She blinks. “For what?”
“For the tour.”
Her eyes grow wide and I don’t know if it’s astonishment or excitement.
“The rest of your tour?” she squeaks.
I nod.
“You want me to go with you for the rest of the tour?”
I rub my hands together. The idea had been percolating in my head for a while, but it didn’t really coalesce until Davis brought up her parents’ return to the States. “Yeah, for the entire tour. You’ve been with us for almost two months now. Three more will seem like a breeze. What’s the downside?”
She studies me for a moment, longer than I like. I want her immediate agreement. Instead, she seems to be weighing things, and from her non-reaction, the cons are stronger than the pros.
“Even if we told Davis,” she starts slowly, “I wouldn’t want to have sex with him around.”
“I’m not asking you to stay because of the sex,” I protest. I mean, yes, I want to fuck her every five seconds, but I enjoy her company, too. “Besides, if we told him, we wouldn’t be sneaking around.”
“So anytime you wanted to have sex, you’d just kick Davis off the bus?”
“Why does he have to leave the bus? We’d go to the back.” I point toward the end of the bus. “And he’d stay here.” I tap the table.
“But he’d know.” She scrunches up her nose.
“You’re twenty-four, Landry. He thinks you’re having sex.”
“I don’t care. Now’s not the right time. Plus, there’s the whole…” she waves her hand.
“Whole what?”
“You know. The stuff with the song. You not writing the melody. You refusing to allow the song to be used in a commercial. That sort of stuff.”
“So what? Unless I give in to Davis’s demands, you’re out?” Anger rises. Why is she fighting this so damned hard?
“I never said that.”
“But Davis wants those things, doesn’t he?”
“I think everyone in the band except you wants those things.” Ice coats her words.
“You think I don’t want the band to be a success?” I ask incredulously.
Her face softens. “I just don’t understand your argument that you’re going to lose your sound if you sell one song to someone else. You write songs for other people all the time. You make hits for others, but you won’t make one for yourself? Are you afraid of success?”
“Of course not.” I get up from the table. I thought she knew me, that she understood where I was coming from.
Frustrated, I jerk open the refrigerator and take out another beer. She gives me a worried look, like I can’t handle myself without a beer in my hand, so I shove it back in the refrigerator.
“Look, you write code, so you don’t understand what it’s like to be attached to your music. You’re not building toward something bigger.”
I know the words are a mistake before they even come out.
She stands up stiffly, ice in her voice and her eyes. “Just because I write code doesn’t mean I’m not attached to it or that I don’t care that the program I devoted four years of my life to so that girls could connect with their friends is now best known for porn. I may not make music, but I still do important things.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Landry, I’m sorry,” I apologize, but she’s already down the stairs and off the bus before my words can register. Then the coach starts filling up with people, and the opportunity is lost.
Hollister shoves through the crowd to get to me. “I’ve got a radio spot for you guys when we get to Phoenix. You gonna do it or are you too good for that?”
I grit my teeth, but manage a mocking response. “Still mad about the commercial, huh?”
“Still being the artiste, huh?” he shoots back.
“Some of us create shit and some just peddle it,” I retort, then regret it immediately when I spot Landry’s head right behind Hollister. She presses her lips together in disappointment. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling miserable. “Of course, we’re going to do your radio spot.”
Hollister glares at me. “You better. There’s an A/R woman coming from WriteWorld Records. Try to be charming, or are you too good for albums now, too?”
I swallow another retort.
Davis pops into view, pushing Hollister aside. “You hear about the A/R person?” he says excitedly.
I force a smile on my face. “I did.”
“You’re cool with that, right?”
His anxiousness spears me. Have I been such an uptight asshole about the music that the entire band thinks I’m not interested in cutting an album?
“Very cool. We should bring our gear and see if we can play an acoustic set for them.”
Davis slaps his hand across mine and leans out of the bus. “Hey, Rudd, grab my guitar, will ya? Let’s jam.”
* * *
Someone makes a pit of castoff clothes and garbage and starts burning it in the back of Rack-n-Ruin, the venue we just played. A few other people grab brush from the side of the road. We sit on seats pulled from someone’s van. They were meant to be removed, a guy promised me.
I look around for Landry and spot her standing next to Mike. Fuck, I hate that guy. I hate everything right now.
I want to throw the guitar on the ground, punch out Hollister, throw Landry over my shoulder and run out into the night.
I start off playing the A chord, then to G, D, and A again. It takes two more lines before Rudd catches on. I play the song fast, almost rapping it.
Secret lover. That’s. Who. You. Are.
Davis joins in at the pre-chorus, caught up in the mood. We’re all singing, pissed off for different reasons. Rudd and Davis are mad at me for not selling the song. Ian’s banging his hands hard against the electronic drum set because he’s worried that I’m going to fuck up this magical creation called FMK because my dick’s too attached to Landry. And me? I’m pissed off at everything right now.
At Landry for not understanding where I’m coming from. At Rudd and Davis for being shortsighted. At Ian for not trusting me. At myself, most of all. I’m the real asshole here.
