by Sarah Grimm
Feeling a bit queasy, she stepped forward, shifting closer to the elevator doors as they neared the first floor. She had to get out of here. Mechanical boxes with no view of the outside world were bad enough when they didn’t stink. Too enclosed, too locked up, too tight a space. It all started with her cancer treatments—day after day, hour after hour trapped in a windowless room of the hospital while her chemo was administered—and culminated in a dream of being buried alive. Trapped. Locked in a dark, dank coffin with no way out. Just the memory of that dream was enough to make her sweat, cause her stomach to turn over.
Like it was churning now.
Shit.
It wasn’t that she was claustrophobic, the size of the space wasn’t always an issue. Whether or not she could see outside was. She had to be able to see outside. Had to.
The moment the doors began to open, she slipped out, sucking untainted air into her lungs. She skidded to a stop, as two young women got up close and personal.
“Is he in there?”
“We didn’t miss him, did we?”
Gary stepped out behind her and Emma pictured his wide shoulders taking up the space between the open doors. “Who are you looking for?” she asked, already knowing what their answer would be. Guess I was wrong about no one noticing the band’s departure.
“Joe.”
“The lead singer of Blind Man’s Alibi.”
Did these two always talk at the same time? As usual, Emma said the first thing that came to mind. “Joe Campbell, right? I hear he decided the lobby was safer. If you hurry, you can still catch him.”
She waited, ignoring the unease in the center of her gut, and leaned against the wall opposite the elevator as soon as the two ran off. When neither Gary nor Joe exited the elevator, she looked up. Sure enough, Gary stood centered between the open doors, the barest of smiles on his face.
Emma sighed. “Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” Gary asked all innocent-like.
“I told you so.”
“That’s not at all what I was going to say.” He glanced up and down the hall, then stepped out, Joe right behind him.
Joe slipped an arm around her, tugging her close enough to kiss her temple. “Quick thinking.”
“That is what I was going to say.”
Emma smiled. “It doesn’t take much to distract a rabid fan.”
Joe snorted.
Gary raised a brow. “You’d be surprised.”
Then they were walking again. Down the hall and to the left, then right, another left. How did Gary find his way around these places? She’d just opened her mouth to ask when they pushed outside, right next to two tour buses sitting nose to rump, their diesel engines idling. The two black beasts shone in the moonlight and she wondered exactly what they looked like, since she’d never seen them in daylight.
Like the first time she’d laid eyes on the buses, Joe walked to the front one and boarded. He switched the duffle he carried to his right hand, then reached out his left, a broad smile on his face. “Come along, Sunshine.”
Instead of taking his hand, Emma handed him her carry-on luggage. Joe’s smile broadened. She followed him past the driver, whom she nodded at, and into the living space. Emma didn’t know what she’d expected, but what she stepped into was gorgeous.
The front of the bus was a combination lounge and kitchen. Beneath the large window on the right wall was a black sofa—leather of course, since he seemed to have a penchant for it—with built-in drawers beneath. At one end a small table was placed; the other left open. Next to that was a full size refrigerator surrounded by mahogany cabinets. Mahogany! On a tour bus.
On the left were more cabinets, the lowers topped with black granite. There was also a stove, microwave, one of those single serve coffee makers, and the couch’s smaller twin. Settled atop the twin, watching a flat screen on the end wall nearest the entrance, was Kirk. He gave her a wave. Emma waved back.
Joe shifted both bags to his left hand, using his right to point things out to her. “So, this is the bus. As you can see, this is the front lounge and kitchen. The cabinets are fully stocked but if there’s something special you want, just tell Gare or Marvin.”
She hadn’t met Marvin yet so that was going to be a bit difficult.
“Just past the kitchen here is the front bath, nothing much to see there. But right here is where the day sheet is posted.”
“The day sheet?” She stepped closer to what he was pointing at—a printed sheet of paper that showed things like ‘Load In – 1 p.m.’ and ‘Doors Open – 7 p.m.’. It even stated the time the bus was to pull out of town. Too bad they’d missed that one by a long shot.
As if reading her mind, Joe continued. “We refer to it as the ‘sheet of lies’ because around here things change pretty quickly so it’s normally wrong.”
They headed farther into the bus, through a narrow hall with three curtains stacked on either side of them. Emma wondered about them as Joe kept up with the tour. “We have full internet and satellite television at all times, so if there’s something you need to get done or want to watch, you can.”
“Is it password protected?”
“Gary will make sure you get it.”
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find Gary shadowing them as always, and instead spotted him back in the front lounge chatting with Kirk.
Joe walked through an open doorway and into the room at the back. Another lounge, complete with a curved black built in couch and sleek coffee table. Floor to ceiling mahogany cabinets lined the left side of the room, with one lone cabinet on the right wall where five guitars hung behind glass doors.
“This is the back lounge,” he explained unnecessarily as he placed their luggage on the couch. “There’s also a second bath there.”
Emma stuck her head inside the room he pointed out. “Seriously?”
“What? It’s a bath with a shower.”
“A travertine shower.”
