by A. M. Jones
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” I need to get it out of the way so I can enjoy the band.
A silence grows between us for a few moments. “Look, lush. I—”
“It’s okay. I’m not mad. Just… waiting on you.” I hope that makes sense. It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable, and I don’t want him to feel like he has to explain himself.
He nods. “I just don’t have anything to say.”
“You should know by now, you don’t have to explain jack shit. Although, I’m peeved you could have been giving me makeup tips this whole time.”
He smiles, however briefly. “Eli knows?”
“He doesn’t give two shits.”
“No, I don’t.” We both turn to see Eli standing at the bottom of the steps. “And I’ve never given you a reason to think I would. I didn’t care when you’d beg Madison to do her makeup. It didn’t bother me when Jack and I figured out you’d wear your older sister’s training bra in the sixth grade.”
“You guys knew about that?”
I shrug. “We’re your best friends. We stood up for you when you came out, too. Remember that time Jack and I were suspended for kicking the shit out of Matt Baker?”
Crockett’s brow furrows. “I thought it was more than once.”
“It was, but the first time was for calling you a faggot.”
“That’s right, Cockett.” Jack hops down the stairs with an unlit cigarette. He opens the sliding glass door to the patio. “Only we get to make fun of you. Shit, I’d kick his ass again for the hell of it if I ever saw him again.”
Crockett lets out a sigh, giving us a real smile. “Fuck you guys.”
“Could have told us,” I mention.
He waves away the statement. “It’s only a small part of my life. A hobby that pays for itself. And only then because I’m good at it.”
Eli sends me a secret smile saying, ‘See? Told ya so.’ He gives Crockett a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ll come to your shows. Just don’t ask me to find your package.”
Crockett winks. “It won’t bite.”
“I’m more afraid it’ll pop me in the face.” We all laugh, including Jack.
“Now I have to deal with the diva.” Crockett looks toward the stairs—almost afraid to go up. I assume he means my mother. I turn around, getting back to the task at hand, because I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.
Eli chuckles and then mutters, “Good luck with that.”
Everything is coming together. Rows and rows of tables line the huge outdoor space. People mill around, spreading table covers and stacking items for sale. On the other side of the lot, between two buildings to keep the sun at bay, is the stage. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. People gather at the gate in abundance. It’s only eight-thirty.
“Taylor.” Gina, sporting her Stop the Bash T-shirt, rushes over with three huge orange extension cords. “That row still needs power.” She points, “The ones that need it are at the front.”
“On it.” I say, even though I’m getting a little stressed. My booth still needs to be arranged, but luckily, I came prepared with a bag of Blow Pops.
I drape the cords over my shoulder and plug in, running the line out of the traffic area. I stop, recognizing Gavin. He gives me a tight smile, not saying anything.
“Thanks. For your support.” I hand him his power source. A tablet is perched on the table, I’m guessing to show off his work.
He waves away my gratitude. “If anyone asks about your ink, send them my way, would ya?”
I smile. “Of course.”
The pressure from the cords on my shoulder lessens abruptly as Eli takes one off. “Need help?”
“And here I thought you came over to make an appointment for a tattoo.” Gavin says in that smart-ass way of his.
Eli glances at the tablet that’s now running a slideshow. “Nah., I hear they’re addictive and expensive. I don’t have the means to support such a habit.”
Gavin straightens, smirks, and hands Eli a card. “It’d be on the house.”
Eli narrows his eyes, but he takes the card. We move on down the row. “He’s trying to make me look like a pussy, isn’t he?”
I laugh. “Not gonna lie. That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
“If I don’t, I will, won’t I?”
“In his eyes, but who cares what he thinks?”
Eli glances at Gavin. He watches us with a smirk and crossed arms. Eli flinches, but only enough for me to barely catch. “He’d make it hurt, wouldn’t he?”
I laugh again. “Probably.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
I shake my head. “Stop the bash, remember? Don’t let him bully you into something you’re not sure about. If you get one, it needs to be your choice and your choice alone.”