I love my dad, but I’ve learned lessons from him that I don’t want to repeat. But in my stubbornness, am I on the verge of ruining a really great thing? I can’t get Landry’s hurt look out of my head. I should’ve never yelled at her.
I was frustrated because, yeah, I did want to fuck her whenever the urge came upon me without her worrying what Davis would say. But my feelings for her are so much more than physical. I love her.
I stop playing.
Davis and Rudd halt, too.
“What is it?” Rudd asks. “Too fast, wasn’t it?”
I’ve only known Landry for a short time. It’s only been a couple months since I first laid eyes on her, but didn’t I have that gut feeling way back then that she was my destiny? That I was done with all other women? I write songs about love at first sight all the time, but I never really believed in that shit until the night I met Landry.
And my feelings for her only grew stronger the more I got to know her. She’s smart as a whip. I mean, hell, I look at that computer code she writes. Gibberish to me, but she makes magic—and money—with it. She’s gorgeous, adventurous in bed, and sometimes out of it when she lets her guard down. She’s loyal to her brother, her friends, even strangers.
She’s just…amazing. And yeah. I love her.
“Adam?” Ian prompts.
“No. It wasn’t too fast. It was just right.”
I pick up my guitar and change the tune. I pluck out a few notes, dropping in a G chord followed by E minor, fingering the E root note with my right thumb. I love those minor triads with the perfect fifth. Davis isn’t sure what I’m playing but is game. He sets his thumb against the bass and starts moving the rest of his fingers along the treble strings.
Can he hear what I’m hearing? That this is the melody for his song. The one he wrote about second chances and feeling hope again, how he was
going to bust open the cracks until all he saw was light. And I play it slow, with feeling.
“Is this…” Davis trails off. He recognizes the words, but I think the notes are speaking to him, too. He starts cutting the third note short, a little Ed Sheeren-esque, but I like it. Rudd joins in, pulling on the bass.
But it’s Ian understands completely. I’m not just playing this song for Davis. I’m playing it for Landry. I’m inviting her and everything she loves into all parts of my life. Because you can’t be an island of one when you have a band—or a family. Ian shakes his head in rueful acceptance. He has Berry, so he knows that once you’re caught, you’re caught. There’s nothing to do but enjoy the ride.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Adam
“Can I talk to you?” I ask quietly.
Landry hesitates, and I fucking hate that. Before our fight, she would’ve been on her feet immediately.
“I’m chatting with Mike.”
I cast a quick glare in the direction of Threat Attack’s manager. While I know he’s gay, he’s got a dick and it spends way too much time in close quarters with Landry. I keep my crazy-headed jealousy to myself, though. For the most part.
“Please?” I’m not too proud to beg. At least, I shouldn’t be. That’s my big problem. That I’m too arrogant. I know this. That’s where my temper comes from—this feeling that I always know what’s right and good for everyone. I press her again. “I need to apologize to you, and I want to do it right.”
“All right.” She leans over and gives Mike a kiss. “Talk to you later.”
“Holler if you need me,” he says.
Fuck that. She doesn’t need protection from me. I open my mouth, but Landry slaps a hand against my chest before I can make an ass of myself.
“Down, boy,” she mutters.
I follow her as she weaves her way through the crowd. The fire’s died off; we didn’t have much kindling in the first place. She settles her ass on the bumper and waits. I pace back and forth for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. On my return, a cigarette appears in front of me.
“I think Ian left it for you. And you need it.”
“I’m trying to quit,” I tell her, looking at the cancer stick with longing.
“Maybe not tonight.”
Sighing, I pluck it from her fingers and pull a lighter out of my pocket. “Tomorrow, then.”
“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”
I take a long drag and let the tobacco fill my lungs. I think about all the tomorrows I want to have with Landry. The cigarette doesn’t taste as good as I thought it would, so I drop it to the ground and grind my heel on it. “Actually, let’s start today.”
She gives me a brilliant smile. Quitting smoking is a bitch, but it’ll be worth it if I can keep making her smile like that.
“My old man’s band got to tour with a bigger band, Hell Magic.”
Sheepishly, she shrugs. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Most people our age haven’t, but back in the eighties they were playing small auditoriums and booking major summer festivals. They had a gimmick, though. They would dress up in Grim Reaper costumes, then halfway through they’d rip off their robes and play the rest of the gig in their underwear and boots.”
Her jaw drops. “They were popular for that?”
“It was the eighties. There was a lot of booze and drugs going on. Anyway, my dad’s band was struggling. As do most bands. Hell Magic’s manager convinced my dad to wear headpieces for a show.”
“Oh, I saw those on your dad’s wiki page. He had a crow’s head.”
I nod. “Basil, the bassist, wore a hawk. Moet, the drummer, wore the vulture. It was a huge hit.”
“The wiki entry said that Moet never took his headpiece off, even during sex. Is that true?” Her eyes are wide.
“Sadly, yes. There were feathers everywhere.” I remember one time a
“I think that would scare the shit out of me.”
I give her a hard look. “You don’t think some girls were into that? What kind of groupies do you think hang around bands called Hell Magic and Death to Dusk?”
