Dead End Road

by Lori Whitwam

“Any minute now, I figure. I hope.” Seth looked across the parking lot again, in case she’d arrived while he wasn’t looking.

  “You hope?” Joey’s voice held a definite note of disbelief. “Excuse me for being totally fucking clueless, but this girl…”

  “Her name’s Abby,” Seth said, his focus still on the parking lot.

  “Okay, Abby runs over your guitar, you yell at her, she yells back, then you kiss and make up and invite her to the show. This does not compute. I’d expect you to be waiting for your bail hearing, not making a date.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Seth looked into his friend’s curious eyes. “It’s just…” His voice trailed off. He had no idea what to say.

  “Oh, no. Dude. I can’t believe Marsh actually picked up on this. But this is monumental, because you don’t do this. Ever. Not since things went balls-up with Stacy.” Joey’s expression shifted from curious to concerned, and Seth could see why.

  What Joey said was true. He never dated women he met on the road, or he hadn’t for the past year and a half. That was when he and Stacy Ballantyne had broken up. Or, to be more precise, when he caught her in bed with a crack pipe and the bass player from their opening act.

  “Seriously, man, I don’t know what’s going on. Once I pulled my head out of my ass and stopped screaming about the guitar and really looked at her, and listened to her…” Seth launched his empty bottle toward the trash can and it fell in, rattling the bottles already there. As if jolted free by the sharp sound, a thought occurred to him. “Okay, you know what it’s like when we’ve been working on a piece for hours, trying to figure out what doesn’t work? Then we find the exact beat or the perfect bridge to bring it all together?”

  “Yeah, that’s the best, man.”

  “And, you know how you can’t see why we hadn’t tried it hours ago, and you don’t even remember how we used to play it, because this way makes perfect sense?” Why hadn’t he thought to sort this out in musical terms before? It was usually how his brain worked best.

  “Yeah, and now I don’t know whether to be happy or worried.” Joey slapped his palm onto Seth’s shoulder.

  Seth didn’t think he liked the sound of that. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Because I’ve known you forever, I heard what you just said, and I’m pretty goddamned sure I know what it means. Man, your bad-boy, hard-partying days are officially over. You’re hooked.”

  “No way.” But, truthfully, “hard-partying” had checked out right around his thirtieth birthday. “Really? You think so? Me and Abby?” Why didn’t the idea upset him nearly as much as he might have expected?

  A red-haired Kewpie doll of a woman appeared beside them and smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “So, did you talk to him, Joey? What’s the story?”

  Joey rose and put his arms around his petite wife, giving her a kiss on top of her head. “Yes, Caroline, I did, and you were one hundred percent right, as if there was ever any doubt.”

  “Did he use a music analogy?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow in Seth’s direction.

  “Yep.”

  Sitting beside Seth and throwing an arm around him, she said, “That’s it, then. When do we get to meet her?”

  Seth sat there, stunned, until Joey hauled him to his feet and gave him a shove in the direction of the bunks. “Grab your shit and get ready. I’ll yell if Abby shows up before you’re done.” Seth swore he felt his friend’s smug grin follow him down the hall.

  Seth changed clothes and made sure he had plenty of guitar picks in his pocket. The entire time he tried to sort through what Joey said. It couldn’t be simple. Nothing ever was. Certainly not anything involving women.

  He remembered the spark in Abby’s eyes when she felt he was questioning her personal integrity. He thought about watching her walk back up the street after their time in the park. How would those long legs feel wrapped…? He shoved the thought straight back in the can. He’d think about the leg wrapping in great detail later, as well as the fact she fascinated him far too much for his own good, but now was not the time.

  He came out of the bathroom and was stowing his gear under his bunk when Joey called, “Seth, hot chick approaching, two o’clock! Haul your ass up here.”

  Chapter Three

  Abby

  Abby’s drive into town that evening was much less eventful than the one earlier in the day. There were no near collisions, and she didn’t run over a single guitar.

