Along for the Ride

by Katrina Abbott

  I swallowed and looked up into his eyes. “As a rule, I don’t date musicians.”

  He nodded, and I knew that he understood. “But even if you did like me, I know we can’t do anything about it, no matter how much I might want it. I never want you to think I’m taking advantage of you and your dad would—”

  He stopped speaking very abruptly at that moment because it turns out it’s hard to talk when a girl—a girl who has sworn not to date musicians—gets up on her tiptoes and shoves her lips against yours.

  Andres muttered something against my mouth that sounded like no English word I’d ever heard. But then he stopped talking and began to kiss me back. In earnest. Like he’d been waiting for it for a very long time. His palms rose to my face, his thumbs framing my ears as he held me there, against him.

  My hands slid up his chest (wishing he hadn’t bothered putting on a t-shirt after they’d all taken a swim earlier) and around his neck into the hair at his nape that I suddenly realized would be gone after Kiki came to give him a trim. Grieving the loss of it already, I twined my fingers in it, loving how soft it was as I pulled him closer.

  With a groan, he pulled back and looked into my eyes, his coffee-colored irises nearly swallowed up by huge pupils. “We can’t do this,” he said. “I promised…I don’t want...”

  “I do want,” I said, leaning forward and kissing him again, feeling his stubble grazing my chin, my lips, reminding me with a thrill of just how masculine he was. Dangerous thoughts while in a bathroom with a million people—including my father—just a few rooms away.

  “Vanessa,” he said moments later, pulling back again and clutching my shoulders, keeping me at arm’s length. “We shouldn’t. I need to stay focused for the tour.” His eyes drifted down to my mouth, giving me a tiny moment of triumph as I realized that right now he was very focused on how he wanted to kiss me again.

  “But I won’t even be there,” I pointed out. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me?” His hand slid down my arm until his fingers twined with mine. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  Anger bubbled up in me, and I disentangled my hand from his. “Why, because you want to be free to hook up on tour?”

  His eyebrows came down into a frown. “No! Because it’s not fair for you to…” He sighed. “Is that what you think of me, Vanessa?”

  I opened my mouth, but he put up his hand to stop me before I could speak. “Yes it is what you think of me, but that’s my own fault. I said I was sorry, but why should you trust me that I’m different now?”

  “Andres,” I said, grabbing his arm.

  He shook his head and sighed. “I need to prove to you that it’s different now. That I do like you. You, not the idea of a girl who likes rock stars.”

  I took a breath and held it, not sure what he was saying.

  “If you will wait for me,” he said, his eyes intent on mine. “If you will be my girlfriend, I will show you. I will prove to you that I’m not like that anymore.”

  “Andres, I trust you,” I said. And I did. Mostly. Like, at least eighty-five percent. Probably ninety since Sandy would be on tour with them and he would know it would get back to me if he… Wait, no, that wasn’t trust at all.

  “I need to prove it to you,” he said.

  It occurred to me that maybe he did. And maybe he needed to prove it to himself, too.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “So, you want to be my girlfriend?” he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  I nodded, not trusting myself with actual words.

  The other corner of his mouth turned up, joining the first into a sexy smile.

  We celebrated our new status with another long kiss.

  We emerged from the bathroom several minutes later when we realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to be making out in there with a crowd of people nearby.

  It was a testament to how hormone-soaked our brains were that it didn’t occur to either of us that it might be prudent to check and make sure we wouldn’t be seen both leaving the small two-piece bathroom.

  Or that I was surprised to see someone in the hall, waiting to use that bathroom.

  That person was Dave, his eyes widening as they drifted from me and up to Andres who came out behind me.

  As I saw him and stopped dead in my tracks, I realized with horror that there was zero percent chance he didn’t know what was going on in the bathroom. And there was even less chance that he wasn’t pissed about it.

  Because I, who adamantly didn’t date musicians, had just totally hooked up with one, pretty much right there for all to see.

