The Road to You

by Alecia Whitaker

  “Bird,” Kai says. “You can trust me. I just showed you my photographs. I get how hard it is to share your art, and I promise, I’d never judge, especially in this early stage.”

  I don’t have the guts to kiss him, to make that kind of move, but maybe Stella is right: Maybe I need to put myself out there, maybe I need to make my kind of move. Reluctantly, nervously, worriedly, I scan the page, the lyrics scribbled and scratched out like a mad scientist at work, and hand it over.

  “Okay,” I say. I reach for my guitar. “So I’m fooling around with the idea of relationships and when they go from friends to something more.” My voice is shaky.

  He looks over at me with a knowing half grin and my entire face heats up, so I look down at the strings and start to strum. “I think I’m onto something maybe. So… anyway… it’s called ‘Friends Don’t.’ Here goes:

  “Never knew that you could say so much,

  With just a single move, with just a touch.

  Friends don’t brush a hand against my skin.

  Friends don’t send my heart into a tailspin.

  I just want something more to let me know

  Where this could lead us and how far we could go.”

  I let the last note fade away and then we sit still for a few seconds that feel like an eternity. I’m waiting for Kai’s response, for him to say something—anything—but he’s staring a hole in my notebook, contemplative.

  “I’m dying here,” I finally say.

  “Sorry.” He looks up and smiles. “Sorry. I was just in my head.” He pauses, wearing the expression of someone carefully choosing his words. “It’s just… I feel like I really know your stuff now, Bird. I mean, I’ve been on tour with you for weeks. And I also feel like I really know you.”

  He puts his hand on my knee and squeezes. I feel a shiver from my head to the tips of my toes.

  “But I don’t—” He stops and looks up at me, hesitant.

  Oh no. He doesn’t feel the same way. I’ve totally read him wrong. I’ve read it all wrong. Oh my God, kill me now. This is my worst nightmare.

  “I just don’t feel like this is really you.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “This song. The lyrics. I just—” He stops and scratches his head. “I think you should stretch yourself. Seriously. Don’t get boxed in.” He picks up one of my hands, turns toward me, and locks his eyes onto mine. “Listen, this song is definitely commercial, and maybe this is what your label wants, but your sophomore album will solidify your reputation in the music world. Other artists are skeptical of your staying power, and your fans are waiting to see what else is in there.” He points to my heart. “And I feel like some of your songs, like ‘Before Music,’ are so raw and powerful that they set you apart from the other girls in the business. I feel like you need more stuff that’s… profound… you know?”

  I swallow. “So what do you suggest?”

  A small grin plays at the corner of his mouth, and he softly says, “I say listen to your heart. I say be true to yourself.”

  He drops my hand and brings his to my shoulder, brushing away the hair there and rubbing the side of my neck with his thumb. My throat is suddenly dry and it feels about a billion degrees hotter on the bus. And then, as if my life were in slow motion, Kai leans toward me. I grip my guitar and hold my breath, watching him close the space between us and shutting my eyes when his lips meet mine. It is a soft kiss, a sweet kiss, almost like an introductory kiss. My shoulders relax and my body goes limp. I sigh and my fingers brush down the guitar strings as if of their own accord. I feel his lips stretch into a smile. He pulls away.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I met you,” he says softly.

  I feel like my heart could burst in my chest. “Me too.”

  His hand is firmer on my neck as he moves toward me again, and I tilt my head, my heart pounding big African drums, but then the door to Dolly swings open and we both fly back to opposite sides of the small couch. My dad walks up the steps on his cell phone, sees us, and does a double take, then walks toward the back of the bus, clearly agitated, glancing over his shoulder as he goes.

  Kai checks the time on his phone. “Guess I should get going.”

  “Yeah,” I say quietly.

  He stands up, and I do, too, following him down the stairs and out the door.

  He turns back to me, and I hold his steady gaze. It looks like he might kiss me again, but then he glances up at Dolly and steps back, clearly worried about my dad. I wave as he trots toward his bus with his laptop.

