With the Band

by Jean Haus

  I gesture behind us to the bus. At this point, it’s starting to feel like a well-furnished prison on wheels. If it weren’t for him, I’d be pulling my hair out by now. “What about living like this?”

  “Sometimes,” he says, shrugging, “you have to take the good with the bad. If the good is that freaking good.”

  It’s obvious he loves to perform and play. It was obvious when I watched him in the Bottle Rockets. But songwriting? It’s kind of established that Romeo is the band’s songbird. I stare at Sam’s stunning profile against the almost equally stunning backdrop of mountains. “Exactly how many songs have you written?”

  He turns slowly to look at me. “Well . . . um, I’ve helped Romeo a bit with the melodies, so maybe about twenty percent there, but more than half of the album’s lyrics are mine.”

  “Why?” I ask, knowing he’ll understand that I’m asking why he’d hide his contribution.

  He turns back to the scenery. “Like ‘Trace,’ most of them are personal. I don’t like the idea of people getting a peek into my soul.”

  I’m thinking I’m going to have to figure out some more Luminescent Juliet lyrics when an awful thought occurs to me. “Are any about me?” My tone sounds pathetically fraught.

  His lips twist into a frown.

  “Sam?”

  He glances out the window while I try to stay patient. He finally says, “There’s one.”

  My teeth clench and grind until I let out a deep breath. “How bad is it? How bitchy am I painted? How—I mean I get it, I hurt you and you had every right to speak the truth, but . . .” My mind starts flipping through songs. None of them are about a heartless bitch. But I haven’t dissected all the lyrics yet.

  “Hey,” he says, as his knuckle lifts my chin, “it’s not that bad. Really not bad at all. I wrote it remembering the sweet girl who’d filled my thoughts and spent time talking and joking around with me. Not the girl—”

  “Who left you in the barn without a glance,” I say, finishing for him. “I’m sor—”

  His fingers cover my mouth as he shakes his head. “No more sorry. You were right. The past is the past.” He scoots toward me, his knees sliding across the leather. “We’re here now. I want to live in the now, and let the past go.” His hands cup my face. “You were my first, and now you’re mine.”

  Am I? When we’re intimate, there’s no doubt. Outside our passion, things aren’t as clear. I search his steady gaze, and drown a bit in the bright blue sea of it. Okay, fine. I am his. I rub a thumb over his bottom lip. “You’re mine too.”

  He smiles softly and leans forward.

  The swish of the curtain opening has Sam pausing.

  “Hey, lovebirds,” Gabe says. “Lunch is served. Hot lunch. As in Gabe’s simmered steak and potatoes. The Crock-Pot with the battery inverter thing worked like a fucking charm.”

  Sam’s gaze stays on me while he tells Gabe, “Great. We’ll be there in a second.”

  “One last smooch?” Gabe says with a laugh, walking away.

  “Several,” Sam says, reaching for my face so he can kiss me thoroughly. Standing, he grabs my hand. “One and a half more days, and we’re off this damn bus.”

  “Wait,” I say, pulling him back. He looks down at me. I bite my lip, then ask, “When you said I was your first, what did you mean?”

  A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “You were the first girl I ever slept with.”

  I blink at him. “Really?”

  He sits down. “Seth was the playboy.” He points to the book on the table. “I was the geek. We didn’t do the band thing for real until senior year, and, well, I wasn’t used to the attention.” He adds with a frown, “Yet.”

  “You were my first too,” I blurt.

  He cocks his head. “You and Seth?”

  I shake my head a bit too violently. “No, never.”

  “But he said . . .”

  My gaze turns glaring.

  “Yeah, well, it never mattered even when I thought that you two—” He slaps his forehead. “Fuck. How did I not know that you were a virgin?”

  He looks so unhappy with himself, I reach for his hands. “Maybe because you were a virgin too?”

  “Still,” he says, wincing.

  “And we were kind of lost in the moment and drunk. I mean, we didn’t even use a condom.”

  His hands tighten on mine. “I would have stood by you if you were pregnant. Seth falling off the deep end or not.”

