“Kirstie, Kirstie, Kirstie,” West teases.
“What? She keeps me grounded.” Simon gives me a nod. “I’ll be seeing you around, Eve.”
I smile. “Definitely.”
West gets a text then and checks his phone. “I’m going out with some buddies in about an hour. You want to join us? You can bring that friend of yours, Anne was it?”
I find myself nodding to the Anne part, but not to the other. Part of me wants to and part of me doesn’t. So I say, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
He squints at me. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay, maybe some other time.”
“Maybe,” I agree, wondering if I really mean that. Go out with West and his friends? I can’t even imagine that.
He offers me a grin. “You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I honestly tell him.
His eyes widen and then he laughs, and my organs do all sort of flip-flopping.
“Honesty. Hm. I think I like you even more, Green Eyes.”
My cheeks get all hot again right as Ms. Kelly comes up to the side. “West, a word?”
He gives me a little wave, and I send him a small one, too, as I watch them walk through the crowd and toward the door. And though I try not to let it, a sigh escapes me as I watch him exit the room.
Yep, I’ve officially got a crush on West Wolf.
A couple more hours come and go, and I’m definitely disappointed that West never returns. As I’m cleaning up, I get a text from Anne. Heading to hotel. You good?
Good, I text back and catch site of an email notification from Bluma’s fake account. A lump begins to form in my gut as my finger floats above the window. We agreed not to contact each other unless absolutely necessary. This can’t be good.
The lump transitions into something bigger, thicker, and I think I might be sick as I touch my finger to the screen and read:
His team found your hair in the garbage @ the bus station. They know you took a bus!
Chapter Five
Numbly I head outside, the phone gripped in my hand, and stand for a few minutes just looking around the mostly empty amphitheater. Trash scatters the lawn along with several stragglers passed out on picnic blankets.
I blink my tired eyes, already knowing this will be another one of those sleepless nights for me, reliving memories I’m so ready to let go of. I don’t want to think about Bluma’s message. I want to pretend I didn’t see it. I want to pretend I’m someone else.
There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.
Gideon’s voice sneaks in, and I mentally shove him right back out. What was I thinking leaving my hair in the garbage? I should’ve bagged it and taken it with me.
So his people know I took a bus. But there were a lot of buses leaving all throughout the late night and early morning. His people would’ve shown my picture around, but I don’t look anything like my old self.
But let’s say they figured out what bus I took. I changed lines several times to cover my tracks. I was so careful. So methodical. No, no there’s no way they know I’m here. What I need is to get back to the hotel, wake up, and get on the road to the next city. I just need to keep moving.
I catch sight of Ford down by the soundboard and hurry toward him. He doesn’t hear me at first he’s so concentrated on whatever he’s listening to through his head set, and so I quietly observe as he slides a few bars and turns some knobs. I think about the mixing software Bluma downloaded for me and that I played with when I was allowed to visit her home. But to actually have my hands on a real live board like this. I can just imagine the adrenaline rush that comes with the quick thinking of mixing a live show.
Ford looks up then, startling us both. “What are you still doing here?”
“I need a ride back to the hotel. I was cleaning the VIP room, and everyone left.”
He nods. “Give me a sec, and I’ll take you over.”
“Okay.” I back off a few yards and watch as he continues making adjustments to the board.
He finally powers down and grabs his stuff, and I follow him out to an SUV. Neither one of us talks as he drives me the few miles down the road to the hotel. A few minutes later I walk into the room I share with Anne and hear her in the shower.
I dig the duct tape from my duffel and press a piece over the peep hole. The one in my bedroom wasn’t covered, and for now I need to do this to feel safe.
Grabbing the guitar Bluma gave me, I stretch out on my bed and strum a few chords trying to calm my jittery body and rattled mind, and as I look up at the beige painted ceiling I whisper a desperate, intense declaration, “I’m free, and I will stay that way.”
Chapter Six
I toss all night, wake in a cold sweat, and finally get up at six. There are still hours yet before we leave for Memphis, so I pull on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, grab my ball cap, and make my way out into the weak light of early morning. I love the early mornings when no one’s around, and it’s just me and the pavement. I like the solitude and the peacefulness, the speed, wind, and independence. The freedom. There’s really nothing like it.
Still though, I scan the area as I go through my warm up stretches, looking for anything or anyone odd. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
“Morning, Green Eyes,” comes a familiar voice, and I glance over my shoulder to see West standing propped against the wall. “You look a little tired,” he says.
And he looks a little too bright and friendly for someone who supposedly went out with some friends after the VIP thing and is now up at six in the morning for—I check out his shorts and snug T-shirt—a run, too.
I look down at my exposed limbs and resist the overwhelming desire to cover them. Up until a month ago, I had never worn or owned a pair of shorts or jeans. Dresses. It had always been dresses. Women must always maintain their modesty. They must never tempt men to sin.
West smiles, having no clue of course that Gideon is echoing through my thoughts, and I watch as West bends to tie his shoe. This is all so normal for him—the flirting, the grinning, the friendliness and openness. I wonder if this is who he really is, or if this is his rock star default.