His gaze heats even as his panty-wetting smile crosses his face. “You’d like it?”
Men. “Have I ever said anything like that to you? ‘Oh, Eli. Please get a tattoo because you need to be hotter.’” I smack his torso with the back of my hand as he laughs. “It won’t make a difference to me and that’s what his problem is. You already look tough without tattoos and hours of gym time every day.”
Smiling, he puts his arm around my shoulder, letting cord drop as we walk. “You think I look tough.”
“Badass.” I lean in and whisper, “But you’re such a good boy that I know better now.” I laugh as he shoots me a mirthless look. It’s then I realize everyone around us watches our every move. Eli feels me tense. He squeezes my shoulder, but otherwise brushes it off. He doesn’t care. I swallow hard, remembering every single person on this lot knows our scandalous story. It wouldn’t be so bad if no one knew he’s still married. Stepping to the side, I try to put space between us.
“Stop it. They wouldn’t be here if not supportive.” He laughs, closing the gap again. “Just when I think I couldn’t love you anymore.”
“What?”
“You don’t want anyone to think you lack moral dignity. Even when they already know you don’t.”
Turns out, he’s right. The day goes by without a hitch. Listeners mass near the stage. It’s the same for us. So much, in fact, I wish we’d gotten a beer vendor, but we decided to hold true to the benefit to forgo it. It’s crowded—more than we imagined—all here in some form of support. People laugh, dance, and often take photos with us. My cheeks are sore from smiling so much.
My phone blows up with the constant social media attention from benefit-goers tagging me. I’ll see a picture posted or tweeted and then sometime later, see the same thing in person.
The best thing about it would be the diverse crowd telling us how engaging it is that we reached out for help so we can move on with our lives a good way—to start over with none of the mess hanging over our shoulders. They have no idea.
My life will never be the same now. When that realization hits me, I start popping the Blow Pops.
A man with camera gear, accompanied by a stunning redhead, stops at the booth. She holds out her hand. “I’m Jessica Neil. A journalist for the Nashville Outlook. I’ve been following your story, well, because I follow Madison Gregor-Hart.”
I flinch but shake her hand, anyway. She laughs as she shakes Eli’s hand. “No worries. I’m good, honest press. Your post was written with heart and it caught my attention.”
“Oh,” I manage as Eli flashes her a grin.
“I loved it. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for your epic love story in-the-making. That’s why I’m covering it. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Go for it,” Eli says without another thought.
She snaps her fingers at the cameraman, rolling her fingers around. “Scoot closer, would you?” Eli does as she asks, scooting his chair until it touches mine. “What intrigues me the most is how you two met. You needed a model for your cover and found him in a bar, right?”
Eli smiles, but I’m sure I’m getting spotty with redness. I feel the heat spreadi
ng. “Yes, that’s right. Shocked me when I first saw him.”
She nods, looking to Eli. “What we don’t know is what were your thoughts when you first saw her.”
Eli leans back, peeking at me sideways. “I’ll never forget it. One minute I’m tuning my guitar, and the next I look up and there’s this eccentric woman staring at me.” I can’t help it, I laugh. Who knows what he thought in that moment, but I’m sure it’s close. “Her hair was different then. Dark with red stripes.” He waves his hand at me. “Same attire. In the middle of a bar full of honky-tonkers, she stuck out, but there was something about her demeanor—something special.”
“This was before you knew why she was staring?”
“Yeah, I kept an eye on her.” He laughs again with a faraway look. “She was awkward as hell, even dropped her phone in her beer.” I’m astonished he saw that. “She ran away soon after, but not before the bartender handed me her card. She said, ‘This chick wants you on a book cover’.”
“And it’s obvious you kept it.” Jessica says, absorbed by the info. Many people crowd around to listen as Eli tells his side. I’m enraptured myself—never given it a second thought to his side when our story started. I suppose anxiety got the best of me.
