by Jean Haus
His shocked expression, which I’m sure mirrors mine, becomes tighter and more confused with each passing second. “Peyton?”
I grip the edge of the door for support. He is thinner than I remember, more lanky than muscular, and his once shoulder-length dark hair is cut super short, but there’s no mistaking that blade of a nose and his angular face, even drawn out and fatigued-looking as it is now. His dark blue eyes look as vivid as ever.
“Seth,” I say.
Hands deep in the pockets of his long shorts, he glances at the number on the door as his beat-up checkered Vans shuffle on the hallway carpet. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . .” Holy hell, breathe, Peyton! The sight of him still brings on hurt and guilt.
“Seth?” I hear the incredulous tone in Sam’s voice from down the hallway.
Seth turns and I draw in much-needed air. He looks back to me, then down the hall again to Sam, whom I can hear almost stomping toward us. “Sam, what the fuck is this?” Seth pulls a hand from his pocket and points at me. His lips twist into a snarl.
Sam steps into the doorway. Drawing in a deep breath, he wears a shocked expression too. “What are you doing here?” he asks his brother, obviously ignoring the reference to me.
Crossing his arms over his white beater tank, Seth glances at me. “Caught a bus. What is she doing in your room? What the hell is going on?”
Sam doesn’t look at me. Staring at his brother he says, “Peyton, can you give us a few?”
“Sure,” I say weakly, spinning around to grab my purse from the dresser.
Pushing a pissed off–looking Seth into our room, Sam says to me, “Wait in the lobby.”
I reach for the door handle. I’m not going to lunch with these two. There is absolutely no way. Other than the fact that Seth de-stroyed my reputation with wild rumors and my teenage heart, it would be very, very weird. “Um . . .”
Sam’s eyes bore into mine. “Please, Peyton.”
I’m not sure if it’s the plea in his eyes or the desperate tone of his voice, but I find myself stupidly nodding.
After shutting the door behind me, I move toward the elevator in a haze of confusion. The doors of the elevator open and Justin steps out.
“Hey, Peyton,” he says casually.
Still in shock, I drag him back into the elevator with me. “Don’t go to our room right now.”
He gives me an odd look. “Why?”
“Sam’s brother showed up unannounced.” With a shaky finger, I push the button for the ground floor.
Justin’s expression grows more confused. “Sam has a brother?”
I blink at Justin. How does he not know about Seth? He and Sam have been in a band for years together. “A twin brother.”
Justin gapes as the elevator doors open to the lobby. “Like identical?”
I shake my head. “No, not identical. They’re . . .” I was about to say “fraternal” and “eleven minutes apart, with Seth being the ‘older’ one.” But luckily, I catch myself. In my shock, I almost blew our cover. This is definitely not the time to reveal to Justin and the others that Sam and I have only been acting like we didn’t know each other before the tour. I really, really don’t want to open that can of craziness with Seth here. I don’t want to open it at all. “They must be fraternal.” I step out of the elevator and Justin follows. “I mean, they do look like they could be brothers, but they’re not identical.”
“Strange, he never said anything about having a brother,” Justin says, shoving his hands into his pockets as we enter the lobby. “Why shouldn’t we go up?”
“Well . . .” I desperately search for a plausible reason, but I don’t know what the hell is going on and decide to stick with the truth as much as possible. “Sam looked shocked and a little pissed that his brother was here. He asked me to leave,” I say, adding a shrug for good measure.
“Huh,” Justin says. “I can’t believe he has a twin brother.” He shakes his head. “Sam sometimes is closemouthed, but this takes it to a new level.”
I’m a little freaked out too that Sam never said anything to Justin about Seth. Is there still a huge rift between the brothers? If so, there’s no way I can still be the cause. That would be insane.
Justin glances around the lobby. “I’m supposed to meet Romeo for a workout.”
Guess today is workout day. “Sam told me he’d be down in a few.”
Justin digs out his phone, shaking his head. “I’ll give Sam ten, then I’m going up.” He puts the phone to his ear and says, “Hey, baby.”