  She’d tried to quell her nervousness with a walk along the lakeshore in front of her house. This almost never failed to calm her, but her stomach was still full of butterflies.

  She attempted to rally some confidence. At least she had the perfect thing to wear, thanks to Monique. With the crocheted-violet halter top, she wore dark boot-cut jeans and purple leather sandals. She had a jacket in the back seat in case it got chilly before the evening ended.

  The bus had been moved off the street, and Abby parked nearby and walked toward it. She chastised herself for the way nervousness tightened her neck and shoulders.

  The door to the bus swung open, and Abby breathed a sigh of relief as Seth came down the steps and walked toward her.

  He looked different. He was in full concert mode now, which included the ever-present jeans, but his shirt was now a faded black, with the logo of an outdoor music festival on it. He’d added more jewelry too, including a heavy-linked bracelet and some leather wristbands. There were several charms on cords or silver chains around his neck and small, heavy hoops in his pierced ears.

  He looked fabulous, and she had a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to lick his tattoos—not only the ones she had already seen on his arms, but any others he might have which were not visible to the general public.

  “Hey,” he said, his head slightly down, almost like a bashful schoolboy. “Glad you made it back.”

  “I said I would,” she replied. “And it was nice of you to ask, considering.”

  “Well, let’s go in and meet the guys. They’re kind of obnoxious, but they won’t bite. If they do, it’s okay to bite ’em back.”

  Taking her arm, Seth escorted her on board the luxury bus. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim, recessed lighting, and she’d just become accustomed to the deep blue-and-gray cave-like atmosphere when Seth started the introductions. The band members she recognized, of course, and she waved at Joey where he sat perched on the counter of the kitchenette, his wife leaning against his knees. Pete and his wife sat at a small banquette, and some of the crew members emerged from a hallway leading past bunks to a rear seating area to say hello.

  Abby was glad when the introductions were over. She hated being the center of attention. She always felt awkward in new situations, but managed to make some small talk without too much trouble. Since Monique broke the news about her malfunctioning brain filter, she found herself a little paranoid about what came out of her mouth. She felt less self-conscious when Seth guided her to one of the upholstered benches.

  In response to her drink request, Abby received a gin and tonic, which tasted like it contained turpentine instead of actual gin. She must have made a face when she took her first sip, because Seth said, “Shit. I should’ve warned you to stick with something straight out of the bottle.” He turned to Andy. “Hey, Hicks, she’s barely in the door and you’re trying to chase her off? Man, you suck as a bartender.”

  “It’s the chance you take, unless you want to stop being a lazy ass and make it yourself.” She thought with his lank, sandy hair and wide brown eyes, he looked barely old enough to drink and probably a poor choice for a bartender. He flashed an apologetic grin at Abby. “Don’t worry. They get better after the first one.”

  “If I have any enamel left on my teeth when I finish this, I’ll give it a try.”

  Seth snorted. “Don’t believe him. It won’t be any better, but your tongue will be numb, so you won’t be able to tell.”

  As they sipped their drinks, Abby was intensely aware of Seth. Since
taking her arm outside, he’d never fully released her. His hand had moved from her arm to her waist while he was introducing everybody. Now, as they sat side by side, his arm was across the back of the seat, his fingertips barely touching her right shoulder. While she certainly had no objections, it made her wonder. She didn’t think it was exactly possessive behavior, so the only reason she could think of was uncertainty. Did he think she was going to get up and walk out? Or simply disappear? Was Seth Caldwell ever insecure? She didn’t have enough information on which to base a hypothesis, so she forced the thought aside.

  “Hey, Joey,” Seth said. “What time are y’all taking off for the airport?”

  “Soon as we’re done here. Flight’s at 7:00 a.m., which is totally brutal.”

  “But the sooner we go, the more time we have on the beach,” Caroline reminded him. “And if I don’t get some beach time, I will be forced to leave you for a mariachi in Puerto Vallarta.”

  “Don’t make me forbid you to ever set foot in Mexico,” Joey said, brandishing what Abby guessed was an imaginary sword.

