I remember when Brax was at his worst, head-shaven, pock-marked, malnourished and out cold most of the time.
I’m still soft on Brax, especially back then. He didn’t have the hard edges of his brother. Brax’s cravings went the way of pharmaceutical bodily highs and isolated lows, books and quiet places, and preferring the comforting weight of a purring cat on his lap versus the crushing weight of social anxiety. Mason preferred live victims to direct his anger at, in public arenas.
I had more in common with Braxton than I ever did with Mason, but that’s visceral attraction for you. There’s no control or handle on it. It just is.
And in high school, Mason just was.
Jess breaks me from my thoughts when she turns in the front passenger seat and asks, “So, McKenna, do cameras bother you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You were just saying to Mason that there were a lot of people back there. And cameras,” Jess clarifies.
“Oh. Yeah. I’m not used to it, I guess,” I say, fully aware how lame I sound.
“Lay off, Jess,” Mason says. He’s chosen a triple-washed vintage tee, faded jeans and black-on-black classic Ray-Bans as his travel outfit, and it irks me, for no reason, how good he looks.
“I don’t need you to step in,” I say to him.
“I know you don’t,” Mason responds. “I also don’t care. You’re here for a long haul. I don’t need cattiness from either of you broads.”
Brax chuckles into his fist, the kind of laughter that forewarns Mason from saying anything else, lest he get a claw to the eye.
Mason, of course, ignores it. “You don’t like the cameras? Get used to it. They follow me everywhere I go, and since you’ll be going with me to all the places I go, there’s no avoiding them.” He lowers his shades enough for his eyes to ice the top rim. “Nervous you’ll be recognized?”
I give him a face. “Not at all.”
“Recognized as what?” Brax asks. “Last I checked, you’re the famous one, Mase. We’re just your lackeys who get your spare cash.”
As Brax and Mason launch into inappropriate banter, I stare ahead as the car bumps over potholes and dodges traffic, and notice Jess, still twisted in her seat.
I say wryly, “I suppose along with our apparent cattiness, we’ll also have to deal with a bunch of testosterone fueled bro-ness.”
Jess doesn’t respond. She eyes me through her glasses in a flat, studied way. One I’m not sure I appreciate.
“You and me?” she says. “We’re the only women on this tour. Doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends.”
She flips back around.
“Message received,” I mumble.
Brax and Mason go quiet.
“Enjoying the show?” I snap. At either of them. Both of them. Whatever.
Think of the money.
I’m saved from any further cloistering small talk when we pull into the private airport and park next to the jet.
A red carpet runs from the plane’s steps and down the tarmac to the waiting vehicles. The driver hops out to open our doors, but Mason opens his own and steps out.
He turns to me. “If I offer you my hand, will you bite it off?”
“Depends,” I say as I shimmy into the spot he just vacated. “Are you going to yank me out of this car so I trip and fall on my face in front of everybody?”
Mason smiles. “That was the old me. The new me would instill a sense of safety in you, first. Perhaps I’ll pants you in front of the whole crew when we’re on the plane.”
“I’ll pass on the assistance,” I say, and slide out and around Mason, making sure not to touch any part of him.
“You’re right,” he says to my back as I follow the entourage to the plane. “That gorgeous ass of yours should be for my eyes only.”
I immediately regret my choice of leggings as part of my travel wardrobe.
Brax jogs up to my side as I’m about to take the stairs.
“You may not believe it,” he says, “but despite the mouth on him, Mason’s changed.”
“He’s no different from the guy who didn’t bother saying goodbye at prom,” I say as I grab onto the railing and hit the first step.
“Then why are you here?” Brax asks behind me. “How did he find you? Or did you find him?”
I don’t answer.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Brax adds as we board. “I’m happy to see you. You’re looking well.”
We step into the plane’s interior, all buttery caramels and supple leather, with two-seaters on one side and single seats facing each other on the opposite side. Brax squeezes my arm once I choose a single seat and sit.
I glance up at him. “You too, Brax. Sobriety looks good on you.”
And it does. The baby face that lost all its filling when he was on drugs has gained back the smooth grooves of a healthy man. His piercing blue eyes shine with alertness, and while his head is shaved, there’s a healthy tan underneath the dark stubble.
Brax replies with a thin smile. “Does working for my brother qualify as doing well?”
I’m not sure what to make of his last comment but I’m saved from replying when Mason clomps onto the plane with the rest of his band.
Mason’s voice cuts through the air. “Brax—lay off my girl and go sit with Jess.”
I twist and pin him with a stare. “I’m not your—”
His eyes bore into mine and I clamp my mouth shut. I guess we’re honestly doing this, even within his inner circle. I’m expected play-act throughout the tour, starting now.
“S’up, Mack,” the lead singer, Rex, says as he passes me.
He’s grown more god-like than he was in high school, tall with long blond hair and Nordic features. Rex is also, according to what Mason’s said, the only other person who knows my true occupation.
I look for it in his face. That inner confusion … or disgust … at what I choose to do that so many people don’t manage to hide once they figure me out.
There’s nothing.
Kindness stares back, with real interest in how I’m doing passing through his eyes.