He shrugged. “We spend a lot of time on the buses. Comfort is essential.”
True enough.
He was standing close, which seemed to be the norm if they were in a room together, and she couldn’t resist pushing his hair out of his eyes. How could he stand it hanging in his face all the time? “Where do you sleep?”
He brushed past her, grabbing her hand as he did, guiding her back into the hall. At the curtains, he stopped. “These are the bunks. Mine, Gare’s and Kirk’s.” He pointed to two spots on the wall to her right and one on the left. Then he pulled open the curtain just below the bunk he’d identified as his own. “You can have this one.”
A hole in the wall. Joe wanted her to sleep in a hole in the wall. A three-sided box with a mattress and pillow, small enough she had to wonder how Gary even fit in one. Dark wood, dark curtain, dark linens…darkness.
No light.
No window.
No escape.
“No,” she whispered.
He took in her expression. “Emma?”
Cold sweat trickled down her spine. The tremble started in her knees then worked its way up to her stomach, her shoulders, and down her arms. Dear God, it was tiny. Too small, too dark and way, way too much like…
Emma shook her head, pushing the thought away. There had to be a real bed in this place. There was no way she could climb in that space and relax. Hell, she couldn’t even look at that space and relax. She pulled her hand from his, edging toward the front lounge.
“Emma.” Joe said softly.
Too softly. Damn it, she couldn’t lose her shit in front of him.
Too late.
Her breaths came too fast. There was nothing she could do to level them out.
His fingers circled her wrist. His eyes gentled. “Em.”
With a shake of her head, she took a step just as the bus pulled away from the hotel with a lurch. Knocked off balance, she reached out for a handhold, only to be tugged into his arms. Automatically her hands shot out to slow her forward momentum. As
they came into contact with his chest, her fingers involuntarily fisted in his shirt.
“I can’t,” she said with a shudder. “I’ll…I have work to do.” It was a lie, but she’d find something to do. Just as long as no one made her climb into that coffin in the wall. “I’ll sit in the front lounge.”
“Sunshine, are you claustrophobic?”
She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see the irrational fear coursing through her veins. The risk of coming unglued was too great. Focusing on her white-knuckle grip on his shirt, she shook her head.
His big hand cupped the nape of her neck. “Look at me.”
While her heart was racing with adrenaline, his was an even, steady beat beneath her hands. He was strong, solid and, as she looked into his face, she wished she could absorb some of that strength.
“Everything okay back there?” Gary called.
“No worries.” Joe never took his eyes off her, softening his voice before he spoke again. “Breathe. Breathe with me, Em.” He drew in a slow, deep breath that she copied. “Keep breathing.”
“I can’t…Joe—”
“Just breathe.”
She was trying to. A slow breath in, even slower exhale. A shiver.
His hand slid to her back, delivering long, leisurely strokes that set the rhythm for her breaths. “Christ, you were edgy in the elevator and I thought it was just the temperature.” Emma closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her temple. “You should have said something.”
“I’m not claustrophobic.”
He smiled against her skin but didn’t comment, just continued those comforting strokes on her back. “You can sit up front. No one will stop you.”
Opening her eyes, she blinked him back into focus. “Okay.”
“Better now?”
“Sure.”
He kissed her softly. “I’m drained. You wore me out, Sunshine. I’m going to get some rest, okay?”
“Yeah.” The minute he released his hold, she darted to the front lounge and took the couch opposite Kirk. She sat on the end nearest the table and removed her turquoise Chucks, setting them aside. Emma turned to face the front of the bus, pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Then watched the scenery go by as she worked to pull herself together.
God, she was embarrassed. Completely horrified by her reaction to the sleeping arrangements. Thank Christ, Joe hadn’t teased her about it. Instead he’d just done his best to sooth her. Rubbing against the chill in her arms, she wondered how long it would be before she got any rest now.
Someone stepped beside her and placed something on the table. She glanced over and found a pint of chocolate milk. Lifting her head, she met Gary’s gaze. “The frig is stocked. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”
The man missed nothing, so she didn’t need to ask if he knew she’d flipped out. “Thanks.”
He winked at her then headed to the back of the bus.
Emma removed the top from her milk and sipped, scanning the room, checking out everything she had only glanced at earlier. Did bands own the buses they toured with or rent them? She thought she’d read somewhere that they were rented. Either way, it was an impressive set up. All the comforts of home in a mobile package. All but a proper bed.
Stop. Don’t go there again.
The television on the wall across from her drew her attention. Some sports event was being broadcast, rugby if she wasn’t mistaken. The volume muted, players in bright shorts and uniform shirts ran around the field carrying what she would call a soccer ball. The game held her attention for a short while, especially when a player from one team tackled the other team’s player, then the man watching it drew her gaze.
Kirk Lombardo, drummer, sat in a position that mirrored her own. His beat up jeans were faded and torn, and topped with a black shirt that appeared just as old and comfortable. Tattoos peeked out above his collar and down the lengths of both arms to his knuckles. Not tribal or the uncolored black type men wore nowadays, these were brilliant blues and greens, bold yellows and bright red: wings, possibly a raven, a serpent, music notes and skulls. The black gauges in his ears were just large enough her pinky could fit through the hole and his hair was super-short, shaved close to his head short.
