Chapter Fourteen

 

Oliver and I were awake first and were having coffee at the table on the bus. We were hours from our next destination, watching the scenery go by, talking quietly. “You make a good coffee, Willa,” he said, sipping from his “Save a Drum, Bang a Drummer” mug.

“All you drink is black. It’s not difficult.”

“Black coffee is hardest to do right,” he said. “You can’t hide behind anything. It’s got to be a good, pure cup of coffee.”

I wanted to touch him. To give myself something else to do, I grabbed our half-full mugs and slid out of the booth to refill them.

I collided with Jimmy and gasped when coffee sloshed onto my hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t hot enough to burn.

“Good morning, my Willa! Did you burn your hand, darling? Here.” He took the cups from me and ran some unnecessary cold water over my not-burned hand. He dried it carefully with a towel and kissed it. “There you go, good as new. Don’t worry, Oliver,” he said around me, “I’ve got it sorted, she’s fine. What’s our schedule today?” he asked me.

I got another mug for Jimmy. He beat me to the table and sat next to Oliver. I sat across from them. “Um, we don’t have much scheduled for today,” I said. “I checked in with Tucker this morning. We have at least five hours until we get to the venue, so… just hanging out. I’m going to take pictures of Eric at some point and then trim Oliver’s hair. You’re getting shaggy.” I leaned across the table and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“His hair is great,” Jimmy said, without even giving him a glance. “I have a better idea. Let’s deep condition our hair, and then you can paint my nails. How about that, Willa?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He sipped his coffee. “It’s true; you do make good coffee. It’s probably because of the French press I got you.”

“Or it could be because she used to be a barista,” Oliver said.

Jimmy gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe both things.”

Later, when the bus parked at the venue, Eric asked if I could take some pictures of him for Instagram, and Jimmy agreed to release me “very briefly.”

Eric suggested we go inside. “This is a gorgeous old theater, and it’ll be a nice change of pace.”

He was right. It was beautiful. Ornate decorations, warm gold and red tones. I framed the shots to bring in the environment and his place in the midst of the theatricality. Normally for a portrait, you keep the background in soft focus to direct attention to the subject. For Eric, everything in the scene was part of him. Amps, extra guitars on stands, keyboards, Oliver’s shiny drum set, microphone stands, the flashy atmosphere… those things illustrated who Eric was and what mattered to him. I made sure the light was perfect on his face, then I let everything else remain part of the visual conversation.

The only sounds were my camera’s seductive clicking and the gentle strum of him playing an unplugged guitar. Behind my camera, I couldn’t misstep. Everything I did was right, and the only person I had to answer to was myself.

We worked together quietly until Eric said, “Do you ever think about how your relationship with each of us is different, Willa?”

“Hm?” I zoomed in tighter on his face. His expression was thoughtful. Subdued. Rock Star Eric in makeup and costume was dynamic and appealing, but quiet, reflective Eric was beautiful in a different way.

He continued, “You’re like a sister to me, in a way, because I adore you, and I’m also protective of you, and I need you to keep those things in mind while we have a difficult conversation.”

“Mmhm,” I murmured. I found a chair to stand on for another angle. Tight focus on his hands on the guitar, everything else in a lovely soft focus.

“You’re a mom figure to Jimmy, but also his platonic lover, the way you guys are enmeshed. It’s a weird dynamic.” He shrugged. “It works. Jimmy is a lot. It’s easy to view him as a caricature, but you don’t fall for it. Hey, are you listening to me?”

“I will be in a minute. Look down. Play something.” Click. Click. Click. “No, sit straighter. Not quite that straight. Perfect!” Click. Click.

I stepped off the chair and slid it across from him, turned it around, and straddled it. I set my camera carefully on the floor next to me. “Those are nice, Eric. You’re going to like them. But go on. I’m Jimmy’s mommy and not-lover, you were saying, as my sort-of brother. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s not my business, but I’m referring to the way you and Oliver are dancing around each other.”

All right. He was going to dive right in. I wasn’t sure how to answer. “It isn’t what you think. I mean, there’s nothing to hide. I’m not… there’s not a… it’s not like there’s this secret affair or anything.” A couple stolen kisses and a few flirty text messages were hardly a relationship. Anything more was purely in my head. I didn’t know what, if anything, it meant to Oliver.

