“Are you two–like dating?” she asks as she hands Brent her CD.
“Nah, they just stare at each other for hours on end. It’s kind of nauseating,” Kie replies, leaning back in his chair as he twirls his permanent marker between his fingers.
“No,” Brent answers as he signs the CD and hands it to James. “We’re good friends.”
She bites her lip. “So that means you’re still the only single guy in the band?”
Brent blinks at her a few times. Although she’s pretty, she’s wearing way too much makeup, and it doesn’t hide the fact she’s barely eighteen. Three years younger than me and seven years younger than Brent.
“Yup,” James says as he puts his signature on it. “We’re all taken except that guy, but there’s probably a reason for that.”
The girl turns bright red as she moves further down to where Kie sits. She turns pale as he makes a comment I can’t hear, smirking up at her before sliding her CD to Brad.
“So,” I say as Brent continues to sign items. “What are you guys all depressed about?”
“Nothing, it just gets hard around the holidays,” Brent replies as he taps his marker against the table.
“Do you mind?” The guy who was an ass holds out his cell phone to me and gives me a crooked grin.
My eyebrows go into my forehead, but I shake my head as I take the phone. I step back and take a picture of him, Brent and James.
“You’re awesome, man,” the guy says to Brent, shaking his hand. “Someday I want to be as good a screamer as you.”
Brent purses his lips and gives a stiff nod. “Dude, just put your mind to it. Next time we’re in the area should be for a festival–we do acoustic jam sessions. Hit us up then– we talk about what it takes to make it.”
“Sick,” the guy replies, taking his signed poster. “I’ll make sure I get tickets.”
“What holiday?” I ask as I move back next to Brent.
“Only the best holiday ever,” James chimes in. “Thanksgiving.”
I look down at the date on my watch. “Oh.”
“Yeah, we like food,” Kie says, and I watch as Brad nods.
“Plus, seeing our family,” Brent adds as he takes a deep breath and smiles at the next girl. This one is a busty twenty-something, whose traveling eyes make my stomach turn.
“Can you sign the back of my shirt?” she asks, cocking her head and biting her lip. “And then a picture?”
It takes a lot for me not to roll my eyes as Brent leans over the table and signs her shirt before she hands me her cell phone. She scoots around me, wrapping her arm around Brent’s waist. My stomach hardens, and my cheeks flush hot. Brent sees the look on my face, and he smiles as he places his arm over her shoulder, making devil’s horn sign with his hand. As I give her the phone back, she turns to Brent.
“So you’re single?” she asks, and her voice is sugar sweet.
I swear I taste bile in my mouth. My mouth drops open, and I look at the ceiling before making my way behind the guys to the exit.
“Where you going?” Kie calls at my back.
I turn and see the girl still talking to Brent, hand on her hip as she smiles at him. I let my eyes fall to Kie. “Don’t you dare say it.”
Kie shrugs. “As long as you know what I’m thinking, Dollface!”
I press my eyes shut before turning and heading out the door, barely resisting my urge to flick him off. He thinks I’m jealous.
I’m so not jealous.
The humid night air of Alabama hits me in the face as I take my cell phone out of my pocket, pulling up the ride request app up before going into the tour bus to get my money. The band is just leaving the back door of the venue as the car drives up.
“Where are you headed?” Brent calls at me.
“Grocery store–or Walmart–somewhere has to be open,” I reply as I open the door.
“Wait–I’m coming!” he says, running towards the car as I slide in.
“Walmart?” the driver asks as Brent climbs in.
“Yes, please,” I reply, nodding as I look over at Brent. “How’s Boobies R Us?”
Brent relaxes into the seat, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Not all of our fans throw themselves at me. You just caught us on a bad day.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. I know better.
“Honest to God. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing this anymore. That kind of person gets tiring,” Brent says as he runs his hands through his damp hair.
“So why do you do this?” I ask.
Brent looks out the window, biting the inside of his cheek before looking over at me and smiling, “I do love knowing I’ve touched someone–that my music means something to them. I’m not a rock star, but my fans treat me like one. They look up to us. We make shit for money. That’s the funny part; our fans think we’re making it big because we’re on tour. We aren’t. You know how it is, we scrimp every penny we get. Our fans feeding us is half of the reason we can buy things here and there.” He nods at me. “I know your parents don’t approve. Why do you still do it?”
“I love capturing those exact moments you’re talking about– to be able to capture the passion in your eyes as you sing to the crowd,” I reply with a shrug. “Every job has its pros and cons.”
“A blessing and a curse, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. It doesn’t make many other parts of life very easy. Nothing is normal,” I say as my eyes drift out the window.
“Like relationships,” Brent replies, and I glance over at him.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice quiet as I fight the urge to put my head on his shoulder.
He blinks hard before clearing his throat and looking away. “So…why are we going to the store?”
“I can cook, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you guys a real Thanksgiving,” I reply, and his head jerks back.
“Really?”
“Absolutely, plus while it’s nice the fans feed you…burgers are kind of starting to make me nauseated.”
We both laugh as the driver pulls to the front of the building.
