Dear Professor Carter,
I wanted to let you know that I’ve accepted a position with a music recording company for the summer. I’m sorry we aren’t able to work together, as that would have been amazing, but I hope I can continue to count on your advice as I prepare my program for the Spark competition. Thanks again for agreeing to serve as a sponsor for my application.
Sincerely,
Haley
My phone rings and I reach across the bed for it. “Hey.”
“Bitch. You didn’t call me last night.”
“I was working.”
“Chain smoking too?”
I crack a grin and shift upright to stare at the clock. Seven thirty.
“You’re up early,” Serena says.
“You too. I’m emailing Professor Carter. What sounds more personal: sincerely or yours truly?”
“How about ‘I get off to you every night’?”
I make a face, hit Send, and shut my laptop as I slide out of bed.
“I didn’t call to hear about Carter. How was it last night?”
“I got to bed at two.”
“Partying like a rock star.”
“Not partying. Going over the settings and cues with a guy who could be my grandfather.” After the show, Jerry had wanted to see what I’d noticed, so I’d gone back to the sound booth and spent an hour with him, talking and taking notes.
I go through my bag for clean socks in the bottom.
My fingers close on…
“You snuck condoms in my bag?” I hold one up, my voice incredulous.
“Better safe than sorry,” she chirps.
I drop the box back in the bag, shaking my head. “I did sleep in a hotel last night. Alone.”
Besides Lita and Nina, I’m the only woman on tour, which apparently means I get my own room.
“Lucky. Need a roommate on the road?”
I yawn and stretch. “I don’t think any pets are allowed. And Scrunchie is an especially tough sell.” I shift out of bed, peering out the curtains to see the sunlight.
“Something came in the mail today. I think it’s the ancestry test.”
My spine straightens. “Open it.”
I hear her rustling in the background and wait, dragging my sock-covered toe against the baseboard.
“Well?”
“No relatives found.” I drop the curtain, my stomach flip-flopping. “I’m sorry, Haley.”
“It’s okay. I knew there wasn’t a good chance. But it’s actually not that bad. Maybe it’s not meant to be. I never felt like I was missing out by not knowing who my father is. Maybe he doesn’t even know about me. That would be one hell of a surprise. Or he could be in jail for all I know.”
“Your mom doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“I don’t know what her type was. I never really saw her with a man.” I wander into the bathroom, inspecting the little toiletries there. I guess even nice hotels have crappy shampoo, and I’m glad I brought my own. “I know it shouldn’t change anything, adding a face and a name to my family tree. Even if it’s more like a family shrub.”
There’s a little pot for coffee, and I wrinkle my nose as I follow the instructions, pouring water into the reservoir and hitting the button.
“I want to find out who I am. But maybe that’s what this month is about. Maybe I can find myself here.”
I glance in the mirror opposite the bed.
“Knowing your parents isn’t all its cracked up to be. My dad asked me whether companies record video chats.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he’s doing shit I don’t want to know about with some yoga instructor.”
“Oh, gross. I don’t want to hear about your dad’s sex life.”
“Me either. Let’s talk about mine. Did I mention Declan from my finance class asked me out?”
The water boils, sending up a plume of steam from the plastic coffee maker.
“That was last week.”
“No, that was Nolan from my media class.”
I drop onto the bed with my black coffee cupped in my hands and listen to my friend on speakerphone. She tells me about all the guys she has wound around her finger, which makes me feel more at home and miss it at once.
Even if I’m never going to have the kind of confidence with guys that she does, will never crave physical contact the same way? I like hearing about it.
Eventually, we hang up.
Surprisingly—or maybe not—no one else is in the hall after I shower and get dressed in comfy jeans, a soft bra and a white cotton T-shirt that skims my boobs and hips. My leather jacket goes overtop.
I don’t know what the breakfast situation is, if we can charge it to our room or what, so I stick to coffee from the continental breakfast laid out in the hallway.
I work on my program, thinking about what Jax said about music and lyrics.
Maybe when I’m done preparing for Spark, I can run some alternative models with instrumental songs. See if I can hack those too.
Lita comes downstairs after ten in skinny jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and sandals. Her hair’s piled up on her head, and she looks like a sleepy ballerina. “New girl. Come with me.”
I pack up my laptop. “Where is everyone?”
“Half of them are already at the venue, and the other half are still in bed.”
Lita doesn’t seem to have the same concerns about ordering breakfast. A waiter delivers two eggs and three pieces of bacon to the table in front of her.
Over breakfast, she explains what to expect. “When we’re doing back-to-back shows in a town, the setup’s not too bad. Most of the day’s filled up with media. Then sound check. Rehearsal if there’s time.”
“Do you have time to communicate with the outside world?”
“Unless the outside world has a ticket to that night’s show? Not usually.”
I turn that over in my mind. “It must be hard. What about people’s boyfriends? Girlfriends?”
“They understand. Or they don’t.” She smirks. “I’m unattached. I like it that way. My band is too.”
“What about Riot Act?”
“Mace only cares about music. Kyle loves all women. Brick? You’ll hear soon enough.”