  Caroline laughed and gave him a swat on the butt. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you go home and set up the practice studio as soon as you’re sufficiently relaxed and tan.”

  “Make sure you do,” Seth said. “He needs the practice. If he doesn’t nail the bit in Crimes and Misdemeanors, his next trip to the beach will be as shark bait.”

  “That’s harsh.” Joey hung his head in mock sorrow. “And mariachis know nothing about percussion. They’re all about guitars and trumpets.” He still had his hand pressed to his heart as he led Caroline toward the lounge in the rear of the bus.

  Seth edged a bit closer. His thigh now pressed along the length of hers, and his hand rested more firmly on her shoulder, which tingled at his touch. Would it hold true wherever he touched her? She repressed a small shiver of anticipation.

  “Hey, Seth, you ready for another beer?” called Pete. He and Marshall snorted and elbowed each other, indicating they found this innocent question utterly hilarious.

  “Fuck you, man,” said Seth. “I don’t know what bit me the other night, but it sure as shit wasn’t beer.”

  “If you say so, but I’d stay off the hard stuff tonight if I was you,” said Marshall.

  Abby quirked a questioning eyebrow at Seth.

  “They’re just being asshats,” he replied with a shrug. “They think I had a drinking malfunction in Cincinnati the other night. Which I totally did not. There was something wrong, that’s a fact, but I can’t figure out what.”

  Heads turned as a giant of a man climbed aboard the bus. The man waited as Seth introduced him as Trent, their road manager, and gave a friendly nod before turning to face the group.

  “All right, boys and girls, time to rock the house. Let’s go.” Everyone moved to comply, and Abby thought it would be a bad idea to disobey a guy who could probably bench-press a Buick.

  Pete and his model-pretty wife, Jackie, were the last to leave, and he turned back to Seth. “Hey, man, you comin’? I figure you have a little more time, if you want it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Sure, take your time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Pete winked and headed toward the club.

  “Which eliminates absolutely nothing,” Seth grumbled, but Abby was charmed by the easy, locker room-style banter. They really were like brothers.

  She felt her heart race at the thought of being alone with Seth. He now held her more firmly, his arm warm across her shoulders. She leaned into him, getting used to the sensation. Nice.

  Something had been on her mind since their earlier conversation, and she decided to bring it up, even if it did sound like something people probably said to him all the time. “Do you remember when we were talking about your songs, and how they matter to people?”

  “Sure.”

  His hand traced back and forth across her shoulder. This made it very difficult for her to concentrate, but she forged ahead. “There’s one song that’s always been my favorite.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  ““Make or Break.” When I first heard it, I was really lost.” She glanced up at him and saw he was paying close attention, despite the fact his hand was now skimming across her bare back. “I felt like I didn’t have any direction or focus, and I couldn’t write worth a damn. I considered giving it all up. Then I heard “Make or Break,” and it felt like it was about me. It said to get past worrying about what anybody thought and do what I needed to do. I know it sounds cliché, but if it weren’t for that song, I don’t think any of my books would’ve ever been written.”

  Seth looked at her for a long moment after her admission, his hand still sliding across her back. Her skin came alive at his touch, and the back of her mind was whispering…more.

  “That means a lot to me,” Seth said softly. “It’s where I was too, when I wrote it. We’d been listening to too many ‘executives’ trying to change us. But we wouldn’t have been us anymore, those guys from the wrong side of the tracks. We’d be another cheap copy, and I could never do that.” He picked up his beer bottle and drained it. “I couldn’t write for months. When I stopped trying to please other people instead of listening to what was coming from inside, it all came back, and we’ve been rolling ever since.”

  “My favorite part is the second verse. It was determined, sad, and defiant all at the same time. It was exactly how I felt.” In her mind, she heard the echo of the lyrics.

