by Shea, Kacey
“No, thanks.” She straightens her spine and steps forward to leave.
I block her path. “Don’t. Don’t push me away.” I grip her shoulders and stoop so she can’t avoid my gaze. There’s no one in the hallway but us and a few hired security guards, yet I whisper my next words so they’re only for her. “Don’t force me away and carry it all.”
“You’ll regret it.” Her words lack conviction, and even her shoulders slump under an invisible weight.
“Lay it on me.” Trust me.
“You want to know what it’s like to be a black woman on the force? You want to know how many names I’ve been called, or how many people have tried to humiliate me? Why I left?” She lifts her chin with challenge and there’s venom in her words, as if she thinks that’ll scare me away.
“I do. I want to know. I want everything you’re willing to give me.” I want the opportunity to prove I won’t run.
She pauses to scrutinize the truth in my eyes. At long last there’s a shift in her expression and I know she sees me, the Austin she always knew.
“The worst were the supervisors,” she says. “The co-workers. The people who were supposed to be on my side.” She swipes a tear from beneath her lashes before there’s a chance for it to fall. Her body radiates strength, but her voice shakes. “That’s why I quit. It wasn’t the shitty low-lives I arrested, or served to protect, it was the men I worked with. The ones who were supposed to have my back.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am.
“I don’t want your sympathy. But you wanted to know. Now you do.” She takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s done. Closing off. But I don’t want our conversation to end.
“How long were you on the force?”
She presses her lips together and I wonder if she’ll push me away again. To my relief she doesn’t. “Six years. It was my ticket out of a life going nowhere. I couldn’t afford college, and my grades weren’t that good. Not after moving to Cali, I was working retail to help with rent after my dad left. But then I saw an ad. LAPD was hiring. Looking for diversity.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“I wanted to protect people like me. I could be a part of the solution.” She opens her mouth as if she wants to say more but instead glances away.
“What changed?”
“Chief Benson.” She blows out a harsh exhale. “He came on and everything changed. All of a sudden I was partnered with the most racist guy in our squad who thought I went through the academy for the sole purpose of filling out his paperwork and picking up food. Anytime we had a race-fueled protest, and those happen weekly, I got assigned to work security. I was no fool. The only reason they wanted me out there was because it looked good for them on the five o’clock news.”
I swallow hearing her truth. “That’s horrible.”
“It was the beginning of two very long and agonizing years. I thought I could stick it out because giving up my career, everything, felt like the ultimate failure. I didn’t come this far to quit.” Her jaw works back and forth and she doesn’t quite meet my stare.
“What changed?”
“During my last review, I asked if he would refer me to the detective training program, or how I could work toward that, and you know what he said?” Her eyes find mine, and the hurt I find in her gaze cuts as badly as her words. “He said, over his dead body would a black woman get promoted under his command.”
Rage. It’s all I see. The need to hurt this idiot and make his life hell overcomes me. “What’s his name?” The anger in my question is unmistakable.
Her lips pinch with disapproval. “No.”
“What’s his name?” I lift my brows. “I want to talk to that son of a bitch. See what he says when a civil suit is slapped in his goddamn face.”
“Austin. He’s not worth it.” She shakes her head.
“You’re worth it.” You’re worth everything.
“Stop.” She drops my gaze.
I lift her chin with my fingers until her proud gaze is locked with mine. “You know that, don’t you? You’re worth it.”
Her breath quickens but she doesn’t avoid my stare when I drop my hand back to my side.
“Someone like him should never be in a position of power.”
“But he was,” she whispers.
“Was?” My pulse races with the use of past tense.
“He died of a heart attack last year.” The words leave her mouth void of anger or bitterness. It only exemplifies the character and strength this woman has.
“Good.” I can’t help myself.
“Yeah.”
“Could you go back?” Is that what she wants? Did me bringing her on this tour take that opportunity away?