“Oh yeah. Who wouldn’t after that graceful display?” Laughter breaks out around the table, but dies down when he continues, “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I knew I had to find out more. So, I looked her up, went through her website… that’s when drawings of Jaxon caught my eye. The character she wanted me to represent. It felt weird to see myself like that, but I was more shocked it wasn’t for a romance novel.” Laughter ensues as he peeks at me. “I called her after that.”
“I can’t believe you,” I say, shaking my head. Even though, I can believe this of him. It’s in his character and it makes my eyes burn with emotion.
“Why do you say that?” Jessica sticks her mic in my face.
I place my elbow on the table. “When we first met to talk about it, he made a joke. He led on that he had no clue.” Now that I think about it, he did say he started reading my books before our meeting, but I haven’t put that all together until now.
Jessica grins. “What was the joke?”
I think back but Eli beats me to it. “I asked her when she was going to dress me like a Viking and take pictures of me fondling a half-naked woman.” The crowd laughs as Eli grins. “I remember because I thought of it before we met up. I wanted to have something at the ready to make you laugh.”
His smile slips a little and Jessica jumps on it. “Did she?”
“Yes, but she screwed up my flirty plans by talking deep about her writing.” The words could be meant as a letdown, but his tone speaks on something else. The emotion in it surprises me.
Jessica steps closer. “Is that when you fell for her?”
He shakes his head, looking at me with fondness as he continues. “The thing about that moment was, I understood her passion. It drew me in, made me see things differently. Still does. I knew she’d be able to understand mine. So, no, that’s not when I fell, but it was when I realized I could, and I never tried not to.”
All eyes are on us. Jessica smiles, “Did you get that?” she asks, and her cameraman confirms. “Awesome.”
The interview never leaves my mind while I sign books and take pictures. Tainted District goes on in a half hour, the last band of the day, but the time has come to stop letting people in. I’m waiting on Brenna to come and relieve me. I’m getting anxious, sick to my stomach, and thirty minutes is not enough time for me to get ready.
Gina appears through the crowd, sitting in the chair Eli’s occupied most of the day. She picks up one of his business cards I had made for him to pass out. Although, I wish he would have let me stick his picture on it from the new photos I took of the band.
She laughs. “Screwing, Nutting, and Bolting since 2005. How crude.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Sex sells.”
“That it does.” She slides one in her pocket before laying her hand on my arm. “Great news. Brenna ran the numbers. Someone made a rather large donation.”
“Oh, there should be several. I know some of my friends got a book auction together and I believe Crockett has friends that did the same.” She doesn’t want to hear what they were auctioning.
“No, Taylor. I doubt a book auction came out to a five-digit sum.”
“What kind of five-digit sum?”
“Oh… around twenty-five.” My mouth drops open. Who would do that? “I know.”
“Anyone have an idea of who it was?”
“Brenna said it was anonymous—a silly cartoon name. Roger Rabbit. Oh yeah, and I called a cleaning crew. There’s no way I’m cleaning up this mess.”
“You’re a smart ass, you know?” I say when I find her sitting in a lawn chair, a ways from the stage, but still in full sight. With only minutes left before Tainted District performs, the crowd surges toward the stage. I clench my fists in anxiety. Tainted District’s banner looks great as the roadies jump on ladders to hang it. She blows out cigarette smoke and shrugs.
“We’re not taking your money.”
She laughs. “It’s not my money. Belongs to you, remember?”
“He paid his child support. That’s yours.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is why I never gave it to you. Thought about getting you a new car, or a down payment on a house… something, but you’re just so damned independent and stubborn. Let me do this for you just this once. For Eli. Hell, you were going to borrow money from me if he needed it, anyway.”
I smile and wipe tears from my cheeks. “You like him.”
She sighs, flicking her cigarette ashes. “He makes you happy. There’s a difference. Lord, I don’t even know how he does that. Figured you liked them with balls.”