  “I know. I knew it then,” I say, realizing that I did. Sam would have been there for me.

  He nods, but his eyes are troubled.

  Probably because I’m slowly seeing the past through a different, more mature lens, my emotions are as troubled as his gaze.

  “Hey, assholes!” Gabe yells from the front of the bus. “I didn’t peel potatoes for nothing!”

  I stand. “We keep saying it, but we really need to let the past go. We’ve got now and the future,” I say with a bright smile, and tug him out of the room before Gabe loses it.

  After performing, signing a few autographs, and having pictures taken with fans, Sam leads me to the bus. He drags me past snoring Gary to the back of the bus, which is parked behind an arena in Salt Lake City. And after shutting the curtain to our little cave, he drags me to the couch and pulls me onto his lap.

  “We’ve got about forty minutes,” he says, pushing his hands under my shirt.

  He goes to kiss me but I turn my head. “We’re not having sex with Gary sleeping in the front room,” I whisper.

  His lips slide along my cheek. “Who said anything about sex?”

  “Sam,” I warn.

  “Just want some semi-alone time.” He tugs my head down and kisses me.

  Though the kiss pulls me into the passion his mouth always creates, I push at his chest. “Wait, wait,” I gasp. “I need to tell you something.”

  Sighing, he falls forward, his forehead against my shoulder. “What?”

  “Well . . .” I say slowly, trying to collect my thoughts, even though the topic I’m about to bring up has been on my mind all day. During their sound checks, while I ran the booth—and as I shot photos of them performing, of Sam performing—that was when the lightbulb clicked on and everything made sense. “I know we both said to leave the past in the past, but . . .”

  He looks up at me, his lips turning into a thin line.

  “I slowly came to realize something today. I didn’t ever truly like Seth. I was in love with the idea of him. The idea that the lead singer, the guy all the girls wanted, wanted me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a total airhead, there were times that Seth was charming—”

  “I don’t want to talk about my brother and you,” Sam says, interrupting in a tight tone.

  I put my hand up. “Wait. Let me get to the point. Seth and I were superficial. He’d call and text me all week, then ignore me until the end of the night at the parties I rushed to.”

  Sam groans against my shoulder.

  “During most of those parties, I was with you. Until today, I’d forgotten about the party at the lake, where we lay on the dock, looking at the stars, talking about music and college. Or the time you drove me all the way home when Jill took off with some guy. You introduced me to the Violent Femmes and Moby. Remember that night we lit those firecrackers—”

  Sam leans back and looks at me. Despondency lines his features. “Peyton, are you telling me that until now you didn’t remember any of our time together?”

  “I had . . . maybe not forgotten, but I tried to block everything after the fallout. I felt guilty because why would I sleep with you but not my boyfriend? I didn’t understand myself at all. I know that now.”

  He grabs my shoulders. “We need to leave this shit alone. We were kids.”

  I shake my head. “I was superficial, Sam. I’m certain, looking back, I was falling for you, but I was blinded by what Seth represented—the attention, the other girls being jealous of me. It went to my head.”

  “I
’m okay with the past, Peyton. You don’t have to do this.”

  “It was always you.” I grab his hand and clasp it to my heart. “You were here even then,” I say, leaning toward him and making our gazes level. “No one else has ever been.”

  He stares at me, lets the truth of my words settle. His other hand trembles slightly as he pushes a strand of my hair back. “It’s the same for me. The girls between then and now are a haze. It’s always been you for me too.”

  I can’t help smiling as I press my lips to his.

  We’re content to hold each other, kissing softly and sighing into each other’s mouth, until Sam pushes gently on my back. His hands settle on my thighs. “Your boots are hot,” he says in a whisper, bending to kiss a knee. His hand slides up my thigh, brushing the edge of my panties. “And I love this skirt.”

  As his mouth, warm and sweet and soft, slides up my inner thigh, I pant out, “Sam?”

  “Shh,” he says as his fingers push my underwear out of the way. “No sex. I’m just kissing you. Just kissing,” he murmurs, and his hot breath warms the flesh quivering beneath it.