“He wasn’t the only racist, sexist man in the department, Austin.” The light chuckle that leaves her mouth is humorless. “I was way too optimistic to think I’d make the difference.”
“That’s why you ended up in private security?”
“I ended up working security because I needed to pay my bills.” She rolls her eyes. “But my passion project is an after-school center in LA. I started volunteering there, teaching self-defense classes, mentoring. It’s how I make a difference. Well, did. Now I’m stuck on this tour with your ugly face.” Her lips twist with a smile.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.” I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. That I didn’t protect you when I could. I can’t make up for not being there, but I want to anyway. If I could take this from her, I would.
“I don’t need you to apologize for someone else’s poor behavior.” She shakes her head and glances over my shoulder, but there’s nothing happening right now. It’ll be another hour before this stadium is full. “It doesn’t do any good re-hashing this.”
“No, but it helps me understand.”
“You’ll never understand what it’s like to be me.” She’s right.
“But I can empathize. You can let me in. Help me understand. You shouldn’t have to carry all of this on your own.” I reach my hand out to hers, and risk the possible rejection of her not holding mine back. “I’m sorry for what I said to you about Vince. About the videos. I was wrong. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
She slides her hand in mine and squeezes once. “You’re not the worst when you drop the act, you know that?”
“What act? I’m a fly motherfucker twenty-four-seven.”
She shakes her head. “I see we’re back to making everything a joke.”
“Hey, Jayla?” I try not to fixate on how good her hand feels in mine. Or that I never want to let it go.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For trusting me with your story.”
“It’s just a small part.” She pulls her hand back and balls it into a fist.
My gaze stays on her hands, watching them contract and release, like a nervous habit. “Another part I missed.” I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the guilt of it.
“Hey, Austin?”
I lift my gaze. “Yeah?”
A phone pings, and she pulls her cell from her back pocket. After glancing at it briefly, she offers me a smile. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“No.” I shake my head. It’s never nothing. “What were you gonna say?”
“Why didn’t you ever call or write after we moved?” Her gaze drops, almost as if she’s embarrassed to ask. “You promised you’d never let us drift apart.”
Her comment takes me back to that day. Back to when we’d been spending so much time together. With her dad out of work, her parents fought all the time. And my mom’s latest loser boyfriend didn’t want me anywhere near the apartment. Every day, we snuck onto either her balcony or mine, out of sight, and found escape in each other. But then one day she was gone. I knew the moment she didn’t show for school there was something wrong. I never could have predicted her family would just up and leave. But they did.
“I didn’t know where you went. How to get hold of you. Fuc
k, I didn’t even know if you were okay, or still in Phoenix. Everywhere I went I was always looking for you. Your hair. Your face. I called out your name to strangers. I drove myself crazy wondering why you’d just up and leave without any way for me to contact you.”
Her gaze hardens. Eyes narrow, and it’s almost as if she’s analyzing not only my words but the truth of them.
I lift my hands at my sides. “Jayla, what the hell? You were my best friend. The girl I fantasized about every night. And you just . . . disappeared.”
“You’re lying. You have to be,” she accuses, but her words come out unsure with disbelief.
“What are you talking about?”
“I wrote you letters.” She points her finger at my chest. “You were the one who moved on without me.”
“Letters? When?” If this is a joke, it’s not funny. My stomach coils with dread.
“All the fucking time.” She shakes her head and pins me with a glare.
“I never—” My jaw clenches with the realization of another thing my mom and one of her stupid fucked up boyfriends ruined. If things were bad when Jayla lived across the building, they became desolate after she left. My mom’s live-in boyfriend at the time spent more time getting high than anything else. And when Mom wasn’t working, the two of them went out partying, leaving me to play babysitter on the weekends he had custody of his kid.
He never liked Jayla. Never liked me. I’d bet money he made damn sure those letters never made their way into my hands. Hell, it could have been my mom. My jaw hardens with the onslaught of memories I rarely visit.
“Austin?”
