Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  He presses his lips to my forehead. One chaste kiss and he whispers, “Sweet dreams.”

  Before I can reply he’s back out and the partition shuts, cloaking me in the dark with the warmth of his sincerity. How does he manage it? The sexy and the sweet. It’s enough to steal a girl’s heart, but he’s already done that with mine. As I drift to sleep, the grin on my lips stays put, and I can’t help but believe I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

  The next morning, I roll out of bed and rub the sleep from my eyes to find everyone else still passed out. This last week’s schedule has been grueling. We’ve been all over the east coast, hitting big towns and a few music festivals, too. Tonight the guys headline the show in Philly, then tomorrow it’s back up to NYC for a show at Madison Square Garden. But that’s not all. Saturday they’ve been invited as the musical guests on The Tonight Show. The guys are stoked, both because it checks off one of their band bucket list items, but also because we get two nights off the road to stay in hotel suites.

  It’s all Trent can talk about because Lexi will be joining us. My sister’s last show is tomorrow and she’s taking a flight out the day after to meet us in New York. Sean and Austin have been teasing Trent relentlessly. Apparently, he really needs to get laid.

  After last night I can’t help but hope Leighton wants to go all the way with me. I shake my head and open the fridge. That’s ridiculous. Of course he does. With a bounce in my step and a smile on my face, I whip up the breakfast of all breakfasts. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. The aroma of food pulls the guys from their slumber and I happily dish up plates for everyone. After I flip the final pancake, I join them at the table with a cup of coffee. I’ll get a plate in a minute, but for now it’s satisfying to sit and sip.

  “Hey, Opal?” Sean tips his chin across the table.

  “Yeah?”

  “Trent and I were talking last night. We came up with the perfect way to surprise Lexi about the guitar and your song writing.”

  I bite my lip and press my thumbs against the warm ceramic mug. I’m still nervous about playing for my sister. I don’t know why, other than she’s a freaking genius when it comes to songwriting and music. What if I suck? What if my song is bad? Though I doubt the guys would let me make a fool of myself if they didn’t think I was ready. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, when Lex meets up with us for sound checks we won’t say a thing. Just pick up my guitar and start playing. We’ll all join in. It’ll blow her mind.”

  A grin pulls at my lips as I visualize the shock on my sister’s face. It’s a good plan. “Yeah, I like that. Thanks, Trent.”

  “She’ll love it.” He winks.

  I nod and catch Leighton’s puzzled stare from the corner of my eye. Crap. He has no clue Lexi is my sister, but how’s that gonna go once she’s here twenty-four-seven. Not to mention the fact I want to sleep with the man! I drop my gaze and blow out a shaky exhale. I have to tell him. I will. I can’t imagine keeping such a big secret from him, not if we’re together intimately.

  My cell pings with a message. It’s from their publicist at Off Track Records so I pull it up immediately. I scroll the details and my eyes bulge wide with the news.

  “Everything okay?” Leighton says from across the table.

  “Oh, my! Oh!” My gaze darts to his and I practically jump up and down in my seat as I try to get the words out. “Rolling Stone magazine!” I stare at Trent, then Sean and Austin. “They want you! This is big, right? Really freaking big?” I shove my phone into Trent’s face.

  “Fuck, yes!” He scans the email, eyes wide and mouth gaping. I don’t know much about the music industry, but I do know this isn’t some everyday occurrence. “The front cover. They want to give us the fucking front cover. Oh, my God! Yes, Opal. This is really freaking big.”

  “Tell me you aren’t fucking with us.” Austin, normally unshakable, stares wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  “Check your email, Gray Bush.” Trent hands my phone back and then slaps Austin’s back. “We’re all cc’d on the email. Tomorrow before the show at Madison Square we’re spending the afternoon with Rolling-fucking-Stone Magazine.”

  “What do I wear? Fuck, I don’t even know what to wear.” Austin’s eyes go a little wild and he pushes to his feet.