  “Um,” I whisper nervously, but when his mouth finds the center of me, I gasp, “Oh! Oh, okay. Just kissing . . .”

  Chapter 32

  Sam holds the hotel key card above the slot and shoots me a smoldering look. “You know I’m going to attack you as soon as we get inside, right?”

  I keep my expression blank. “Well, I’d like to unpack first, take a shower, and relax.”

  “Screw unpacking but hell yes to a shower.” He slides the key into the lock and opens the door.

  I rush past him, dropping my suitcase near the closet. Since the room is a standard double, I run behind the chair in the corner.

  Within seconds, Sam’s leaning over the chair, with his hands bracing the wall on both sides of my head. “The chair ain’t gonna stop me, honey.”

  I raise a brow. “You didn’t just call me honey.”

  “I did,” he says, grinning as he bends down and runs his lips over my chin, down my neck, and into my cleavage. He sucks the skin there, and my knees start turning to mush. One of his hands slides down the wall and pulls my tank top lower, giving his lips more access to the swell of my breasts.

  Giving into a rising tide of lust, I am about to slip down the wall when someone pounds at the door.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam says against my skin. The pounding continues. He stands up as a sneer twists his full lips. “Each one of those fuckers knows why I got my own room.”

  The pounding grows louder.

  “Let me get it.” I shove at his shoulders.

  He steps away from the chair. “Oh no. I’ll get it, and shove a boot up someone’s ass.”

  “You’re wearing flip-flops,” I say with a giggle, coming out from behind the chair.

  He glares at me over his shoulder before whipping the door open.

  Both of our mouths fall open at the sight of the person standing in the doorway.

  “Hey, guys,” Seth says, stepping into the room. After kicking the door closed with one of his beat-up checkered Vans, he punches his brother lightly on the arm. “I always wanted to visit California, bro. More like LA but Fresno works.”

  Fists clenched at his sides, Sam looks like he’s about to blow up, and I’m aware it has nothing to do with us being interrupted. His expression is angry and worried and desperate all at the same time.

  But his brother just crosses his arms and grins at him.

  The music blasts above us on the stage. It’s the last show, and the fans are roaring from behind the line of bodyguards. Seth is my shadow as I shoot pictures of screaming fans. I take shot after shot as he looks from the stage to the crowd. As I switch lenses, I catch his shocked expression and understand it instantly. It’s mind-blowing how much Luminescent Juliet’s fan base has grown in the past six weeks. The concert seats are nearly full, and except for the extra-smalls, we’re out of T-shirts today—we sold out completely fifteen minutes after the doors opened.

  Sam does his bouncing thing and winks at girls in the front row. Usually, he winks and flirts with me when I’m up here with my camera, but I’m aware he’s not going to go there with Seth next to me. After tearing Seth a new asshole, then calling his mother—who reminded him that Seth is an adult, even if he lives at home still—Romeo plays off us being together as friends once again. Wanting to keep Seth calm, I go with it.

  And since Sam had sound checks and interviews for most of the day, Seth has been with me. He’s been polite and kind of quiet. No crazy talk has come out of him all day. He even helped bag T-shirts and hats in the booth in between making runs to the nearest beer stand. Though he’s had a few tall beers, he doesn’t seem drunk, just a bit happy. He offered to buy me a drink, but essentially being at work, I declined.

  The band starts their most popular and final song, “Inked My Heart.” I stand in front of center stage, getting pictures of each of them one last time. They all wear sentimental expressions. Justin still appears sad and emotional as he sings. Gabe’s expression is reserved as he beats out the slow tempo. Romeo looks over the crowd with nostalgia. And Sam stares at me, then Seth.

  As I lower my camera, I notice Seth looking from Sam to me. But Sam’s attention has returned to the crowd. I start jotting in my notepad, trying to ignore Seth’s stare. I can’t help imagining the direction of his mind, and suspect he’s having thoughts of Sam and me together behind his back. I don’t look at Sam again, just take notes about the energy of the fans.

  Right before the song ends, I wrap an arm around Seth’s arm and yell in his ear, “Let’s go get a beer!”