“Give us fifteen minutes?” I ask, smiling at the driver in as he looks at me in his rearview mirror. He nods back at me. “Thank you!”
“Fifteen minutes?” Brent asks as I grab a cart. “How are we going to do that?”
“All of these stores have the same set up–let’s hope Alabama is no different,” I reply as I grab a bag of potatoes. “Do you guys have any pots or pans?”
Brent’s forehead wrinkles and his shoulders rise.
“Tin pans and one large pot will have to do it,” I say, throwing a bag of string beans at Brent. “Now, move it!”
We jog down each of the aisles, me picking out the food and him catching it and putting it in the cart.
“We have five minutes left.” I toss the final tin pans I need into the cart. “We need to make it to the other side of the store to get a quart pot and check out.”
Brent grabs my waist and lifts me onto the edge of the cart before wrapping his arms around me and setting off at a jog. My blood rushes in my ears as we laugh together. He takes a corner sharply, pulling me tighter to him, and it knocks my breath from my lungs. Somehow, the sweat from the concert has dried from his skin, and he’s left smelling more like his cologne than man-stench. It’s strangely comforting.
“How are we doing on time?” Brent asks as he looks at the prices on pots and grabs the cheapest one.
“Three more minutes,” I reply, and his arms come back around me as he jogs to the only cashier open.
Brent starts shoveling items onto the belt, and I hop down, pulling a few bills out of my purse.
Brent opens his wallet, handing me a twenty. “Let me pitch in a little bit.”
I smile, taking it and handing it to the cashier.
“Time?” Brent asks as I take the change and shove it in my pocket.
I hop on the cart. “Thirty seconds! Mush, boy! Mush!”
&nb
sp; Brent bursts out laughing as we take off to the entrance. The driver is smoking a cigarette and shakes his head at us as we come careening out of the building.
“You think I was going to leave?” he asks as he flicks it to the ground and opens the trunk for us.
“We didn’t want to chance it,” I reply as we slip into the backseat.
“Thanks for doing this for us,” Brent says, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “It means a lot that you’re willing to. I know you’re just as tired as the rest of us.”
The warmth of his lips against my skin spreads through me, heating my whole body and I bite my lower lip before my brain checks back in.
“It’s our day off. There are no fans to feed us, right?” I reply.
Chapter 19
The day after Thanksgiving means we’re back on the road again, and in two days we find ourselves in North Carolina. I’m not sure what the guys are doing today, but I’m not needed, so I sleep in and then plan on going to the gym, but once there’s no one on the bus I just can’t bring myself to leave the quiet of it. I let the silence engulf me as I click through the images on my camera from the night before. I take a deep breath as I sink into my bunk, the only light the illumination from my tablet as I load the images into the editing software. Brent’s picture is one of the first ones on the screen, and like most photographs of him, it doesn’t really need any editing. He’s above me, foot on the podium, microphone cord wrapped around his fist as he screams into it. The veins in his neck protrude with the passion of his scream, and I click to the next one, where his head falls to his knee at the pause in the song. I change the colors to black and white and begin to alter the exposure slowly. As I do, I hear the strum of a guitar. It’s not altered by the distortion typical of the bands I listen to day and night. I suck in a breath as I swing my legs over the bed onto the cold laminate floor and place my tablet down. The song continues, one I’ve never heard before, and my skin tingles as a voice begins to sing. I sit there frozen; my mind contemplating exactly what I’m listening to. Something clicks and I realize this is the voice I imagine when I write songs. It doesn’t seem possible that it exists.
The tingling escalates, fear rushing cold through my body as I stand, and tiptoeing to the edge of the kitchen. I stop, staring at Brent with his eyes closed as he strums the guitar. His voice is as sad as the tone of the blue acoustic he’s playing. My heart and breathing find the time of the music as he continues the song.
When all I see is yesterday
How can I move on with today?
When all I see is your face
How can I dream of anything but your pain?
He begins to tap his foot harder, and his voice moves into a quiet scream.
All I want to see is your heart free
But all I see is broken
His voice slips into the clean vocals again.
Dear, why won’t you let me fix you?
Let me in.
Let me in.
I believe.
I believe.
When all we see is broken,
The pieces we need to be complete,
Are one another.
When all I see is yesterday
How can I move on with today?
When all I see is your face
How can I dream of anything but your pain?
My head fills with the sound of his voice and the imagery of him singing, and for the first time in my life, I’m not tempted to grab my camera. I don’t want to. I just want to be in the moment with him. Brent’s eyes rise from the guitar, and the smile that’s been eating at my insides for weeks comes to his face, shattering whatever wall I know I have there.
I’m not falling. I feel like I’ve landed.
“Hey,” Brent says, and his hands rest over the strings to stop their reverberation. “I guess my secret’s out.”
I sit down next to him, pulling my knees to my chest. “You’re going to wreck your voice by screaming.”
He places the guitar down on the table as he inhales through his nose. “Yeah, probably, but the general consensus is my scream is better than my voice.”
“And what do you think?” I ask, and my throat thickens as I look at him.
Brent leans back, placing his head on the top of the couch as he sinks into it. His eyes meet mine. “The band needs a screamer.”