“And Jax?” I try for casual.
I don’t succeed.
Lita grins, a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t go there, new girl. Trust me.”
We ride over to the venue together with a couple of her bandmates. Nina and Jax have apparently been in interviews for hours already.
On the way over, she pulls out her phone and starts cursing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Lita’s bassist grins. “We’re thirty days into baseball season, and her second baseman’s already on the DL.”
I hide the smile. “What do you like about fantasy sports? Is it the competition?”
Lita lifts her gaze from the screen. “It’s no competition, new girl. If I wasn’t already employed as a musician, I’d make the best owner in baseball.”
When I get to the sound booth, I see the familiar setup from last night.
What I don’t see is Jerry.
I use the time to go over the desk, the program. I try to match up the settings with what I saw backstage. I go over the specs for this stop, start on the ones for our next stop. My running list of questions gets inputted to my phone.
Still no Jerry.
I sneak an hour working on my program while I wait.
Eventually I look up to find him shuffling down the aisle toward the booth. Today’s plaid shirt is green.
He grunts when he sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Um. You told me to meet you here at one.” I check my watch. It’s nearly three.
Instead of explaining, he scoffs. “You’re keeping tabs on me.”
“I’m your assistant.”
“If you were my assistant, you’d do what I say.” His voice sharpens. “Now don’t touch that and leave me to do my damned job.”
He shoves past me.
I stare after him as he hunches over the desk in front of the computer.
I’m used to people being protective of their work, but this is something else.
How am I supposed to assist Jerry if he won’t let me in the sound booth? I sense there’s something bigger going on here but have no idea what it is.
What is obvious is that everyone else at the venue is occupied with their own work. Nina’s nowhere in sight. Security’s busy.
I go backstage to try to figure out what I should do.
Nina’s voice comes from the open door at the end of the hall. “We’ll find it later.”
“No. We’ll find it now.” The growl echoes off the walls.
My spine stiffens as I stop in front of the doorway. It looks like a tornado hit. The room is full of scattered costumes, equipment, and food.
Jax grabs an amp off the floor and hurls it across the room. I jump as it hits the wall.
Finally he stops spinning, his eyes wild as our gazes lock. I look from him to Nina, who’s talking into her phone, and back.
“Where is it?” he demands.
“What?”
I look around because why is he suddenly talking only to me?
“My phone, babysitter,” he says it as though I’m purposely keeping it from him.
“I… when did you lose it?”
“If I knew that, I'd have it right now,” he grinds out.
Nina’s running down their itinerary from earlier, calling every studio they interviewed at.
I can’t remember seeing the phone in the limo or during any of our time together. “Did you leave it on your bus?”
“Not possible,” he mutters, stalking past me.
I follow him into the hall. Jax rubs a hand over his head, sending the muscles under his tight T-shirt leaping.
Yesterday he was irritated, but I’d figured it was just edginess before the show.
Now, he’s not edgy. He’s volatile.
“We’ll find it after the show.” Nina’s calm voice cuts in from behind us.
“No, Nina, we will not find it after the show. There will not be a fucking show.”
Kyle sticks his head out the door. Of Jax’s band members, he seems the most approachable, looking as if he could be a grad student.
“He has a password on it, right?” I ask.
“It’s not about privacy. He needs to make a call tonight.”
I stare. “Can’t he borrow a phone? All phones reach all other phones. That’s how phones work.”
“It’s a long story.”
The feeling stirring up inside me should be annoyance. But as I watch Jax rub a hand over his neck, eyes wild, the only thing I feel is concern.
I check the clock. The opening act goes on in an hour.
You need to get back to the sound booth, a voice reminds me. Figure out how to do the job you were given.
Instead, I reach for my phone and slip out the door.
“It’s me, Haley. I called about the bus.”
The man at the auto shop, Mac, looks the same as yesterday. “You want on it.”
“Yes.” I flash him my ID. I remember Jax’s comment, and a ripple of uncertainty runs through me. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
“Wicked Records, right? It’s not ready. Work order says it'll be done tomorrow morning.”
“I need to get onto it now.”
For a moment, he blinks. Then he looks past me toward the door, like he’s wondering if someone else is with me.
Of course, I’m alone.
Which I’m starting to think was a dumb idea.
His gaze drops down my body, then back up. He sneers. “What’ll you do for me?”
I can hear Serena’s voice telling me to kick him in the balls or something.
“What I’ll do is tell management at Wicked Records how cooperative you were.” I force myself to stand my ground. “Now can I get on the bus?”
The front of the bus is leather and glass. Couches on both sides, a chandelier on the ceiling. Gaming controllers are scattered across the couch cushions. It smells faintly of cigarettes, as if someone used to smoke here.
When I brush through a beaded curtain, I’m in Jax’s world.
Everything is dark red. The walls are covered in photos of a woman with a sweet face. A kid. In some pictures, they’re with Jax, his arm around them. He’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.
Is he married? A father?
None of that has ever been reported in the media.
That’s not why you’re here, I remind myself, though it feels like the world’s been turned inside out in the last few seconds.