  And I think again about the manager Dan knows in LA.

  The sun has just dipped below the horizon, and twilight envelops the parade field where the stage was erected in Fort Campbell. It’s sticky hot, but my palms are cold. Somebody, somewhere, convinced Jolene Taylor to sing the national anthem with me, timing it perfectly as the sun set. It did not go well.

  “A big thank-you to all the military families here in Fort Campbell, Kentucky!” Jolene calls into her rhinestone-covered microphone, blowing kisses as we exit. “I love you so much. Be right back, y’all!”

  The audience cheers, and I wave halfheartedly as the stage lights go red, white, and blue all around me. The lighting guys shoot off fireworks, but I don’t stick around to marvel. I can’t get backstage fast enough. Unless somebody changed the lyrics of the “The Star-Spangled Banner” to “the home of the free-brave,” then I had a total lapse in brain power and flubbed the last line.

  We rehearsed this afternoon, but I was a bundle of nerves. Jolene insisted on singing the melody and instructed me that my harmonies be soft. She also demanded that neither of us go higher than E-flat on the big “free” that the Mariah Careys of the planet send into orbit but that the mere mortals of the world struggle to hit. She stopped me during the rehearsal several times, asking things like, “Is that how you’re going to sing it tonight?” and “Is there a reason you’re holding that note out?” She kept flashing me that tight-lipped fake smile, and every time I tried to interact with her onstage, she walked away. By the time I got back to my dressing room to get ready, I was wound up like a top.

  It was impossible to enjoy my set tonight. Not only did I let Jolene get into my head, but it was hard to get pumped up onstage when there weren’t as many butts in the seats as usual. This concert was meant to be small, only for military and their families, and I was stoked to support the troops, but then half the ticket holders didn’t trickle in until it was almost time for Jolene to come on. I missed the cell phones and signs in the air, the occasional “I love you, Bird!” screamed by an enthused fan. I tried to engage the sparse crowd, but it was an older bunch, and they didn’t know my music. It felt like they were bored, like they were just humoring me until the real star came on.

  When it was finally time to perform together, Jolene started off by genuinely thanking all the servicemen and women for their sacrifices. Then she began the anthem without cueing the band or me. I caught up on the second word, and although neither of us was excited to sing together, I have to admit that we sounded amazing, her low, loud belt complemented beautifully by my softer tone. I actually got cold chills at one point. Jolene flashed me what appeared to be the first sincere smile in our month-long relationship, which made me feel like we’d finally had a breakthrough, but it was in that euphoria that I lost focus. When we reached that climactic moment in the song, “And the home of the—” I sang the word free again before quickly correcting to brave.

  Jolene flinched but lifted her shiny mic higher, belted louder, and held that final note—and held it and held it—until I started wondering if she was punishing me. Then, finally, she cut the song.

  “Bird,” my dad says now, holding his arms open. Truthfully, I could use a hug, but Jolene is right behind me and even if I goofed—and maybe because of it—I want to look like a professional. So I take the bottle of water from his outstretched hand instead, pretty sure that it was his and not meant for me, and I chug it. “That w
as really beautiful, sweetheart,” he says.

  I nod. “Uh-huh. Thanks, Dad.”

  He pats my back uncertainly and nods at a smug-looking Jolene as she passes. I mimic her signature tight-lipped smile and follow her entourage backstage, purposefully not looking over at Kai. It’s all I can do not to cry as it is, so I don’t need my dad to hug me and I don’t need the boy I like to pity me.

  “Bird, that was incredible,” Monty says, catching up.

  I purse my lips and nod. “Thanks. You guys sounded great tonight.” The band circles around me when I get to the back lot behind the stage, giving me props on the anthem. My stylists chime in, too.

  “Seriously, thanks, y’all,” I say. I’m appreciative of their graciousness, but it’s only making me feel worse that everybody’s pretending like I didn’t mess up the last line. “But honestly, I’m really tired and I’ve got a headache. I think I’m going to head back to the bus, okay?”