“My mom thinks I should be a baby photographer,” I say, and I watch as Brent leans forward to laugh.
“I think that’s a little different,” he answers. “Besides you’re incredible at what you do.”
“You are too. I love your scream…but your voice when you sing.” I swallow as our eyes meet. “It’s like you’re singing to my soul.”
Brent’s lips press together, and his chest rises as he replies, “Maybe that’s because I am.”
My mind goes fuzzy as his brown eyes race over mine.
“Why would you do a thing like that?” I ask, and the heat crawls up my chest to my face and then spreads to my entire body as he leans towards me.
“Because you see my soul,” he replies, reaching forward to brush a stray curl behind my ear.
My eyelashes flutter as his fingertips caress my cheek, and I breathe in deeply before standing and going to my drawer. I open it and pull out the journal, the hair on the back of my neck rising as I think of what I’m about to do. I watch as Brent’s eyes follow my movements. I hand it to him before sitting down, my hands gripping the edge of the couch as I watch him open it.
“Your photography notes?” he asks, his voice barely audible as he flips through the pages.
“My secret,” I reply, shaking my head. My heart beats so hard in my chest it feels like it might explode as I wait for him to say something. “So?”
Brent’s fingers trace the outside of the pages as he runs his other hand through his hair. My breath catches in my throat as he looks up at me. “You’re fucking amazing, Nat.”
He keeps flipping through the pages and lands on the final one. “Isn’t this?”
I nod. “Monster’s Epitaph.”
Brent’s forehead wrinkles as he looks up at me. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s a reason I don’t tell anyone what’s really in my journals. The one person I did tell betrayed me,” I reply, rubbing the dull ache in my chest.
“So he’s why you have rules?” Brent asks, slowly closing the book.
“He really hated my career choice, especially when I still decided to go on tour with other bands. But he knew what he was getting into. That was how we met, so I don’t know why he thought I was going to stop for him…especially seeing our relationship wasn’t that stellar to begin with.”
Brent looks down at the journal. “Do you still love him?”
“No, but he’ll always hold a part of me hostage, especially while he has my journal from the Undertow tour,” I reply, swallowing.
Brent sucks in his cheeks before looking up at me. “Do you think you would stop touring with bands if you found the right guy?”
“I don’t think the right guy would ask me to stop doing my job,” I say, and my breath catches in my throat as his eyes dart over my face. I cough before continuing. “And you’d think since Jace was in a band he’d understand. I never asked him to quit because of me.”
Brent’s eyes go back to the journal, reminding me of why I wanted him to see it and that wasn’t because of Jace. We sit in quiet for a moment before I finally ask, “Do you believe in fate?”
“Like you and I are meant to be in this moment right now?” He replies, and I nod. “Yeah, I do.”
I can barely hear my voice over the pounding of my heart as I say, “Would you believe…that every time I’ve written a song I’ve heard your voice–your scream…for years. I didn’t think it existed, but here you are singing…and it’s you. It’s always been you in my head.”
I count the seconds as I wait for him to respond, and just as he begins to open his mouth the bus door slams open.
; “Hey!” James says as he comes up the stairs holding a bag of subs and sodas. “I thought you would be going to the gym, Nat.”
Brent slips the journal between our legs as I struggle to form any words.
“I…um…I decided I just needed some quiet time,” I reply.
“And then I interrupted. I didn’t realize she was in here,” Brent says, grabbing his guitar and my journal before standing.
“Never a moment of calm for you, eh?” James replies as he hands me a sub and soda. “But at least your food won’t be soggy!”
I nod, and my stomach feels empty, but I’m not hungry. I watch as Brent places the journal under my pillow and then continues into the back with his guitar. I’m trying to get over the shock of what just happened, and the anguish washing over me from not knowing what Brent thinks of what I said. I scoot down, placing my food on the table and staring at it.
Brent slips in to sit next to me. As he unwraps his sub, he leans over to whisper in my ear, “Thank you.”
I glance over at him from the corner of my eye. “For what?”
He shrugs. “What you said.”
“It doesn’t freak you out?”
He shakes his head. “It’s awesome…crazy…but awesome.”
I smile, and James plops down across from us along with Aiden. “What are you two talking about?”
“I didn’t realize Brent plays guitar so well,” I reply before taking a giant bite of my sandwich that will make it so I can’t speak for a least long enough for me to recover.
“Yeah, too bad we can’t get him to play on stage,” Aiden replies, pointing his sub at him.
“Brent and James are already the center of attention enough,” Kie says from across the room. “Give Brent a freaking guitar on stage, and we’ll all just be left in the background.”
“That’s beside the fact,” James replies talking through the napkin he holds to his face to block his mouth full of food. “Brent has stage fright.”
I stop with a chip halfway to my mouth. “He has what?”
“You know, stage fright? Craps his pants at the thought of doing anything but screaming on stage,” Kie replies with a smirk.
I watch as Brent’s gaze goes to Kie across the room, his mouth set in a firm line and Kie salutes his sub at him before taking a bite.
Behind the Lens (Boys of Fallout Book 2) Page 10