It takes me a couple of minutes to find what I’m looking for because it’s tucked under the edge of the couch.
“Holy shit. Is this it?” I hold up the flip phone.
Creaking behind me has me stumbling upright. Ty’s coming on the bus.
“You find what you need?” he asks, leering. He moves toward me, and an alarm sounds in the back of my mind.
He doesn’t look like he wants to touch me in that benevolent, annoying way society seems to permit.
He looks as if he wants to do a whole lot more than that.
“Mac,” I whisper. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Someone going to have a problem with that?”
I hold my breath because no.
No one’s going to have a problem with it.
No one knows I’m here.
He reaches for me, and my heart kicks in my chest.
I twist away.
He catches hold of my jacket, and I use the chance to wriggle free.
I duck under his arm. The phone and charger in tow, I race out of the bus.
My jacket! part of me protests.
But I run and keep running.
The car I took over here picks me up, and somewhere on the drive back to the arena, I hit the power button.
The phone has messages from someone named Annie. The woman in the photos?
Where are you?
When I get back to the backstage door, the guards have changed and they stare me down.
“I work here, I swear.” I reach for my ID, but I can’t find it. I hope to hell I didn’t leave it at the garage…
“Nina! Jax!” The words are hollered at the top of my lungs.
The security guy goes for me, and I back up.
Through the crack in the door, I see Jax burst through the door partway down the hall, but before I can say anything, the door shuts in my face.
Shit.
A moment later the door opens. A breath whooshes out of my lungs as I brush past the security guard and toward Jax.
His notices the phone in my hand, and his shoulders relax. “Where did you find this?”
“Your bus.” I hand Jax the phone and dig the charger out of my bag. “I figured no one else would be able to charge… whatever that is.”
Jax studies me as if he’s trying to decide what I’m made of on a cellular level.
“Thanks, babysitter,” he says finally.
He turns and starts toward the stage door.
“My name is Haley,” I call after him. Jax pauses, hesitation only noticeable because I’m watching him so closely, then keeps walking.
The last hour catches up to me, the fact that I hauled my ass across town to bargain with some guy who clearly likes his girls younger than half his age plus seven.
I lost my jacket, all for some ten-year-old piece-of-shit handset that doesn’t even matter. I squeeze my hands into fists.
Maybe Serena’s right.
Not just about the sex part, but that Jax Jamieson’s not someone I can learn from. He shouldn’t be on a pedestal.
He’s talented, but he’s also self-centered.
He goes through life with people throwing themselves at his feet.
People like that lose touch with what it’s like to be human. They don’t remember what it’s like to need other people. They can act however they want and do whatever they want because the world caters to them.
I take a minute to rub my hands over my face, then start toward the backstage door.
When I pass through the doorway, my eyes adjusting to the dark beyond, I pull up.
Jax is on the phone, his face transformed from earlier. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the way he says it is caring. Like the man in the photos.
He’s leaning forward, and his mouth curves at the corner. When he rubs a hand over his neck, the tattoos on his biceps leap.
There’s none of the cockiness that’s part of his persona onstage. He’s just a guy.
Jax isn’t acting for the fans or the paparazzi or anyone. He’s basically alone, or as close as you can get backstage at a rock concert.
And he’s lit up like a Christmas tree.
My chest squeezes because it’s beautiful to watch. I move closer in the dark.
I don’t realize I’m blocking the way until one of the crew brushes past me.
I inch closer to the stage with a muttered apology that won’t be heard over the sound of Lita and her band less than twenty yards away.
When I glance back up, Jax is pocketing the phone.
“If that rings while you’re out there…” Nina warns.
I brace for an explosion, but Jax is a different person. He ruffles her hair, and she ducks away with a reluctant grin.
I don’t realize I’m staring until Jax’s gaze levels on me.
Shit.
I’m definitely in the wrong here. Not because I shouldn’t be backstage because, hello, I work here.
More because I feel like I witnessed a moment that wasn’t mine to see.
I start to turn, but Jax is walking toward me. It’s too late.
“Do me a favor,” he says when he pulls up.
His body’s bigger than I remember, his hard chest inches from my face.
I force myself to breathe as if he’s not close enough to encircle me with his arms.
My hips are yanked forward as if by an invisible cord, and it takes a second to realize it’s his finger in my belt loop.
Holy shit.
“Hang onto this for me. Haley.” His voice rumbles over the applause on the other side of the curtain.
My mouth falls open on a gasp as the phone slides inside the front pocket of my jeans, wedging in the narrow opening and creating friction everywhere it touches.
I’m not used to shaking hands with strangers, but right now, I feel his touch somewhere I never expected a rock star’s anything to get near in my lifetime.
Ripples of sensation shoot down my spine, between my thighs.
Jax’s grin is long gone, and as his amber stare bores into me, I swear he knows exactly what he’s doing.
My skin burns like the phone is hot. Part of me wants to yank the thing out and toss it across the floor.
Instead, as I watch him take the stage, I press my palm over my pocket so the outline digs into my hip.