Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  Seriously. Best morning ever.

  I lift my coffee and inhale the aroma as Emery drops out into the parking lot. I cross to the window and check out our surroundings. Yep. The jam-packed parking lot. Shanae wriggles on to the cushion beside me, kneeling with her brew cupped between pale hands.

  “Fria wants me to get her breakfast so that she doesn’t have to share the space with him,” she whispers.

  I give our petite bassist the side-eye and sigh. “Seriously?”

  One shoulder bops, yet she keeps her coffee perfectly level. “She doesn’t like cheaters.”

  “Perhaps she should learn a bit more about a guy than just his name before she fucks him.” I resume watching Emery as he paces back and forth, phone pressed to his ear.

  A mother and teenage daughter eye him curiously while they cross the lot from their car. The mother appears disgusted, yet the daughter seems as though she salivates at the mere sight of him.

  I snort away the stupid jealousy that arises with a twitch of my nose. I have no right to be territorial over Emery; knowing him first gives me absolutely no advantage when he made it clear he wished he knew me last.

  “It doesn’t look good if we’re late to the next stop,” Shanae states, retreating from our viewing platform. “I hope Telly doesn’t take too long.”

  “He shouldn’t.” I choose to brush aside her remark.

  She’s justified. We’re scraping for leftovers at the moment, begging for anything that pays more than a single night’s fee. Having a reputation as unreliable is the kind of bad press that kills people in this industry.

  Emery disconnects from his call with a smack of his finger, immediately turning his head to pin me with an accusing glare. I shrug, unsure what the hell has crawled up his ass now but sure it has nothing to do with me. He marches toward the front of the bus, right as a flash of crimson catches my eye in the distance; Telly returns.

  I turn to face the inside of the vehicle, ignoring the deliberate stomp of Emery’s bare feet as he climbs the steps. Delicious caffeine hits my taste buds, and I can’t resist the chance to rile him up further.

  “Oh, God. Is there seriously anything better than a coffee first thing in the morning?”

  He ignores my jibe, side-stepping Shanae to reach for his bag of disgusting clothes. With a firm tug of his fists, biceps bunching, he tears the plastic in two, allowing his threads to tumble to the floor.

  I watch on in silence, supping my coffee, while he fishes his billfold from the back pocket of his jeans and then promptly marches off the bus.

  In a towel.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Shanae asks, cradling her bowl of dry cornflakes.

  I balance my drink off to one side while I hustle to spin back to the window. Sure enough, he marches toward the damn store. Right past Telly.

  Our driver gives him a confused frown, twisting as Emery strides by.

  “He appears to be going shopping,” I mumble as I raise the mug to my lips.

  “In a towel?” Shanae joins me at the window again.

  “In a towel.”

  NINE

  Emery

  “If I can’t Have It No One Can” – Boston Manor

  It’s Walmart. Anybody with a fucking Internet connection knows the memes that circulate about what you can find in this place. Hence why I have no fucks to give about shopping in nothing more than a goddamn towel.

  According to Toby, not only am I an idiot for escorting Henley to see Kris without letting Deanna know—yep, she called everyone—but I’m also more of a headache than he needs when I go AWOL and resurface by way of drunken text.

  I can’t deal with this bullshit sober.

  I’ve got hours yet before these girls stop at the next venue on their leg of the support tour. Hours of bitching, whining, and general smarminess that I get enough of at home, thank you very much.

  I had intentions of coming in here to get myself a bottle of whiskey. Just the one. But even when my bank account never dips below four figures anymore, I still can’t pass up a bargain. If the stares I got when I walked in the door weren’t bad enough, they’re ten times worse when I return to the front of the store with an armful of liquor to retrieve a shopping cart.

  I wheel my supply stash for the next few hours to the checkouts and smile sweetly at the guy behind the register. He pops a hip, giving me a look that only the sassiest of queens could pull off.

