The solid click-thump of my boots accompanies me off the stage.
“You all right, Shelby?” Greg’s hand settles on my shoulder, stopping me in the hallway. “You look pale.”
“I’m hot.”
“I’ll see if I can find a fan or something for your room.” He jerks his head toward the stage. “There’s a bit of a breeze out front. Why don’t you stand up there for a minute or two and cool off?”
“All right.” I push past a few people. The scent of fried dough hangs in the air. My stomach growls. When was the last time I ate? Maybe that’s why I’m feeling all sweaty and shaky.
“Miss Shelby? Can I have your autograph please?”
I glance up, seeking the source of the question. A man, probably older than Dawson, on the other side of the waist-high fence thrusts a black marker at me. Something about him seems familiar and I squint, studying him for a second. Tall, round in the middle, graying hair, black polo shirt tucked into neat khaki pants. Brown plush bunny backpack hanging off his shoulder.
Okay, that’s weird. Unless it belongs to his kid. My gaze searches the area behind him. Families, kids, adults, and teenagers. This tour draws fans of all ages.
“Shelby?” he prompts, waving the marker at me again.
“Oh, sorry.” I work some extra Southern charm into my voice. I fan my hand close to my face. “The heat’s gettin’ to me today.”
“We can’t have that. You’re going onstage in a couple hours.” He pulls the plush bunny backpack off his shoulder and unzips it. “Here, take this.” He hands me a miniature, battery-operated neon-green fan.
“Oh! I can’t take that from you. You’re gonna need it.”
“I have another one.” He thrusts it into my hands. “Go on. Take it.”
Easy, Mr. Pushy. I accept it, flicking on the switch and holding it close to my face and then lift my hair and run it over my sweaty neck.
“Better?”
It’s a drop in the bucket but I don’t want to be rude to this stranger who’s been nothin’ but nice. Even if he is a bit odd. “Much. Thank you.” I flick the switch off and hold the fan to him. “Are you sure you don’t need it?”
“Nope.” He pulls a pink T-shirt out of the bunny backpack and pushes it at me. “Would you mind signing this?”
Must be for his daughter. “Sure. Back or front?”
“Anywhere that makes you happy, Shelby.”
My mouth twitches into a half-hearted smile as I search for a way to smooth the material out enough to sign it without making a mess.
“Here.” He turns around and points to his back. “Use me.”
“Uh.” His dark shirt’s stained with sweat. Not exactly the most appealing surface. Suck it up and get it over with. He’s a fan. Don’t be rude. “Thanks.” I press the shirt against his back, trying to ignore the moist sensation soaking into the edge of my hand and arm as I quickly scrawl my signature.
“Thank you.” He faces me and takes the shirt from my hands. “I can’t believe I got you alone and all to myself.”
Yeah, me either. Sure, people are everywhere but no one’s with me or even paying attention to what I’m doing.
“Do you mind taking a selfie with me?” He waves his phone at me.
“Oh. Sure..”
I turn and try not to cringe when he drops his arm across my shoulders. Thank the lord for the fence keeping us somewhat apart.
“Smile.” He sticks his arm out and struggles to get both of us in the frame and take the picture.
My smile’s so big and fake, it probably looks like someone propped my mouth open with a toothpick.
He digs his fingers into my shoulder. “Let’s try that again. Nice smile, Shelby.”
This is ridiculous.
Finally, he seems satisfied and tucks his phone into his bunny backpack. “That was nice. Can I cook you dinner?”
“Shelby!” Trent shouts before I have a chance to process the question. I turn and find him jogging up to me. “What are you doing?” He glances at the guy. “Greg found a fan for you. Come on.”
I hand the marker back to the man. “So nice meeting you. Enjoy the show!” I hold up the little fan. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Wait! Trent, would you sign this for me too?” the man asks.
Trent hesitates for a second. He doesn’t get asked to sign stuff often. “Sure, man. Then I really need to get her backstage.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I yank it free.
