by Jayne Frost
She’d hit a soft spot without knowing it, severing my already frayed nerves. “Well, you see, darlin’, I’ve been a little busy preparing for a tour. Maybe you can fill me in, since you’re the coordinator and Twin Souls is taking fifteen percent of my earnings.”
Two spots of crimson stained Elise’s cheeks. “Of course … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply …”
She looked down at her toes, and I kicked myself for being a dick. The girl was still finding her way. In a month or so, she’d be able to spar with the best of us. Or she’d throw in the towel and head home.
“That came out wrong,” I said, roughing a hand through my hair. “Can you just tell me what the email said so I don’t have to go digging around?”
Bringing her gaze back to mine, Elise forced a tight-lipped smile. “Mac is leaking stories to the media. He claims he’s in negotiations with one of the headliners and they’re about to jump ship. It’s all bullshit. But I just wanted y’all to be prepared in case someone asks.”
The knot in my stomach worked its way north. Mac had to be talking about me. That fucker.
When Elise cleared her throat, I realized I’d let my mind wander.
“We really need to start,” she said. “We’re cutting it close to show time.”
“Right behind you.”
“That was one long piss,” Sean joked when I reclaimed my seat. “Do we need to call a doctor?”
“Keep it up and you will,” I warned.
“Enough,” Cameron hissed through his smile. “Let’s just do this.”
Since it was up to me to get the party started, I adjusted the microphone, and when Elise gave me the nod, the usual controlled chaos ensued.
Disregarding protocol, I skipped right over the reporters from Rolling Stone and Alternative Nation in favor of a blonde in a mini skirt in the second row.
Cameron’s knee collided with mine under the table. “What are you doing?” he whispered, irritation etching his tone.
Honestly, I had no clue. Except that everything felt out of my control. So I’d take my victories where I could get them.
Smiling at the blogger, I drawled, “Take it away, darlin’. I’m all yours.”
“Princess?” Dylan scoffed, glaring at Logan’s retreating back. “What the fuck is that about?”
Unwilling to have this conversation out in the open, I spun on my heel and headed for the barricade.
“Belle.” Dylan’s tone took on an edge that he rarely used with me. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
I didn’t want to tell him shit. But I found myself rounding on him. “Stop! Just … stop.”
I couldn’t look at him. Not here, with the music and the fans and the stage looming. Everything about Dylan reminded me of who I once was. And I hadn’t counted on that. The visceral feeling of nostalgia that accompanied my every move since we’d arrived at the venue.
My gaze wandered to the media tent. To Logan. For some reason, when he was around my thoughts were my own, and not shaped by everyone else’s expectations.
Dylan took me by the shoulders. “Jesus, Belle. You’re scaring me.”
I lifted my gaze, and it was there, the fear and the unease and the disquiet, painted on his features.
“Why?”
His brows drew together. “Why what?”
Why do you want me?
Neither of us was ready for that question. “Why do you worry so much? I’m fine.”
Rather than take my little reminder as the happy news that it was, his jaw tightened. “If you’re so fine, then why did you ride with Logan and not on the bus?”
I hadn’t told Dylan about my freak-out, but I’m sure he suspected. Only there was a little doubt in his eyes, and I held onto that so I could do what I needed to do. For both of us.
Summoning my strength, I inhaled slowly. “Because he asked me to.”
The lie passed quietly from my lips. And it worked, like I knew it would.
Dylan’s hands fell away. “I need sleep,” he said thickly. “Are you coming back to the bus?”
He didn’t look at me, and that was for the best.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I held myself together so my guts wouldn’t fall at his feet. “I’m going to catch the tail end of the press conference and then watch the Caged show.”
Dylan’s eyes found mine, cold like slate. And then, for the first time in six years, he walked away without saying goodbye.
Jack, the security guard standing post in front of the makeshift dressing room gave me the eye when I ventured out. I didn’t catch the end of the press conference like I’d intended, and I’d missed most of Caged’s opening number. But now it was time to stop hiding.
Blowing out a breath, I swiped a hand over the wrinkles on my T-shirt.
“Do you want me to call you a car, ma’am?” Jack asked.
Ma’am? I was twenty-nine years old. Too young to be a “ma’am.”
Maybe it was the clothes. They were at least ten years old. And the stupid boots. Nobody wore Docs anymore.
Slowly, I brought my eyes to his and forced my lips to bend. “No. I want to see the show.”
Grimacing, he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Let me just call it in.” His hand curled around the device strapped to his shoulder. A walkie talkie, small, like the kind my dad used to wear when he was on patrol. “I’ve got Raven. We’re headed for center stage.”
Raven.
The alias was straight out of my past. A relic from the days when I needed a security detail to move around anonymously. I saw Taryn’s hand in this, since she was the one who’d insisted that I have a bodyguard while at the venue.
Jack took my elbow, his hold firm, but surprisingly gentle. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Amused, I let him take the lead. The guy was a tank, so resistance was futile. “Nobody is here to see me, Jack,” I shouted over the music as we got closer to the stage. “You can relax.”