While he talks to Allie, I go to one of the couches in the lobby and send a What’s up? text to Jill. While I wait to hear back from her, I have to force myself to stay seated, because I feel so agitated after seeing Seth. The guy annihilated my reputation and my heart.
It’s really, really not fair for Sam to ask me to wait for them. I’m about to leave when Sam and Seth step out of the elevator. Both appear tense, and my instinct to take off goes into overdrive. But when Sam’s pleading gaze finds me, I feel stuck in the corner of the couch.
Sam comes over with Seth slowly following. “I noticed you got the laundry done, so how about that lunch?”
I glance at Seth, who is studying me with a suspicious gaze. “I . . .”
“Come on, Peyton,” Sam says. “Like I said, my treat, especially for doing the laundry.”
My eyes implore Sam to go without me as I say, “I already ate.”
His eyes beg me to come. “We’re going to grab something quick, then we’re walking to the bus terminal.”
“Bus terminal?” I repeat.
“Yeah, Seth needs to get home,” he says in a tight tone, though Seth shakes his head behind him. “He’ll miss work. We’re heading to the bus station so he doesn’t lose his job. Please come?”
“Okay,” I say, standing. None of this makes sense, yet I can’t seem to refuse Sam’s pleading.
Sam gives me a pained smile before we all start walking toward the entrance.
“You’re aware,” Seth says as we step outside, “there might not be a bus back home today.”
“Detroit has to be a main hub. There’ll be a bus there today,” Sam says through gritted teeth.
“We’ll see,” Seth says, and I notice Sam’s entire posture visibly tightening.
Sam stalks a bit ahead of us in obvious anger, but over his shoulder he says, “Just ask her your questions.”
Watching him, I’m completely confused by whatever is going on between them.
“So,” Seth says, bringing my attention to him, “you and Sam haven’t talked since—well, in years?”
No. No. No. This weird tense crap between them can’t be because of me. I draw in a breath and force myself to remain calm. “Nope. And he wasn’t too excited—was actually quite upset—when Romeo asked me to come on tour.”
“And you came because—because you’re on the school newspaper, right?”
Obviously, Seth didn’t believe Sam’s explanation and now I’m being interrogated. “Yes, Romeo asked me because this fall I’ll be on the editing team for the university paper.”
Seth looks at me blankly, lost in thought and pulling at the unkempt scruff on his chin. “Huh? I don’t recall you wanting to write.”
He wouldn’t. We never used to talk about serious stuff. “I’m getting a degree in journalism and hoping to make it as a music journalist.”
His head tilts toward me, and he rubs the back of his neck with a palm while the lines of his face scrunch in confusion. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”
I stare at Seth. He’s not just thinner but kind of disoriented, in complete contrast to the cocksure attitude I remember him having.
“Actually, things don’t make total sense,” Seth says, tapping on his chin as we stop at a corner. Sam has his back to us. Seth looks down at me, studying me again with a suspicious glare. “I have to admit, Peyton, when I saw you standing in Sam’s room, I thought you guys were still going behind my b
ack.”
Behind his back? After so many years, I don’t know what to say. Sam apparently does, because he whips around. “Dammit, Seth! I told you to quit. I told you that shit wasn’t happening.”
Seth crosses his arms, tucks in his bottom lip, and glares at his brother. “Then why didn’t you tell me she was with you?”
Sam runs a hand through his curls and tugs on them before lowering his hand. “I didn’t want to upset you, okay?” he says in a pleading tone. “Nothing is going on. It wasn’t worth you worrying about it.”
Frowning, Seth looks from Sam to me. I fight the urge to run away from both of them. I’m feeling super weirded out.
“Tell him, Peyton,” Sam says roughly. “Tell him we’re just friends.”
“Um,” I say, my hands twisting the strap of the purse hanging across my chest. “Sometimes we are, I guess, but usually we’re not even really friends, to be honest.”
Seth looks confused by the statement, while Sam throws his head back and lets out a roaring laugh.
