by Kacey Shea
It’s mesmerizing.
It’s addicting.
This is his life.
I let myself enjoy the show, sinking into the lyrics he owns, watching him dance and move. I almost feel guilty for the way my eyes eat him up—like a voyeur—taking in everything about him and the way he works the crowd. He wanders to the edge of the stage, moves his hips in an illicit, delicious manner, and the screams of the crowd increase. Between songs, a woman at the edge of the crowd screams, “Fuck me, Trent Donavan!” and lifts her shirt, flashing the stage as well as anyone else standing near.
Trent’s chuckle washes over the crowd, a sound that breathes sex and intimacy. A sound that should be reserved for the woman he’s fucking. For my ears. And that’s when it hits me . . .
The fame, the fans, the notoriety, it will always be Number One for him. It’s so damn tempting to get caught up in the rush of it all, of the band, of Trent. But . . .
I’d be exactly like my mother.
That attacks like a sucker punch to the face.
What the fuck am I doing?
I swore I’d never be like her. I’d never fall for someone like him. Yet isn’t that exactly what I’ve done?
Fuck.
They start the next song and Cora shouts along to the chorus, dancing with the wailing guitars, but she’s not the only one. Thousands and thousands of women in the audience do the exact same thing. They all regard Trent with that same infatuation, that same look of desire, and instead of jealous, I feel . . . defeated. Because part of me wants to do the same thing. Wants to cheer and smile and sing with the famous rock star. There is power in his presence, in the way he owns that microphone. It’s sexual, the way he belts out lyrics, his voice filling me up from the inside out.
But the other part of me, the one that knows what happens next, she’s not fooled by the grandeur of this scene or the man onstage.
She knows this only ends one way.
I can’t leave the stadium fast enough. My boots almost snag on the mounds of electrical cord when I turn to run, and Daryl, one of the roadies, steadies me with a hand. I mutter my thanks and dodge the seemingly closing walls of this space. Trent’s lyrics haunt me and follow me as I escape. I wish they wouldn’t. I wish I could go back and erase all the moments that led me here. The promises made. The affection I feel for him in my heart. It’s all crippled by fear and the acute knowledge that this man will break me. He won’t be able to help himself, and I’ll be left. Just like my mother.
But I’m stronger than her.
I am stronger.
That’s the mantra I repeat all the way back to the bus. The words I repeat as I wipe the charcoal liner from my eyes and the lipstick from my mouth. As I wash away the makeup and slip from my skintight clothes and into my oldest, baggiest, most comfortable sweats, I repeat the words.
I am stronger. I am strong. I am not her.
I won’t be.
It’s the promise I make to myself. Consequences be damned, I will not waver. I will not become someone I do not recognize or respect. I steel myself for his smile, his charm, his beauty, and honestly spoken words that are sure to put my resolution to the test.
While I wait, I go to the place I know best. My music.
Pulling out my acoustic, paper and pen, I settle into the kitchen nook under one shining spotlight and pour out my soul onto the page, into the notes, and all over the melody that chants along with my breaking heart.
I’m lost in the creative madness that lets me flee a reality I don’t want to face, feeling stronger by the second, when my phone wails from the kitchen counter. Letting it go to voicemail, I attempt to get back in the groove but the damn thing goes off again.
“Fucking hell!” I shout aloud to no one. My concentration is history as I stomp to where I have the device charging.
My mom’s face lights up the screen and I debate picking up. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to talk to her after tonight’s realization, when my thoughts and hurt are fresh. But her persistence gets the better of me.
“Mom.”
“Hey, sweet girl.” Her voice is strained, tired. “How was your show tonight?”
“Good. It’s always good to play. Is everything okay?”
“Been a long week.” She pauses, and through the distance I hear a sniffle. She’s emotional, sometimes a complete wreck, but it’s been years since she called me just to cry.
“Mom, what’s going on? Why are you crying?”
