The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  Speaking of the band, as I glanced over toward the locker room door, there were the four of them, watching. For a second I was worried they’d be jealous of Dave taking all the attention by playing a solo, but they were all smiling, their expressions encouraging. Proud, even. They obviously liked him—he fit right in.

  I turned back to look up at the stage just in time to see Dave lean into the mic as he began to play. “This is a little something I’ve been working on,” he said and cleared his throat before adding, almost as an afterthought, “It’s called Full Circle.”

  He played a few more bars, bending his head as his fingers pulled a haunting tune from his guitar.

  “He is so good,” Sandy said, dreamily. I nudged her with my elbow. She turned and glared at me. “What?”

  I nodded my head slightly toward my dad and widened my eyes.

  She rolled hers but got the message to keep her ovaries on a slow simmer or below. “I’m just saying,” she said. “The camera loves him. I just wish I could have captured this show for the vlog.”

  Dad must have heard her and jerked his chin over to where the huge video camera was perched on a tripod. “Rex’s got this one, and we’ll tidy it up to use for promo,” he said, though he hardly had to explain it to her again why she wasn’t allowed to tape this performance. In fact, it had been one of the conditions of the performance that no one could. Gary and Ken had been stationed on the sides of the audience, keeping a watchful eye out for cell cameras to make sure of it. At this stage, before the band was even out in the media, Dad wanted full control of what got released.

  “Is this what he played when you first told me about him?” Dad asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve never heard this song before. I think...”

  I didn’t even realize I’d stalled out until my dad said, “You think what?”

  I looked at him. “Oh, um, I think this might be about his grandfather.” I looked around, but Sandy was focused on Dave having moved closer to the stage, out of earshot. “Did he tell you?”

  “Strutts?” Dad asked and then went on when I nodded. “He did. We’re going to have to talk about it, but if he’s open to it, I think we can leverage it. This could be a good thing—he’s continuing the legacy.”

  “Did you know him?” I asked.

  “Met him a few times,” Dad said and even over the music, I could hear the note of sadness in his voice. “He was a real talent. It’s too bad he’s gone—I just hope he got to see Dave play like this. He would have been proud.”

  “He warned him against the business,” I said.

  Dad nodded. “He had reason to after the life he lived. But I’ll look after Dave. He’s a good kid, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

  If anyone could, my dad was up to the task. We both turned to the stage as Dave lifted his head. His eyes sort of unfocused over the crowd as he began to sing.

  Dad exhaled loudly. “Strutts was a real talent. But damn it all, he wasn’t as good as his grandson.”

  After Dave finished up and took his bow while the crowd went nuts, the guys all came out to mingle with the students, which, in retrospect, may not have been the best idea, considering how they immediately got swarmed. But one look at their faces and it was obvious they were totally into it, drinking up the love and enthusiasm from their legions of brand new fans.

  “That didn’t take long,” Linda said from beside me, her arms crossed as she watched like a mother, worried about the swarms of girls. It was kind of cute how protective she got sometimes. “At least they seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  What guy wouldn’t? Although, as I glanced at Max, frowning and stiff as people surrounded him, he reminded me of a cornered animal. Hopefully, my dad or someone would swoop in and save him before he came out fighting.

  “For now,” Ginny replied. “Just wait; it’ll get old fast and then they’ll be begging for the quiet of their green rooms and the bus.”

  “When did you get so cynical?” Dad asked with a laugh. “Let them have their fun. We won’t be able to let fans have this kind of access once we’re on tour, so they may as well soak it up now. It’ll build their confidence.”

  Ginny just humphed. I’d never known her to be so pessimistic—maybe it was lack of sleep thanks to her twins.

  “And anyway,” Dad went on. “You know as well as I do that performers never lose the rush that comes from a crowd of adoring fans. The stuff that can come along with fame, sure, but the high of performing? You never lose that.” He nodded toward the guys, and no one could argue that they weren’t enjoying the attention. Except Max, but he’d edged himself away a little and looked slightly less clenched, so maybe he was warming to the idea of being adored.

  Dave definitely had the biggest crowd around him, his Westwood buddies thumping him on the back and offering congratulations, the Rosewood girls (many who had probably always had something of a crush on him) angling to get close.

  Already a star, Andres was also surrounded by a throng of mostly female fans as he signed some shirts, hands, and arms, and even one bare shoulder, until the eagle-eyed Dean Haywood rushed over and intervened.

  “Uh oh,” Dad said as he noticed the dean close in, leaving my side to make his way over to do some damage control and surely remind Andres about signing protocol. Probably in his former life, signing questionable body parts was standard operating procedure. Not so for guys under Dad’s wing.

  The other guys weren’t starved for attention, either. I expected to see Sandy right in there with the other giggling and googly-eyed Rosewood girls, but a moment later, she came up to me from the side of the room, handing me a cold can of soda.

  “I’m surprised you’re not fangirling,” I said, taking the can and opening it before taking a swig. The soda was too cold, fizzing up my nose.

