by S. L. Scott
I wake up to the light on and my laptop on the bed next to me. Grabbing my phone, I look at the time. 4:30. I reach over and turn off the lamp and go back to sleep.
When my alarm sounds, I get up, still irritated over last night. It’s fate that’s landing us in the same city on the same day. My phone rings while we’re in the air. Taking the call at the back of the plane for privacy, I answer, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says. “Where are you?”
“On the plane. We’re landing in an hour or so. Where are you?”
“At the apartment where the photoshoot is taking place. Everybody is running around to get ready so I don’t have long, but I wanted to see if you can meet after?”
“I can come by today.” Without bringing up the photo specifically, I test the waters, “So other than the shoot, is everything all right?”
“You know I saw the photo. You know I’m not happy—”
“You know I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not saying you did.”She releases a frustrated sigh. “I feel like something’s off with us. I feel it in my gut.”
I sigh. “Nothing is going on. I swear to you.”
“She’s after you.”
“Who?”
Her voice dips into a sadness I’m not used to hearing. “The one in the picture. She wants you. I can tell.”
Spontaneously, I laugh.
“It’s not funny, Dalton!”
“What? You’re being serious right now?”
“Yes, dead serious.”
“I don’t even know her,” I say, feeling defensive.
“Then why does it look like you’re about to hold hands with her?”
Remembering the photo, I reply, “I thought Tommy was behind me. He got our room keys earlier when he checked us in. I got it in the car since all the paps were surrounding us.”
I listen to every sound she makes, analyzing the heavy breath she releases as if it will indicate where her heads at. She says, “This whole conversation bothers me, Dalton. This isn’t what we do. All of the sudden I’m the jealous wife. I hate it. I hate feeling this way.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise me you will always be faithful to me.”
“I did, when I said I do.”
She huffs into the phone. “Good point. You got me there.” I hear her swallow hard. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. Just know that in my heart, I didn’t believe it. My eyes were telling me something else though.”
“I know. It sucks, but I don’t want anyone but you.”
I hear Tracy in the background, and Holliday says, “Unfortunately, I have to go.”
“I’ll want to come by the shoot.”
“I’ll text you the address.”
Still wondering how we got to this point and hoping to get past it, I say, “I’ll see you soon.”
Looking around, the street is fairly empty as I walk toward the glass and metal high rise building. A doorman opens the door and welcomes me inside. A security desk greets visitors. “Good afternoon, Sir. How may I help you?”
Dropping my stage name gets me every time, so I say, “I’m Johnny Outlaw. Limelight is shooting here today.”
“Yes, Sir. You’re on the list. You may go to the nineteenth floor. And Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Rock on, dude.”
“Thanks. I will,” I reply, saluting a peace sign as I walk past him. The elevator arrives and I ride up to the right floor. When the door opens, there are only two doors on the floor. I go with my gut and go right. My heartbeat picks up as I get closer. I knock once, but there’s no answer. I can hear music on the other side so I’m guessing this is it. I open the door and walk in. I’m careful to be quiet just in case they’re shooting.
I’m greeted by racks of hanging Limelight shirts with the logo, a table of accessories and another with underwear on top of it. I quietly walk around the corner where I hear the photographer giving direction. The apartment is modern in design and I catch a glimpse of the incredible view before I walk to the bedroom where the commotion is coming from. Beyond the equipment, there’s a bed covered in a rumpled white blanket with Holliday wearing practically nothing on her knees facing the camera as some guy kisses her neck.
Everything goes red—my vision, my body—my anger flairs. Somehow through the anger, I keep my voice controlled. “Holliday!”
She turns abruptly, her hands against the guy’s chest, pushing him away. Her hair makes her look freshly-fucked and falls over her shoulders as she quickly gets to her feet. Her arms wrap around herself as she tries to cover the bra and string bikini bottoms she’s dressed in. Is she covering her body from me? Salt in the wound.
My eyes go back to him, the motherfucker molesting my wife. No shirt, messed up fucking hair, white boxers with the Bite Me Lime on them, and a punkass grin that might get his face punched in. When I see the boner he had pressed against my wife, I want to break him in fucking two.
“Dalton,” Holliday says, reaching me. Her arms wrap around my neck, but I can’t seem to return the welcoming. She leans back with concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me.”
“Is this about last night?”
“No,” I snarl, my hands solid at my sides. “It’s about what I fucking walked in on.”
Her head jerks back in surprise, then she smiles as if I’m being ludicrous. “The photoshoot?”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was going to be like this?”
“What do you mean? I told you it was for my clothing line,” she placates.
I turn and walk around the corner, hating the prying eyes on us. I hear her footsteps against the wood floors as she follows behind. When we’re alone, I fist my hands in front of me and keep my voice low, growling, “That guy has his mouth on you and his dick on your body.”
“No he did not.”
“He fucking did.”
“I didn’t notice.”
Incredulously, I ask, “You didn’t notice his dick against you?”