He finishes with that shoe and goes to the other, and I use the moment to openly stare at him. At his black hair that curls out a little from his ball cap, at the stubble peppering his jaw, and at his lightly hairy legs. The tattoo twining his arm draws my attention again, and I find myself wondering how far up it goes under his shirt sleeve.
The fact is this is the first person of the opposite sex I’ve now had several ongoing conversations with. All things aside, so far I’m proud of myself. I haven’t been too weird around him.
At least I hope.
He stands back up, reaches in his pocket, and pulls out two pieces of gum. “Here, I always chew when I run.”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
He gives me an amused look. “What? No candy from strangers or some such thing?”
“No.” I chuckle. “Just don’t want any.”
West unwraps his piece and pops it in his mouth. He closes his eyes as he rolls it around, chewing it, savoring it. “Mm,” he moans. “Cinnamon, my favorite.”
He’s got to be overdoing that. No one likes cinnamon gum that much.
His eyes open back up. “You sure you don’t want your piece?”
I try to act normal, but end up holding out my hand. He ignores it as he steps toward me, unwrapping the gum, and holds it up to my lips. I open my mouth in response, I’m not sure why, and he places the cinnamon stick on my tongue. The pressure is slight, but every tiny muscle in my mouth seems to dance in response.
He steps back. “Ready?”
I blink, confused by what just happened, and I do the only thing that comes to mind. I turn away and jog off.
A good solid minute passes, and he appears at my side. “Was the gum that bad?” he asks laughing.
I chuckle and shake my head, wishing I was b
etter at all of this. “No, it’s fine.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Because I’m not sure we can be friends if you don’t like cinnamon gum.”
I’m so glad he keeps things light and funny. “I love cinnamon,” I assure him, and we both smile.
“So,” he says a few seconds later, “how long have you been a runner?”
“Only a month now.”
“A newbie! Well, welcome to the club.”
“Thanks.” Growing up I always saw runners out and about and envied them. It was one of the first things I did when I was free. I took the running shoes Bluma bought me and just…ran.
“My one piece of advice would be to breathe.”
I laugh at that. “Um, thanks.”
“No, seriously! So many people forget to breathe. And the best way to train yourself is to talk while you run.”
“Is that your way of telling me we’re going to be talking the whole time?” I tease.
“Well, don’t sound so excited,” he teases back, and I smile. “So do you go every day?” he asks.
“Pretty much.”
“Me, too. For me it’s the only time my thoughts are calm.”
I nod my agreement. Calm. It’s the same way for me—running and music keep me calm.
“And the guitar,” he adds on. “That chills me out, too.”
A couple quiet seconds pass then, and I use the time to scan the street we’re running on. To the right sits a gated community, to the left an upscale mall that is empty at this hour, straight ahead a car comes toward us and passes. If this were a weekday, this street would probably be packed with people driving to work.
I glance over to West and catch him looking at me. Quickly, I run through the last few sentences we had trying to figure out if he’s waiting for me to answer something.
“You’re not a girl of a lot of words, are you?”
I was taught not to speak unless spoken to, but I don’t say this and instead wipe a bead of sweat trickling down my cheek. “I talk,” I say, a little breathless now from the pace. “I talk, I suppose, when I have something to say.”
“And I talk just to hear my gorgeous voice.”
I cut him a sideways glance.
“Kidding!” he laughs and signals us to turn at an upcoming corner. “If you’re going to be around me much, you’ll learn to take me with a granule of sugar.”
“Not salt?”
“That’s what my Gramma always says about me. Sugar ‘cause I’m so sweet.”
I smile at that, imagining what kind of grandmother he must have. I bet she’s just as friendly and funny as West is. In my periphery, I catch him looking at me again and glance over. “Yes?”
He squints his eyes, giving me a quick survey. “You’re really tall. What are you, five-ten?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m six-two. That’s good. I won’t break my neck for a kiss.”
I nearly stumble. “What?”
“Kidding again!” He laughs.
I chuckle, too. It’s hard not to be amused around this guy. He’s just so…out there about everything.
”Where you from?” he asks on a puff a breath.
“Nowhere,” I answer.
“Everybody’s from somewhere.”
“I move around a lot.” Wanting to steer the conversation away from me, I ask, “How long has Bus Stop been together?”
“Since I was thirteen, so six years now.”
I nod while I continue running beside him, trying to keep my breaths even, and scanning the neighborhood we just turned into. There’s an elderly guy over to the right sweeping his sidewalk, a woman on her porch sipping coffee, and a couple loading their kids into a car. Nothing seems out of order. Nothing seems strange.
“So,” West interrupts my thoughts, “what instrument do you play?”
“What makes you think I play?”
“Most roadies do.” He gives me a sideways study. “Let’s see. Cymbals?” He shakes his head. “No. Spoons.” He shakes his head again. “Nah. Jug blowing.” He nods. “Yeah. That’s you.”
I laugh. “Guitar. I fiddle around a bit.”
“No kidding? I knew there was something about you I liked.”
“But what I really—”, I begin and then stop, curious as to why I feel comfortable enough to tell West about mixing and the soundboard.