His eyes darted around, a deep crease furrowing his brow. “I’m not so sure about that.”
The roar of Logan’s vocals, the wailing guitars, and the thundering drums made it impossible to protest, so I merely shrugged as Jack maneuvered me up the set of wooden stairs behind the stage.
My breath caught as I peered out from behind the curtain. Earlier today, when I’d taken a walk around the grounds, the crowd was equally dispersed between the three smaller stages. But now, every one of the forty thousand in attendance was spread out before me. Mesmerized, I took it all in. The sea of bobbing heads. The outstretched arms. All the bodies swaying in time.
And Logan.
Prowling the stage, he roared into the microphone, completely at home amidst the chaos and confusion. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his arms and his face, his blond hair already a tangled mess.
When he turned in my direction, I glimpsed the word stamped across the front of his black T-shirt.
Damaged.
The letters were nearly translucent, blending into the dark fabric like a faded memory.
All of a sudden, I felt exposed, like a time traveler peering into a future that they weren’t part of.
A pretty brunette had Logan’s undivided attention now. And as the song wound down, he dropped into a crouch at the edge of the stage. The brunette reached for him, and he obliged, a wicked smile curving his lips as he touched her hand.
I knew what was coming next. Had seen it a million times.
Logan’s gaze flicked to the wings, searching for a roadie to offer the girl one of those passes that Dylan had turned over. I tried to blend in with the amps so he wouldn’t notice me. His blue orbs passed me by, and I sagged in relief, letting my head fall forward. But then a prickle of awareness danced on my skin, and when I looked up, Logan’s gaze was locked onto mine.
A genuine smile formed on my lips.
And Logan smiled too. Only it wasn’t at me. His focus had already drifted back to the brunette. He crooned the next number directly to h
er, a ballad with a hard driving beat, and before the song was over, a roadie had woven his way to the girl’s side. She took the pass he offered, and it was like an arrow to the chest. Only I couldn’t figure out why. Logan was nothing to me. We weren’t even friends.
I tugged on the sleeve of Jack’s T-shirt, and when he inclined his head, I spoke directly into his ear. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
17
I pounded another shot of tequila, then raised my empty glass to get the server’s attention.
“Thanks,” I said, waving off the lime when she rushed over. “You can leave the bottle.”
As soon as she left, Sean reached over and covered my glass with his palm. “Are you trying to piss Tori off the first night?”
Shoving his hand away, I poured my shot. “One—show’s over. I’m off the clock. Two—Tori’s not my keeper. And three—do you see her anywhere around?”
I motioned around the room without taking my eyes off Sean.
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the fucking point. If the girl wants me to follow her rules, then she should be here to enforce them.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I’m confused. Do you want Tori here?” Rather than answer his question, I tipped back my glass, glaring at him over the rim. He smiled smugly. “I know that look. You do want her here.”
“Don’t be stupid. If I wanted her here, I wouldn’t have set up a date with …” Sitting up straighter, I glanced around for the cute little brunette I’d left by the bar. When I didn’t spot her right away, I pushed out of my chair to scan the crowd.
Sean snickered into his next sip of beer. “If you’re looking for that chick you serenaded, she took off with Justin twenty minutes ago.”
The fuck? I left the girl at the bar for a few minutes and Justin swooped in? My gaze darted to the table where the guys from Drafthouse were sitting, minus their guitarist.
Sean’s smile withered, and he jumped to his feet, grabbing my arm when I took a step in their direction. “Dude, what are you doing?”
Prying off his hand, I growled, “That girl was here for me. And Dylan can’t have her.”
Sean looked as surprised as I did at the name that popped out of my mouth. “Don’t you mean Justin?”
When I tried to push out a response, all I could picture was Dylan’s arm wrapped around Tori’s shoulder.
“You’re either drunker than you look or something’s going on with you,” he grumbled, nudging me toward the door. “Either way, you need to get back to the hotel and sleep it off.”
With traffic, it took two hours to travel the thirty or so miles from the venue to the hotel. Long enough for my buzz to wear off. But not the headache that followed. Fucking tequila.
I stepped off the elevator with Sean on my heels.
“You gonna tuck me in?” I asked, giving him the side-eye.
The question was rhetorical, since I knew damn well what he was doing. There were at least five “after” after-parties taking place on our floor. Not to mention the high-stakes poker game the roadies always threw together.
“Just making sure you don’t take any detours,” he said, confirming my suspicions.
I was too fucking tired to argue. That is, until I turned the corner and spotted the security guard propping up the wall in front of my door. Red painted my vision, and for the second time tonight, Sean grabbed my arm.
“Be cool.”
But I wasn’t cool. With any of this. Posting a rent-a-cop outside my door was never part of the agreement.
Yanking free of Sean’s hold, I spun around, shoving him back into the hall. “Did you know about this? Is that why you brought me back here?”
When he used all his strength to push me away, I knew he was as surprised as I was. “Fuck no. How could you even think that?” Without waiting for me to answer, he sighed. “Look, dude, this is messed up. You can stay with Anna and me tonight. We’ve got a two-room suite.”