  “I’ll message Kelli and Stu right now,” I say, and tap on my text messages, happy to be helpful. I catch sight of another I received last night, part of a thread from a certain sexy drummer. It only shows the first few words, but they’re enough to make me blush. I can’t believe we did that.

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Austin kisses the top of my head, his hand squeezing my shoulder.

  My body does nothing. No goosebumps. No racing pulse. No shiver of lust. Nada. It’s the first time since meeting Austin that I haven’t had some sort of physical reaction to his overtly affectionate ways.

  It’s because you’re in love with a certain drummer.

  No. That isn’t true.

  But isn’t it?

  Lord, help me if I’ve gone and fallen head over heels after a few make out sessions and dirty texts. Back in Denison I did a lot more with Hunter Anderson, but felt nowhere near the way I do when I’m with Leighton.

  Maybe it’s lust? Sure, I really like him, but I can’t be in love yet. Can I?

  My heart knows the truth, even though my mind tries to argue. It’s the least sensible thing I’ve gone and done since joining this tour. Might even be a mistake. But I can’t seem to care, and what’s the point? It’s not as if I can go and fall out of love.

  “Hey.” Leighton catches my stare across the table. “Thank you for breakfast.” It might be my imagination, but I swear he’s thanking me for more than the food.

  I try to play it cool, but my face has other ideas. A grin spreads across my lips. “I’m glad you liked it.” I’d be embarrassed except for the fact he’s smiling back the same way. My heart stutters and does a little flip. Yeah, I’m really into him. Stupidly so. The way I feel about Leighton transcends anything I’ve felt before. Is it love? It sure as heck feels that way. Does he feel the same? I won’t have the nerve to ask. But that’s okay, because right now this feels absolutely perfect.

  95

  Leighton

  “Fuck, Lex. I said I was sorry.” Trent holds the phone away from his ear, and groans as he bangs his head back against the wall. “I know. I should have called you right away. I wasn’t hiding this. We just found out yesterday.” He scrubs his free hand over his face. “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel because I’m fucking proud of you, too. Just get on the damn plane tomorrow, okay? I miss you so fucking much.”

  He continues to get an earful. I can assume it’s from not calling his girlfriend the second we found out about the feature in Rolling Stone yesterday. Some entertainment channel broke the news this morning, and ever since, everyone’s phones have been ringing off the hook. Between this and our appearance on Jimmy Fallon tomorrow, my nerves are shot.

  This is a big fucking deal. We’re on the precipice of greatness, and I can’t help but wonder whether I’ll get to be a part of it all. The next ten shows are already sold out and we have a call later with our team at Off Track Records to negotiate additional shows. The potential to add another six months to this tour is unreal. That kind of momentum grows and flourishes into a lifetime career. Will they invite me along for the ride? My role still feels temporary and unstable. After the deal I made with my uncle, I doubt that’ll ever change.

  “Someone’s in the dog house,” Austin says as soon as Trent ends his call.

  “Fuck, she’s pissed.” He pushes the longer strands of his hair from his face.

  Sean shakes his head and lets loose a chuckle. “You need to make that right before she gets to New York.”

  Austin nods. “The stupid love thing you two have is a lot to handle, but fighting? Way worse.”

  Trent rubs his temples and curses under his breath.

  My phone buzzes and my stomach fills with dread at the sight of the incom
ing text. Speak of the devil. He’s getting ridiculous, careless even, between all the calls and texts. His desperation brings a variable I can’t control or manipulate. I don’t want to read his message, but I don’t really have a choice. Ignoring only makes it worse.

  The Devil: Don’t go to the interview today.

  I glance around, the guys already getting dressed in the outfits Stu and Kelli delivered this morning. As inconspicuously as I can, I tilt my screen away from anyone who might see.

  Me: How exactly do I explain my sudden absence?

  The Devil: You’re smart. Figure it out. If you go, I can’t protect you.

