by Ali Novak
“…and so then Oliver was running through the halls in his boxers, and he ran smack into a fan who’d managed to sneak backstage,” JJ said, finishing his story. Everyone laughed.
“She must have had the surprise of a lifetime,” Jack said, still chuckling. “I bet she didn’t expect to find one of her idols gallivanting around the halls in nothing but his underwear.”
“She practically jumped me,” Oliver said. “Security had to pry her away. I had nail marks on my shoulders for a week!”
“So it seems you’re quite popular with the ladies,” Kelly said then.
Oliver lifted both his shoulders, shrugging in an attempt to seem casual, but he had a knowing smirk on his face. “I suppose.”
“Is all the attention hard to deal with?”
“It can be overwhelming at times,” Oliver said, “but it helps to have three other people who know exactly what I’m going through. If I’m stressed, I can turn to them.”
“None of us would be able to do this on our own,” Xander added. “We’re each other’s support system.”
Oliver was nodding his head. “These guys are my family. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
“You four have accomplished so much together,” Jack said. “I bet it’s impossible to imagine it any other way.”
“Exactly,” JJ answered.
“That’s incredible,” Kelly said, shaking her head as if she truly was impressed with everything the band had told her. “Now, we’re almost out of time, but before we wrap up, I want to take this conversation back to girls. Oliver, have you ever dated a fan?”
“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t date a fan, but I’m not one to date in general,” he responded. “It’s just too hard when we’re on the road all the time.”
“So there’s no special girl in your life right now? Not anybody?” Oliver paused and I held in a deep breath. I felt JJ’s gaze flicker in my direction, so I quickly looked down at my phone and pretended to be reading a text.
“Oliver?” Kelly prompted, and I peeked back up.
Pushing back his bangs, he offered her a devilish smile. “Maybe,” he said, and my heart started to flutter like the wings of a hummingbird, light and quick.
“Ooh,” Kelly said, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in. “Someone we’ve heard of?”
He continued to smirk. “Definitely,” he said, and his words shot the hummingbird right out of my chest. Oliver was seeing some other celebrity?
“Is she an actress? Maybe a model?” Jack asked. “Give us some sort of hint.”
Oliver shook his head as his lips twitched in amusement. “I’m not saying anything else.”
I looked away from him and swallowed hard. I’d known nothing was going to happen between us, so why had I let myself think otherwise? No doubt because Oliver had been so charming today. Then again, he probably made every girl he talked to feel special. My brows pinched together in a frown, but I wasn’t angry at him. I was annoyed with myself. How could I possibly feel disappointed when I’d known this would happen from the start?
Kelly said something about Oliver being too secretive, and I was pulled back into the conversation.
“I wouldn’t say secretive, per se,” he responded, “but I try to keep my love life private.”
“Really? ’Cause you’re not very good at it,” JJ said. “Terrible, really.”
“‘Try’ was the important word,” Jack said and chuckled. “You should know by now that we media folk are professional detectives.”
Everyone laughed, but the way Oliver’s eyes crinkled up in amusement made it hard not to grin. I instantly realized I was in trouble. Major trouble. Regardless of his lack of interest in me, I still liked him, and the feelings I was starting to have were dangerous. We couldn’t keep flirting, and he most definitely couldn’t keep charming me with tropical fruit.
The next time a private moment presented itself, I would talk with Oliver. Even though he’d obviously already forgotten our shared kiss, I had to make it official that, moving forward, we would be strictly friends. Maybe then my good senses would return, and I would stop feeling light-headed and silly whenever he glanced in my direction. After all, I wasn’t here for Oliver. I was here for myself.
“Hey, Stella?” I tore my eyes away from Oliver and found Courtney standing over me. “May we have a word?”
“Sure,” I said, shooting out of my seat. I was eager to get away from the interview and Oliver, so I dumped my camera bag on the chair and followed her out of the room. We made our way down the empty hallway until we were out of earshot.
“You having fun so far?” she asked. She rolled forward onto the balls of her feet, and I could tell she was trying to be friendly before broaching whatever topic she really wanted to talk about.
“Loads,” I said, which wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.
“Good,” Courtney said and nodded. “I wanted to talk about the privacy policy you signed with Paul. I’m sure he covered this, but I have to reiterate how important it is that while you’re working with the band, you don’t divulge any privileged information that you may hear. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, of course,” I said quickly. I would never do that, not only because this job was important to me, but also because the boys were becoming my friends. I had a feeling this little chat was prompted by what I’d overheard in the car earlier today. At the time, the conversation was confusing, but later that morning I slipped off to the bathroom and paged through the magazine Oliver was reading. I found a short article about how the Heartbreakers appeared on a talk show, and when the host asked some direct questions about the breakup rumors, the boys were so caught off guard that the interview was cut short.
“Wonderful,” she said, letting out a deep breath. “Glad that’s sorted out. Turkey or ham?”
“Huh?”
“My assistant is running out to pick up some sandwiches.”
