Fast Lane

by Kristen Ashley

  I rode up the elevator with him.

  And I walked into that room and saw Preacher with those girls.

  Then I ran away.

  “Lyla! Goddammit! Lyla!”

  Okay, all right.

  Walk fast.

  There were taxis on the street in big cities.

  Walk fast to the street and get a taxi.

  Wait, there were probably taxis at the hotel.

  Should I go back?

  Did I have enough money for a taxi?

  I didn’t know. I’d never paid for a taxi.

  What if I didn’t?

  I had money to take the L to the venue, return ticket, which meant getting back, something I’d already bought.

  And I had money to buy coffee and breakfast on the train on the way home.

  When did my train leave?

  It was ten. Maybe ten fifteen.

  The next morning.

  That was hopeful.

  That Preacher would talk to me and I’d need a train out the next day.

  But they had a lot of trains from Chicago to Indy.

  Maybe I could get on the next one. Maybe it didn’t matter what time the ticket you had said, as long as you had a ticket.

  I felt the fingers close around my arm.

  I jerked it when they did, hard.

  I also looked back.

  Was his name Jesse?

  Yes, Jesse.

  God, I didn’t even really know their names.

  Why was this such a big deal?

  One night.

  One night with some guy in a band.

  A couple of sips of coffee the next morning.

  Why was this such a big deal?

  “Hang on, Lyla.”

  He still had his hand on me.

  “Let me go.”

  “Come back.”

  Was he insane?

  Come back?

  And what?

  Take a number?

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “No way. I’ve gotta catch a train.”

  “I’ll get you to the station. Hell, I’ll get you back to Indy. Just come back. Talk. Yeah?”

  “No,” I repeated.

  His expression changed.

  “Why are you here?”

  Why was I there?

  Good question.

  “I don’t know,” I told him.

  “You heard the album.”

  Yes.

  Oh yes.

  I’d heard the album.

  “Night Lies” was my favorite.

  That was why I was there.

  “This was a bad idea,” I said to Jesse, pulling at my arm.

  “There’s a reason you’re here and there’s a reason why Preach did not walk right by you and get in that bus and go on with his night and leave you in his rearview. Now,” he let me go, “it’s up to you whether you want me to fix it so you both can sort out whatever shit is goin’ down.”

  I turned and started walking away.

  I stopped when Jesse jumped in front of me.

  “Shit, I didn’t think you’d go,” he muttered.

  “Get out of my way, please,” I requested.

  “Listen, Lyla—”

  “You know, he got it wrong, and you know, he could have freaking called to know how wrong he was getting it.”

  I then moved to sidestep Jesse because I really did not like the look on his face when I said all that.

  “Okay, okay, yeah,” he said, walking beside me. “I think he got it wrong, Lyla. Let me make it so he can make it right.”

  “I don’t want him to make it right,” I lied.

  “Okay, my girl is here from Indy and I haven’t seen her in months and I’m out here with you, without a coat, and it’s fuckin’ cold, and it’s about to rain, and I’d rather be in there with her, so do me a solid here, yeah? Come back with me.”

  I kept walking, with him beside me, and pointed out, “I’m not stopping you from going back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I had no idea.

  Damn.

  I stopped and looked around.

  Then I looked to him.

  “Do you know anything about train tickets?’

  His chin shifted back into his neck. “Say what?”

  “Train tickets. Like, if you have one for one time, can you get on one for another time?”

  “When’s your train leave?”

  I was not telling him that.

  “Do you know the answer to my question?”

  “No.”

  Again.

  Why did I come to Chicago?

  I looked him in the eyes. “Go back to your girl, Jesse.”

  “When’s your train leave, Lyla?”

  I changed my mind in order to answer and hopefully end this conversation.

  “Tomorrow at ten,” I told him. “And I just need to get to the station and hang out until then.”

  “That’s a lot of hours from now.”

  Whatever.

  I made to walk again but Jesse stepped in front of me.

  “You can’t be a girl alone waiting all night in the train station in Chicago.”

  He was right.

  But this was my only choice because I was a huge idiot.

  I was wrong about that night in that motel room.

  Preacher McCade wasn’t what he’d convinced me he was.

  He was what I’d thought he was when I first saw him and that band.

  A rock stud out to get laid.

  Okay, so he was an insanely good-looking rock stud.

  But he was a rock stud.

  And I didn’t need this.

  Not now.

  Especially not now.

  He’d already kicked me when I was down…twice.

  No, counting him pretending to be what he was not in that motel room, it was three times.

  So, I definitely did not need this.

  Oh yes.

  I was a huge idiot.

  “We have a suite,” Jesse said. “We’ll take the bed, you take the couch, and I’ll get you in a taxi tomorrow to meet your train. Deal?”

  “I’m not going to cramp your style with your girl and I’m not getting anywhere near Preacher.”

  He lifted his hands up to his sides, palms out in the “don’t shoot” gesture and shook his head. “No Preacher.” He crossed his heart. “My vow. And we got a door.” He grinned. “And we’ll be quiet.”