“Oh, Lexi.” More sobs, but I wait patiently, “Time is so fleeting, you know that? I’m just . . . I’m sitting here thinking about how I could have done better. I love you, sweet girl. You know I love you?”
“I know, Mom. I love you, too.” I tread carefully because she’s obviously upset and I don’t want to fuel her sadness. But I don’t understand what’s bringing this on. “What can I do?”
“You need to talk to your father.”
I walked right into that. “Absolutely not.”
“Lexi—”
“No. Mom. Look, I get why this is upsetting. I understand. I’m empathetic.” Or at least I’m trying to be. “But I am not calling him. I won’t reach out just to make him feel better about being a crappy father. He didn’t give two shits about me or what I was up to until last month.”
“That’s not fair and you know it. He always wanted to have a relationship with you, but respected your decision not to. He loves you, Lexi.”
“No.”
“He’s dying.”
“That’s life.”
Her gasp fills my ears and I cringe because I know how harsh that sounded.
“Mom, I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll think about it.” I won’t change my mind, but I don’t want to discuss this any further. Not tonight.
“One week, maybe two.”
“What’s in two weeks?”
“That’s how long he has. Maybe less. Don’t wait too long. Don’t make a decision you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting.”
“Mom, I have to go.” In a daze I walk to the kitchen, opening cabinets, searching. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Lexi. Just think about what I said—”
“Bye. Love you.” I cut her off and end the call before all my anger, sadness, and frustration erupts and I unload on her, saying hurtful things I don’t mean. Or rather, that I do, but are best left unsaid. I want a drink. I want to get shitfaced drunk and pretend today never happened. But I won’t. Mostly because Trent will walk through the bus door any moment and I won’t be able to resist him, not when all reason is stripped away.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. Taking the smarter, responsible route, I pull down a mug, grab the coffee pot and fill it with water to brew coffee. Inhale, deep breath. Exhale, let it go. I won’t feel guilt. I won’t grant my father absolution simply because he’s met an untimely death. I won’t repeat the sins of my mother, either. I am strong. I am stronger. As the aromatic roast trickles out, burning black, the scent fill my nostrils, and for what might be the first time since I was a child, I pray to a higher power, for peace, for guidance, and for strength.
I am strong.
If I repeat it enough, maybe I will believe it.
29
Trent
I love to perform. The screams. The lights. The music.
It’s perfection. Everything I’ve ever wanted, and playing this music gig day in and day out is a privilege. One that leaves me with a natural high each and every time I step from a successful show. But tonight . . . tonight blew all others out of the park, or rather, amphitheater. Better than our first paid gig, or the time we sold out in our hometown. Better than opening for Justin Hill. Better than our first headline show. Even better than all the shows on this tour combined. Because knowing Lexi is offstage, watching and waiting, fuels an already manic high. After a two song encore I call the show, ready to go find my woman.
She’s not backstage, so my guess is she’s already in the friends and fa
mily room with Bedo. Before the show, he asked us to stop by and shmooze for at least an hour before heading out to dinner. Apparently, some higher-ups in the music world are here and want to be wowed. But if they aren’t impressed with the show we just put on, I seriously question their industry expertise. I get why they want to meet us, though, because we don’t only sell our music. We market Three Ugly Guys as a package—a brand—and when we do it right, everyone makes money.
Our bus doesn’t take off until three in the morning, which leaves plenty of time for me and Lexi to sneak back after dinner. That thought propels my feet forward and I step through the open doorway with a smile on my face. I scan the room packed full of people, but the only person I need to see is missing. The guys come in behind me and the room comes to life at our arrival. Austin slaps my back and pushes me forward, and even though my feet move, my eyes still search for her.
“Trent!” I do a double take as Cora lunges toward me with her open smile.
“Cora?” I haven’t heard from her since the overnighter in Charlotte, and her presence is more than a surprise. “What are you doing here?