  The guys nod, Sam and Amanda exchange glances, and my dad suddenly takes a phone call. Everybody knows why I really want to be alone. They know I’m just barely holding it together, which makes me feel even worse as I weave through the group, like they all think I’m being a baby or something. I know it was good; it just wasn’t perfect. And it was my first time performing with a multiplatinum Grammy winner in front of men and women who defend our freaking country. It meant a lot to me, and I feel like I blew it.

  I get pretty far away from the stage area before I crouch down in the grass, as if inspecting the clover. I pluck one of the little white flowers and watch it blur as my eyes fill with tears. My phone pings with a text message, but I don’t look at it. Instead, I stare and stare at the little flower in my hand and berate myself, wondering how I could screw up the first chance Jolene has given me.

  “Bird,” Kai says, his shadow falling next to me.

  I turn around, shocked, as he drops to his knees in the grass. “What are you—”

  “That was incredible,” he says, holding my cheeks and wiping under my eyelashes with his thumbs. “I saw the look on your face when you left the stage, though. You know you sounded amazing, right?”

  “Kai, I messed up the words to the national anthem,” I cry, feeling a tear escape and run down my cheek sideways, following the curve of his palm.

  “A word,” he corrects. “And it was the last one when everybody was already screaming. I guarantee nobody noticed.”

  “Yeah, right.” I groan. “People love YouTube anthem bloopers.”

  “Bird, I swear to you. Nobody noticed,” he says. He’s staring at me so intently, his dark brown eyes full of concern. “Jolene was belting like an opera singer, and the people were going crazy, for God’s sake. You sounded incredible. I had chills, and it’s, like, ninety degrees outside.” He lifts my chin. “You know I don’t lie about music.”

  I grin despite myself. “I know.”

  “I have to go,” he says, one hand on my knee. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a forced smile.

  He picks a tiny strand of wet hair from my cheek and smooths it back into place with the rest of my hair. And then his fingers work their way into my mane and lock themselves urgently behind my neck. He pulls me toward him with need, his eyes on mine until we are so close that our noses nearly touch. When our lips meet, he is firm and deliberate, as sure as if he’s kissed me a million times before. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, feel my body relax, absent of any tension or sadness as he holds my face, as he kisses me deeply, steadily, his thumb tracing a circle on my cheek.

  I forget the stupid anthem—forget anything other than this perfect boy kissing me. He lifts me up and pulls me close, squeezing me tight. “Bird,” he whispers between kisses.

  Finally the crowd roars, signaling that Jolene has taken the stage again, and Kai reluctantly pulls away. He drags me all the way back to the concert area and leaves me by the stairs, where my dad looks at us both sternly. I don’t care. I clutch the little white flower to my chest. Kai is aiming his light toward Jolene, but he looks down at me and winks. My heart leaps, soars, as if vaulting from my chest, and as it falls, I only hope that this boy catches it and keeps it safe.

  13

  “BOOOOOOOO!” KAI IS pretending to be an angry fan at Tulsa’s BOK Center. I keep singing, but he doesn’t stop heckling me. “I can’t see a thing!” he yells. “Is that even the real Bird Barrett?”

  Abruptly, I stop singing and shout, “Lights!” and Kai flips them on. I smile at the flipcam recording on a tripod in front of me and say, “It takes a lot to run a tour. Today I want to introduce you to one of our lighting techs, Kai Chandler.”

  Kai walks over and waves at the camera. Then he reaches out and presses STOP. The second the red light is off, he kisses me—again—for the twentieth time in the past ten minutes as I’m trying to record this behind-the-scenes video for my website. It’s only supposed to be a couple of minutes long, but filming has been met with a few challenges today… mainly to do with focus and, no, I do not mean the lens.

  “Kai, come on,” I say, pulling myself away and swatting him playfully. “I didn’t have any of these distractions with the sound guy I interviewed last week.”

  Kai cocks an eyebrow. “You better not have.”

