Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  His sharp laughter cuts me off and he doubles over. He breaks our connection and I pull my hand back into my lap while he laughs. “Career?” He meets my stare with tears in his eyes, that’s how funny he finds this. “I’m sorry, but career? What kind of career could you possibly have?” he mocks, but I’m an idiot for considering he’d react any other way.

  “You’re right. It was silly of me to think . . .” My voice trails off, along with my confidence. It is silly of me to dream about things I have no business entertaining. I’m not talented like Coy. I have no skills. The amount of education I’d need to even think about doing what I want is completely ridiculous.

  He stops laughing and takes a few long breaths before finally meeting my gaze. This time there’s no humor or trace of a smile. “Look. I don’t want to be the one to crush your little dreams, but you need to be realistic. I need to be able to count on you, Jess. I need you on the road with me. I can’t do this without you by my side, but I won’t bring you along if your head’s in the clouds.”

  He’s right. I’m being selfish. He’s done so much for me, and if Coy needs my attention, then that’s what I’ll give him. I can always go back to school later. It’s not practical right now.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Of course, I’ll come on the tour. You sure the passport won’t be an issue?”

  “I explained the entire thing to Bedo’s assistant. Claire, or Maggie? I can’t remember who.” He waves his hand, dismissing my concern. But this isn’t some little issue; it’s a big deal. If word got out . . . I can’t even think it.

  “And they won’t share that with anyone?”

  “Jess, what do you take me for? I didn’t tell them everything. You’re fine. Give me a little credit. I know what I’m doing.” His stare demands that I trust him.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “Damn straight, I am.” He turns and clicks the bedside lights off, the final dismissal to our conversation. A second later the television screen affixed to the wall clicks to life and blankets the entire room with its glow.

  “Come here.” Coy reaches for me and I scoot over on the bed so he can curl me into his side and we can both see the television. He laughs at the humor on the screen and his breath skims across my neck.

  My eyes are open but I don’t follow what’s going on in this episode. I’m still letting his words replay in my mind. That Deb and the band think I’m a total loser, only here to mooch off my boyfriend’s success. And that this very second some assistant at Off Track Records knows enough of my past to piece together all of the horrible details. Enough to give their opinions valid proof.

  I’m not strong enough to dredge up those years, that period before Coy found and saved me. If I have to come face to face with my past, I might lose the sanity I’ve worked so hard to gain. Those are the fears that loop through my mind while Coy’s breath falls heavy and rhythmic on my neck, his arm pinning me down with its weight as he falls asleep watching mindless TV.

  I try to let that lead me, to find comfort in his strength, because there’s nothing more I’d like than to give myself over to sleep. The reality of my current situation is more frightening than any nightmare. But with each passing minute my anxiety grows. It swells and reproduces until it’s all I feel. I can’t inhale without the weight of my thoughts attempting to suppress the oxygen in this room. I have to move. I have to do something. I can’t just lie here for hours while I go crazy inside.

  Slinking from the bed, I turn off the TV and cover up Coy with a blanket. He’s so far gone. The long day of working, drinks from tonight, and our intimate time together hold him under such a deep sleep, he never stirs.

  My feet lead me outside our room, past Sean’s, and down the large staircase. I consider going outside to my favorite little spot, but my body is as restless as my soul. I can’t sit still. Not now. Not when I know what everyone’s been assuming about me. Not when they’re partially right. I’ve tried to make myself helpful, to not take advantage, but isn’t that what I’m doing? I don’t have a job. I don’t even have a role other than following Coy around like the little lost puppy I am.

  Screw that! I might be pathetic, but I won’t give them reason to talk crap about me anymore. I march out into the large laundry room off the garage and collect everything I need. A bucket. Gloves. Rags and Clorox and the jug of Murphy’s.

  Deciding I need to be quiet since it is the middle of the night, I begin in the kitchen. They might pay a crew to come through here once a week to clean, but that’s just surface level. I can do better. I work hard and I’m not a quitter. I won’t give in to their stupid assumptions. I can’t sleep, so I might as well put my energy to good use and prove them wrong.