  “Lord, I am not going to ask what sort of night you had.” He promptly starts scanning the items while managing to maintain eye contact with me.

  “Women issues,” I mutter, stacking product after product onto the conveyor.

  “Honey.” He chuckles. “I would love to say I understand, but clearly, I don’t. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Sure do.” I give the guy a wink.

  Sure, on the odd occasion I’ve partaken in group activities that required my intimate areas getting closer than I’d like to those of other men. But I’m sure as fuck not gay.

  Doesn’t mean I have to ruin his day, though.

  Clive, I learn his name is, keeps up the banter throughout the transaction. By the time I’ve swiped my card and given Deanna a purchase to scream bloody murder about, a smile actually graces my fucking face.

  I let Clive slap my ass on the way out for his troubles.

  My good mood grows when I near the tour bus to find a tired-looking Alice waiting at the base of the steps with her arms folded.

  “You have less than a day with us. Do you really need all that?”

  I handoff a bag loaded with energy drinks and nod. “If you want me out of your hair, yeah.”

  She loops the handles over her arm and gestures for another.

  I pack my little mule with as much as I can physically manage, hoping to see her fall on her fucking face when she attempts to climb the steps.

  Should have known she’d ruin my bright mood by managing it with skill and grace. Bitch.

  Telly sidles down the steps to help by carrying the box of whiskey on board. “You better not hold up the girls again, mister.” He widens his eyes a fraction. “They aren’t pleased with you.”

  “Nothing’s changed then?” I heft the last two cases into my arms and then kick the empty cart aside.

  It skitters dangerously close to some grandma’s micro-mobile before stopping.

  By the time Telly and I offload, we can barely move around the forward lounge area. Perfect. Hopefully, it’ll keep the kittens and their sharp claws in the back while I get this half to myself.

  No sooner have I sat down and cracked the top off a bottle, than Alice hurls sweatpants and a T-shirt into my lap. “I trust they’ll fit.”

  Checking the tags, I nod at the size. “Thanks for the threads, Telly.”

  He nods, giving a one-handed wave as he retreats to start our circus on the road again.

  “Are you going to put them on?” Alice frowns.

  I note the foxy little redhead and my European psycho are nowhere to be seen. Must already be hiding down back.

  “Nope. I think I’ll hang like this for a while.” Tossing my free arm over the back of the seat, I spread my legs as wide as the towel will allow.

  Yep. Just going to hang like this for a while and see what happens.

  Her nostrils flare, eyes drooping as she sighs out her nose. “You’re fucking unbearable.” White-gold hair flicks in a wave behind her when Alice spins, her disgust evident in the muttered words she rambles under her breath as she retreats to presumably join the others.

  The bus jolts out onto the road, what feels like one of the rear tires rolling off the high side of the curb. Using the corner of the towel, I tuck my nuts away to save them from the draft created by the air-con and retrieve my phone from the nearest bag of snacks.

  The line rings four times before the bitch rejects the call.

  I try again.

  “What, Emery?”

  I wait for a second while I calmly unload the packs of Milk Du
ds into an orderly line beside me. “How was your night?”

  She sighs—or growls. They both sound the same. “Where are you?”

  My hand hovers above the tower I’d started building with the rectangular packets. “In transit.”

  “I thought your flight left last night?”

  “It did.” I resume creating a Jenga stack. “I just wasn’t on it.”

  I set the phone on my knee while she screams the speaker to pieces, not interested in a single insult she has to sling at me.

  “Shanae,” Alice calls as she re-enters my lounge space. “You want something to eat?” Troublemaker tosses me a wink, unaffected by the skin-peeling glare I fix on her.

  “Who the fuck is Shanae?” Deanna hollers clear as day from my knee. “And who’s she?”

  Alice casually leans down to rat through the bags of shit I bought for myself, pulling out a packet of jerky. She slides a stick out and runs it the length of her tongue before uttering in a tone that makes my dick wake up and pay attention, “God, that tastes good.”