“What you really?” he prompts.
“I don’t know,” I quietly say, like if I admit it out loud somehow Gideon will hear it and squash it. “I’ve…I’ve tinkered with mixing a little bit. I mean, nothing like Ford’s board of course, but that’s more what I’m into.”
“Then you need to talk to Ford and see if he’ll let you shadow him.”
Hope surges through me. “You think?”
“I definitely think.”
We round the corner back to the hotel and outside the lobby we take a second to walk off the run and stretch, and the whole time I think about the last few sentences we exchanged. I wonder if I really should approach Ford.
Then I start thinking about West and how nice he’s been to me, and I just don’t get it. I don’t get him. He doesn’t even know me and he’s so friendly to me.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask, before I can filter the rude question.
He stops walking and turns. “Did you really just ask me that?”
“Yes…”
West stares at me a silent, bewildered moment and I wish I could take the question back. “Because, Eve, I’m a nice guy. It’s who I am. Ask anybody. I’m fun and lighthearted. I like to meet people and hear their stories.”
Fun and lighthearted. And I’m anything but, yet I want to be that way…someday.
“Plus, you seem a little lonely. And sad. If anyone could use a friend and a hug, I’d say it’s you.”
He thinks I’m sad and lonely? That’s horrifying. “I don’t need you to be nice to me.”
His eyes narrow, and just when I think I’ve irritated him, the corners of his lips curl up in that great way I’m quickly learning they do. “You’re real, and that’s not easy to find in this business. Also, you seem oblivious to my charm, and have I mentioned your great green eyes?”
It takes me a second to digest the mood change and what he just said. He thinks I’m real? That’s a laugh.
“You’re one of those natural girls,” he continues. “Though I think you should go back to your real blond. That red doesn’t suit you. That is I’m assuming you’re a blonde under all that?”
The red wasn’t meant to “suit” me. It’s meant to hide me. Unease settles around my shoulders as Bluma’s email comes back to me. They know about my hair.
He laughs, breaking my thoughts up. “You make me want to share my gum with you again, and I don’t just share with anybody.”
A nervous laugh fizzes around and comes out gravelly. “You’re definitely unlike any guy I’ve ever met before.”
“I’ll take that as a total compliment,” West says on a bow and I can’t help but smile. I would’ve never thought I’d find it so easy talking to him.
He checks his watch. “We’re leaving for Memphis within the hour. Better get those great legs moving.”
I glance at my own watch and take off running toward the hotel’s door.
“Yep, great legs!” he calls after me, and I shoot him a playful look over my shoulder.
I never shot a guy a playful look before. I can’t believe I’m really flirting, and that thought has me smiling all the way to my hotel room.
Chapter Seven
Anne is watching TV when I let myself in.
“Damn, girl. Look at you all grinning. What caused you to be so happy this early in the morning?”
I make a face at her, and she giggles.
Anne has been my hotel roommate now pretty much since I ran from home. In my old life I was never allowed to stay over at anyone’s house, not even Bluma’s, and no one was allowed to stay at the compound. Sometimes it still strikes me as weird wh
en I see Anne in my space. But she’s been amazingly laid back about it all, even at night when I wake her with my screams. It’s mortifying to have my psyche laid bare for her to see. But when I wake panting and crying and feeling so alone, I sense her eyes on me and settle a bit.
And while she has no problem stripping naked in front of me, she also has no qualms about my need for complete privacy. Like now, as I get everything I need to shower and change and lock myself in the bathroom.
But as I strip, restless energy zips through me. I take my ball cap off and think of West’s comment how the red doesn’t suit me. Gideon found my hair in the garbage, but there’s no way his people could know where I am. I’ve got a new name, new look, and I’m working as a roadie. Gideon would never expect the Indie Fest. Never.
“Eve!” Anne bangs on the door, and I nearly slip on the tile. “One of the guys just texted me. We’re leaving for Memphis in ten minutes. Make it a quick one!”
“Okay!” I yell and hurry through my shower.
“So, listen,” Anne starts as soon as I emerge. “I was thinking about West. I think you need to get up on that.”
I roll my eyes as I shove everything inside of my duffel and zip it up.
We grab our stuff, and she opens our hotel door. “Dude, even I’ll get up on top that. I know he sexes his way through the gals, but no one’s ever said anything bad about him. So if you’re going to do a guy that’s been around, it should be him. He’d treat you right—as in,” she lowers her voice, “he knows what’s he’s doing with a gal’s body.”
I have no idea what to say to all of that, and while everything she’s saying is more than interesting, she knows I would never “get up on that.” Frankly, just thinking of the actual act makes me sweaty. It would require a lot of being in each other’s personal space, and…he would see the scars on my back.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggest, feeling my face getting red.
She winks at me. “No prob.”
That’s the good thing about Anne. She’s got a loud mouth, but she knows when to rein it in for me, and to my relief that is the last thing Anne says about West as we load up a van and start the drive west to Memphis. Every mile between an old town and a new one makes me breathe easier.
Shadow of a Girl Page 3