  She glanced at my father. “I should probably cool it around your dad.”

  I nodded. “Good plan.”

  She leaned toward me and whispered in my ear. “Plus, I get a whole week on tour with them. These poor girls only get a few minutes. I actually feel sorry for them.”

  I didn’t bother responding other than lifting an eyebrow as I took another drink.

  She winked at me and then looked up at the clock on the wall. “When do we leave here, anyway?”

  The end of year party was going to continue on with a DJ so people could dance, but Dad had made plans for us, so we were going to duck out. I was only a tiny bit sad to leave my school party early since Sandy would get to come with me. And it’s not like there was anyone I wanted to get close to on the dance floor, anyway.

  Dad liked to do a recap while everything was still fresh in everyone’s minds and after all the excitement of the day, we knew the guys would probably pass out on the drive back into the city, so he’d made reservations for the band, his team, plus me and Sandy at a restaurant not too far away. We’d get to have a good meal and allow the band to wind down a little before they all (save Sandy, Dave, and I) returned to New York. It would be a good opportunity to talk about the performance constructively and have something of a celebration at the same time.

  “Soon,” I said to Sandy. “Dad’ll give us a sign.”

  She nodded, but her face suddenly got serious, like she was working out how to say something. “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  You can’t be roommates with someone for two years without knowing when something is most definitely not nothing. “Sandrine...”

  “Fine,” she said with an eye-roll and a big, breathy sigh. But then she glanced toward where my father was chatting with the dean and said, “I’m a little nervous.”

  “About tour?”

  She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “What if I suck? What if I don’t get a lot of followers or if the series doesn’t take off?”

  I slid my arm around her shoulders. “First of all, you don’t suck. You’ve alrea
dy proven that you’re a great Tuber. As for the followers, you have a ton already, and that’s growing every day. My dad brought you on because you had a great idea. Everyone is going to love the behind the scenes stuff that they won’t be able to get anywhere else. Your content will be fresh and unscripted—the kind of thing that’s hard to buy from a publicity firm. It’s not like he’s doing you a favor; you earned the opportunity, remember? You’re both getting something out of it.”

  She nodded, but then that lip got sucked back between her teeth—a sure sign there was more to her nervousness than she was letting on.

  “What else?”

  She glanced over at the boys again. “What if...I mean...do you think...?” Her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

  I sighed, not needing her to finish. “Sandy, you can’t. The guys are off limits. You have to understand...”

  “I know,” she said sadly as she turned back and looked at me again. “And I really want to do the vlog thing. It’s just...”

  “Which one?” I asked, crossing my arms. “And I swear to God, Sandrine, if you say all of them...”

  She laughed. “No, it’s...”

  She didn’t have a chance to answer because half a second later Linda came over. “Can you girls help us with the stuff in the locker room? It will go a lot faster if we have more hands,” she said as she began to herd us toward the door, effectively ending our conversation about which band member Sandy was into.

  But knowing my best friend and roommate as well as I did, I knew it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist or a Cosmo quiz to figure out which of the guys she had a crush on.

  Of course, it wasn’t Andres, due to him being a douche and her fierce loyalty to me, which left three. Unless she counted Dave, but no, she didn’t know he was going on tour, so she wouldn’t count him.

  It couldn’t be Max, the guy who barely said two words to anyone but could play bass like nobody’s business. Dad said he filled the broody musician archetype perfectly and would find his own set of fans, assuming he stuck around, but I wasn’t so sure.

  Sandy had never really been about the broody type, either, so that narrowed it down to two.

  Graeme or Darren—both nice guys with their own charms. Graeme, the smooth and proper tall Englishman with the voice like poured silk, and Darren, the energetic drummer who was quick with a wink and a joke.

  Sandy liked to cast a broad net, so it could easily be either.

  As we got to the locker room and started packing up, the boys came in and started putting their guitars in cases and getting all their clothes sorted out.

  And that’s when it all became very clear as though the heavens had opened up and a beam of light had shined down on one body.

  The second Dave walked in, Sandy’s spine straightened, and she bit her lip as her eyes widened.

  That meant Sandy did count Dave as in the band; somehow she must have known he was joining the tour. That was problem number one. Number two was that she was obviously crushing on him. Hard.

  Problem three was just how much it bothered me.

  The After-Party

  I didn’t get a chance to talk to Sandy until we were two courses into our meal and she excused herself to go to the bathroom. She had been seated down at the other end of the table, flanked by Kiki and Max, but I’d been watching, and she only had eyes for Dave across the table from her.

  Since I’d been waiting for an opportunity, the second she pushed her chair back, I popped up and followed her into the restroom.

  She saw me and waited at the entrance to our private dining room for me to come around the table and join her. “Hey,” she said.

  I grabbed her wrist and tugged her away. “What?” she demanded, pulling her arm from my grasp. “What’s going on?”

  “You have got to stop ogling Dave!” I hissed.

  “What?” she said, wide-eyed like she had no idea how obvious it was.