  Nodding, he lets me lead him by the arm, and we move to the side of the stage as the song ends. The crowd’s excitement is deafening. The guys in the band move to the front, bowing and waving. Seth stops and watches, his face a picture of concentration.

  “Come on. I’ll buy,” I say, trying to tow him backstage as the lights come on. Recorded music bursts out of the speakers, and the roadies appear to change the stage around for Griff.

  The guys start coming down the ramp. We’re standing a few feet from it, and though I tug on Seth’s arm again, he jerks away from me. His eyes narrow and his mouth twists into a sinister snarl. He takes a few running steps, and then dives through the air at Gabe. I gasp. It’s a dive of at least five feet.

  Eyes wide, Gabe drops his sticks as Seth slams into him. A checkered Van flies up and lands on the ramp. As they tumble toward backstage, a gasp and instant murmur rises from fans who could see the tackle.

  Security guards, the band, and I rush across the ramp.

  Seth is sprawled across Gabe, hands around his neck. He chokes him for about two seconds before guards wrench him off. Sam rushes in and grabs Gabe, who looks like he is about to kill Seth. Romeo helps Sam hold Gabe back when he goes ballistic, intent on attacking his assailant. Justin and Romeo start dragging him farther backstage, and the guards holding Seth follow. He twists, spits, and kicks at them while yelling obscenities at Gabe.

  Shocked, I follow behind. A man next to me is on a radio, instructing someone to call the police. I feel like a lifetime has passed, but the entire episode was less than two minutes.

  Justin takes Sam’s place holding Gabe, so Sam can try to calm his brother.

  Seth spits in his face. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” he screams. “You won’t listen! You won’t listen! And you’re fucking her! You’re fucking her!”

  He thrashes his body in between the guards, and he tries to kick Sam with a bare foot as I wince about being the “her.”

  Seth keeps yelling and spitting, but another guard comes over to Sam. Pulling him back, he says something too low for the rest of us to hear. Sam shakes his head violently and grabs the guy by his collar. “Call an ambulance,” Sam loudly hisses.

  The guy tries to argue.

  “He’s mental! Call an ambulance!” Sam says again, and lets the guy go. “And get him out of here!”


  By now, people hanging out backstage are crowding around us.

  The guard who Sam yelled at directs the guys holding Seth to a storage room near the exit. Seth yells and spits the entire way. Sam follows behind them. They disappear into the storage room. The remaining guards get people to disperse, and I’m left in the circus of people, completely disoriented.

  The crowd finally thins. Gabe, Justin, and Romeo are gone too. Several security guards stand in front of the storage room. After picking up Seth’s lone shoe, I wait as two EMTs push a gurney into the room. I’m relieved to see them and not the police. After a half hour, they push Seth strapped down on a gurney out of the room. Sam walks alongside his brother. His expression is so worried and torn, I have to stop myself from rushing to him.

  Once they disappear out the back exit, I slowly make my way toward the dressing rooms as the backstage returns to normalcy. The muted thud of thrash metal comes from down the hall—Brookfield likes to get pumped up prior to going onstage. I knock several times before Justin peeks out and then lets me in. With arms crossed, Romeo leans against a wall. Across from him, Gabe punches another wall.

  “Stop it,” I say, moving behind Gabe and dropping Seth’s shoe on a table. “He’s sick, Gabe. He’s delusional.”

  Gabe pauses and looks over his shoulder at me, through his hair. The strands lift in sync with his heavy breathing.

  “He’s schizophrenic. He believes you’re bad, an alien or something.”

  Gabe’s fist drops as he turns toward me. “An alien?”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Justin mumbles from somewhere behind me. “And I’m not talking about Seth,” he adds with obvious laughter in his voice.

  I lift my hands and shrug. “Like I said, he’s delusional. His brain doesn’t work right.”

  “An alien?” Gabe repeats, then starts laughing so hard he has to reach out for a table to support him. “He thinks I’m a fucking alien! That shit is too funny!”

  I look around the room to find Justin and Romeo grinning.