  I blew out a breath and looked beyond him. “You shouldn’t need to be quiet, reunited with your girl.”

  “She isn’t loud anyway, Lyla,” he cajoled. “Come on. Yeah?”

  I studied him, and as I did, I realized it was going to rain and it was scary cold as only Chicago could be.

  And I probably would be okay, hanging all night at the train station.

  But then again, maybe I wouldn’t.

  And what happened when you took a taxi and couldn’t pay?

  Did they arrest you?

  “No Preacher?” I asked dubiously.

  His face got hard. “Way he played tonight, babe. No Preacher. No fuckin’ way. That’s a promise.”

  I didn’t know where the L was.

  I might not have enough money for a taxi.

  It was cold.

  My train didn’t leave for at least nine hours.

  It was about to rain.

  And I was a massive idiot, coming to Chicago without any emergency cash, not even knowing why I was there.

  “I’m out of there if he shows,” I muttered, turning back and deciding I liked Jesse because he looked very relieved, and I was telling myself this was because he was getting me out of the cold.

  “He won’t show,” Jesse assured me.

  He fell in step beside me again as we walked back.

  [Off tape]

  Do you know who told Preacher that you were there?

  Yes.

  Josh.

  I would not put it past that guy to follow Jesse when he chased after me.<
br />
  But I saw him in the lobby when we came back, watching.

  Everyone thinks it’s because he mouthed off to the press, that was why he was kicked out of the band.

  But it wasn’t.

  That was just the excuse Preacher used.

  As contradictory as it was, and Preacher could be that, it was because Jesse had made me a promise, even if, in the end, it was a promise Preacher wouldn’t have wanted him to keep.

  But Josh made it so Jess couldn’t keep it.

  And Preacher was all about keeping promises.

  That is why Josh was kicked out of the band.

  Because he’s…a fucking…sneak.

  And Preacher McCade could not abide a sneak.

  Jesse introduced me to his girl.

  Her name was Cynthia.

  And I did not like her.

  I hid that from her and Jesse because really, it was none of my business.

  In a few hours, I’d be out of there anyway.

  I realized right away that it wasn’t that she didn’t want me around, I would have gotten that.

  She didn’t care I was around.

  Watching her, I could see she wanted to go back up to the big suite and party with the band.

  Now, if Preacher was mine like I thought he was after that night we’d shared, and I hadn’t seen him in months, I would not want to party with anyone.

  I’d just want Preacher.

  Jesse got her talked into their room behind the doors and I threw down my bag, took off my coat and wondered if it’d be uncool to call Amber or Jen.

  They could drive up and get me faster than it’d take for me to catch my train.

  And they would.

  But it was a long-distance call, and no doubt the hotel charged for those, and the band was big time now so a little charge to Indy probably was no big deal to them.

  But that was not how I rolled.

  And anyway, it was a lot to ask Amber or Jen.

  So, I’d made my decision, I was going to stick with it.

  I’d borrow some cash from Jesse to get to the station in the morning, I’d ask him where I could send the money to pay him back and I’d sleep in a hotel suite for the first time in my life.

  On the couch.

  That was okay by me.

  It wasn’t in a big train station with strangers milling around me.

  And I wasn’t wandering out in the cold in the middle of the night, trying to find the L.

  Of course, this was what I told myself, but I knew no way I could sleep.

  Preacher was close to me.

  I closed my eyes tight then opened them and walked to the window.

  I leaned my shoulder against it, then my head.

  Okay, it didn’t suck, staring at Jesse’s view of Chicago, which was awesome.

  My head thudded on the window, I jumped so bad when there was a hammering on the door.

  “Jesse! Open the fuck up!”

  “Ohmigod, Preacher,” I whispered, standing frozen and staring at the door.

  More hammering and, “Jesse! Open the motherfucking door!”

  Jesse opened a door, the one to the bedroom, and came careening out of it in his jeans, no shirt, no shoes.

  Okay, evidence was pointing at the fact I should have braved the cold and rain and milling strangers in a train station.

  “I’ll get rid of him,” he assured me as he hightailed it to the door.

  “Okay, just to say, this is not a fun party,” Cynthia, in panties and a bra with smeared lip gloss, pouted from the doorway to the bedroom.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes on her.

  Jesse was opening the door.

  “Preach—” he stared.

  He got no further as Preacher shouldered in, and he was a big guy, I figured his shoulder could get him in anywhere he wanted to go.

  No problem, an open door.

  I thought this as I stared at him standing in the same room with me and tried really hard to breathe.

  “Are you shitting me?” Preacher asked Jesse, but his eyes were on me.

  How I knew he was asking Jesse was anyone’s guess.

  But Jesse knew it too, because he answered.

  “Listen, she’s just crashing on my couch until I can get her to the station tomorrow. Her train takes off at ten.”

  “Get out,” Preacher ordered, his eyes still glued to me.

  And again, I knew he was talking to Jesse.

  So did Jesse.

  “Preach—” Jesse started.