“Can’t a girl catch a show with her favorite band?” She giggles and shakes her head at my narrowed gaze. “I’m booked for a part in a music video tomorrow. When I found out you guys were playing, I had to come up early.”
Oh. That’s cool, only I hope she didn’t come here expecting this to be one of our regular hookups. I glance around the room, still not finding Lexi. She’s not here, and I need to locate her. “Hey, by any chance have you seen Lexi?”
“She was watching the show with me backstage, but I don’t know what happened or when she took off. After you played Renegade, I turned around and she was just gone.” She imparts all this with an indifferent shrug.
“Gone. What do you mean, gone?” I reach out to grab her arm until she gives me her full attention.
Cora blinks and rolls her eyes. “I mean gone. Like she left.”
I drop her arm and step back, narrowing my gaze at this woman I’ve always trusted. Suspicion that she’s not being real about where Lexi is and why she took off settles in my gut. My voice grows hard with the tick of my clenched jaw. “What did you say to her?”
“What?” Cora tilts her head as if she’s confused, but she’s a fantastic actress. Is she putting on a performance? It was a mistake sleeping with her all those times. Because it meant nothing to me doesn’t mean she felt the same.
“You said something, didn’t you? I thought you were cool, Cora. I thought you weren’t one of those women who can’t stand to see others happy.”
Her beautiful smile transforms into a scowl. “What the hell are you talking about, Trent? I didn’t say anything mean to her. I was nice. If she’s good enough to catch and keep your attention, she’s a good woman in my book. Stop being a dick and go find her. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. Not everything is about you.”
God, she’s right. I’m overreacting. That’s it. Nerves gather at my fingertips because something feels off. Lexi should have been here waiting. “I’m sorry, Cora. You’re right. I’m a dick. I’m really sorry. It’s just that . . . She promised to come watch me and I was really looking forward to seeing her.”
“If you’re really worried, I can help you look.” She glances over my shoulder and her gaze lingers on Sean. Or at least, I assume it’s him, since the only other people nearby are the gray-haired investors from some clothing line Bedo’s trying to sign us to rep.
“No. That’s okay. Go. Good luck trying to catch that one.” I shake my head and let loose a chuckle.
“I’m not trying to catch anyone. Just looking to have a little fun. Bye, Trent.” Cora wraps me in a quick squeeze before she struts across the room.
I pull out my phone, disappointed when there’re no missed calls or texts. I shoot one off to Lexi, asking her to call me right away, and head toward the exit.
“Hey, Trent.” Bedo cuts off my retreat and I turn, forcing my expression from a scowl. “There’re some people I’d like you to meet before you take off.”
“Anything for you,” I grit out through my smile.
Bedo’s hand slaps across my back a little too hard. He drops his voice. “Give me an hour, T. One hour and then you can go.”
Time can’t go fast enough.
Finally free from the after party, I ask the guys to wait up before they head to dinner, and then jog back to the bus. Lexi better be there because I’m close to losing my freaking mind. I’ve checked everywhere backstage—her dressing room, the women’s restrooms, and Jax even confirmed she never made it out to sell merchandise tonight. She’s got to be here in the bus. Maybe with a headache or feeling sick. Maybe her mom called. My mind races with the possibilities, but when I bound up the steps into our bus and find her standing in the kitchen, her guitar and notebook on the table, my spine prickles with irritation. She appears to be fine. “Lex, what are you doing? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“I’ve been here,” she says ever so nonchalantly. As if it’s no big fucking deal. As if I didn’t ask her to stay. She turns and goes back to brewing a cup of coffee, her back straight, her movements stiff. What the hell? I don’t know what happened to the Lexi I kissed before the show, but this woman is throwing up fuck you vibes like a professional ice queen.
“You didn’t watch the show.” Disappointment floods my heart, knowing she didn’t want to stay, that I wasn’t important enough. I thought . . . After what we shared . . .
I’m an idiot.
She turns my way and the mug of warm liquid clouds her mouth with steam as she lifts it and blows out through pursed lips. Those lips. Strong. Sensual. Smart. Fuck, I’m getting hard just staring at her.
