by Jamie Shaw
“Yeah, right,” Danica scoffs, and when I just stare at her, she rolls her eyes. “They have some stupid bro code or something,” she explains as she combs her fingers through the smooth hair hanging over her shoulder. “Mike was always in love with me, so Adam wouldn’t go for it. Believe me, I tried.”
I don’t even know how to respond to that, and I apparently don’t need to because Danica orders, “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Why are we even here?”
I can guess, but I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Now, I’m tired, I’m bored, I’m cold, and any sense of self-preservation I had got smashed somewhere inside the pit of Mayhem. I don’t care if I make her mad or that she has the power to make my life hell—I just want an explanation for why I smell like armpit and can’t feel the tips of my fingers.
“I want Mike.”
“Why?”
“I miss him,” she lies. I can tell because she smiles when she says it. It’s her sweet smile—the one she uses to get what she wants from her rich father, a smile that’s too sweet. It’s the same kind she gave me tonight when she asked if she could wear my hoodie “for a minute,” even though we both knew she had no intention of giving it back.
I cross my arms tight over my thin thermal to ward off the cold, and Danica must be able to see the doubt on my face, because she continues explaining.
“Mike was an amazing boyfriend,” she insists. “He treated me like a princess. He used to carry my books and bring me little gifts. On Valentine’s Day, he always put flowers in my locker.”
Her smile softens into something almost genuine, but it disappears when I ask, “Then why’d you dump him?”
In that condescending, usual tone of hers, she says, “Because we were graduating and he wasn’t doing anything with his life. He was totally broke, but he wouldn’t even think about going to college. He didn’t have real goals. He was just a loser in some stupid little garage band.”
Judging by the legion of fans jammed in front of the stage earlier tonight, it’s clear he did have real goals and he’s accomplished them with his “stupid little garage band,” but I don’t bother pointing that out. I also don’t bother pointing out that Danica dropped out of college after only one semester and has spent the past six years living off of her parents’ credit cards.
Sixty years ago, our grandparents bought a farm. Twenty-six years ago, her dad and my mom inherited it, and my parents made it their home. Fourteen years ago, Danica’s parents made a lot of smart connections and investments, breaking into the corporate level of the livestock business, making a fortune, and moving far away from our small town and the modest plot of land that started it all. Now, Danica works for their company when it suits her.
My parents and younger brother still live on the same small farm our grandparents bought, and up until two months ago, so did I.
“And this has nothing to do with what Adam said at the beginning of the show about their band signing a big record deal?” I challenge, and Danica’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t bother arguing with me. Instead, movement toward the club steals her attention, and her almond eyes swing toward Mayhem.
Seven people walk across the dark parking lot toward the buses. Adam and a girl under his arm. Shawn and the female guitarist, Kit. Joel and a bombshell in high heels. And Mike.
Danica strips off my oversized hoodie before any of them can see her in it, tossing it to the ground and running toward her ex. “MIKE!”
It’s like a scene out of a movie. Her long legs race across the parking lot. Her hair flies in the wind behind her. She jumps into her ex’s arms.
But when his arms should lift to wrap around her—so he can spin her around like any good movie heartthrob would—Mike’s simply hang motionless at his sides.
I stop brushing the dirt and dried leaves off my green Ivy Tech hoodie—the one my parents bought me one Christmas when they couldn’t afford to get me much else—to watch the curious scene in front of me.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Danica squeals, and the female guitarist makes a sound that causes Shawn to tighten his arm around her. Her black eyes are murderous, and I notice that the rest of the band looks more or less the same. They watch Mike and Danica like the scene unfolding before them is a horribly offensive horror movie instead of the timeless romance Danica wants it to be.
I watch too, and when Mike’s arms eventually lift to hug Danica back, I sigh and return to inspecting my hoodie. There’s a stain on the sleeve. It smears as I rub my thumb over it.
“What are you doing here?” Mike asks, and Danica flippantly tells him that she lives here now as she moves on to hug the rest of the guys. She puts on a performance worthy of an Oscar, and it doesn’t falter until Shawn steps out of reach when she tries to catch him in her arms.
“What are you doing at our show?” he asks.
“I wanted to see Mike.” She pouts without casting Mike even a second glance.
“Why?” When Mike speaks, it strikes me how well his voice suits him. It sounds like it belongs to someone with big brown eyes, thick brown hair, and sculpted arms. He’s hotter than Adam, even if Danica can’t see it, and I find myself feeling irritated—maybe because someone like him would love someone like Danica, maybe because someone like Danica would never love him as much, maybe because I’m tired and it’s freaking cold and I smell like someone else’s BO and my favorite hoodie in the world has a freaking stain on the sleeve and I have to go home tonight with the bitch who put it there.
“Yeah, Dani, why?”
She glares over her shoulder at the sound of her childhood nickname—the one that started getting under her skin when she decided it was too boyish—and I try not to stare down at my shoes.
Since we moved in together over the summer, I’ve held my tongue. I’ve been her housemaid, her personal chef, her babysitter, and her doormat. It’s the price I’ve had to pay for the roof her family puts over our heads and the tuition they pay on my behalf. But three hours of waiting in line tonight, followed by five hours of no personal space and then two more hours of ass freezing, has severely compromised my filter. Which is a dangerous, dangerous thing.