  I pushed open the bathroom door and thankfully found it empty. I turned back toward her. “Are you kidding me? You’ve got total googly eyes. All it will take is one look at you and my dad will know you’re getting ready to throw your ovaries at him.”

  She cringed like she hadn’t been the one to talk about bearing musician love children just a couple of hours before. “Gross.”

  “Well then, stop it. You need to get over him.”

  She bit her lip and stared at me before she said, “How am I supposed to do that?”

  I sighed and looked into the mirror, checking out my teeth for bits of spinach left over from the Italian wedding soup. “I don’t know, Sandy. You just do. Tony won’t let you go on tour if he thinks there’s any chance this is about hooking up.”

  She inspected her own teeth and looked at me in the mirror. “It’s not about hooking up. But maybe that’s just an added bonus?” She lifted her eyebrows in an expression of hope.

  I shook my head and turned toward her. “No. It can’t be about that at all. Not while you’re on tour.”

  “So after my stint on tour’s over, we can hook up?”

  Is Dave even interested? I wondered, trying to recall if I’d noticed if he’d paid her any attention. I didn’t think so, but Sandy was a cute girl with a great personality. There was no reason he might not be into her. Except maybe that he was still hung up on Emmie. And he was focused on tour, which I thought (hoped?) was his number one priority.

  But Sandy wasn’t asking me if I thought he was interested. She was asking about logistics and how it all related to my dad. I shrugged. “After you leave tour I guess he can’t stop you. Though I know he’d prefer if all the guys were focused on their music and not on girls.”

  She laughed and then turned toward a stall. “Is he expecting monks?” she said over her shoulder.

  “No,” I said. “He’s expecting professionals. The kind that don’t get distracted with groupies throwing themselves at them.”

  The smile dissolved from her face. As much as she liked musicians, she would never want to be thought of as a groupie. “Come with us,” she said, turning back to face me. “It’s going to be so weird going if you’re not there.”

  I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “No. Sandy, we’ve been through this. I want no part of it, okay?”

  “But it’s only a week, and then we can go to the Hamptons. Just think of how much fun it—” She broke off and I have to think it was because she saw the anger bubbling up in me. I was getting really tired of people trying to get me to go on the tour. Didn’t they understand the last thing I wanted to do was hang around with the band? It was especially annoying coming from Sandy, who knew about my history with Andres.

  Couldn’t I just have the summer I’d planned on? The one I’d been looking forward to most of the year? The one that meant chilling out at the pool or on the beach while I read books and listened to music by people I’d never met? Was that so much to ask?

  I sighed, tired of fighting but still not willing to give in.

  “Okay, never mind,” Sandy said before she quickly turned and went into the stall. “And I’ll go out there and keep my eyes off Dave. But you can’t make me talk to Max. Talking to that guy is about as fun as a root canal.”

  I suppose it was all I could ask for.

  By the end of dinner, everyone was exhausted, but Dad still wanted to continue on to Manhattan and not spend another night in a hotel. All of the boys (except Dave), Kiki, Rex, and Ginny, piled into the limo while Dad, Sandy, Dave, Linda, and I got into the Range Rover so Ken could drive us back to campus before they returned to the city.

  Once they dropped us off, Dad and Linda would use the opportunity to go over the performance in even more detail on their way back to New York. But before that, I had to say goodbye to my father.

  We’d already dropped Dave off at Westwood and were now at the curb in front of the Rosewood main building. The party was probably still goin
g on in the rec center, but I was beyond tired and had no interest in joining; my bed was calling me in a big way.

  Dad followed Sandy and I out of the vehicle.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” he said to Sandy. “Looking forward to it.”

  She nodded. “If you can send me those bios for the guys, I’ll get to work on the pre-tour vlogs,” she said, sounding really professional.

  “Will do,” Dad said, obviously impressed. “I’ll send you the promo video as soon as we get it cut, too.”

  “That would be awesome, thank you!” She gave dad a quick hug and stood back, waiting for me.

  “It was a good day,” I said to him.

  He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “It was. Because I got to see my favorite girl,” he said into my ear.

  A pang of guilt washed over me, and I wished—not for the first time—he’d start dating so I wouldn’t have to be the his only girl. I’d brought it up a few times in the past couple of years, but he’d brushed me off, telling me he was too busy with work for relationships. I was sure that was part of it, but while he told me he’d made peace with what had happened to him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared to open up his heart and let someone into it after what had happened with my mother.

  She’d ruined his ability to trust. Of course, at the same time, she’d ruined mine, too.

  As soon as the Range Rover pulled away from the curb, I turned to go into the building, assuming Sandy would follow, but as I grabbed the door handle, I realized she wasn’t behind me.

  “I’m heading over to the dance,” she said, pointing toward the rec center building.

  “How are you not exhausted?” I asked, said exhaustion making me sound whiny.

  “I’m pumped,” she said, her smile broadening. “I mean, yeah, I’m a little tired, but I want to go listen to what people thought of the band while it’s still fresh, you know?”

  “Pretty smart, Sandrine,” I said. “Tony will love that.”