  I snatch the packet from her hand.

  “Leave something for the rest of us.”

  I should hang up on Deanna, but it’s not all that often I get such a perfect fucking setup to mess with her like she does with me.

  “The rest of them? Where the fuck are their mouths and what the fuck are they doing with them, Emery?” Deanna mutters something incomprehensible before damn near piercing our eardrums. “Where the fuck are you? You tell me now, or I swear to God I will empty your fucking bank account and kill your dog.”

  I shove a bag of food at Alice to get her to fuck off. “You wouldn’t dare.” Money means nothing to me, but my geriatric dog is all that remains of my heart.

  “Wouldn’t I?” She pauses for effect. “Who. Are they?” Deanna repeats while Alice leaves with one eyebrow raised at the phone.

  I lurch forward on the seat and whip the phone back to my ear. “You promise you won’t go near my dog, and I’ll let you know.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt him,” she snickers. “I’m not that fucking horrible. I’d surrender the mutt to the pound.”

  And let them do her dirty work—more her style. “Say it.”

  “Mosaic is fine,” she moans. I can almost hear her eyes hit the back of her skull from here. “So, who are your latest whores?”

  In other words, where can she find them?

  “I missed my flight, so Toby jacked me up a ride with friends of his.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Call him,” I challenge.

  “Fine.” The smack of her phone hitting something hard is followed by the echoey sounds that tell me I’m now on speaker. Rapid-fire tapping is followed by the damn connection signal of Messenger.

  I didn’t think she’d actually do it.

  “What are you doing?” I tear a length of jerky out with my teeth.

  Toby answers before she can. “What now, Deanna?”

  “Who is Emery with?”

  He hesitates, and I toss up how guilty I’d sound if I shot in the ‘friends’ line before he can answer.

  “He’s with people who’ll bring him home to you.” He sounds as tired of her bullshit as I am.

  “See?” I call out. “Told you I’m with his friends.”

  “What the fuck? Is that you, Em?”

  “Hey, man.” Awkward. Especially after the bust-up we had in our earlier call.

  “I fucking told you I don’t want to be caught in the middle of this shit anymore.”

  “You’ve been talking about me?” Deanna snaps.

  “I’m going,” Toby bites. “You two sort this shit out between yourselves for a fucking change.”

  The chime of him disconnecting is followed by a disturbing silence from Deanna.

  “Turn your fucking location on.” She hangs up.

  My back hits the hard cushion, a long and pained sigh rushing from my lips. I drop the phone amongst the Milk Duds and close my eyes, rubbing them with the heel of my hands.

  Why. The fuck. Do I keep doing this dance?

  “Motherfucker,” I grumble, dropping my hands to my lap.

  I open my eyes and damn near shit myself all over again.

  Alice stands inches from my feet, arms folded. “Wanna talk about it?”

  TEN

  Alice

  “Black Sheep” – Gin Wigmore

  “Nope.” The curtains behind his gaze fall, dimming the light. “Did I not give you starved bitches enough to eat?”

  “I’m not here for more food.” I ignore his stiff body language and take the free spot beside him. “We all heard your phone call. Kind of hard not to when there’s, like, six feet between us.”

  Emery scoffs, promptly tearing off a bite of dried meat. “You want gossip,” he says around his mouthful. “Something to make you feel good about how much you hate her.”

  “Oh, honey,” I sass. “Everyone hates Deanna. I don’t need gossip to know I’m right in feeling that way.”

  “She takes care of my shit when I’m away.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  “Pays my bills.” He’s like a child trying to reason why he drew on the damn wall.

  Emery knows his relationship with Deanna is wrong, but he still can’t admit it. Pride has this guy in one heck of a chokehold.

  “Why did you call it Mosaic?”

  “Him.” Emery eyes me carefully, ripping off another bite. “He’s tri-colored.”

  “Interesting.” I incline my head. “I never knew you had a dog.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What do you really want, Alice?”