I’m thankful when she lets my comment go and instead gives her attention back to Mike. “Can we talk?”
His expression is unreadable as he stares at her. I look for the guy who was in love with her, the one who put flowers in her locker. I look for the rock star I saw onstage tonight, the one who could have had any girl he wanted. I look for the dreamer, the one who knew better than to let Danica hold him back.
But they’re all locked behind guarded brown eyes, and I stop looking for them when Mike says, “Sure,” and leads Danica toward the bus.
Chapter 3
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I taunt as I creep up on an enemy stronghold with a small but coveted weapon in my hand—a satellite phone linked to Command.
“Your mom’s too busy sucking my dick for me to go to bed,” the prepubescent voice in my headphones quips, and a bunch of other little boys laugh belligerently while a smile sneaks onto my face.
My thumbs move over the game controller in my hand, and with one final push of a button, an ungodly loud alarm begins to sound in the game.
“OH MY GOD,” the first boy screams over the wailing alarm. The screen is flashing red with the sound, and I try to smack-talk through my laughter as the rest of the boys descend into panic.
“What’s that you were saying about my mom?”
“HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET FUCKING AIR SUPPORT!” another boy yells, and on the TV screen in front of me, I watch as a group of camouflaged soldiers flee the distant building.
“Too late, newbs!” I shout as the whoosh of an Apache helicopter nears. A second later, deafening gunfire begins cutting down everyone in front of me, and the cries of little boys on the other end of my headphones warms my cruel, unmerciful heart.
I’m laughing hysterically as they shout a ca
cophony of curse words and accusations of me being a hacker, when the air inside the tour bus changes and I lift my eyes to see its door opening.
I’ve been alone on the bus for hours now. The first to leave were Mike and Danica, when she ran a finger over his arm and asked if they could talk in private. I guessed she was tired of the looks everyone was giving her, since it was obvious Mike’s band and its entourage all hate her, but I doubted that what she had on her mind was “talking.” I’m not sure if seeing Mike up close changed something for her, or if she’s simply a very talented actress, but once we were all on the bus together, she barely paid Adam, Shawn, or Joel another glance. And the heat she threw at Mike must have worked, because he took her to a different bus in the parking lot, and they haven’t been seen or heard from since.
I passed the time by playing war games with Adam’s girlfriend, Rowan, on a flat-screen TV in the main sitting area, until two by two, everyone left to get some sleep. I assured them I’d be fine on my own while I waited for Danica, and I lost track of time as I slayed preteens who had no idea what they were in for.
Now, I set my headphones and controller down on the bench beside me and watch as Mike steps onto the bus, his hair disheveled and his eyes cast down. The door closes behind him, and I realize Danica’s not with him.
“Where’s Danica?” I ask, and Mike’s tired eyes slowly lift when he realizes he’s not alone.
“Sleeping.” His voice sounds as exhausted as he looks, the air whooshing from the gray leather bench as he sinks into a seat across from me. His elbows come to rest heavy on his knees, and he rubs his fingers roughly over his eyes. “She fell asleep after . . .” He trails off, shaking his head to himself. I don’t need him to finish the end of that sentence, and I’m glad when he doesn’t. “It might be a while.”
I should ask if she drank too much, or if she’s safe sleeping alone on the other bus. But as I stare across the aisle at this man I don’t know, at the way his broad shoulders slump like they’re carrying an impossible weight, I find myself asking instead, “Are you okay?”
It’s a silly question. He’s a rock star. He obviously just got laid. Of course he’s okay.
But when he lifts his chin, the look in his eyes makes me think that he’s not.
“I need a beer” is the only answer he gives me as he rises to his feet. “Do you want anything?”
He walks toward the back of the bus without waiting for me to ask any more stupid questions about things that aren’t my business, but before he crosses through the divider, I tell him I’ll take whatever he’s got.
I resume playing the game on the screen, and when Mike returns with two beers in hand, I set mine beside me and give him my thanks, all without taking my right hand off the controller or my eyes off the screen. I’m probably going to be waiting for Danica for a long, long time. I might as well make the most of it.
“This is Deadzone Five,” Mike observes as he watches me play, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
“Shit,” I say as I continue playing. “Are you the one beta testing this? I thought it was Rowan.”
“You managed to get air support?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Yeah. And I found a bug. I can keep—”
I trail off after glancing at him again. His eyebrows are tightly knit, and he’s staring at me like I’ve sprouted tentacles out of my ears.
“Sorry,” I say as I set the controller down. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I’ve been trying to get air support for weeks!” he interrupts with nothing but awe in his voice. I hide my smile behind a simple explanation.
“I’m pretty good.”
“You’d have to be! Holy shit.”
That forlorn expression is gone from his face, and this time, I let myself grin. “And there’s a glitch that lets me keep using it. Do you want to see it in action?”