“Sorry, I—” I run a hand across my face and push the rage from my voice. “I can’t believe you wrote. They never gave me your letters.”
The hardness on her features soften with understanding. She was there enough to know. “Your mom?”
I shrug. “Or her boyfriend.”
“Are they still together?”
“No.” I swallow the anger and guilt. “I don’t really speak to anyone.” Not since the big blow up. Not since leaving home. Running away. At the time, it was the only way I knew to survive, but looking back I realize how utterly selfish it was. If I had been there, then maybe—
“I’m sorry.” Her apology cuts through my spinning thoughts.
“No, I’m sorry. All this time . . . I thought you forgot about me.” I step forward. Wishing, wanting to pull her in my arms, but knowing I have no right.
Her gaze seeks mine. “I thought the same.”
“Miss Miller?” A deep timbre pulls her attention away.
“Yes?”
“We’re ready to open the doors. Brian said to get you first.”
“Yes, I’ll be right there. Thank you.” She brings her gaze back to mine, hiking a thumb over her shoulder. “I better . . .”
A grin pulls at my lips. I don’t know why, but the knowledge that all these years she didn’t just walk away, that she cared, it changes everything. “Yeah, go do your thing. We’ll talk later.”
“Good luck tonight.” She backs away, but there’s a reluctance to her steps, as if she’s not ready for this moment to end. Her lips mirror mine with her smile. “Break a leg. I can say that, right?”
“Jayla, you can say whatever you want.” My face hurts, that’s how big my smile grows, and before she turns, her laughter echoes off the walls and it’s my new favorite sound. The pit of my stomach bubbles with a sensation akin to excitement and nerves before a big show, something I haven’t felt in years. The source is clear, though, and it has everything to do with Jayla and the fact she’s in my life for good—or at least for the remainder of this tour.
18
Jayla
I think about Austin for the rest of my shift. No. Obsess is more accurate. We had moved back to California to be near family when Dad hadn’t been able to find work and Mama couldn’t support us on her own. Only everything that transpired that first year in Cali broke down what little was left of their marriage, and our family fell apart. I wrote Austin often at first. It was my way of holding on to our friendship and surviving my new life in spite of the hundreds of miles my parents forced between us. In all the years, I never once considered he hadn’t received my letters. Eventually, I lost hope in everything, including Austin.
But now, everything is different. He never read my letters. He didn’t ignore me, or move on. Not the way I imagined. All the anger I’ve directed toward him for years is no longer justified. In its place grows a seed of interest. Now more than ever, I want to know him.
While running the security team, I can’t help but sneak a few glimpses of the show. They’re fantastic performers, all of them, but my eyes seek out Austin every time. Everything about him screams sex on that stage. His confidence; the way his hips rock with each strum of the guitar; his lips as they part against the microphone to serenade for backup vocals. Most of all, those long, nimble fingers. Sweet Jesus. They’re my undoing. I wonder what it’d be like to have him touch me the way he caresses those guitar strings.
Unprofessional. Wrong. Not a good idea. I remind myself over and over, but the more I repeat the reasons, the more they feel like excuses. Given his current revelation, they seem insignificant. I need to live in the moment. Get to know Austin as the man he is today. We missed out on so many years, and I won’t allow myself to waste more time worrying about what might or might not happen. Besides, I don’t even know whether I could handle being with him. I don’t enjoy being touched intimately by anyone, and as amazing as Austin is, he won’t be able to erase my load of emotional baggage. If we were to cross that line, I’d have to explain things I’d rather leave in the past. I’m not sure I could do that, even for him.
Straightening my shoulders, I turn away from the stage to focus on the most important task at hand, getting through the rest of the concert. I’ll have plenty of time to mull over my feelings once we are back on the road again safe and sound.
* * *
My eyes burn against the brightness of the laptop screen, and my body aches for the comfort of my sleeping bunk. From the driver’s seat, Ace hums along to the song in his head, steering the bus along miles and miles of dark highway. We left Omaha a good hour ago, and after scarfing down the dinner Opal arranged, everyone settles into their nightly routine.