  Preacher shoved something Jesse’s way. “Here’s my key, use my room, and get out.”

  “Preach, I pro—”

  “Get out!” he roared in Jesse’s face.

  Jesse stood solid and stared at him.

  Then he said, “Talk to her.”

  I closed my eyes.

  Boy, he gave in easy.

  “Yeah, we’ll talk,” Preacher snarled.

  “Get your clothes, babe,” Jesse called to Cynthia.

  I opened my eyes and I watched Preacher the whole time Jesse and Cynthia did their thing.

  “I don’t need clothes, baby.”

  “Get your clothes.”

  “I just took them off.”

  “Jesus, seriously?”

  “We can party here. The more, the merrier.”

  “Okay, no. Grab my shirt and boots and get over here. We’ll party upstairs.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The second the door closed behind them, I walked to my coat.

  It was ripped out of my hand the instant my fingers closed around it.

  I looked up at Preacher.

  And really.

  Really.

  It sucked he was so beautiful.

  That thick dark hair, those warm brown eyes.

  I was tall.

  Very tall.

  He was taller.

  Tall and built enough to accommodate three groupies.

  “I’m leaving,” I told him.

  “Why, baby?” he asked, crossing his arms on his chest with my trench still in one hand. “You got me.” He jerked his head toward the bedroom. “We got the equipment. Let’s get down to why you came to Chicago.”

  I had never in my life been punched.

  But that felt like one.

  Right to the gut.

  Okay…

  Why had I come to Chicago?

  “Give me my coat,” I snapped.

  “You can have it after a blowjob.”

  I winced.

  And now I had a new question.

  How was I so wrong about this guy?

  “Give me my coat, Preacher,” I demanded.

  “Told you how you can get it.”

  “Give me my coat, Preacher,” I repeated.

  “All right, you suck me, I’ll eat you, we’re even. That what you want?”

  I slammed my hands on my hips.

  “Why are you being like this?” I asked.

  He leaned into me threateningly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I met a girl, my girl. She listened to me in the dark. She shared with me in the dark. But really, she thinks I’m a loser creep in a rock band who rolls into town and all I want’s in her pants, and she’s got no time for me. But now that I’m opening for the Mustangs, she finds her way to Chicago and all the way backstage to try and get her hooks in me.”

  He.

  Did.

  Not.

  “She died.”

  He blinked.

  “Headaches,” I went on. “It started with that. She just thought they were headaches. Couldn’t get rid of one for three days, she went to the doctor. In three more days, she knew she had a brain tumor. In three months, she was dead.”

  Preacher stood still as a statue.

  “And I’d met this guy, right? He listened to me in the dark. He shared with me in the dark. My guy.”

  I pounded my chest so hard, it made a noise, and his head jerked a little to the side with his flinch.

  “My guy, exc
ept he doesn’t call me. He promises he’s gonna be back for my birthday, and then he’s not. Months and months, he doesn’t call me until he rolls into town and I think he wants in my pants, except, you see, I don’t have time to let him have that because I’m burying my mother.”

  I was breathing really hard as I made to move around him.

  “You can keep the coat,” I spat.

  And then he was in front of me.

  “Baby.”

  I kept going, sidestepping him toward the door.

  “Keep away from me, Preacher.”

  “Lyla.”

  I was almost to the door.

  He wrapped his fingers around my arm.

  I whirled on him. “Take your hand off me!”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “You thought I came up here because you’re opening for the Mustangs? I hate the Mustangs. They suck. Petty wannabes. And Petty sucks!”

  “Now, cher, don’t be talkin’ smack about Petty,” he muttered.

  Was he serious?

  “Get your hand off me, Preacher McCade.”

  “Come back into the room. Let’s talk.”

  “We are not talking.”

  “Lyla—”

  I got up on my toes, as close to his face as I could get, and snapped, “Screw you! I needed to talk to you a year ago. I needed you when she was diagnosed. I needed you when she was dying. I needed you when Dad started pulling his crap.”

  “What’d your dad try to do?” he growled.

  “He didn’t try to do it. He did do it. He’s got Julia.”

  His face turned to stone, then it gentled, and he tried to pull me to him, murmuring, “Baby.”

  I pulled hard back, got free, slammed against the door, banging my head.

  And then I was in his arms.

  Oh God.

  Oh God.

  Those arms.

  Those strong arms.

  They felt so good.

  I couldn’t bear it.

  My legs gave out and I started crying.

  Bawling.

  God!

  He somehow got me across the room and on the couch, and I pushed at him and tried to pull away.

  But he clamped on tight, fell sideways, I went with him, then he rolled on top and he was heavy.

  A heavy that felt awesome.

  Damn it.

  “Okay, Lyla, okay, cher, cool it enough to tell me what’s happening.”

  “He-he…she wasn’t even in the dirt before he petitioned for custody. G-g-gram and Gramps t-t-tried to fight him but, money was tight, and our l-lawyer wasn’t very g-good and…and…her senior year! She’s with Dad!”

  I gulped, choked, coughed, hiccupped, then kept bawling.