“You like him,” I state again.
Her lips purse. “Have you told him how you feel?”
I swallow, knowing I haven’t talked to him about it. “He knows.” After all, I bled into that post. “And anyway, I guess we have something in common because I figured you liked yours with balls, too.”
She puffs the cigarette and blows smoke out, smiling. “Shut up. You’ve seen them.” I close my eyes against the picture she conjured of Crockett walking around naked in her foyer.
“I hope you can be just as happy. Soon.”
“You let me worry about Mrs. Rabbit. I’ve been a woman much longer, so I can handle that bitch.” I’m relieved she’s not going to hold the whole fiasco against him. She looks me in the eye. “Tell him, Taylor. Don’t be like me and let it go because you’re scared.”
My heart breaks for my mother right then. I search her face, but she says nothing else. “I’m about to,” I tell her. “In a way that Eli and I both do best.”
Her gaze shoots to me, and she slowly smiles. “Good.”
“I’m really sorry about last time. I didn’t know.” Kayla seems apologetic for what went down in Jackson. I have to admit. If it weren’t for her forward attitude that night would’ve turned out different. But I wouldn’t change anything.
I shrug. “Water under the bridge. Thanks for showing your support by playing today. Tainted District appreciates it.”
She smiles. “Anytime.”
“Eli!” Brenna drags someone through the crowd. “There you are!” She catches her breath and I recognize the man she’s man-handling. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. This is Char—”
“Charles Thornton. From Dash Top,” I say, smiling at the man. “Sorry about the kidnapping.”
“No worries, she’s charismatic. More so in person.” I flinch at his words but he only smiles. “You couldn’t have picked a better person to represent you.”
Brenna beams with pride and a touch of smugness. “He wanted to tell you in person the Madison scandal has no effect on your negotiations with Dash Top Records.”
I suck in a breath and look at Mr. Thornton. “Really?”
He l
aughs. “None. We have to deal with that kind of thing all the time. Besides, you know how to turn it around for you. Why wouldn’t I want that kind of man on my team?”
My band is nowhere in sight. I’ve misplaced Taylor’s glasses and my leather cuffs, and somehow, the set’s delayed for another fifteen minutes.
By now, most of the merchants are gone, leaving as the sun set. The leftover vendors break down their booths as I return to the side of the stage.
Camden is the first person I spot who might tell me something. “Where is everyone?” I ask in a desperate need to tell someone my good news.
He glances over my shoulder briefly. “Tainted District is onstage.”
“What?” I ask, peeved.
He looks me over and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask him again.
“My dad’s going to like you. But don’t think he won’t hire a hitman.”
That’s oddly comforting. “He won’t—” All thoughts flee my mind as I seize in shock. Taylor bumps me and struts by wearing the missing glasses and cuffs. I smile as I take her in. Those ruffle things cover her ass as the garters hold stockings with a seam running down her calf. Her top only stays on by a small string tied at the back—a top to show off her tattoos. Her hair is slicked back in a tall poof on top of her head. Looking over her shoulder, she winks. She laughs at the look on my face—her white teeth flashing through the bright red of her lips.
I hold up a finger for her to wait a second. Her smile widens when she realizes I’m snapping a picture with my phone. It couldn’t be any better. Her arms open with a smile all for me. Her naked back and ruffles with the stage as a background in all of her inked glory. Perfect.
My band mates wait for her in the middle of the stage. Catcalls and macho shouts ensue and whistles are directed at her. She shakes her hands before grabbing Jack’s Ibanez. Milo taps his sticks together before beating a few rhythms.
I open my mouth to drill Camden, but I can’t bring myself to take my eyes away. I move into a better position to watch. Her fret hand jacks the neck suggestively and the catcalls grow. My body grows warm, remembering just how skilled she is at it. Her chest expands in a deep breath—the only sign she’s nervous. She strums out her very own lick. I blink to make sure she really stands there. On the stage. In front of people.