Rooster: How’d rehearsal go?
“Shelby?” the man’s voice interrupts and I shove my phone back into my pocket.
Trent takes my hand, cutting the man off. “We need to go. Nice to meet ya. Enjoy the show.” He tugs me away without another word.
I wave over my shoulder and breathe out a sigh of relief. Once we’re backstage, Trent pushes me in front of him as we navigate our way to my dressing room. “What the heck’s wrong with you?” he seethes. “Don’t go runnin’ off talking to weirdos like that.”
“He’s a fan.” I elbow him. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Sometimes it’s okay to be rude, Shelby.” He grabs the fan out of my hand. “He give this to you? Shoot, dude probably wiped his balls all over it. Or dosed it with something.” He swipes his shirt over every inch of the little plastic fan.
“Eww, don’t be gross.” I snatch it back.
He pushes the door to the green room open. Greg found a jet engine of an industrial fan that’s louder than it is cooling. All it’s doing is blowing dust around the room. I reach up and flick it off.
My body shakes with a violent sneeze.
“You all right?” Trent asks, resting a hand on my back. “You’re not gettin’ sick are you?”
“Hush your mouth,” I scold. That’s my worst damn nightmare. No time for colds on this tour. “It’s the fan. You know I’m allergic to dust and a million other things.” I twirl my finger in the air. “The fan stirred up a lot of crap.”
“Shit. Sorry.” He steers me toward the makeup chair. “Go sit. I’ll look for some tissues. Cindy should be here soon.”
“Thanks.” I reach out and grab his hand. “I mean it. Thanks for coming to look for me too.”
“You’re the star.”
It sounds hollow. Or maybe I’m feelin’ guilty. I stare at the closed door for a few seconds after Trent leaves.
My phone buzzes and my heart gallops off to the races.
Rooster.
“Hey,” I answer.
“How’s it going?”
“All right.”
“What’s wrong? You sound sad.”
The immediate concern in his voice melts me. “It’s hot as blazes here.”
“What happened to the sassy Texan girl who said us Northerners didn’t know the meaning of hot?” he teases.
I groan-laugh into the phone. “I stand corrected.”
“What else is going on?”
I don’t want to tell him I went off by myself and encountered an oddball fan, or that Trent found and scolded me. Nope. Because from the second I heard Logan’s smooth voice, only one thing has been on my mind. “Just missing you.”
“Yeah? Been thinking about you all day, chickadee.”
“You were?”
“Yup. Not sure how I missed it before, but I saw you have a show in Baltimore. I’m only four hours from there.”
My heart stutters. Baltimore’s three days away. Not the ten I thought I’d have to wait to see him again.
“Shelby? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“You all right with me coming to see you sooner than we said?” A bit of worry creeps into his tone.
Pull it together and let him know how much you want to see him. “Yes,” I yelp.
His warm, rich laughter floats through the phone and wraps tight around my heart. “Good.”
Be brave. “I miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
“I mean it.” Say it. Stop being so
damn scared of gettin’ hurt. “The only thing that stopped me from bawling my eyes out when I left you in New York was knowing I’d see you in Virginia. So if I can see you even sooner . . .”
“Shelby,” he breathes out.
“Is that okay?”
“That’s more than okay.”
“Good.” I move away from the makeup chair and plop down on the couch, tucking my feet under me. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Helping the president get a project off the ground.”
“Anything exciting?”
Silence. I pull the phone away from my ear to check if I lost the call. “Rooster?”
“Nothing exciting to me.”
What’s that mean? Maybe club stuff I’m not supposed to ask about? “How’s Jigsaw? He rode down with you, right?”
“More helpful than I expected.” He chuckles. “I’ll let him know you asked.”
“Sounds like you’re busy. Sure you can come up to Baltimore?”
“To see my girl? Fuck yeah, I can.”