  What do I want? Isn’t that the million-dollar question. “To be a friend is all.” Rising to my feet, I’m surprised by the firm grip that encases my wrist.

  “You and I aren’t friends,” Emery mutters, dropping the contact. “Not anymore, anyway.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

  “You’re the one who cut me off.”

  “Because you gave me a reason to,” I retort, barely managing to keep my tone of voice in check.

  He drops his head back with a groan, exposing a thick, delectable neck. “How long are you going to harp on about it?”

  However long it takes for him to understand how badly he hurt me. “As long as I need to.”

  “It was always going to happen,” he cries, dropping his head forward to pin me with a hard stare. “You used to laugh at the jokes we’d make about it. Remember? Why the hell did you go sour?”

  Because his rejection revealed how differently we viewed each other. “Maybe it all became a little too real.” I cross over to the kitchenette and start clearing a space for his supplies.

  He watches me work, quietly chewing on his snack and never once breaking eye contact.

  It’s unnerving as hell.

  “Put a fucking shirt on, would you?”

  The jerk pops a pec. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  Challenge lines the curl of his lips. “When was the last time you got laid, Alice?”

  I sneak a glance toward the dividing curtain, checking for signs of eavesdroppers. “None of your business.”

  “A while ago, I assume.”

  I snort. “You’d assume wrong, then.” Snatching up what’s left of his food, I busy myself stacking the packages into the small cubby above the pint-sized fridge. He always does this: turns things around on me. Even back in the day, when we first realized that we kept bumping into one another on the club circuit, he would effortlessly redirect the conversation to subjects relating to me.

  Ten years later, it still frustrates the heck out of me.

  “There.” I slide the last six-pack of beer onto the square of counter beside the sink. “Now you’re not a hazard in an emergency.”

  “Funny, aren’t you?” The snark hasn’t left his tone. “I thought by now you’d be using bigger rigs, anyway.” He makes a show of checking out our tiny home on this short tour.r />
  “We don’t need much when it’s a short leg,” I hedge, head down while I pointlessly fold a dish towel to ignore the ache between my shoulders.

  “Huh.” A rustle indicates he’s finished his jerky. “For a while there I actually thought you’d given up touring.”

  He has no idea how close to the truth he is.

  “Didn’t see you on the circuit for ages, so figured you’d quit or something.”

  Wouldn’t he have loved that? “Nope. Still here.” Still hanging on to my future as tightly as I grip the counter right now.

  “There. Happy?”

  I turn to find he’s put on the T-shirt Telly bought him.

  I can’t help but let the smile tug at my lips. “I feel as though we’re on even ground, now.”

  Dark eyebrows pinch together. “I had the high ground, though, right?”

  My gaze dips to scan the length of him. “What do you think?”

  The grin I’m dealt sends my legs to jelly. “Thought so.”

  I barely manage to get my ass on the sofa beside him before it’s clear what he did to me. “Pass me a stick, huh?”

  Dried beef is promptly slapped in my open palm. Emery watches while I tear into it, just as he did. Kind of got to admit that it tastes more satisfying than the chocolates I’ve been drowning my worries with.

  “Where to after you’re done with the Lords?” Em asks, fidgeting with the case around his phone.

  “Don’t know.” I sigh and then take another bite.

  “You don’t have anything else lined up?” He frowns. “Must be due to do your own headliner by now.”

  “We haven’t fronted a show in two years.” And don’t I feel fucking accomplished for it—not.

  “Why?”

  His confusion would be cute if it didn’t pain me to see him look at me that way. A long-forgotten recess of my heart warms knowing he still believes I’m good enough to do my own tour, talented enough that I should be.

  “You remember that tour we crossed paths on in Houston? A few years back?”

  He nods, setting his phone aside.

  “You met our manager at the time, right? Mary-Anne?”

  His gaze dips while he seemingly searches his memories for that night. “I’m not sure.”