Chapter 16
The swipe of a card sliding in the lock has me hitting the power button on the TV remote, which engulfs the hotel room in darkness. And for a quick instant, I consider jumping across the room into my rollaway. But I’d never make it in time. I slip into the dark bathroom instead.
After Seth had refused to get on a bus, Sam reluctantly agreed to let him come to the concert. Seth had hounded me all day with questions. He’d been by my side while I ran the booth, before and after I took pictures of Luminescent Juliet onstage, while I packed up the booth, and then backstage. No matter how many times I’d refuted the notion, Seth had come up with more ways to insinuate that Sam and I are together. He’s obsessed with proving it. The harassment got so bad that I snuck away, paid for a cab myself, and came back to the hotel alone. As the door starts to open, I’m practically praying Justin is on the other side of it because I can’t deal with Seth anymore.
Unfortunately for me, it’s not Justin. I hear Sam’s voice blare angrily, “No, no, no. Gabe doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“Wrong!” Seth’s voice sounds wild. “He’s after me. Wants to take me down! Of course he’d slip something in my drink! He tried to poison me!”
What? Seth has to be wasted or something. I stand quietly in the bathroom, debating whether to turn on a light or say something to make them aware of my presence.
“Enough of this bullshit! No more of your bullshit!” Sam yells angrily. I freeze at the tone and volume of his voice.
“It’s the truth,” Seth says in a tone that borders on a whimper. I can sense that he’s cowering and refusing to back down at the same time. “It’s the truth,” he repeats.
Someone hits or kicks the bathroom door, then Sam says, “Okay. Okay. Why is he after you?”
“I don’t know. Ask him.” Someone, most likely Seth, stomps on the floor. “But I could tell he was planning something.”
I hear the frown in Sam’s voice as he says, “He was making out with a groupie. How or why the fuck would he be worried about you?”
Seth’s voice drops to a conspiratorial tone. “He wants to get rid of me,” he says. “Do me in. He might be one of the bad guys or even an alien for all we know. “
At those words, I want desperately to disappear, melt down the drain or something, and avoid hearing all this craziness. But there’s only one way out, and it involves leaving the bathroom and passing the brothers. So I stay put.
“Alien? Do you in? Do you in?” Sam repeats incredulously. “A drummer for an up-and-coming band has plans to murder the bassist’s twin brother because . . . ?”
“He’s evil,” Seth says in a wild tone. “You refuse to see it. Like always, you refuse to listen.”
Sam groans. “How long have you been off your fucking meds?”
I hold a gasp in. Somehow, I stay frozen, probably because of the shock hammering my brain.
“I told you, the pills were poisoning me!” Seth takes a deep breath. “The pills are bad. I can’t think with them, and they slowly kill a person, like arsenic. Everyone in my therapy group knows that.”
I’m still wishing I could dissolve into thin air when everything clicks into place: Seth is certifiably insane.
Sam’s next words come out sounding dull and cold. “You are getting on that bus tomorrow if I have to tie you to a fucking seat. Then you’re going back to your doctor and taking your fucking meds.”
“No,” says Seth, sounding stubborn. “I want to stay on tour with you.”
“What about the guy who wants to do you in?”
“He—”
“No!” Sam shouts. “Forget I asked. We’re going to bed, then getting up early so you can catch that six o’clock bus.”
The door to the bathroom opens and the light flicks on.
I stand frozen, staring at Sam.
“Peyton?” he asks, horror in his tone.
Seth is instantly by his side.
Oh crap. They both stare at me wide-eyed and openmouthed.
Seth takes a step past Sam, pointing at me. “She was listening!” He turns to his brother. “She’s spying on me,” he says angrily. “You brought her to spy on me!”
I back away from him and almost run into the tub. “I—”
“She’s not spying on you, Seth.” Sam draws in a deep breath, looking at me angrily. “She should have made her presence known, but no one is spying on you.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say, more to Sam than to Seth. “I was going to say something, but you started yelling and I didn’t want to come out and interrupt you. I kind of froze. I didn’t mean to listen,” I add when I see Sam’s jaw harden.
Seth’s fists bunch at his sides. “Stay out of my business, Peyton.”