  To say it was humiliating to be caught red-handed (and red-faced) as a hypocrite was an understatement. But what could I do?

  Stumble and lie, apparently. “Oh, hey,” I said, laughing nervously as I pointed my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the powder room. “Just showing Andres where the extra soap is.”

  Lamest. Excuse. Ever.

  I felt Andres’s eyes on me like lasers but ignored them as I quickly walked past Dave and made a beeline for the campfire where I could surround myself with people who had no idea what had just happened.

  Break a Leg

  The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of beach and water sports, stolen moments with Andres, and avoiding Dave. After what he’d witnessed, I felt the weight of his judgment on my shoulders, and it was heavy and kind of ruined those stolen moments with Andres; I was paranoid that Dave was around every corner, waiting to catch us again.

  I’d told Sandy what had happened with Andres, of course, and even endured her annoying chorus of I told you sos, mostly because I felt I deserved them. She was happy for me, though, and assured me that things with Andres would be different this time, she was sure of it. She would make sure of it.

  Her assurances weren’t as comforting as she intended, especially when mixed with my own doubts (tiny though they were, but not nonexistent), but I appreciated her support nonetheless.

  I hadn’t told her about Dave and what he saw. I don’t know why; maybe I couldn’t stomach the idea of having to describe the look on his face when he’d seen Andres and me and had clued in. No one likes to have to face their own shame, I guess. So she didn’t realize I was avoiding Dave, but simply assumed I was constantly seeking out Andres and being discreet about it. I wasn’t about to clarify my motives.

  But by the time Monday morning came, I was tired of keeping track of Dave’s constant whereabouts, so as not to run into him by accident and was relieved to be heading back to the city, if only for the day. Where I’d watch their first gig and wave goodbye as they got on the tour bus at the end of the night.

  The end of the weekend meant that my farewell to Andres was looming, but at least once they left on tour, I wouldn’t feel like I was wearing my hypocrisy like a big, obnoxious badge.

  I didn’t bother packing up much, since I’d be returning Tuesday, but put my necessities in a backpack that I carried over my shoulder. As I came down the stairs, I noticed the large assortment of bags in the front foyer, awaiting Ken and Gary’s arrival to take us all back to the city.

  I circumvented the luggage and headed down the three marble steps into the kitchen to do an inventory to see what supplies I’d need to bring back with me on Tuesday morning. (I’d be returning via hired car since Ken and Gary were driving on tour.) A quick glance out the back of the house told me most of the guys were outside on the pool deck, drinking coffee as they soaked up their last moments of calm before the craziness of tour began. Even Cliff was out there, chatting with the band about who knows what.

  Linda was in the kitchen, standing by the sink, eating a bagel, a steaming espresso on the counter in front of her. I put my backpack down on the floor at the side of the kitchen island, wanting a little something to eat.

  It felt like the first time Linda and I had been alone all weekend, and I had an urge to ask her if there was something going on with her and my dad. But as so
meone who was in her own secret relationship, I didn’t feel like it was wise to open the door to that conversation. Instead, I wished her a good morning and shoved a bagel into the toaster before taking a mug down from the cupboard and pouring myself a regular coffee from the carafe.

  “Big day today,” I said lamely.

  She nodded, taking a sip of her espresso before saying, “It is. But I think they’re ready.”

  “You excited?” I asked, knowing what her answer would be.

  “Very,” she said, her smile widening and reaching her eyes. “It’s been a lot of work to get to here and a lot more is to come, but this is where you start to see the payoff.”

  She’s so much like my dad, I thought as I nodded, reaching for the sugar bowl and dumping a heaping teaspoon in my mug and stirring. I had time to take one sip just as the toaster popped.

  “I’d better get my stuff packed,” Linda said as she put her empty cup in the sink and brushed off her hands. “I just needed a jolt, you know? Long day ahead.”

  I nodded and turned toward the toaster to butter my bagel when I heard a grunt, dull thud, and a smacking sound I recognized as flesh hitting marble. I turned around, but Linda was gone. “Linda?”