“Whatever. I’m nervous and not paying attention to him in that way. The camera is on us with people watching every move and angle, so I failed to notice his dick. He’s modeling, pretending. Being paid to be here. Trust me, it’s nothing more.”
“I understand what models do, Holliday, but I don’t like it and I don’t like him. What I saw—”
“Well I don’t like the videos you make,” she bites back. “You have a different girl playing your ‘girlfriend’ when you’re married. How do you think that makes me feel? How is that different?”
“You know it’s different. You know how I feel about you.”
“So you don’t know how I feel about you?”
“I guess not if you don’t mind some guy’s dick on your body.”
“You’re out of line, Dalton.”
“You’re out of line! Why didn’t you answer your phone last night? Were you with him? And where’s your God damn wedding ring?”
The glare she sends me as she crosses her arms tells me how this is going to play out. “How dare you!”
“How dare you!”
She pushes my chest. “Stop repeating what I’m saying.” I grab her wrists, holding her close. She’s strong, but doesn’t move when she asks, “What do you think I’m doing here? Do you think I’m going to have sex with Sebastian while a photographer takes our picture? Is that what you’re worried about? Cuz I’m kind of lost right now.”
“Don’t twist my intentions. I came over here to see you. I didn’t expect Sebastian to have his hands all over you.” The prick catches my eye over her shoulder. “Speaking of—”
“Holli, you all right?” Sebastian stands at a distance, smart enough not to come near. His stance solidifies to the spot as if he’s staking some claim to be a part of this.
“You can fuck off. She’s fine,” I reply, dropping her wrists and staring at him.
“I’d like to hear it from her,” he say
s, ballsy enough to stare me in the eyes.
I step forward, but Holliday stops me, her hands pressed hard to my chest. “Dalton, no! I’m fine, Sebastian,” she calls over her shoulder.
Being the asshole he is, he laughs and says, “You should try a leash, Holli.”
I push forward but she grabs my arm, hanging onto me. “Ignore him.” I glare at the back of his head as he walks around the corner.
When I turn back, I ask, “Why didn’t you answer? You almost always answer.”
Her gaze drops to the ground, her hands fidgeting. She’s lying when she says, “I was tired and left it in the bathroom without thinking.”
I lift her chin to look me in the eyes. “Tell me the truth. Please.”
We hold each other’s gaze a moment before she says, “I was mad and hurt last night seeing that photo of you and her, but I didn’t leave it there on purpose. I waited for you to call me back. When you didn’t, I went to bed.”
“So is this,” I lift my arms up and out, and ask, “revenge?”
Shaking her head, she denies it. “No. this is not revenge. This is a photoshoot. I was just following direction. They want playful and sexy. That’s the campaign. Just like when you film videos, I trust you and now I need you to trust me. This,” she says, signaling around us, “is not real.” The feel of her hands as soon as they touch my face calm the fury brewing inside me. “It’s business. Only business.”
She moves against me and places her head on my chest. We’re so close I can feel her heartbeat and my breath extends, my agitation throbbing. I try to remember back to all the photoshoots and videos I’ve done. Not once did I hook up with the models after the director yelled cut. Not once, though I could have easily, time and time again. “I get how important this is to you. I understand this is ‘business,’ but because it’s business doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Wrapping my arms around her, holding her tightly in my arms, I say, “I want to nutpunch him so hard that he’ll never come near you again. I don’t trust him, Holliday.”
“You don’t have to, but you should trust me.”
I kiss her on the head, and whisper, “How is this fair that he gets to touch you like that and I don’t.”
Her arms come around me. “Your touch is real, it means something to me. He means nothing.”
“I fucking miss you all the time.”
“I miss you, too. More than you know.”
I release her and step back. “I should go. I don’t want to watch this. Call me when you’re done.”
Her hesitation is felt before she looks up at me. “Dalton, please.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. You go do your job. I have stuff to do anyway. You go and call me later.”
She knows when to push and when not to. She takes a step back and says, “I will.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but for her, I need to leave. It’s business, I remind myself. “I want to see you tonight.”
Looking down, she smiles before lifting her lashes up toward me. There’s the woman I know. “Of course.”
There’s an unsettling distance still between us. But tonight, I have tonight to get us back on the same wavelength.
When I close my eyes, I get lost in the melody of the song I’m singing. The world drifts away and I go back to that day, the day I lost my best friend, the day I lost the man I called my brother—not my brother by birth, but by choice. Cory Dean was my family and this song was my anthem to him.
My thoughts switch to Holliday. Most days, touring has lost its luster. When I’m away from her, fear blackens my insides, mimicking Cory’s loss. My hands start shaking, wondering if I’m going to lose her too.
The large New York crowd screams when the drums and bass kick in, bringing me back to the present. It’s a privilege to play Madison Square Garden and when I open my eyes, I’m reminded why. The crowd is loud and enthusiastic. New Yorkers have always supported us even when we were a small band that few knew. Releasing the microphone, I take my guitar in hand and join in at the chorus.
Johnny Outlaw is chanted like a river that runs through the audience toward the stage. I inhale the glory, letting it race through my veins, giving me life, giving me the jolt to give them what they want.