  Shit. This isn’t at all how I thought I’d spend today. Now I need to wrangle my way out of this interview. If it were any other publicity event, I could probably claim exhaustion and get away with it, but this is fucking Rolling Stone magazine. There’s no logical explanation other than the truth for missing out on this.

  Shit.

  I know what I have to do. It’s disgusting and gross, but I don’t have many alternatives. Fuck. I should have taken more drama classes with as much acting as I’m doing. I conjure an image of dog shit in my mind and then think about shoving it in my mouth. Gag! That does the trick. I bolt from my chair and sprint across the bus to dry heave into the kitchen garbage can.

  “The fuck?” Austin says.

  “You okay, brother?” Trent appraises me with apprehension.

  “No.” I retch again, this time my breakfast coming up with the effort. “Fuck.”

  “Dude, you can’t be tossing your cookies. We have Rolling Stone.” Austin bugs his eyes and throws up his hands.

  “Think I don’t know that?” I use my sarcasm as a shield. Grabbing a towel, I wipe my mouth and slide down to the floor. Sweat gathers on my brow, from either the countless lies or forcing myself to throw up. I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve officially reached an all-time low. My stomach rumbles as though it’s pissed, too. For added measure, I moan and hang my head between my knees.

  “It wasn’t my cooking?” Opal bites her bottom lip and walks to my side.

  “No.” I shake my head, not wanting her to think this is any of her doing. “I felt nauseous when I woke up. Thought it was nerves, but now . . . I don’t think I should go.”

  “That’s probably best.” Trent looks down on me from where he stands.

  “Sucks, man.” Austin shakes his head. “The timing is horrible.”

  “What can I get you? Ice? Water?” Opal asks.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Here.” She wrings out a wet cloth and presses it to my forehead. Her sweetness overwhelms me. How can one person be this nice? “Trent, can you help him up? At least so he can lay on one of the recliners.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter.

  Trent helps me off the floor and I lean on him, even though I could walk the short distance just fine. Fuck. This charade is wrong in so many ways. With each day, my deceitfulness grows. The grave I dig myself, that much deeper. At this point I don’t see how I’ll ever climb out.

  Austin pulls out his phone. “Hate to break up the nurse’s station, but we’ve got to go. Car’s here.”

  “Go. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I wave them off.

  Opal presses the back of her hand against my temple and glances up at Trent. “I’ll stay here to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t get worse.”

  Bad idea. It’s bad enough I’m bailing, but with Opal as my witness I’ll have to keep up this sick act for that much longer. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “No. That’s fine.” Trent’s brow scrunches with his frown and he looks from me to Opal. “If he gets worse or runs a fever call Vera or Todd at the label. They’ll get a doctor here. He has to play tonight. We don’t have time to find a sub or practice.”

  “Got it.” She smiles and nods. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him safe.” But I’m not the one who needs looking after. I feel horrible for deceiving everyone more than I already am. It’s the very reason I should stay as far away from Opal as I can, but that’s as impossible as asking the wind to stop blowing.

  Once the guys leave, the disappointment of missing out hits me square in the chest. I channel the energy into moping, because at least then I appear sick. Opal brings water and crackers, and watches my every move like a hawk. Is she able to see through my sham? It almost makes me feel worse if she can’t.

  “Do you want to sleep? We could watch something?”

  I nod at the television screen. “Yeah, okay.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” she asks, and her eyes flicker with interest as they sweep down my body.

  My dick perks up with the question. Self-preservation never was his strong suit. As discreetly as possible I readjust myself and settle back into the recliner. “You pick. I don’t care.”

  She surfs the available channels and finally lands on some reality show where a couple searches for their dream home. It’s mindless. There’s really nothing to the format other than a TV crew following the couple through three different properties. I get sucked in anyway.

  “They’re going to pick number two,” I say at the commercial break.

  “You think?” Opal shakes her head. “No, they’ll go with one. Did you see her face when they toured the kitchen?”

  “But it’s further from his work. And two’s the best value.”

  “We’ll see.” Her lips tug with a grin and she shakes her head.