“I can’t wait.” My breath hitches and another violent sneeze shakes me out of my seat. “Dammit.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s dusty, and it stirred up my allergies.”
“You gonna be all right to sing?”
“I think so.” Someone knocks and the door swings open. Cindy waves and rolls her case inside. “Cindy’s here.”
“Send me a picture later.”
“I will.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Talk to you soon.”
I open my mouth. An I love you almost rolls off my tongue.
Lucky for me, the call already ended.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rooster
One little sneeze and I’m ready to dump everything and ride to Michigan to see my girl.
Shelby’s been on tour for months. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. But I can’t help the instinct. Really glad she sounded excited about me coming to visit in a couple days.
My phone pings. Expecting a picture from Shelby, I flick the screen on.
Z: How’s it going?
Me: Good. Few things we should discuss.
Z: ???
Me: Not sure yet.
Z: Keep me updated.
I send him a thumbs-up emoji and flick my screen off.
It’s time to kick back and hang out with brothers I haven’t seen since our national conference. See who’s feeling chatty once half the club’s drunk and scattered around away from the watchful eye of their president.
I pound downstairs, passing club girls and brothers in the narrow hallway. Give out a few nods hello and quick handshakes. Living room’s full but I find a free spot and tuck myself into a corner of one of the couches where I have a decent view of most of the room.
One of the girls hurries over and drops a bottle of beer on the table in front of me without asking or offering anything else. Doesn’t really matter. I’m not feeling picky tonight. “Thanks, hon.”
Jigsaw throws himself down next to me. For the moment, we’re alone. He leans in, digging his elbow into my side. “You get that bit about ATF?” he says against my ear. “Earlier?”
Aw, my boy’s growing up. Figured after the porn overload, he would’ve forgotten all about the earlier, more important conversation.
“I caught it.” I gesture to the room in front of us. “Let’s see if someone’s tongue loosens up as the night goes on.”
We shouldn’t outright ask but one of our brothers is bound to get sloppy eventually.
“How about that porn house?” he asks. “Think Sway shouldn’ve gone that route with Stella, instead of all the hotels?”
I take a sip of beer. “The only thinking Sway put into it was with his dick.”
“True story.”
“But the house is a good idea. A lot less risk. We should let Stella do her thing however she wants. But for the new girls, we should consider a house.”
“Teller will probably say, ‘Real estate is always a wise investment,’” he says, imitating our upstate treasurer’s cocky advice-giving voice perfectly.
“House of the same size will cost a fortune in Union county.”
“Could always look out near Johnsonville.”
I side eye-him. “And what? Let the support club kids run it? You saw the attitude Eraser had. Besides, good luck getting any of the girls to spend time there. It’s so far out in the middle of nowhere.”
He shrugs. “Fuck that. They go where we tell ’em to go or they’re free to find someone else to finance them.”
“Good point.” Except, it pays to keep the talent happy. He’ll learn. “By all means, say that to Stella and let me know how it works out for you.”
“She’s got attitude because she’s so wrapped around Sway’s dick.”
“I think you have that backwards.”
He scratches the side of his head. “Never mind. You know what I mean.”
A mountain of a man everyone calls Pants lumbers over and drops into a chair across from us. “Been a minute, Rooster.” The SAA for this charter reaches out his hand and we shake.
“Good to see you, brother.”
“How ya been, Pants?” Jigsaw salutes.
“Can’t complain.” Pants lifts his chin at me. “You helping with the porn palace?” Judging by his mocking tone, I’m guessing he’s not a fan of his club’s new business venture.
“Doing what I can.”
He half stands and pulls his chair closer. “Ice tell you he’s got hidden cameras all over that place?”
“I thought that was the point?”
“No, so we can keep tabs on her. Make sure she’s not fucking over the club.”
“I think she’s fucking for the club,” Jigsaw quips.
Pants chuckles. “True.”