It’s harder to get high from the adoration these days with so many ties bracing me to the lows. Letting my gaze drift to the first few rows, I see it, the want in their eyes, the way they crave me. They’d rip me apart if I let them… I’ve thought about it.
The song ends and I leave the stage as fast as I got on, needing to get away. No one should be loved that much. No one deserves that kind of attention, it feeds an insatiable ego that will never be satisfied.
“Short break. Three minutes. We’re running behind,” Tommy shouts.
There’s a message waiting when I leave the stage during our break. “Hey,” Holliday says on the voicemail. “We wrapped up and the gang is grabbing dinner. Call me when you’re done. I want to go out and celebrate.”
I grab a water and text her: Going out for encore now. I’ll call after.
She texts me immediately back: Love you.
I hand my phone to Tommy as I wait to go back on stage. Dex is out doing a solo while Kaz and Derrick stand behind me. Reaching down for my guitar, I stop. “Where’s my guitar?” I ask Tommy.
Before he can answer that new roadie girl is there with it in her hands. “You broke a string. We fixed it.”
Perplexed, I look down at it not remembering breaking a string. “Thanks,” I reply, taking it from her.
I put the strap over my head and start strumming, testing it.
“I’m Ashley.”
Looking up, I see she’s talking to me, though I’m not sure why. Tommy knows I don’t make chitchat during a show. “Okay.” Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and exhale, wanting to take it all in, wanting to own the world in these last few songs. Dex hits the beat that cues our entrance and the three of us dash up the stairs. The crowd screams and I soak it in, not sure how much longer I have left living in the spotlight.
“It wouldn’t be called reasonable doubt if it was irrational. But somehow we always find a way to ease our own conscience.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
“I love champagne,” I say, holding up my glass.
“Apparently.” Tracy’s sarcastic addition earns her a glare and then a giggle.
I bring my glass to my lips to sip, then realize it’s empty, understanding her sarcasm now.
Sebastian announces, “Another bottle.”
“No, no,” I say, stopping him. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
The pupils of his blue eyes are large, the alcohol affecting him. His light brown hair is flopping down over his eyes. The gel that worked hours ago has given up. When he looks at me, I can almost see his inner thoughts exposed. He’s suave with the ladies, but I remember what Danny warned me about him. Pointing an unsteady, slightly tipsy… maybe drunk finger at him, I squint and say, “I’m not falling for your act.”
The devil himself creates the smile that appears on his face. He leans forward and whispers, “Oh really?”
“Really,” I say, completely self-assured.
“Guess we’ll see.”
Shaking my head, I correct him, “There will be no seeing, no seeing at all. I’m a happily married woman.”
“I find the women who say that are saying it as a reminder to themselves than a warning for me.”
I stand up, taking offense, but my mind isn’t in this argument. It’s not worth the trouble. “I’m ready to go.”
“Where are we going?” he asks, paying the large tab without hesitation.
Dropping my guard, I reply, “Somewhere fabulous I’m sure. Somewhere cool and trendy where I won’t fit in at all.” I laugh at my joke.
Tracy laughs too, but says, “Holli’s one of those drop dead gorgeous looking women who has no true concept of how beautiful she is. It’s quite annoying actually.” Still laughing, she grabs my hand. “These photos are going to p
rove to you once and for all how gorgeous you really are.”
With his little cheek dimples on display, Sebastian adds, “I have a hard time believing you have low self-esteem.”
Tracy responds quickly, correcting him, “She doesn’t have low self-esteem. She’s just too damn down to earth to realize how attractive she really is.”
The photographer, Gracie, now joins in a hardy laugh. “I think it’s refreshing. She’s a confident and beautiful woman who’s not caught up on her looks. I see the appeal.”
“Guys, you’re making me blush. Let’s not talk about me. Today was hard enough being in front of the camera. Those two shots of whiskey were needed.” My phone buzzes and I check my messages. It’s a message with a location from Dalton: Blackout. I’ll be there in twenty.
Gracie says, “The photos are stunning. I think you’re going to be pleased once I get them out of editing. I’ll be in LA next week, I can have them ready and we can go over them.”
“That’ll be great,” Tracy says.
Then Gracie asks, “Sebastian, what’s your schedule next week?”
“I’m not sure,” he says before finishing off his glass of champagne. “I’ll message you tomorrow, but I can probably swing LA into the mix. We can have a party and go over the photos.”
“Fun!” Tracy adds.
Leaning just slightly to the left, I grab a roll from the basket on the table and start eating. “I might need more food.” Sebastian grabs another for me as we walk out. The heat of his stare warms me and I look over. His eyes lock with mine. Feeling embarrassed under his gaze, I look away after a few seconds, and say, “Let’s go.”
Blackout is located in an industrial and grey converted warehouse. Lights flicker overhead as I walk through the large, open space. The music is loud and the DJ is on a stage in the middle of the dance floor. I have no idea where Dalton is in here, so I stop and tell Tracy. “I don’t know where to go.”