  A groan came from the other side of the kitchen island. I hurried over to see her, lying face down on the marble steps, her lower legs draped over my backpack. “Oh no!” I yelled, crouching down beside her. “Are you okay?”

  “Mfff,” she said, not lifting her head. And then she did, and I was sorry—her nose was gushing blood all over the step.

  “Oh my God!” I jumped up and hollered for my dad as I grabbed some paper towels off the roll and brought them back to her. It was especially alarming that she had yet to get up. Had she broken her neck? Was she paralyzed?

  “Here,” I said, pushing the paper towel at her. “How can I help?”

  A thudding began and then got louder as my father came sprinting into the kitchen, obviously having heard my panicked yell. He was in slacks, but without a shirt, his eyes widening as he noticed us on the floor.

  “Holy hell! What happened?”

  “I tripped,” Linda said, finally speaking. I was relieved that she obviously hadn’t suffered brain damage (a serious concern when she’d only been able to grunt a second ago).

  Dad glanced at my backpack and then at me, which caused me to start crying, though he didn’t notice because he was too busy getting down on his knees beside Linda. “What’s hurt?” he asked gently.

  “Everything,” she slurred with another grunt. But then she seemed to do a self-scan, closing her eyes and then saying. “Face. Left foot.” Grunt. Gasp. “Right arm.”

  Dad let out a string of curses that coincided with the boys coming into the kitchen as they realized something was wrong. They stayed well back, though Andres seemed to speak for all of them when he asked what they could do.

  “How about your neck?” Dad said, ignoring Andres.

  “It’s okay,” Linda said, her voice justifiably strained. “But I can’t get up.”

  “Maybe you should leave her just in case,” I suggested and then looked at Andres. “Call 911.”

  He nodded and reached for the phone on the charger as I rattled off our address for him. He moved into the hallway, where it was quieter, to make the call.

  Dad lowered down off his knees and sat beside Linda. I noticed her left hand reached for him, and he took it, enveloping it with his. Tears were rolling out of her eyes now, mingling with the blood on the paper towel I’d stuffed against her nose. Her right arm was tucked under her body, and I worried that maybe it was broken.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my own tears rolling down my cheeks. “It’s all my fault.”

  “Accident,” Linda muttered, though it didn’t make me feel any better.

  We all sat frozen in that odd tableau, each strained moment ticking by until we heard the siren coming down the street. I jumped up and ran to the door, going out to the porch to wave them down, just in case they couldn’t find the house.

  Minutes later, I escorted two paramedics in and then stood back so they could do their work. I had to put a hand on Dad’s shoulder to get him to move out of their way.

  He looked over at me, his brow furrowed in concern. “She’ll be okay,” I said. “She’ll be right as rain in no time.”

  “I have to go with her to the hospital,” he said when a third paramedic came in with a gurney.

  “No, you don’t,” came Linda’s voice, strained with pain and more nasal than usual, but loud and clear nonetheless. “You’re going back to the city to get them ready. I’ll meet you back there once I’m patched up.”

  The two paramedics down on the floor flanking Linda—both men in their fifties—looked at each other over their patient before the one on the right of her said, “Ma’am, you’ve got at least a broken nose, arm, and possibly a fractured ankle—at the very least badly sprained. Patching you up is going to be more than a short in and out.”

  Linda exhaled out of her mouth, and I could only imagine her head was filled with curses. She was smart enough to not argue with them; there was no argument in the world that would knit bones back together.

  “I’ll go with you,” I said to Linda. “Dad, you can go ahead; I’ll stay with her.”

  “No,” Linda said, taking deep breaths as the paramedics gently got her up to sitting, cradling her arm and arranging a sling over her neck. She winced through the pain and then said, “You need to help your father, Nessa. You know what to do—today is crucial. He needs you.” She didn’t add, if I can’t be there, but I heard it as if she’d said it aloud.