“Not my business,” Eric said again. He put the guitar back in its stand and then leaned toward me, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. “Listen for a minute. You’re a lot of things to Jimmy, and I care about you, too, partly because of who you are to him and partly because of who you are. So take this in the spirit it’s intended: We belong to Jimmy.”

I shook my head. “I understand you three have this bond, and I’m happy for you because it’s uncommon and special. I’m not part of that.”

“You are, whether you want to believe it or not.” He paused like he was debating with himself how to go on. “I’m going to tell you a story about Jimmy. Maybe I shouldn’t, but you need to hear it.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

The silence stretched on until he said, “We used to be a foursome.” He was waiting for my reaction. “You didn’t know?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Yeah. You don’t read about us, and he pretends it never happened. Okay. Here we go. Once upon a time, there was a bass player.”

“What does he have to do with—”

“Her name was Claire.”

It startled me into silence.

“Jimmy loved her. Maybe it was reciprocal, maybe not. Right before things took off for the band, Claire quit. She said she couldn’t ‘hang out playing rock band’ with us. She needed ‘the kind of job an adult would have,’ she said. She went to university, met and married a doctor, and now she works somewhere in accounting. Oliver and I keep in touch with her, but Jimmy hasn’t spoken to her since the day she left.”

“Shit.”

“As close as he is to Oliver and me? To you? He was that close to Claire. He never forgave her, and he’s not over her. When you talk about being a photographer after this, when Jimmy worries you might be getting closer to someone else… I understand you wouldn’t hurt him intentionally, and you have every right to want what you want. I’m just asking you to be careful. You’re poking at his soft spots. You understand what I’m telling you?”

“I understand,” I said, my voice wavering.

I got up quickly. I put the chair back where I’d gotten it from side-stage. I took my camera off from around my neck, removed the lens, and put the body cap back on, then tucked everything securely into separate compartments. Safe and sound, everything in its place.

Eric moved the stool back to where it had been and put away everything else we’d rearranged. I followed him back to the bus with a heavy heart. No matter what might be happening with Oliver, I was in deep with them all. There was no way it wasn’t going to hurt when it ended—and it would end.

When I left, it would give him Claire flashbacks. Maybe I couldn’t stop it from happening, but I could be good to him until then. He needed my attention because he was hurting. When people needed you the most, that’s not when you abandoned them.

Unless you happened to be my mother, and I wasn’t.

~ * ~

The first night Oliver and I were alone after my talk with Eric, I was waiting for him on the couch in the back lounge.

The bus smelled like the cookies I’d made for their after-the-show snack. The lights were dim and warm, giving the place a homey glow. I plugged in my laptop and worked on some photo editing to keep my mind occupied. Eyes on the prize, Willa. You need to focus on your photography career and causing Jimmy as little damage as possible because you love him, and it’s the least you can do. Stop mooning over warm cookies and hot Oliver. Have some discipline.

Despite my pep talk, when Oliver came through the door, my whole body tensed. He rustled around in the kitchen and came to sit next to me on the couch. “Hey, Willa.” He was munching on a cookie. “These are good.”

I practically launched myself at him. It didn’t take more than a second for him to catch up to me. He shifted us so my body was under him, and he worked an arm under me to hold me tightly against him while he kissed me. I arched into him, and my hands went to the warm skin of his back. When my laptop clattered to the floor, I came back to my senses. I wriggled out from under him, and we both sat up.

I brushed my hair away from my face with both hands and steadied my breath.

He gave a low whistle. “Whoa. Wow. Okay. Hi, Willa!”

A hysterical giggle escaped me. “Sorry! I’m sorry. God.”

“You should be sorry,” he said solemnly. “Come back here and tell me through kissing how sorry you are. It’s the only thing I can understand.”

I closed my laptop and put it safely on the side table. “You have to understand my words,” I said. “No more kissing.”

“Does not compute,” he said, reaching for me again.

I scrambled back to the opposite end of the couch. “You keep your delicious mouth to yourself. I’m working.”

He looked pointedly at my closed laptop. I snatched it back off the table and opened it.

“All right, all right,” he said. “What are you working on?”

I was working on keeping myself off him was the real answer. “Editing for Ken.”

“Your own stuff? The Regrets?”