I realize I should probably say something instead of studying him intently for a hidden insult. “I’m good. Nice to see you, Rex.”
“You, too. We’ll have time to catch up,” he says.
“Yeah, I hear you have a daughter now,” I say with a genuine smile. Rex, despite his Viking exterior, always had a soft spot for kids.
“I do. A girl at that. I’ll tell you all about how to brush her hair into a perfect ponytail.”
I laugh. Then, guitar strapped to his back, Rex heads to the last seats on the plane. Wyn and East pass by, nodding their hellos, and join Rex.
After chatting in the cockpit for a while, Mason plops into the seat facing me.
I swallow a sigh. Why did I expect Mason would join the rest of his band in the back of the plane?
“That’s right, Mack. You have me for fourteen straight hours.” He makes a show of leaning back and resting his ankle on one leg. “Want me to start a timer?”
I give a tight smile and reply quietly, “Not until the ink’s dry on my contract.”
Mason’s head falls back against the seat. “Ah, yes. The official agreement. Jess is drawing it up right now.”
“So tell me.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. A small, bolted-down table is between us, stacked with magazines and two Perrier bottles. I swipe one and twist it open. “How many people on this plane know I’m a fake?”
Mason shrugs. “These are my most trusted colleagues. What I do—or don’t do—in front of them is need to know only. They won’t care if we have heavy PDA or barely touch in public. Wanna know why?”
I tip my chin.
“Because they’re paid to do what I want.”
I sit back, crossing my legs and taking a sip from the small, green bottle. “Just like me.”
His gaze sharpens. “With one minor exception. When you suck my cock, it won’t be because
of the money.”
I don’t choke on my next swig, but I do nearly spill bubbly water all over my mouth and chin when he blurts that out. I lower the drink, dabbing at the corners of my mouth with my finger. “Hit a nerve, did I?”
Mason’s features smooth back to playful. “Not at all. I’m good, Mack. I’m always good.”
“Are you? Because it seems to me you’re the same guy from high school who surrounds himself with people who want or expect something from you. There’s no one on this plane who’s here just for your company, is there?”
A flight attendant shuts the plane’s main door, then goes about taking drink orders. Since we’re at the front, she’ll be here any second.
Mason doesn’t respond, but his cheeks turn rock solid as he clenches his jaw.
I forgot how addictive it is to push his buttons. “Want to tell me why you’re not sitting with your band?”
“No. I don’t. Because it’s none of your fucking business.”
He bites the words out, but his stare spits fire.
“And now you’re thinking of the worst thing you could say to me to cut me down and shut me up,” I say. “Because that’s how you roll. Someone hits a nerve, and, instead of dealing with it like an adult, you lash out like a chained dog and make the other person feel terrible about themselves.” I stand, gathering my things. “Do me a favor and put that on hold. We don’t merely have fourteen hours together. We’ve got eight weeks. And I’d like to get through them without slapping you across the face within the first ten minutes.”
I move to the seat behind him, and with each step, I’m anticipating a disgusted lip curl, a masochistic comment, or a venomous insult. Nothing comes.
Mason remains stiff-backed in his seat. He doesn’t even show me his profile as I take the last available seat behind him.
“Mr. Payne,” the pretty flight attendant says as she approaches Mason. “Can I get you anything to drink before we take off?”
“Bourbon. Triple. Rocks.”
The girl maintains professional calm despite the lethal injection Mason’s put into his words. “Coming right up, sir.”
I don’t feel bad about picking a fight with Mason. I have to, since the alternative is to stay close and bear the prickling zing his presence gives off, familiar sparks igniting against my skin. Those old feelings are coming back to lay claim on my heart when I’ve worked so hard to turn them into dust.
I can’t let Mason, with his arrogant grin and predatory strides, find the one smoking ember that remains.
The plane’s wheels start moving and we pull out of its parking spot. Peering out the window, I notice all the cars that transported us here are gone. The red carpet’s been rolled up and put away. It’s as if the quiet solitude of a private airstrip had never been swarmed by a rock band and all the people, vehicles, and cameras they bring with them.
The efficiency with which multiple VIPs are transported, tucked away, and cleaned up after boggles my mind.
The flight attendant brings Mason his drink, then wanders over to me. “And you, Miss? What can I—”
“Aw, trouble in paradise already, kiddos?” Brax calls from his seat.
In answer, Mason stands and hurls his drink at his brother.
13
Mason
We stop to refuel, nobody choosing to leave the aircraft during the brief break while on the ground.
Mack keeps ominously quiet during the entire trip, pulling out her laptop and tap-tap-tapping on her keyboard incessantly. I crane my neck over the seat to glare daggers at her, which I think is the more polite approach rather than snarling my annoyance, but Mack just lifts a brow blandly in response, then goes back to her screen, pecking away again.
Sneering, I spin around and slouch in my seat and drink from my replacement scotch, since my first one is running rivulets down my brother’s window seat.
I can’t let Mack get to me like this. She’s making me regret luring her onto this damned plane in the first place. It takes me back to our times on the city bus, Mack in her bucket seat reading quietly, and me, somewhere nearby (usually through deliberate means), ready to lob spitballs that’ll get tangled in that wild hair of hers.