  “I’ll go with Linda,” Cliff offered, stepping forward. “I’m not much use outside the studio anyway. And I have my car so I can drive us back to the city.”

  Dad nodded, realizing it was probably the best solution.

  That settled, the paramedics gingerly got Linda onto the gurney and rolled her out to the ambulance. I grabbed her purse and cell phone and gave them to Cliff who would follow the ambulance back to the hospital.

  “Keep me updated,” Dad said to Cliff as he clapped him on the back. Cliff nodded and got into his car, pulling out behind the ambulance.

  Moments later, after watching them leave, we all filtered back into the house, the mood somber and strained.

  Dad looked at me, and it broke my heart to see the anguish on his face. “I’m so sorry,” I said, fresh tears pushing out of my eyes. Before I could totally collapse from the guilt, a strong arm came around my shoulders and pulled me into a side hug. I looked up into Andres’s face and then turned into his chest, weeping into his shirt. I felt more than heard him mutter something as he squeezed me closer, but knew it was just words of comfort.

  They didn’t work.

  The Replacement

  I was going to ride in the limo, but Dad was kind of a mess, so I went with him in the SUV back to the city. Sandy was going to come with us, too, but I told her to go with the guys and try to distract them from what had happened—they had a huge gig looming and couldn’t afford to be off their game. Plus, all their families were coming, and I knew they’d want to put on a great show, if only for that.

  Our drive was a somber one, but to be honest, we’d been through worse when we’d gotten the news about my mom, so I felt like we could probably manage to get on with it. Linda wasn’t dead, after all.

  Ken was helping, asking questions about the plans for that night, keeping Dad talking even though he obviously didn’t want to. It did work, somewhat, and by the time we arrived at the Brooklyn venue, he was slightly less clenched than he had been at the beginning of the drive. And now he could busy himself with the preparations and hopefully that would work to take his mind off Linda.

  His right hand and maybe girlfriend?

  I looked at him as we got out of the Range Rover, wondering. Now’s not the time, I told myself when I got the urge to ask him about it, just liked I’d wanted to ask her before everything went sideways. Y
ou need to take his mind off Linda, not worry about their status.

  We made our way inside, thankful that the boys weren’t there yet so we could have a few minutes to take in the hall without distraction. It was much the same as it had been since they’d started rehearsing, but now the stage looked finished with bigger speakers and a velvet curtain backdrop.

  I looked down at my phone as Dad inspected the stage with Ken at his side (the stage crew and other roadies would arrive in an hour or so to do the final setup before the guys did their sound check) and saw a note with an attachment from Linda had come in.

  Hi, it’s Cliff sending this for Linda. She wanted you to have the run sheet for tonight. She’s doing okay—getting a cast set on her arm now. We will hopefully be there in time for the show.

  I quickly sent back a message: Please tell her I’m so sorry. Thanks for the update—let us know if anything changes.

  Once that was gone, I fought back more tears; losing it wouldn’t help anyone and with Linda in the hospital, it was up to me to make sure everything went as planned. I opened the run sheet and squinted at it on my phone, but was able to make out the details. Apparently, the printers were supposed to be there very soon with posters that we would put up around the hall (she also had specs of the spacing of them). They’d also be bringing extras and t-shirts to give out to the crowd—a task Sandy and I would be happy to perform.

  Scrolling through the run sheet, I realized I had some time, so I went down to the Starbucks on the corner and got drinks for us (decaf for Dad) and came back before I was even missed.

  Dad took his cup from me, nodding his thanks before he took a sip. Then we got to work.

  Once the band, stage crew, and roadies arrived, it was chaos, but good chaos as everyone knew their jobs; all the cogs of the Wiretap machine moved exactly as they should. Except the Linda cog, of course, but as her stand-in, I had everything under control. More or less.

  So by the time it was an hour until the start of the show and the boys put down their instruments and came down off the stage, there was a weird calm over everyone. They were ready. All that was left was wardrobe and the waiting.