“Hm? No. Someone else’s stuff. Another cover for Hope. I’m going to concentrate, so quit distracting me with your hotness.”

When Jimmy and Eric came back to the bus, I was on one end of the couch, and Oliver was on the other, sleeping with his headphones on, an unwatched movie flickering on his own laptop.

Jimmy’s gaze flicked between Oliver and me. He should have been reassured by how much space was between us, but he didn’t look it.

I patted the couch next to me. “Come tell me about your night.”

He sat next to me and leaned his head on my shoulder. His hair tickled my cheek when he peered at my screen. “Did you take those?”

“No, I’m just editing them.”

“Been a while since you’ve done much of your own work. We should find you something to shoot next time we have a day off. Maybe you and I could go out.”

“Sounds good. Did you guys eat? Can I make you anything?”

“Do I smell cookies?” he asked hopefully.

“Yep, let me get you some. Hang on.”

“Not yet,” he said. “Sit with me for a minute.” He nestled against my shoulder and released a long breath.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “You?”

“I’m okay.”

It was obvious there were things neither of us were saying.

~ * ~

I got the guys ready for the next night’s show largely uneventfully. Not entirely uneventfully, because anytime I touched Oliver, it was An Event. He didn’t wear makeup like the other two, and he chose his own clothes and took care of himself. He let me do his hair, which put me close to him. Heat radiated from his body; I could smell him, sense the rhythm of his breath.

Once they were finally gone, I sank into the back couch and relished the quiet. I eyed my camera bag. Maybe some creative time would give me back some of the energy I was missing lately, but instead of taking my camera out, I put the still-zipped bag back onto the floor. With a twinge of resentment, I hooked a laundry basket with my foot and dragged it closer to me, tackling the now-familiar task of sorting their clothes into three piles, folding them, and putting them away in the tiny drawers that served as dressers on a tour bus.

When the basket was almost empty, my personal phone rang. I checked the number and got to my feet, tipping over a Jimmy pile of black jeans. “Hey, Uncle Ken. Everything okay?”

“Toby is fine,” he said right away. Uncle Ken knew how my mind worked.

I sat back down, putting him on speaker to leave my hands free to continue folding. “Oh, okay then. Hi! What’s up?”

“I had an interesting call with Apostolic’s manager earlier. They’re headlining the Summer Fest.”

“Cool. What’s Summer Fest?”

“Benny’s new idea for a music festival. His eventual plan is to pick a different city and different headliner every summer, but the inaugural show will be here in Nashville, with Apostolic in the headliner spot. His manager called to tell me they want Offstage to be the media sponsor, but she said the deal stands only if you’re the photographer for it.”

At first, the only thing in my mind was Benny Walker Benny Walker Benny Walker. I let myself have a moment to revel in the unbelievable: he’d asked for me. No, he’d demanded me. Benny Walker said, “It has to be Willa Reynolds.” OhmyGod.

Photographing a festival, Apostolic, Offstage… this career opportunity could give me the opening I needed, and it wasn’t because my uncle was throwing me a bone. I’d been requested. As a photographer, not a glorified babysitter.

I didn’t realize I hadn’t answered Uncle Ken until he said, “Yes or no, kid? Come on, I’m on deadline.”

“Yes! Yes. Thank you, yes.”

He gave me the details. It was in a week and a half. A full day of music, two stages, with Apostolic closing on the main stage. All of Uncle Ken’s reporters would be on deck, but Hope would be lead, and he’d give me more details when I got back to town.

After our call ended, I jumped to my feet and danced around the bus. This was exactly what I needed! A short break to refill my creative well. I’d get a chance to do some professional photographs, spend time with Toby, have a break in my routine. It was going to be great.

Plus Benny Walker.

Once I’d danced myself out, I paced around the room and worked through the details. There was no way I could have said no to it, and I didn’t regret saying yes.

However, it was not without problems.

Jimmy and I hadn’t ever talked about me having a day off. This would be four or five days with travel time. I wasn’t sure how he’d react.

There was a good chance he’d react poorly.

Even worse, once I got there, what did my contract mean for photographs I took on my personal time? Technically, I was still “employed by the band,” so anything I shot might not even belong to me.

I didn’t have a lot of time to make it happen, and I was going to have to pick my timing carefully.