“Oh. Turkey works,” I told her, but I wasn’t really feeling hungry anymore.
• • •
My first day with the Heartbreakers could only be described as a whirlwind, especially considering their concert hadn’t even started yet, and all I wanted to do was crash. Thankfully, around half past eight there was a short break in the storm. As fans poured into the arena, chanting the boys’ names and singing their songs, silent anticipation swept over the group while we waited in the backstage dressing room. All four guys retreated into their own worlds, so I took a spot on one of the empty couches and gave them space, content with merely observing as they readied themselves.
JJ seemed the most nervous. He was pacing back and forth with his drumsticks moving in a blur as he twirled them between his fingers. Every once in a while he’d fumble and one of the wooden sticks would clatter to the floor. Xander was sitting on the countertop in front of the long wall of lighted mirrors. He had his inhaler clutched in his hands, and even though he’d already administered the medicine, he turned the plastic device over and over as if it would bring him luck. Like usual, Alec had his headphones in. He was leaning against the far wall, his foot tapping along to whatever song he was listening to.
And then there was Oliver. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed as he meditated. His outfit was plain—a black V-neck and skinny jeans, combat boots, and the always-present dog tag that hung around his neck—yet somehow in its simplicity, he managed to look both seductive and mysterious. Like the bad boy at the back of class who could make any good girl want to be bad with one smoldering stare.
I couldn’t help but study him—the way his long lashes brushed against his cheek, the fullness of his lips, the sturdy line of his jaw—and I wished he didn’t have such an effect on me.
My gaze must have lingered too long.
Oliver cracked an eye open. “What?” he asked, looking directly at me.
I felt my ears heat up and started winding the cord of my backstage pass around my fingers. “Nothing,” I said, wishing the couch could swallow me up.
“You were staring at me.”
“And you were sitting scary still,” I said, throwing out the first bullshit excuse I could think of. “I was trying to decide if you’re petrified with fear or if you’d actually turned into a statue.”
“Petrified?” He scoffed and gestured at himself. “Pure confidence right here.”
I rolled my eyes but secretly agreed. Oliver seemed nothing short of composed. Although Paul said I didn’t need to take pictures today, I reached for my camera on the coffee table. “You don’t ever get stage fright?” I asked as I focused the lens. He smirked and I snapped a picture.
“Never,” he said, and then he returned to his meditation. As I took a few more shots, Xander flopped down on the couch next to me.
“He’s a liar,” Xander said. I turned my camera on him and found him in the viewfinder. “We all get nervous before shows.”
“I can imagine,” I said and took a few rapid-fire pictures. “There are like a bazillion people out there.” Pulling away, I hit the playback button and chuckled. Because of my proximity, Xander’s glasses made him look bug-eyed.
“Mind if I look? I never got to see the pictures from the other weekend.”
“Sure.”
For the next few minutes he scrolled through our night in Chicago, grinning and laughing at the memories we’d made. He reached the last picture and, not knowing it was the end of the footage, continued to scroll. Cara flashed onto the tiny screen.
“Oh, sorry,” Xander said when he realized he’d gone too far, but then he was squinting down at the photo.
It was from the day Cara and I had made up. We spent the afternoon playing Rummy 500, and I’d captured her at the perfect moment—she had been looking over the top of her hand, cards splayed out like a fan, and then she stuck her tongue out at me.
I brushed my hair off my shoulder and braced myself for the questions I knew would come.
“It’s okay,” I told him and gently took my camera back.
Xander cleared his throat. “She isn’t you.”
That much was obvious. Since her diagnosis, Cara’s once-tan skin had faded to a dull wash of gray. Even more noticeable was how the cancer had carved away her face, leaving behind sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes.
“It’s my sister,” I said, my voice soft.
“She’s sick.” He said it as a statement, but I knew he was asking.
A lump started to swell inside my throat, but I forced it back down. “Cara has lymphoma. Non-Hodgkin’s.”
Xander pulled the glasses off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “When you said your sister was sick, I thought you meant the stomach flu or something.”
So he hadn’t heard. I peeked up at Alec. He was still standing against the wall with his headphones in, but now his gaze was focused on Xander and me. His foot had stopped tapping, and I knew he was listening to our conversation.
“You didn’t say anything,” I said, looking Alec dead in the eye. “Why not?”
Alec looked hesitant about answering, but he took a quick breath and said in his deep voice, “That’s your story to tell. Not mine.”
“Wait? How’d he know?” Xander asked as he squinted at his friend.
In spite of myself, I smiled. “Accidentally. He asked about my photography and it just sorta slipped out.”
Xander bobbed his head. “No surprise there.” Then he leaned in and whispered so Alec couldn’t hear us. “People always seem to tell him their secrets. I think it’s because they know he’ll never say anything.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. A short stretch of silence passed, and then a sigh escaped my lips. “Well,” I said, clasping my hands together in my lap, “now you know the real reason why Cara didn’t come to the autograph signing.”