  Free ride? My ass. Nothing in my life has ever come free.

  53

  Sean

  My alarm blares and jolts me from a deep sleep. Shit. I forgot to take my ear buds out again last night. I reach for my phone and shut it off before I get permanent hearing loss.

  Go visit Iz.

  It’s the reminder I set last week when we were in San Diego. I consider rolling over, going back to sleep, and pretending I never woke up. But my conscience nags that I’m already awake; I should do the right thing and go see Iz again, as uncomfortable as that might be.

  “Fucking drummers,” I grumble, and pull myself from the comfort of my bed. After a quick shower, I pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before grabbing my wallet. My keys are downstairs in the kitchen, from when I ran out to get burritos with Trent last week. Fuck, that’s a good idea. I check the time, lace up my Chucks, and smile because I have just enough time for a pit stop along the way.

  Making my way downstairs and through the house, I’m careful not to wake anyone, not because I’m sneaking out, but more because I’d rather not have a big blow-up about visiting Iz. As much as everyone tells me to move on, I want to give them the same advice. They’re pissed about how everything went down, but isn’t it time to let that go?

  Stealing down the empty hallway, I turn the corner to the kitchen and skid to a stop. The stench of antiseptic and vinegar hangs heavy in the air and stings my nostrils. All the contents of the cupboards are piled onto the island in what I assume is an organized manner. “What the fuck?”

  A squeak bursts from the floor, and Jess pops up from behind the center island. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun and her hands are covered in yellow rubber gloves about three sizes too big. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was awake.”

  “Jess, what are you doing?”

  She eyes the same mess on the counter and they widen as if my question is absurd. “I’m cleaning.”

  “Obviously.” I take a few steps forward and place my hands on the only empty space on the island. “Why, exactly? We have a crew for that.”

  “I’m not here for the free ride,” she says with a wrinkle to her brow.

  I shake my head because I don’t understand her conclusion. “I didn’t think you were.”

  “I want to earn my keep.” She puffs her chest and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes on her face.

  Raising a brow, a little laugh escapes my mouth. “Like Cinderella?”

  She sighs and her breath chases a few wayward strands of hair from her face. “It does feel a bit like a fairy tale.” She sighs again and reaches for a rag. “A few weeks ago I was sweeping hair trimmings and washing out color for minimum wage. Now I live in a mansion with famous rock stars.”

  “Your boyfriend is no Prince Charming.” I can’t help but state my opinion on the matter, but my words come out sharper than I intend.

  Her gaze narrows and those hands are back on her hips. “Can we not talk about that? Please?”

  I nod even though I don’t know how a woman like her, beautiful, and as far as I can see, honest and kind, is with a douchebag like that. Except isn’t that always the way it is? The assholes get the girls and don’t treat them right. Something I never understood.

  “Why are y
ou up so early?” she asks. “Sorry, that was rude. This is your house.”

  “It’s yours, too. And I’m actually gonna head out. Visit a friend in rehab, but it’s up in Santa Barbara. A couple hours’ drive.”

  “Your old drummer, Iz?”

  “The one and only.”

  Her smile softens. “That’s nice of you. That you’re gonna go see him.”

  I shrug because I don’t know how to take the compliment. I’m going, but I have mixed feelings on the matter. After the way last week went down I’m sort of dreading it, but feel obligated regardless. “He’s like family. And he doesn’t have anyone else.”

  “That’s really nice, Sean.” God, I love when she uses my name.

  “Yeah, well, I’m starting to regret the decision this morning. It’s far as fuck.” An idea strikes me. As much as it’s a dangerously bad idea, I can’t help but propose it anyway. “Hey, how’d you like to play DJ on a mini road trip?”

  “Really?” Her eyes light up with a glimmer of excitement, but as quickly as it comes, it’s replaced with a scowl. “I couldn’t.”

