brain had ignored everything but his words, that voice of his like a furnace, melting everything in its sphere.
She touched her finger to the glass, surprised to find it cool. Outside, the orange glow had mellowed into something gold and glowing. The clouds formed a puffy blanket beneath them.
“My God,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful. Majestic. Do you see it?”
He had a strange expression on his face, watching her.
She blushed, embarrassed. “But you’ve seen this so many times. It’s probably boring.”
When he spoke, his voice sounded different. Almost strangled. His hand tightened on hers. “No. Not boring at all.”
*
Lock drew Hailey’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Alone in the cabin with her, watching the sunset and holding hands. It was like they’d taken a rocket to the moon instead of a hop from Midway to McCarran.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just held hands with a woman. Maybe he never had. The kind of life he led wasn’t conducive to shared quiet moments. Alone or in a crowd, no middle ground. It’s probably why he’d brought Krist in, to battle back the overwhelming quiet building between him and Hailey. Only it hadn’t worked. It bound them together more tightly, let her in deeper and pushed Krist further away.
The tightness in his chest had nothing to do with the changing cabin pressure. One day. They had one day left together, and then his life would return to normal. What would she go back to? A troubled sister. A job she loved. Some guy from around the corner who’d spring for movies on Friday nights, fuck her gently, and take her for granted.
That last part burned the most. He tapped the Call button on the console above their heads.
The flight attendant appeared seconds later. Brisk and efficient with his starched uniform shirt stretched across narrow shoulders, he held his hands behind his back. “Yes, sir.”
“Bring a bottle of sparkling cider and strawberries if we have them.” He remembered the bliss on Hailey’s face that first morning when he’d fed her pancakes and berries while she sat naked beside him. Simple pleasures. He could give her—give himself—more of those.
“Right away, sir.”
Hailey squeezed his hand. “Are you celebrating something?”
He was. Every moment they had left. He’d celebrate them until she couldn’t stand to leave. “You.”
“No champagne?” Her brow knit with confusion, and was that hurt? Oh God, she still didn’t understand. He wasn’t asking for fucking cider because he didn’t think she was worth champagne.
“Hailey, I’ve been sober for a little over a year. The go to detox after you’ve basically ruined your life and the lives of everyone around you kind of sober. We’re not having champagne because there isn’t an ounce of booze on this plane. I’m not having champagne because…” The word’s caught in his throat, but he had to say them. She needed to know. “I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
She paused. “That’s… That’s wonderful.”
“It’s what?” Instead of recoiling from his weakness, her face broke into a smile that rivaled the sunset out the window. She leaned across the armrest and planted the softest kiss on his lips. A sweet balm to the raw exposure aching under his skin.
“Really. I’m so proud of you. A year is fantastic. We’ll celebrate that too.”
He shouldn’t have expected anything less from Hailey, from his girl. His girl. She wouldn’t turn her head and gawk at him like he was an accident on the side of the road. No, she’d just beam at him like he’d done something amazing.
Because he had. His sobriety was a fucking miracle.
The attendant parked a cart beside their seats, uncorked the bottle with a pop, and filled two glasses. Lock half expected him to click his heels. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
He released Hailey’s hand so he could take the useless glasses. He wanted to drink from the hollows of her collar bones, sip from the tips of her breasts, lap from the folds of her sex. “No, and unless we’re crashing, you stay in the back. Got it?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll be back to collect the cart when we’re preparing to land.”
Lock didn’t want to celebrate anymore. He wanted to revel.
***
Chapter Seventeen
The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the fellowship hall. Usually Tim would settle at a table near the back with a steaming cup and a pile of Mrs. Markum's chocolate trifle. Last month he'd done exactly that, only Chloe had sat with him, teasing him about the predictability of his potluck dessert choices.
There's got to be twenty different sweets up there, and you settle for pudding? she'd said.
It's not just pudding. Look. There's brownies, candy-bar bits, whipped cream—
Don't forget the cherry.
The way she'd said cherry was a sin. All round and full, with a cocked eyebrow and wet lips. Purposeful. He could only nod and take the bite he'd dangled on his spoon.
Tonight Chloe avoided him completely. That she'd shown up at all surprised him. At first he thought maybe she'd changed her mind about his proposal. But anytime he approached, she suddenly had very important things to do on the other side of the room.
Was it really so wrong, wanting to take care of her? He couldn't help that.
So he stood there at the end of the buffet, coffee and trifle in hand, unsure of his next move and only half aware of the murmur working its way through the crowd.
Pastor John hurried toward him, expression grim. Did he know? Tim's cup rattled in the saucer.
“We've got a situation. Some of the older kids are sharing a video, an inappropriate video—”
Relief coursed through him. It wasn't about him. That happened with the kids from time to time. He'd find them huddled in a corner, giggling, and counsel them about modesty and purity of thought. Hypocrite that he was. “I'll go.”
“No, you don't understand. Tim, it's…” He rested his hand on Tim's shoulder and lowered his voice. “It's a video of Hailey.”
It didn't make sense. How did the kids have an inappropriate video of Hailey? How did an inappropriate video of Hailey even exist? Maybe there was some other Hailey he didn't know. “Hailey
Miller? Chloe's sister?”
“She's on the news. A few parents have already cornered me. They want her fired.”
“Fired? We don't even know anything yet. Are we even sure it's her?” Tim's heart raced. Chloe would be devastated. As much as she talked about wanting to take care of herself, it was Hailey who did the caretaking. What would happen to them? His gaze flicked to her. She stood by the giant punch carafe, surrounded by church ladies with apologetic looks on their faces. And smirks. They were telling her. Delighting in it. Not very Christian of them.
“I only saw part of it, but even with the censor bar— It's her and it's bad.”
He wanted to abandon Pastor John and go to Chloe, put himself between her and whatever was happening, like a human shield. So he did. He crossed the room, catching stray comments as they rose over the din. Brightly lit screens dotted the room. Ugly punctuation points in a hateful conversation.
“Well, you remember their mother.”
“Disgusting.”
“Not watching my kid.”
“We knew the sister was bad.”
Did they hear themselves?
Anger welled in his chest. Hot molasses. An alien sensation. Someone stopped him. He should know this person, but his mind was so clouded the face didn't even register. And when this person spoke, it was like pots and pans clanging in Tim’s head. “Will you be taking over the nursery until they find a replacement?”
Taking over? Replacement? They'd tried and convicted her in minutes, and he hadn't even seen the evidence yet. Didn't need to see it. All he needed was Chloe.
“No, I will not.” His voice came out louder than he'd intended. A boom that hushed the crowd. Folding chairs scraped linoleum as people turned to see what new scandal would entertain them tonight. His stomach rolled. They'd convict him too if they knew Chloe was carrying his child. Too young. Out of wedlock. Narrow-minded… “If you fire Hailey, you can fire me too. Have you all forgotten about glass houses and stones?”