“Okay,” I say simply. I step past Seth and then Sam, wanting to get the heck away from the drama. In the room, I reach for my purse.
“Just a minute,” Sam says, looking at my bag. “I need to make a call home. Can you wait with him? I’ll just be a few minutes.” Before I can answer, he points a finger at Seth. “You stay put.” With his phone in hand, he disappears into the bathroom.
Not wanting to hear anything Seth has to say, I flick on the TV and fall into a chair.
But of course Seth comes and stands in front of the TV. He pulls at the edge of his white tank until it’s stretched past his hips. “So why were you listening, Peyton?”
Not sure how to deal with him, I decide to be honest and say, “With you two barging in, it was kind of hard not to.”
His mouth twists as he glances toward the door. “Sam thinks I’m crazy. I’m not. I know things. See things. Lots of things. Things that others can’t see.”
Very uncomfortable, I stare at the TV. “Okay.” I’m not going to argue with him. From everything I’ve just heard, arguing fuels his paranoia.
“This isn’t good.” His hands twist in his tank now, causing his white stomach and protruding ribs to show. “Sam is calling my mother. They’re plotting right now. I’m not going to let them work against me,” he snarls. Then he releases his twisted shirt and moves lightning fast toward the door of the room.
“Wait!” I yell, stumbling after him. But before I can stand straight, he’s gone down the hallway. This can’t be good. I pound on the bathroom door. “Sam! Seth took off! Sam!” I shout and pound harder.
The door whips open. Holding the phone to his ear, Sam says, “He took off. I gotta go.” Racing past me, he goes to the door and looks down the hall. “Fuck!” he yells, then over his shoulder adds, “Peyton, I’m going to check the stairwell. You take the elevator. Meet me out front.”
I grab my purse, slip on my flip-flops, and head toward the lobby. I rush around the hall corner, but no one’s in front of the elevators. I tap my foot in irritation as I wait for an elevator. Once in the lobby, I don’t spot Seth anywhere. Outside, Sam stands at the far end of the sidewalk, his gaze sweeping the area.
I run over to him. “Where would he go?”
>
He shakes his head furiously. “I don’t know and he won’t answer his phone.”
“Would he try to confront Gabe?”
As he considers the idea, he winces. “Maybe.”
I haul Sam by the hand toward the hotel entrance, where cabs always wait. “Let’s go to the arena.”
He follows slowly at first, but within a few seconds, he’s dragging me. Luckily for us, there is a cab waiting. We slide into the backseat as Sam barks at the driver to go to the arena, which is about five blocks away.
Once we’re on the road, I ask, “What exactly is going on?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. He wasn’t supposed to know about the tour, but he clearly found out somehow. I never know what the hell Seth’s going to do. It’s just like him to get on a bus and come to Charlotte. Why fucking come to Charlotte?” he asks in a frustrated tone, staring out the window.
Aware he’s not looking for a response and forced to acknowledge that he’s not answering my question, I keep my mouth shut while many, many other unasked questions burn in my mind. Now is not the time, especially with Sam obviously dealing with so much.
The driver drops us off in front of the arena. We rush past masses of people leaving. But when we get to the front gate, they won’t let us back inside because the concert is letting out. Local people work the entrances, and Luminescent Juliet is not that well-known. Which is why the two guys at the gate don’t believe that Sam is in the band. At the point Sam is about to blow up, one of the roadies comes by pushing a flat cart full of boxes. Even when the roadie tells the gate guys Sam is in the opening band, they are reluctant but finally let us in.
We rush backstage and find the party in full swing, stereo blasting Pong. The large cement-walled room is packed with people, and a few band members. Gabe should be in here somewhere. Although the guys from Brookfield are usually tired and hang around only for a bit before heading to their hotel, Gabe always hangs out to party—usually with Sam.
After shoving through the mass, we find Gabe at the back. Girls hang on him, but he steps out of their embrace as we come at him.
Before either of us can ask about Seth, he yanks Sam by the collar and shouts in his face, “What the fuck is wrong with your brother?”