  Of course the couple selects the first house.

  “I hate to say I told you so . . .” Opal’s laughter is a balm to my sour mood. I can’t help but smile.

  “Listen to your woman. Is that the lesson?” I meet her gaze, ready to laugh, but at her wide-eyed expression I stop. “What’s the matter?”

  “Am I your woman?”

  Yes. No. I want you to be. My mouth opens to answer but the words get caught. Not from indecision, but for the complexity of our relationship. I want more with Opal. God, do I want more. But is it really a wise choice?

  “Sorry.” She clenches her eyes shut and shakes her head as though she can erase her question. I should say something, but like a coward I don’t. The next episode of House Hunters begins to play, but Opal pops off her chair and goes into the kitchen.

  She returns with a bottle of water for each of us. “You look better already.” That’s because I was never sick. Her eyes narrow and she doesn’t move to sit back down.

  I can’t take the scrutiny and I sure as hell don’t look or feel sick. “I think I’m going to take a quick shower. Brush my teeth.”

  She nods, finally stepping out of the way to let me pass.

  The shower washes away the sweat and grossness from upchucking, but it doesn’t free the guilt. Doesn’t matter how much soap or water I use, betrayal hangs heavy in my mind. The closer I get to Opal, the more I want to tell her everything. But that’s a surefire way to ruin what we have. This past week has been the best in my life. Between make out sessions, writing music, and playing on stage every night, I am living the dream.

  Only, sometimes it feels exactly like that. A dream. What happens when I wake up? Can I really keep my place in the band and earn Opal’s trust while feeding my uncle lies? Between his texts and the side conversations, I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade. It’s difficult to enjoy the ride when there’s an eject button that could detonate at any time.

  I step out of the shower, dry my body, and shake off the bad mood that threatens to ruin the rest of the day. The kindest, most beautiful woman is out there waiting for me. My problems aren’t going away, so there’s no use in dwelling. I pull on a worn cotton shirt and pair of sweats. I’m playing sick. Might as well look the part.

  “Hey.” Opal glances up from her phone and sets it on the counter. Her smile is shy and reserved. Still beautiful. “How do you feel?”

  “Much better.” And it’s not a lie. One smile from her and everything feels good again. Not able to stand the distanc
e between us, I step forward and rest my hands on her hips.

  “If you leave now you might be able to catch them before the photo shoot.” She glances up from beneath her lashes. She doesn’t wrap her arms around my waist, and I can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment.

  “That’s okay. I’m sure it’s too late.” I shake my head. “Besides, it’s not often we have time like this.”

  She presses her lips together and her chest rises with a long breath. “Alone.”

  “Yeah, alone.”

  “You weren’t really sick.” She’s not asking. It’s a statement, and I’m tired of lying.

  I nod my head and gauge her reaction.

  “Why?” Fuck, I was hoping she wouldn’t ask. I really don’t want to answer, but here’s my chance. My opportunity to come clean and lay it all out. She may hate my guts, and I’ll probably get kicked out of the band, but then again, she might understand. She might even offer forgiveness, and then . . . then we could begin. This time out of the shadow of my lies.

  The possibility seems exhilarating, if only it could be guaranteed. Because the reality is, I can’t tell her. It’s not fair to drag her into my shit. No, I’ve made this mess. I can’t ask her to forgive me. I can’t even offer it to myself. No, there’s no way out of this clusterfuck.

  My gaze drops to the floor and I shove my hands into my back pockets. The space between us feels so much further than a few inches. I’m at a crossroads, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. I just can’t. So instead I reach for the next best thing to the truth. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

  At least it’s not a lie, but even I realize how twisted and fucked up it is to use this opportunity to gain something as precious as her.

  She steps forward, her body flush with mine and her hands circle my waist. “I want you, Leighton. So much. I want to give you everything.”

  “Everything?” The word comes out a question, as if I’m unsure what she means. Or maybe I need her to be more explicit if I’m even going to consider her offer.