Shonda wiggles by in a short red dress on the arm of a local brother. Jigsaw’s sad puppy eyes follow them to the bar.
“Easy come, easy go, brother.” I slap his leg.
“Yeah, except I didn’t get to come or go yet.”
“You got a thing for Shonda?” Pants grins and throws his arm wide. “We got a club full of bunnies, brother. Take your pick.”
“Yeah, but she’s…” He turns, searching the room for a second. “Got those nice wide hips and ass.” He curls his fingers in the air like he’s gripping, well, a pair of wide hips. “What’s with all the bony bitches, bro?”
I hang my head. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Jiggy leans over and punches my arm. “You like ’em thick too, so shut your mouth.”
Pants roars with laughter. “Bony girls need lovin’ too. Give it time, though. It’s still early.”
Jigsaw elbows me and I’m seriously reconsidering my earlier thoughts about his helpfulness. “Why couldn’t your girl be out on tour with some chick bands instead of that sausage fest?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Then I wouldn’t be so desperate.”
“You’re always desperate.”
Pants cracks up and slams one of his meaty paws on the low table in front of us. “Fuck, I’ve missed you two.”
“Well, why don’t you get your big ass up to New York and visit more?”
The smile slides off his face. “How are you handling things since Z staged his coup?”
“Z didn’t stage a fucking coup,” I reply. Shit, Z was right. Good thing he didn’t come with us.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow. “You were all cool with him coming in and taking over?”
“He didn’t ‘come in and take over.’ He busted his ass to prove himself and win our trust,” I answer with a tad more hostility than appropriate.
“Sway trust him too?”
Fuck Sway.
“Look, I got mad respect for Sway.” Lie. “But he was getting sloppy and it was causing issues.” Truth. “And that’s not me talking shit behind his back. I’ve said that straight to his face.�
�� Also true.
“A-fucking-men.” Jigsaw raises his palms toward the ceiling. “Preach it, brother.”
Pants stares at Jiggy. “Whole club feels that way?”
“Fuck yeah.” Jigsaw glances at me. “The two brothers who didn’t, left.”
Left is a bit of a stretch. Shadow’s in the ground and Smoke hightailed it down to Florida to cause trouble with the other retired Lost Kings.
“Yeah.” Pants rubs his hand over his jaw. “Heard something about Shadow going nomad. He always was a dick, though.”
If you only knew how much of an asshole he really was.
“Tawny’s the one who took it the hardest.” I smirk, sidestepping getting into details about Shadow’s whereabouts.
Pants bursts into laughter, slapping his hand on his thigh. “Yeah, I’m sure the queen bee was all sorts of pissed. Fuck her.”
“Far as I know, Sway supports Z one hundred percent,” I add. This rumor that Z took over our charter needs to fucking die here and now.
Pants shrugs. “Guess if he didn’t, he would’ve taken off to Florida with Smoke.”
“Right.” I sit back, resting one ankle across my knee.
Now that Pants seems to trust us a little more, he loosens up. I sip my beer slowly while he pounds down shot after shot.
Jigsaw’s shot glass remains untouched.
“What else is lucrative these days?” I flick a dismissive glance to the ceiling. “Besides the porn.”
He pushes his mop of blond hair back and flashes a maniacal grin. “Hog farming.”
“Come again?”
Clearly excited about this topic, he sits forward. “Organic, pasture-raised piggies fetch a fortune. Hippies love that shit and will pay top dollar for it.”
Hog farming? Is that a euphemism for something else?
“Plus, hogs will eat anything. Makes disposal of certain items much easier.”
Ahhh, figures their SAA would come up with a creative way to dispose of bodies.
“I should have Teller come down and talk to you about it. He’s started raising chickens in his backyard.”
“Fuck, yeah. Anytime. Chickens are a gateway drug. Tell him pork is where the real money is made.” He rubs his fingers together in the universal cash-is-king sign.
Rhythm of the Road Page 24