Instead of saying he was sorry, Xander wrapped an arm around me and pulled me to his side, our shoulders bumping against one another. It was a surprisingly forward gesture, but a comforting one.
“You two look freaky similar,” he said after a quiet moment.
“That’s because we’re identical twins.” Well, identical except for the fact that she was sick and I was healthy.
“But you’re also triplets? How does that work?”
“We’re dizygotic triplets,” I said. I’d explained this so many times before that now I probably sounded like a textbook. “It’s when two separate eggs are fertilized, and one subsequently divides into two.”
“So that makes Drew your fraternal twin?”
“Yeah, and Cara’s.”
“Okay,” Xander said, frowning and scratching his head. “That’s way confusing. No more science talk.”
“Fine by me.” Talking about Cara and Drew made me think of home, and thinking of home made me feel a whole range of unwanted emotions. I hadn’t even been gone two full days, but my stomach churned with a pang of homesickness, and I blinked a few times to keep my eyes from watering.
Before either of us managed to change the topic, Courtney swept into the room. “You lot ready?” she asked, one hand on her hip, the other clutching the clipboard she always had with her. “It’s showtime.”
It took another fifteen minutes before the Heartbreakers actually stepped onstage. Before leaving, the boys huddled in a tight circle and Oliver led a quick prayer. Then Courtney ushered them out of the room and I tailed behind, receiving a crash course lesson on the who’s who involved with running a concert.
It was amazing how many people were actually required for the operation. There was Dan, the production manager, who ran the technical crew that dealt with the movement and setup of equipment. Fred, who the boys called Smiley, was the stage manager, and his job involved controlling the band and crew’s movement both onstage and off.
He directed the boys to their preshow spots, and then the back-line crew, who were in charge of the instruments, handed Oliver and Xander their guitars and Alec his bass. Ritvik was the sound engineer, and then there were Barry, the monitor engineer; Mr. P, the lighting operator; and dozens more employees whose names I couldn’t remember.
When it was finally time, the lights in the arena were brought down. The audience reacted instantly, the screams of thousands of girls melding together to form one giant roar, and the sheer volume made the hair on my arms rise.
“Excited?” Courtney shouted over the noise as a crew member handed us headsets to counter the sound of the show.
“Strangely nervous,” I admitted. As I pulled on the headset, I peered out at the crowd. It was a glowing, flashing mass of cameras and cell phones, and the thought of stepping onstage made my stomach drop.
“Just between you and me?” she said. “I always get preshow jitters.”
Her confession made me feel better, but I never got the chance to thank her. The stage lights flashed back on, revealing the Heartbreakers to the crowd. Cheers tripled, but the sound was suddenly overtaken by the band’s opening song as it blasted from the arena’s assembly of speakers.
The jitters, as Courtney called them, fell away the moment my eyes found Oliver. I sucked in a sharp breath, and for the next three and a half minutes I couldn’t look away.
“Thank you everyone for coming tonight,” Oliver shouted when the song ended and the crowd noise finally died down. “We’re so happy you could join us!” The thundering response of the audience made my head rattle, but the boys seemed unaffected. Oliver looked back at the rest of his bandmates. JJ nodded his head and raised his drumsticks over his head.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Oliver said. “We are the Heartbreakers.”
“A one, a two, and a one, two, three, four!”
• • •
“Stella Bear, don’t be such a party pooper.”
The concert had finished a half hour ago, and we were back in the dressing room. The boys were trying to convince me to go out and celebrate with them. Apparently there was an after-party at some dance club downtown, but I declined their invite.
“Are you trying to kill me my first day on the job?” I asked JJ. “I’m exhausted. I could curl up on the floor right here and sleep for the next week.”
It was both the truth and an excuse. My entire body ached. The band’s never-ending schedule wore me out, but that wasn’t the real reason I didn’t want to go to a party with the boys.
Today was my freebie, the one day I had to acclimate myself to the boys’ busy lifestyle. Now it was over and tomorrow was the real deal—I wouldn’t just be hanging out with the guys and goofing off. I had a job to do, and Paul expected me to produce results. The realization made my throat tight, and for the first time in my life, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get a good enough shot.
What I needed now was to go back to my hotel room where I could decompress and try to prepare myself for tomorrow.
“Have a shot or two,” JJ said, swiping a bottle of whiskey off the counter and offering it to me. “Then you’ll be ready to go.” He’d pulled the dark-brown liquor out when we first returned to the room, and the boys were taking turns chugging straight from the mouth of the bottle.
“I better not,” I said, declining his outstretched hand. “Tomorrow is my official first day of work, and I don’t want to chance a hangover.” I didn’t mention that I’d never actually drank before. It wasn’t that I was a Goody Two-shoes, but with Cara’s cancer, partying was never on my priority list.
“Pretty please?”
“Give it a rest, JJ,” Alec said, turning away from the mirror. He’d spent the past ten minutes restyling his hair. I didn’t know he’d been listening, but I was thankful he had.
“But we’re—” JJ started to say.