  “Why? Don’t tell me you’re cleaning the entire house? Or will Coy have a problem with you doing something fun without him?” I know damn well he will. I’m a dick for even asking, but I’ve noticed she always takes his side, comes to his defense, so I’m banking on that tendency to swing her answer to my liking.

  “No. He’d be fine,” she answers, though it comes out like a lie. “I mean, I’m sure I could. I just don’t want to impose.”

  “Come on. Go get dressed. I’ll put this crap back.”

  “I don’t know. Coy’s sleeping and I don’t want to wake him.”

  “It’s a ride up to Santa Barbara and back. We’ll probably return before anyone is even awake. A good friend would keep me company. And since we’re friends . . .” I steeple my hands over my heart and bat my lashes, working everything I can.

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re pretty hard up for a DJ.”

  “I’d love the company.”

  The indecision is there, bouncing between what she wants and what she should do. A better man would let her off easy, but instead, I’ve used whatever pull I have. It might not be enough, though, and that stings a little.

  She bites her lip once. “Okay, give me ten minutes. I’ll be quick.”

  I smile so wide, I’m sure I look like a maniac, but the thought of being stuck in a car for a minimum of three hours with this woman pulls my lips so wide my face hurts. I nod but she’s already striding out of the kitchen. God damn. I didn’t think she had it in her to choose me over Coy. Not that this is anything other than a car ride for her. Completely innocent. But that’s not what this is to me. No, I’m an addict when it comes to Jess, and with the promise of more than just one hit, I’m already flying high. Crazy. Fucking crazy, and I don’t care. It’s why my smile is still intact while I put the pots and pans away in the kitchen as quietly as I can.

  Not sure how she’ll tell Coy, and not wanting to cause problems for myself or the band, I take a notepad out of the far drawer when I grab my keys, and scribble a note for everyone to see.

  Back by noon.

  Jess is with me.

  Sean

  Okay, maybe that’s a lie. Maybe I want everyone in the house to know I’m not sneaking around. But maybe I take too much delight in the simple phrase, Jess is with me. Fuck it. I’ll deal with the repercussions later. If Lex were off tour, I’d leave the exact same note. No different.

  Liar. The difference isn’t in the words, it’s in my intent. I don’t think of Lexi the way I think of Jess.

  “Hey.” Jess appears at the entry, having traded her shorts and old T-shirt for jeans and a new T-shirt. I may stare a little too long. “Is this okay? I can change.”

  “You’re perfect.” Shit. I can’t say shit like that.

  Her wide eyes hold a touch of apprehension and I hate that I make her nervous.

  Schooling my features and careful not to let my gaze linger as if I’m interested, I walk past her toward the garage. “Let’s roll.” I push the door open and hold it for her to pass. I press the keypad on the wall to open the third bay and click the fob in my pocket to disarm my most prized possession. It chirps with a friendly greeting and Jess stops short, her stare on my gunmetal gray custom built Tesla. I understand her awe. The car is a beautiful sight. I walk over to the driver’s side and wait for her.

  “So, is it a requirement? Rock stars must have hot rides?” She runs her hand over the curve of the hood before reaching for the door.

  I meet her gaze over the car and wink. “You mean Stella? She is a sexy thing, isn’t she?”

  Jess slips inside the cab so I do the same. Her soft laughter stops me from pulling out of the garage. “You named your car?”

  Lifting a brow, I meet her stare, revving the engine as I pull forward out the drive, through the gate, and onto the street. “Isn’t that a requirement? Don’t all guys name their cars?”

  “I suppose you are correct.” She giggles, and even though it’s not loud or boisterous—more like soft and smooth and fades out with the engine—it’s my new favorite sound.

  “Here.” I hold out my cell and sneak a glance at her wide eyes. “Now’s when I get to judge how deep our friendship runs.”

  She takes my phone and stares at the screen as if she doesn’t understand, or finds my words confusing.