My pride had taken enough of a pounding for one night, so I shook my head. “Nah. I’ll take care of it. Go get some sleep.” Sean moved in front of me, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to clobber the guy for doing his job. But I might lay you flat if you don’t get out of the way.”
Undeterred by my threat, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me your word.”
After twenty years of friendship, Sean knew what he was asking. I didn’t make promises—or give my word. Not lightly, anyway.
Reserve the right to change your mind, boy. That’s power right there. What you did? You just look weak.
That’s what my old man had told me the night I swore I’d never return to his shitty trailer. Even though he was flat on his back at the time, bleeding on the gravel, he still managed to make me feel like I’d lost.
Banishing Jake from my thoughts, I sighed. “Fine. I give you my word. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
After we bumped fists, I turned and strolled toward my room.
Rent-a-cop pushed off the wall as I approached. “Are you Cage?”
“Who else?” He was on me a second later, so close I detected a hint of cigarette smoke on his clothes. I held up my key. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to go to bed.” He watched with narrowed eyes as I slid the plastic card into the slot. Once I got the door open, I shot him a smile. “If one of the girls from the party down the hall comes calling, make sure you let her in.”
I was only half kidding, but the guy obviously had no sense of humor. Reclaiming his spot against the wall, he continued to glare at me until the door slid shut.
Shaking my head, I flipped the lock and then headed for the bathroom to shower so I could put this day behind me.
Soft music floated to my ears as I passed the door separating Tori’s suite from mine. The voice was spot on, but the accompanying guitar was a little choppy. Curious, I peeked inside. The TV was on with no sound, casting the room in a blue haze. And on the floor, with my Martin wedged under her arm, sat Tori, her fingers fumbling over the frets.
An irritated sigh parted her lips when she tripped over an intricate chord change.
“You might want to try something simpler,” I said. “That’s pretty intense.”
Sucking in a startled breath, she scrambled to her feet. “Shit …I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it without asking. I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”
Swallowing hard as I closed the distance between us, she held out the guitar.
I dropped onto my ass on the carpet. “Where else would I be?”
She sank to her knees, still clutching the guitar. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you.”
“You already said that.” I tipped my chin to the Martin. “What’s that you were playing.”
I knew every Damaged song by heart. And even the stuff she’d done with the Austin Dolls. Whatever she was playing, I’d never heard it before.
Color flooded her cheeks. “Oh … It was nothing.”
“Sounded like something to me. Is it new?”
“Not really. I found some sheet music at home in Rhenn’s …” Pain flashed in her eyes, and just as quickly it was gone. “In my studio. I jotted down the notes, but I don’t remember the chords or the key.”
“If you sing it, I can probably figure it out.”
Her brows scrunched. “How’s that?”
I took the guitar from her hands. “I don’t read music. But I can figure just about anything out.” Setting the Martin on my knee, my thumb slotted the groove on the back of the neck, and I began to strum the opening riff for “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” the old Guns N’ Roses standard. “It took weeks to get this one down.”
Her eyes lit up as she watched my fingers fly over the frets. I stopped short of singing the opening stanza, and held out the guitar. She took it, confused. “Why did you stop?”
Don’t.
But it was too late. The words were there, on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn’t help mysel
f. “I figured if you wanted to hear me sing, you would’ve stuck around for my performance.”
There was no way to mask the bitterness in my tone. And if I were honest, I didn’t want to. I braced myself for her snappy comeback, but there was only a smile.
“I was there.” Shifting her focus to the frets, she ran through some chords without strumming. “I didn’t stay because …” She peered over at me, raven hair curtaining her face. “That was a really decent thing you did for me yesterday. So I thought the best way to repay you was to leave you alone. As much as I can, I mean.”
“What about the guy in the hallway. Is he going to leave me alone too?”
She wrinkled her nose at the door. “Taryn hired him.”
Then she went back to her chords like that explained everything.
“I’m not down for that, princess. You never said anything about hiring a rent-a-cop to stand guard.”
Her head snapped up, and she blinked at me. “He’s not here for you. He’s here for me. Taryn’s a little freaky about my safety, so she always hires a bodyguard.” The light seeped from her eyes. “I still get threats every now and then.”
Threats?
A million questions flooded in, but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to push out the words. Or enough room in my chest to contain my pounding heart.
After setting the guitar aside, Tori traced the smooth lines of the body with her index finger. And she looked so small. Not frail. Just delicate.
When she caught me staring, she tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. But there wasn’t enough fabric to cover the rough patch of skin peeking from the bottom of her tiny sleep shorts.
“I need to stretch,” she announced, her tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t yesterday. And after that car ride, I really should have.”
I rose to my feet and then took her hand, helping her up. “Are you saying my car is uncomfortable?” My fingers inched toward her wrist. “’Cause those are fightin’ words.”
“No. I just have a lot of … um …” She pressed her lips together and looked down. “I can’t sit in one place too long. It’s uncomfortable.”