“So you’re saying there isn’t a big crossover between your dad’s band and, say, the My Little Pony faction.”
I shout out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” I chuckle for another moment before continuing, “After that one awesome response, Dad donned the costume again. Soon they were wearing them all the time. It fit for the tour with Hell Magic. That’s what the fans were coming to see, anyway—a spectacle.”
“So they never did another concert without them?”
“No. They did. The following year, Death to Dusk cut a rock album, less heavy on the steel guitar, more melody. They went on tour right away to promote the album and it was a big fucking flop. They got heckled nonstop. Every gig they did, the fans wanted to hear the headbanging metal stuff and they wanted to see the damn bird heads.”
“Oh shit.” Understanding starts to dawn in her eyes, her mouth forming a little circle. “That was their commercial. Or, at least in your head, that was their commercial.”
“It’s not in my head, babe. You become famous for one thing and that’s all you’re known for. You can see it happening to TA. My dad was miserable. He wanted to make different music. Sing a ballad or two. Do some harmonies. But all the fans wanted were bird heads and death music. So that’s what he did for two decades. Now, he doesn’t even like listening to his own music.”
“Oh, Adam, that’s so sad.”
Thinking about Dad and his near hate for the music industry makes me wish I hadn’t crushed out the cigarette. “He was so angry when I skipped out on Juilliard. He wanted me to be a concert pianist or some shit. Said my music talent was wasted on a band.”
“Does he hate your band?”
“No. He’s proud of me, but worried. He doesn’t want what happened to him to happen to me. Just like any parent.”
“What about your mom?”
Now I really need that cigarette. “Too busy chasing the dream of being famous herself. I suppose if I get big, she’ll come around and drag a camera with her.”
Landry winces. “That sucks.”
I shrug. “It is what it is. I don’t let that ruin my life.” I sweep a hand over the top of her head, enjoying the silky feel of her long hair against my palm. “I’ve never judged other women by my mom.”
Landry catches my arm and presses a kiss to the side of it. “For the record, I think TA sucks, too. That’s why they’ve only got the one hit.”
“Maybe so. Keith’s a good front man, but the other guys don’t carry their own weight.”
“Like Albie?”
“Like all of them. Keith would be better off going solo, but it’s hard to tour as a solo artist. You need a band behind you, and if you’re a one-man singer, you can’t afford to pay session musicians.”
She wrinkles her nose. “The music business is complicated.”
“That’s the truth. Which is why we should tell Davis what’s going on. There’s no sense in putting up false barriers. We’re a family, Landry. We don’t keep secrets from family or we’re going to end up like TA.”
“Every argument in your arsenal is that you’re going to end up like TA. Or your dad’s band.”
I drag a hand through my hair. The pieces aren’t all fitting together for me. There’s a discordant measure here. I think back and try to unravel the strings. Is it Marrow? She hasn’t seemed jumpy at all lately. So what exactly is her hang-up regarding her brother knowing about us? It’s not like I plan to use her and discard her. I want her to be part of my life.
Since I can’t figure it out on my own, I flat-out ask her, “What’s the real problem here? I don’t believe it’s the sex, so what is it?”
She twists around the side of the bus to make sure we’re alone, then returns her gaze to me. “Did Davis tell you about his first band?”
“A few things. He said he played in college with some buddies and that
after they graduated, they tried to keep the group together but everyone splintered. Some got jobs and others lost the hunger for it.”
Her green eyes dull as sadness fills them. “Davis got a job at CloudDox, but the reason that he quit the band was because of me. Marrow had been stalking me for about six months before I reported it. He’d leave notes by my computer and sometimes in my backpack. I wasn’t really afraid of him until I found a note in my bedroom.”
“In your bedroom?”
She nods. “On my dresser, between my phone charger and my hairbrush. I lived with May and she wouldn’t have let anyone up, so we didn’t know how he got in. Anyway, I reported it to the building manager and then I let it go. No more notes for a while. One of the lawyers who worked on the sale of Peep asked me out. Davis had been bugging me about getting out more, and I figured, why not? He seemed nice but ended up being a jerk.”
“I don’t want any details,” I tell her.
“Nothing to tell.” She pulls her legs up. “Anyway, we’d been going out for a couple of months when I got this knock on the door one night. I thought it was Carl.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “You dated a lawyer named Carl? There’s no way a lawyer named Carl knows the first thing about making a woman like you happy.”
She smirks. “I thought you didn’t want to know the details.”
“Good point.” I wave my hand for her to continue. “So there’s a knock on the door and it’s Marrow, right?”
Her smile fades immediately. “He pushed his way inside. He ranted about how I was betraying him and how he’d been so patient with me and that he was tired of all these low-energy guys getting attention when he had put so much effort into me.”
“What happened?”
“He tried to drag me out of the apartment, but I wasn’t having it.” The corner of her mouth lifts. “I fought him. He grabbed a coffee mug on the table and swung it at me, I guess trying to knock me out. It hit me here.” She strokes a finger down the side of her face where a small white line snakes down along her right ear.
“But you got away.”
Unwritten Page 19