“I changed my mind.”
My brain hustles to connect her words. “About the show?” My brows knit and for a moment her stony expression drops.
A knock at the bus door as Austin sticks his head inside kills any fraction of vulnerability she was willing to show. “Trent? You coming? Oh, hey, Lexi.” He jogs up the remaining steps.
My eyes are transfixed, studying the woman in front of me while Austin taps an irritating beat against the wall. I don’t look at him and I don’t offer a response. Tonight was supposed to be about Lexi. About us. Even though she hasn’t said the words, I’m not so clueless I don’t realize something has drastically changed. If only I knew what it is so I can fix it.
“Trent, bro. We’re leaving in five,” Austin says again but I wave him away. He takes the hint and goes back outside.
“Lex,” I murmur, a plea, but her eyes are hard when they finally meet mine.
“You should go,” she suggests, her voice devoid of emotion.
“I should go?” I hear the guys outside. Laughter, insults, and boisterous banter makes its way inside through the open door. They’re going out in search of dinner. It’s guaranteed to be a good time, but I don’t want to join them because I’d rather be with Lex. Fuck, it hurts that she doesn’t feel the same.
Lexi drops her stare and sets her cup on the table, sliding into a chair and picking up her pen and notebook. Ignoring me.
“Trent. Let’s go, man!” Sean shouts from outside.
Lexi glances up, pen poised on paper, and her lip ring catches the spotlight above. “Did you need something else?”
“Fuck this.” I almost growl I’m so damn frustrated. Confused. Hurt. “I’m out. I don’t have time for this shit.” I stomp to the door, grabbing my jacket from my bunk on the way. Before I descend the steps, I halt and turn to look over my shoulder. Lexi’s just watching me, smiling as though she knows some joke I don’t. “What?”
“Nothing. Have fun tonight,” she says sweetly with a know-it-all smugness wrapped in her tone.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” This time my voice is just as hard, just as cruel. Her smile disappears in a flash and she goes back to that goddamn notepad. “What? Nothing else to say?” I wait for what feels like minutes when it’
s probably only seconds. “Fine. I’m going. Remember, this is how you wanted it.” I glare before stepping outside, but she never looks up. Just sits there perfect, and beautiful, and like a fucking stone wall. I can’t break her down. I don’t know why I even tried.
Pushing out into the night air, I round the bus to walk off some steam before finding the guys. The last thing I want to do tonight is get in a cab and be around people, because I know I’m horrible company. A woman won’t make me happy. A bottle won’t make me forget. I’m so caught up in my thoughts I don’t see Iz leaning against the wall at the freight entrance until the end of his joint glows with his inhale.
“Shit, Iz. What are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack!”
His deep rumble of a laugh fills the night air. “Same thing I do every stop. Find a quiet place to get high.”
“Dude, that’s dangerous and shit. What if no one sees you out here and you pass out?”
“Then I pass out, man. Wouldn’t be the first time.” His face lights up with another inhale.
“That’s irresponsible. We care about you, dumbass. Something could happen to you!”
“Dude. You’re killing my buzz. What crawled up your ass?”
“Nothing. Fucking nothing.”
There’s that laugh again. “That damn girl, huh? Nothin’ makes a man go crazy like a beauty who can shred like she does.”
Part of me wants to argue or deny it, but I’m so fucking pissed right now. Playing tonight on that stage was fucking amazing. Knowing Lexi was watching, waiting for me, it spurred me on with a high that reverberated through my veins. Hands down, it was my best live performance of all time. And to come offstage with her nowhere to be found . . . I was worried. What if something had happened to her? Was she hurt, sick? But no, none of that was true. She was writing in her notebook the whole damn time. Probably didn’t stay to watch more than half the show.
I glance at the ground, to Iz, then the sky. Since there’s no one back here, I let all my frustrations escape in one long shout. “FUCK!”