Hmm. I eye the cocktail napkin on the varnished wood of my armrest. Too bad I don’t drink high-end scotch through a straw.
I can’t resist turning back around, calculating some smartass remark in my mind as I move, but Mack catches me off-guard.
The computer that’s been glued to her face is set to the side, on a low shelf under the window. She’s curled up in her seat, using one of the Hermés throw blankets as a cover-up, her profile peeking through the cashmere as she sleeps.
It’s Mack’s most vulnerable moment, and I stand, wanting to take it all in. Her expression is softened by dreams, her lashes stark against the pale crests of her cheeks. The plane’s interior lights are dimmed for night, but I know where her freckles are. Tiny constellations on the tip of her nose, a few rogue patterns on her cheeks. She covers them up, but not here. When she boarded the plane, her hair was straightened, but not now. It’s crimped, curled and splayed around her shoulders, blanket, and headrest, and in that instant—in five seconds flat—she’s the girl I fell in love with.
This is why you lured her onto the damned plane.
Frowning, I toss back the rest of my drink and let the empty glass hang by my side.
“Hey, creepster, wanna sit down so the plane can hit the skies again?”
I guess my brother didn’t get the glass shard memo from last time. I spin the crystal in my hand, debating.
Brax rolls his eyes. “Only joking, buddy. But seriously, sit down.”
I do, but I take my time, ensuring Brax understands that it’s my choice, not his.
Sadly, Brax also doesn’t understand the dimmed plane lights and the resulting hint to shut up. Everyone else seems to have the right idea, either sleeping or silently scrolling through whatever device is in their hands.
But, seeing as Brax is across the aisle from me, I can’t avoid him.
“You gonna tell me why she’s here?” he asks.
I clench both armrests and peer over at him. “Because I missed her.”
Brax snorts. “So you ran into her at some bar, chatted, realized how you two were meant to be together, and you invite her on tour. Is that the long and short of it?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah, I can really sense the love between you two. It’s palpable.”
“That’s a big word, bro. Good job.”
Brax frowns, but says, “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll find out some other way. I know Jess is back there working on something or another relating to McKenna.”
“If you’re talking about a non-disclosure agreement, then yeah, of course she is. I don’t invite any chick on a trip without covering my ass.”
Too late, I realize my mistake.
“See, that’s the thing, Mase. You’ve never brought a chick on a trip.”
I keep silent.
“I get that it’s McKenna,” Brax continues. “She’s special. She’s a saint for putting up with you as long as she did and despite what you did. But with the way you two left things … I’m confused, bro. And I guarantee everyone else in this crew is, too. It’s only a matter of time before you have to give it to us straight.”
My patience is at an all-time low. I turn to him and say, “Fine. I found out she’s a high-class call girl and since she refuses to save herself, I’ve stepped in and bought her time with a lot of fucking dough, mostly to set my mind at ease that she’s not out screwing strangers while I try to figure out how to stop her from being such an idiot.”
Silence.
Then, Brax lets out a loud guffaw. Mack stirs in her seat.
“That is fucking funny!” Brax says through his chest laugh. “I swear, you’re one of those guys that chews glass but with a witty remark before he swallows.” Brax chuckles. “That was a good one, man.”
“Yeah. I’m
a regular jokester.”
I spot the flight attendant bending into the cabinets near the cockpit. I wish I could appreciate her ass, but my gonads are numbed to anyone but the woman behind me, snoring quietly through cascading mermaid hair I’m fantasizing tangling my fingers in when I take her from behind.
Instead, I catch the flight attendant’s eye and signal for another.
“You sure about that, bro?” Brax asks. “You’re going straight to your concert once we land.”
“Thanks for the head’s up,” I say wryly, then snap my fingers to make the attendant move faster.
* * *
The plane touches down after cresting through clouds grayed by night, the multi-color lights of the city of Tokyo replacing the black calm of the skies above.
The cabin has stirred awake, lights put on bright, and once we taxi to a stop, all of us depart.
I wait for Mack to collect her things, then let her exit the plane first. She’s bleary-eyed, feeling the time change already, but there’s no time to go to the hotel.
“Mack, you’re taking a car with Jess,” I say once our feet hit the ground. “I gotta go with the boys.”
“I assumed as much,” she says with a yawn. “Am I going to the hotel, or…?”
“Fuck, no. You’re coming to the concert and watching us play. Or you can fall asleep in the dressing room for all I care. I’m not letting you out of my sight this entire trip, so get used to it.”
Mack idly scrapes her hair back from her forehead as we stand and wait for the cars to coast to a stop in front of us. “Why? Afraid I’ll find the Asian market too tempting and decide to move here?”
“You’re not exactly talking about stocks and bonds, kid,” I say, pleased at the coolness icing my tone. It’s at complete odds with the fire in my gut that ignites every time she mentions her fucking job.
And she knows it.
She turns and beams at me, “That’s true—” Mack stumbles back a step. “My God, Mason.”
“What?” My plane smell can’t be that bad.
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