Austin’s in the shower. Opal and Leighton retreated to their bed a while ago. Lexi strums her guitar from her spot on the floor, her deep, soulful voice crooning lyrics I’ve never heard before. She stops every few minutes to jot down a note, or hit record on her phone. Trent snoozes beside her. He always tries to stay awake, but the exhaustion of performing catches up to him. Lexi catches me staring and lifts her brow. “The boys can’t hang.”
“You like to work at night.” Not a question, just an observation.
Her lips twist with a hint of joy. “It’s as if the entire world stops. The stillness helps me focus, and the parts of the song that have been hanging out in the back of my mind just click into place. Feels like magic.” Her passion for writing is clear.
“You love it.”
“Makes me feel alive, you know?” She strums her guitar, tuning the sound before buckling it into its case. “But I’m ahead of schedule on this record so I’m gonna call it a night.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, worried she’s turning in because of me or that I’ve interrupted her process. “Once I finish these reports, you’ll have the space to yourself.”
“He won’t go to bed until I do.” She rolls her eyes, but when her stare lands on Trent it’s full of admiration and affection. “He needs his rest. This tour has taken a lot out of him. All of us.” Her lips press together and she lets loose a long exhale before meeting my gaze. “There weren’t any security threats tonight?”
“No.” It’s almost unsettling, really. I expected this to be more challenging. Not that my job is easy. It’s just, given the explosion before I came on, I anticipated more problems and security issues.
> “Good. Thank you for being here. For keeping my boys safe,” she says. Before I can answer, she’s pulling Trent to his feet.
“Wha—?” He rubs the sleep from his face. “Did you get enough done?”
“Yep. I’m ready for bed.”
“’Night, Jayla.” Trent waves and slings his arm around Lexi’s shoulder on their way to their sleep bunk.
I exhale, pinch my eyes shut, and rally the focus I need to finish up my work too. But the sound of the bathroom door opening followed by footsteps steals what attention I have left. I glance over my laptop as Austin struts into the space. Shirtless. Freshly showered. The ends of his hair still dripping.
Well, that doesn’t help me. Every intelligent thought scatters at the sight of him. Damn. Just. Damn.
“Jayla.” Austin tips his chin.
“Hey,” I manage to get out without sounding like an idiot. My eyes fall back to my computer screen and the three lines worth of letter V’s I’ve added by accident. “Shit,” I mutter, and highlight the text to delete it.
Austin’s soft chuckle registers and I can’t tell whether he’s laughing with me or at me. Regardless, my body comes to attention at the sound.
I try to look busy, at least until he climbs into his sleep bunk, but he doesn’t make his way there, instead plopping onto the bench seat at my right. His presence crowds my solitude.
“You gonna be up awhile?”
“Yeah.” I lift my gaze to meet his and it takes every bit of willpower to not let it rove over his body. The ink covering his skin practically demands for me to stare, but I’m not that woman and I won’t be caught ogling him. I have too much pride for that.
“Cool.” He flashes a grin, then settles his gaze on his phone. “I’m going to edit our next video.”
My brows pull with my frown. “But WMI said no more videos.”
“Yeah, well. If they don’t like it, they can fuck off.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“Probably not.” There’s that smile again.
I should reprimand him. Convince him to shut it down. But the rebellious nature of his words pulls my own lips into a smile. I tear my gaze from his and back to my laptop, and we settle into a comfortable silence. Him on his cell and me working my way through the list of questions and security protocol. I finish the reports but decide I’d better check into preparations for tomorrow’s show. We’ll be staying overnight in Illinois, sleeping at a hotel. It adds extra work, but the promise of a night in my own room is one hundred percent worth it. The label is sponsoring an after party at the same hotel following tomorrow’s show, and clearing the guest list of one hundred with background checks is of the upmost priority. No easy task as the list changes daily.