  A few other crew members appear, and I check the time. Sound check is soon, so Kai and I walk back to my dressing room for the rest of the interview. When he plops down on the couch, I aim the tripod and camera toward him and remind him to be professional. We have to keep it platonic when the camera’s rolling because (1) Kai doesn’t want to be in US Weekly, and (2) although I haven’t shared this with him, Anita has strongly hinted that if I have a romance brewing, it shouldn’t be made public.

  I press RECORD and sit down. “Okay, Kai, these questions are rapid-fire. Ready?”

  “Shoot.”

  Even though we talk and text every day, the interview is eye-opening for me, too. I ask him about his job: the best part about being on tour and the worst. What does he do on his time off? What’s the craziest thing that’s ever gone wrong during a big show? We have fun with it, stopping and restarting a few times when one of his hands wanders up to my bare shoulder or his mouth ends up on mine. The chemistry between us is intense. It feels like we’re two magnets drawn toward each other, nearly impossible to separate.

  Finally, I wrap it up. “I want to thank lighting tech extraordinaire Kai Chandler for being my guest today and also all my fans for the nonstop love and support. Tulsa—it’s on! Nashville, are you ready? ’Cause I’m coming for you next!”

  “And I’m coming for you, Bird Barrett,” Kai says. He leans forward to stop the camera and then wraps me up tight in both of his arms. “Interview’s over.”

  “Kai!” I start to protest, but his mouth is on mine immediately. He is breathing me in, and I fall into him, grabbing his head in both of my hands and matching his intensity as we kiss.

  I tighten my fingers in his black hair as he pushes against me, his chest hard. He slowly presses me back, moving his hand behind my head so that he catches it as I fall against a throw pillow. I feel my phone get caught in my hair, but even as he fumbles to push it away, I don’t stop kissing him. My lips move over his cheekbones, his nose, across his eyebrows. I feel his breath on my hand as he kisses my fingers. I pull his forehead to my lips and then feel his on my neck. He kisses me along the underside of my jaw, and I feel goose bumps all over when he tucks my hair behind my ear and kisses around it softly.

  “Kai,” I whisper.

  He brings his mouth back to mine and I melt into him, marveling at how we feel like two jigsaw pieces that snap together perfectly. One of his hands stays there in my hair, circling near my temple. The other settles on my hip.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he says, pulling away and staring down at me. His dark eyes search mine, his expression that of someone begging you to believe them. I take his face in both my hands and pull him toward me again, not just
wanting to kiss him but needing to.

  He slips the hand he has on my hip under the hem of my tank top and starts to circle the exposed skin near the top of my shorts with his thumb. It tickles. It tingles. We keep kissing, and I move my hands from his face, scratching his back with one hand, slowly, and stroking the little hairs on the back of his neck as softly as I possibly can with the other.

  I grin when I feel him get goose bumps.

  “Bird,” he whispers.

  He props himself up on one elbow right next to my head, which gives his other hand more room to… explore. I don’t know what’s coming next—or what I want to come next. I’ve thought about the fact that Kai is older than me, definitely more experienced. His thumb traces my belly button. My pulse pounds in my ears.

  Suddenly, three loud bangs are hammered on my dressing room door, so strong they rattle the hinges.

  With superhuman strength, I push Kai away and roll off the couch, landing on the floor with a painful thud.

  “Ten minutes!” I hear someone call from outside the door. It’s just Jordan, letting me know it’s almost time for sound check.

  “Bird!” Kai says, shocked. “Are you okay?”

  My face is already on fire, but when I realize how badly I just overreacted to almost getting caught, humiliation washes over me. “Sorry,” I say quietly. I look up at him, his expression that of someone trying desperately not to laugh. And then I do. I laugh—hard. Kai slides off the couch and joins me, laughing so much that he’s holding his stomach.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry,” I finally say. I dab at my eyes with the base of my palms, and Kai, still chuckling, leans over and kisses my forehead. “I thought that was my dad. He would’ve lost his mind.”

  Kai nods but looks like he wants to say more. I worry the teensiest bit that he’s annoyed we had to stop the moment, so I lay my head on his shoulder, just to keep a connection.