I hand Mike the headset, and when the alarms in the game start sounding and the screen flashes red, his face brightens with excitement. I can hear the frantic screams of ten-year-olds from his headphones, and when Mike starts laughing, I do too.
“Do me a favor?” I ask, and when he waits for me to continue, I say, “Tell PussySlayer69 that my mom says hello.”
Mike laughs so hard, he sends himself into a coughing fit. “Oh my God, that little shit has been working on my nerves for weeks.” He pulls the mouthpiece to his lips and says, “Hey Kyle, you realize you’re getting your ass handed to you by a girl over here, right? Her mom says hi.”
I can’t make out what Kyle is saying, but I can hear his signature high-pitched screaming, and judging by the way Mike doubles over with laughter, it must be good. I’m beaming with pride when Mike finally sits back up and lets out a satisfied sigh. “That was amazing. I needed that.”
“Rough night?” I joke, but Mike’s smile falls away, and I curse my stupid mouth.
Not my business, not my business, not my business. Danica’s business is so not my business, it’s not even on the same map. She is Antarctica, and I am the moon.
“Your name is Hailey, right?” Mike asks.
I nod, still trying to think of a way to erase the last thirty seconds of our conversation.
“I’m sorry for being such an asshole, Hailey. I didn’t know you’d end up on your own here all night.”
“It’s alright—” I start, but Mike shakes his head.
“No, it’s not. I wasn’t thinking.”
The sincerity in his gaze makes me swallow hard, and when he frowns at my silence, I shake my head. If anyone should feel bad about tonight, it’s Danica. She made me drive her here, forced me to follow her around like her personal butler for hours, and then fell the hell asleep. “Really, it’s okay. I haven’t been alone for long. I spent most of the night gaming with Rowan.”
Mike stares at me a moment longer before a small smile graces his face again. “She’s pretty good too. She can wipe the floor with me half the time.”
It’s true—she was pretty awesome, both in the game and out of it. We apparently go to the same school, so we exchanged numbers and made plans to have lunch together—along with Joel’s girlfriend, Dee—on campus on Wednesday. It’s the only good thing I got out of tonight.
“Not as good as me though,” I brag, and Mike chuckles.
“No, you’re something else. I still can’t believe you got air support in, what, just a few hours.”
I lift my beer bottle into the air for a toast, and he clinks his to mine.
“I play DZ4 with my little brother a lot,” I explain.
“And you’re Danica’s cousin, right?” he asks after taking a long sip of his beer. When I nod, he adds, “She never mentioned she had any cousins.”
I take another drink, remembering the way she just tossed my favorite hoodie on the ground. It’s currently lying wet in the bathroom sink of the bus. Shawn tried to help me get the stain out of the sleeve, but we only made it worse.
“Probably because she’s a self-centered bitch who doesn’t think about anyone but herself,” I spit, and as soon as the bitter truth leaves my mouth, my eyes go wide and my lips clamp shut.
I can’t believe I just said that. Out loud. To the very guy she just finished doing God-knows-what with not more than twenty minutes ago. I’ve lost my damn mind.
I hold my breath while Mike stares at me, and then he gives me an amused smile and teases, “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”
I take a humongous swallow from my bottle to clear the even bigger lump in my throat. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t mean to insult your girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend,” he repeats, frowning. He sits back against the leather seat and lets his head fall back. “Tonight is so fucked.”
I repeat my mantra. Not my business, not my business, not my business.
“Do you want another beer?” I ask, dropping my eyes from the dusting of stubble on his chin to his empty bottle. Mike is an enigma.
A rock star who doesn’t hook up with groupies. A guy who just got laid, yet acts like someone just died. I don’t know what’s bothering him, but even if I asked, I’m guessing I wouldn’t understand. The guy was in love with Danica, and that’s something I could never comprehend regardless of how many years I spent playing tour bus psychiatrist.
“There’s not enough beer in the world,” he answers, but I hand him what’s left of mine before taking his empty bottle and walking in the direction of the kitchenette in the back. I know I can’t get involved, so instead, I do the next best thing.
“Where are you going?” Mike asks, sitting up.
“To see if you have anything stronger than beer.”
Chapter 4
When Danica steps onto the bus early the following morning, Mike and I are sitting shoulder to shoulder in an open space on the aisle floor, game controllers in hand, beer and liquor bottles littering the benches surrounding us. He’s drunk, I’m overtired, and the combination of us has resulted in a night filled with so many laughs, I have a permanent cramp in my side and the muscles in my cheeks ache.
“Hey, Danica,” Mike says after a glance toward the door, “watch this.”
He activates the air support, and when the alarms in the game begin wailing, so do we. We’ve been doing this for the past couple hours, but it’s still the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I struggle to mimic the sound through the snorts that interrupt my laughter. They make Mike laugh even harder, which makes me laugh even harder, which makes us an absolute mess.
I’m laughing, crying, and snorting when I make the mistake of glancing at Danica, and then I’m choking. She’s looking a little worse for wear—with finger-brushed hair and day-old makeup—but is still gorgeous in a black top that clings to her curves, skintight jeans that hug her legs, and knee-high boots that are probably worth more than every shitty hand-me-down car I’ve ever owned.