  I was only teasing but it bothers me she might have taken it the wrong way. “Music.” I reach over and swipe across the screen until I find the app I’m looking for. “Play whatever you want.”

  “Oh, right.” Her thumbs tap on the screen and her lips purse together as she studies the contents.

  I follow the GPS on my screen. It’s early still and there are not many cars on the road as I turn toward the highway.

  She lifts her head and draws my attention from driving.

  “What do you like?” she asks.

  You. I shake my head both at her question and my instinct to answer. “Oh no . . . nope, this is all you. I wasn’t kidding. You’re the DJ.”

  She rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile plays on her lips. “Okay, then. You might regret that decision.”

  I won’t. Nothing could happen today that would make me regret asking Jess to ride shotgun. The tune that pipes into my top of the line sound system pushes laughter from my lips. Hanson. Boy bands are the devil, but boy bands from my own youth . . . I twist in my seat and send her a glare.

  “I told you!” She laughs along before joining into the Mmm’s and Bop’s of the chorus. I want to hate this song. God, do I want to hate it, but the pure joy exuding from her transforms my scowl to that same goofy smile from before. God damn you, Hanson!

  “Why? Why, Jess?” My lips form a smirk and I shake my head, which only causes her to sing along louder. Fuck it. I join in, too. It’s not like I don’t know the words. My sister used to blare this shit non-stop.

  The song comes to an end and she shakes her head, smile still in place as she lowers the volume. “You’re a good sport. I haven’t listened to that one in years.”

  “Yeah, let’s keep it that way,” I joke.

  “Hold up.” She lifts a finger, and those lips push to a little pout that I’ve now memorized as her thinking face. It’s fucking adorable. The next song she selects is thankfully one I don’t hate, some indie rock I’ve never heard before. She settles back into the comfort of the seat, her eyes squinting with the rush of air into the cab. A few strands of hair escape the band holding the rest back and whip across her face.

  “We can roll the windows up.” I realize how rude it is that I haven’t offered. If there’s one thing I know about women, it’s that they hate their hair getting messed up.

  “No!” She sits forward and reaches out to stop my hand. “I love this.”

  She loves this. Good. Because I do, too. Not just the gorgeous morning or the windows down. But her, here, in my car. Hands on my phone. Lips pursed w
ith concentration. Soft smiles when her tune comes on.

  We fall into an easy silence as the miles pass all too quickly. The closer we get to the rehab center, the more my anxiety claws its way into the joy of this time with Jess. My fingers tap along the steering wheel with every song she plays, but even that’s not enough. Tension creeps into my shoulders and I begin to worry about everything.

  Was this a good idea? How will Iz treat her? God, I hope he doesn’t ask her to buy him drugs. She’s probably having a horrible time. This is boring as fuck. When the rest of the band finds out, are they going to give her shit? How will Coy react? Fuck.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Her voice cuts through the building tension and chases the worries from my head.

  “Oh, uh.” I clear my throat.

  “You don’t have to tell me. But you look a little intense. Worried about your friend?”

  “Yeah, kinda.” I turn my chin to find her wide brown eyes full of sincerity. “When you meet him . . . just . . . don’t judge a book by its cover. He’s not entirely himself.”

  “Drugs do that. I get it.” By the solemnity of her answer, I think she does.

  “You understand.” It’s not a question but she answers regardless.

  “I do. I’ve seen some really messed up people. Good people. Bad ones, too.”

  I nod, appreciative of her effort to ease my nerves. “So, let’s not talk about depressing shit. We’ve been in the car almost two hours and I know nothing new about you.”

  Her lips pull up with a smirk. “Not true. You know I have a thing for Hanson.”

  “Does that appreciation extend to all boy bands?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s one of my guilty pleasures. If I’m having a bad day and I put on a song like that? It can turn it around.”

  “I like it. Tell me more.”

  “About my affinity for boy bands?”

  “No.” A chuckle leaves my mouth. “More about you.”

  “I don’t know. There’s not much to tell.” She’s back to chewing on her lip again.