  Better stay true to your vision

  Ignore how they tell you to roll

  If you don’t listen to your own voice

  It’s the hook that will rip out your soul

  “Maybe I need to sit down and play it a few dozen times,” Seth confessed, “because I’ve been stuck again. Maybe worse. I wonder if I’ve said all I have to say.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “I sure hope not. Can’t play the same songs for the rest of my life, so I’ve gotta find it again.”

  Shifting to face her, Seth said, “I started your book.”

  “When did you have time to read?”

  “I made time. I couldn’t wait to see what it was like. You have an amazing style.”

  Abby searched his face. He seemed sincere, but she struggled with the reality of Seth reading something she wrote.

  He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What, don’t you believe me?”

  “Just a little overwhelmed.”

  “Don’t be. It’s really good. I already like Jill and her dog, and the director of the service dog group.” He tilted his head and appeared to take a moment to form a thought. “I think writing a song is like building a room. And the finished album is a house. But writing a book seems more like building a whole city.”

  Abby found herself nodding. “Maybe. At least it’s like building a small town. If you do it right.”

  “I’d say you do it right,” Seth said. “You learn a lot about people when you read what they write. And I’m thinking I want to learn all about you.” His voice had lowered to a husky, seductive rumble, and for a moment Abby didn’t think there was enough air in the bus. Seth leaned toward her, one hand at her waist. The space between them pulsed, heavy with energy, like two powerful magnets whose polarity had not yet been determined. Would the force coalesce and push them away from each other…or would it be an attraction neither of them could resist?

  Abby realized Seth was very near, very warm, and watching her intently.

  “Something’s happening here, isn’t it?” he murmured.

  “I think so.” Her head spun and her hormones cheered at the thought.

  He raised his hand to cup her jaw. “Good. Like a first verse or a first chapter…” His voice trailed off and the space between them diminished. He paused, his face just inches from hers. His eyes asked the same questions she knew must be reflected in her own, and gave the same answers. At first, his lips barely touched hers, a mere promise of a kiss.
It intensified, and her lips parted. They were tentative at first, testing, seeking, before they found their ease.

  He tasted of smoke and barley, and she felt as if her spine were dissolving at the base of her skull. The softness of his lips contrasted in the most sensual way with the rasp of razor stubble against her chin and the sensitive skin around her mouth. She lifted her hand to touch his hair, something she had dreamed of doing more times than she would ever admit. His thumb traced her lower lip, before he slowly drew back.

  “I’ve never been less happy to leave this bus in my life,” Seth said.

  “The show must go on, as they say.” Damned show.

  “Well, ‘they’ wouldn’t say it if they were here with you.” His hands continued to skim up and down her body, and he peppered her neck with tiny, nerve-tingling kisses.

  Abby knew she was becoming way more excited than was wise, but she allowed herself to savor his kisses for a few more minutes. She placed her hands on his chest and slowly eased herself back, even though she wanted nothing more than to stay exactly where she was. She glanced out the window and noticed the people who had been lingering on the sidewalk were gone. “We’d better go, but don’t forget where we were.”

  “I couldn’t forget, because I don’t plan to stop thinking about it.” The look in his fathomless blue eyes made Abby want to barricade the door and dare anybody to try to drag them out.

  They stepped into the evening air, which felt improbably frigid without the warmth of Seth’s embrace. A group of about a dozen fans waited near the stage door, and Abby stood off to one side while Seth signed autographs and posed for pictures.

  She wasn’t really listening to the pleasantries he exchanged with the fans or the buzz of voices from inside, but her ears perked up when she heard him begin to tell a story she’d read in several interviews. She couldn’t imagine many of the fans hadn’t already heard the story of how Dead End Road was named, but maybe they wanted to hear Seth tell it, just as she did.

  “So, we were sixteen, right? Playin’ fairs and rodeos and shit back home in Montana, because we were too young to play the bars. Too young to play ’em, but somebody always had a brother or a cousin who’d buy us a couple cases of beer.” The fans nodded knowingly. “We were good at drinking, but really bad at not getting caught, and about the third time this one deputy nailed us, he decided we needed to have a talk. Gilbert, his name was, or Gilbertson, I forget now.”