by Ember Casey
My head snaps to face him. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
His brow furrows and he tilts his head. “Obviously. But I don’t think it’s what you wanted at all.”
Pax
My whole band is pissed at me.
Since Sophia left last night, I’ve been distracted. More than distracted. The odd screw up I made in practice when Sophia and I were first fooling around is nothing compared to the ass I’ve been making of myself these last twenty-four hours. Our practice session last night lasted two hours longer than expected because I kept fucking up, and by the time we all left, everyone was cranky. Now this morning, as we pack up the buses and trucks, Rider refuses to speak to me. Even Charlie, who’s normally the cheerful one, is quieter than usual. This was supposed to be our big breakout tour, the high point of our career, and everyone’s grumpy and treating me like I’m the world’s biggest ass.
Which maybe I am. But can’t we at least pretend to be friends? All four of us have gone through asshole phases since forming this band. Rider’s gone through a couple. Can’t they just cut me a damn break?
At least my anger is a good distraction from thinking about Sophia.
She’s just a fucking chick, I tell myself. You’ll meet someone new this weekend and forget all about her.
I wish I felt more confident about that. I’m still in a daze, trying to figure out what the hell happened. Things were going great between Sophia and me—I took her to meet Ma, for fuck’s sake—and then out of the blue…they weren’t so great anymore. After a week of defending me to her brother, of refusing to listen to him, suddenly she was willing to walk away from all this. What the hell happened? And why the hell didn’t I see it coming?
I try to remind myself that there’s plenty to be happy about—the tour, the fans, the sales of our new album. Reviews continue to be mixed, but our sales have never faltered. They’ve only been going up since the release—as much as I hate to admit it, the sex tape probably helped with that—and I’m hoping they get even better now that our first new single has started spreading through the airwaves. Our tour has been sold out for months, and I know I’ll feel better when I’m up on that stage again, the lights in my eyes and thousands of screaming fans at my feet. I never feel more alive than I do on that stage.
Except when I’m with Sophia…
I shake my head, getting that thought out of my mind immediately. I’m not going to let myself think about her ever again. The only thing I need to worry about is getting the damn lyrics right. I got so tongue-tied last night in rehearsal that an entire chorus fell right out of my head. I was so dazed that I’m pretty sure I forgot how to play the guitar for a whole ten minutes.
This is why you don’t get involved with chicks, I tell myself. One night only, then it’s over. No more chasing. No more dates. And definitely no more taking her home to meet my family. Just this morning, my mom sent me a text asking me to send her a picture of Sophia and me on the tour bus together. I could barf.
I’ve been replaying the last week over and over again, trying to figure out where it went wrong. Where I lost her. But it’s useless. Now I’m just the pathetic sap who let his dick get him into trouble. Part of me wonders if there’s still time to find her, still time to convince her not to walk away…but I won’t reduce myself to begging. I’ve already made a fucking fool of myself, and I’m not going to make it worse.
Mick ambles over to me. You’d never guess from his casual posture that he’s making sure all of this runs smoothly—only the sharp darting of his eyes around the scene gives him away. He’s always watching everything. Always on alert.
“You going to be able to pull it together?” he says in that usual matter-of-fact way of his.
“I’m fine,” I say, loosening my shoulders. I watch as the roadies load another round of speakers onto the truck.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mick rubbing his chin. “You know,” he says, “we can work with this. The tabloids love a good breakup story—especially right after the two of you became the hottest new celebrity couple.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say. I’m sure he’s right—we can get a shit ton of publicity from this—but I don’t have the stomach for it. “I want us to do this on our own. On the quality of our music.”
“Suit yourself,” Mick says with a shrug. “Just saying it’s an option. They’re going to be talking about it either way, once they notice the two of you aren’t hanging around each other anymore. We have a chance to control the narrative.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. Maybe when I’m less fucked up in the head.
I tell myself that that’s what stings the most—the fact that I’m allowing this to get to me. I’m losing it over a fucking woman. I’m just like every poor shmuck I’ve ever made fun of.
I just want to know what the hell happened. How did we go from fucking under the stars to her walking away from me? I curse under my breath, and Mick gives a little shake of his head.
“You’ll be all right,” he says, giving me a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “This is your moment, Pax. Focus on that.”
He’s right. This is my fucking moment, and I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. Even a princess who’s way too intoxicating for her own good. She and that asswipe of a brother of hers can go rot in Montovia, for all I fucking care.
“Everything’s loaded!” Charlie calls.
Mick nods. “I’m going to go give everything a final once-over,” he tells me. “Go get on the bus and grab yourself a cold beer. We’ll hit the road in twenty minutes.”
I give him a jerky nod and do as he says. What’s the point in dragging my feet?
A couple of beers and a couple of days, I tell myself. That’s all I need. By the time we go on stage in San Francisco—our first stop—I’ll be back to my normal self again.
I’m on the bottom step of the bus when I hear the car roll up behind me. I turn, wondering if some of the paparazzi were ballsy enough to break onto this private lot—I definitely wouldn’t mind throwing a few punches right now—when I realize it’s a taxi.
I turn around again with a shrug. It’s time to get on the road and put these last couple of weeks behind me once and for all. But when I take the next step, I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Pax! Wait!”
I freeze but don’t turn around. Part of me is pretty sure my mind’s just playing fucking tricks on me.
“Pax, please.”
Slowly, I turn. Sophia is standing just outside the bus, the taxi door still open behind her.
“You’ve already made your decision,” I say. “Why the hell are you here?”
“I changed my mind.”
She says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that for a minute I think she’s just fucking with me. Yesterday, out of the blue, she was willing to walk away from this. But then she smiles—a smile so warm and brilliant that it reminds me of exactly why I’m in this mess in the first place.
“I changed my mind,” she says again, probably sensing that I’m out of my fucking mind. Her smile widens. “I’m coming with you.”
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