She wasn’t usually a fan of so much body art, but the look worked for him. Really well, actually. He was quite handsome and the ink only added to his attraction. But it was his eyes that held her spellbound as he turned his head and looked at her. Pale, silvery-green and full of something she couldn’t name. What was it with these men and their eyes? Was there something in the water in England?
“Are you okay over there?”
Despite being the one who beat the hell out of his drum set, providing the thundering force behind Blind Man’s Alibi’s sound, Kirk was surprisingly soft spoken. Maybe his unique look drew the eye enough he didn’t fear not being heard?
“Emma?”
“What? Sorry. I’m fine, thank you.”
He flashed a smile then went back to watching the television. “I can’t stand those bunks. That’s why I’ll get on the other bus every now and again. It has a rear lounge with a bed. Of course, that has its own set of problems, mainly Bobby.” Kirk slid her a long look. “Whatever you do, don’t confuse the two buses. That’s the last place you need to be.”
“Um…okay?”
“Trust me. You want nothing to do with that bus. But don’t worry, it’s easy to tell them apart, even in the dark.”
“How?”
His gaze returned to the television once more. “The other pulls a trailer. Just look for the one without a trailer.”
She nodded, turning her attention to the game. “What’s in the trailer?”
“Lots of things. Mainly Bobby and Zach’s motorbikes.”
“They bring their motorcycles on tour with them?”
“Yeah.”
“Everywhere you travel?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Interesting. How much free time did they get to roar around the city? Or did they prefer the back roads and quiet stretches of countryside? Did they ever ride the bikes instead of the bus? Talk about freedom. The open road, the wind in her hair. It must be thrilling. The rush of adrenaline, the rumble of the bike beneath.
“Zach.”
Kirk’s voice snapped her out of her fantasy motorcycle ride. “What?”
He smiled at her. “You look like you would love to go for a spin. Make sure you ask Zach, not Bobby.”
That was the second time he’d warned her away from Bobby. Then there was the night Joe introduced her to his band…what had he called Bobby? A shark? “Do you have a serial killer in the band or something?”
“Or something.”
Emma frowned. She picked up her milk and took a swig, the whole time watching Kirk.
“You are exactly what Bobby goes for—blonde and petite. Joe isn’t normally into that, but Bobby…the more innocent the better. Then he corrupts them, uses them up and spits them out.”
There was a story here. She could hear it in his tone; see it in the flash of pain in his eyes. Looking to lighten the situation, she smiled. “Interesting. So I’m not Joe’s type at all, huh?”
“No. Sweet and innocent has never been his thing.”
She laughed. “You’ve got me all wrong.”
“Maybe.”
Something in his voice had her reassuring him. “I have no interest in Bobby.”
“He won’t care. At some point, he’ll make a move on you. It’s best if you don’t get caught alone with him or Joe will feel the need to remind him that you are his girl by planting a fist in Bobby’s face.”
“You’re messing with me, right?” He glanced at her and she could see that he wasn’t. “Fuck.”
That brought a smile to his face. “Maybe you’re not quite as innocent as you look,” he noted. “Welcome to the tour, Emma.”
“Gee, thanks. I can tell it’s going to be…interesting.”
&
nbsp; “Won’t it?”
For a moment she pondered what lay in store for her on this adventure, but then the day caught up with her. Scooting around for a comfortable position, she finally gave up and watched the scenery outside the window. Soon her eyelids grew heavy.
“Emma?” Kirk. His voice even softer than normal.
“Mm?”
“The lower drawer on the far side—the side opposite you?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a blanket and pillow in that drawer.”
Too tired to stand, she crawled down the couch, pulled the items from the drawer and crawled back. She settled on her side, facing the interior of the bus and pulled the blanket over her. Once covered, she shimmied out of her jeans and dropped them atop her shoes. Sore muscles began to unwind. She blew a deep breath.
“You good?” Kirk asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He turned out the light, bathing them in darkness but for the soft glow of the television and some sort of LED rope lighting worked into the design of the ceiling.
Emma closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her.
She awoke to voices—terse and angry—one of them Joe’s. Still blinking sleep from her eyes, Emma sat up and focused on the room around her. The first thing she noticed was Joe and another man standing near the stove, arguing. Joe looked to be fresh from a shower, his hair damp and pushed away from his face. A blue denim shirt, sleeves rolled back to expose his forearms, hung open and topped jeans and boots. A multi-strand black leather cuff circled the wrist of the hand holding a mug of what she assumed was coffee. The other hand fisted at his side.
“Watch yourself,” he said to the man on his left.
Whatever response the man made was lost to her as Kirk crossed in front of the pair without giving them a second glance. Kirk was also dressed complete with shoes, as was Gary, whom she discovered at the foot of her couch, texting.
“Morning,” Gary said, glancing up from his phone.
“Is it?” A check out the window verified the sun was indeed shining. It also told her they were parked. “I guess it is. Where are we?”
“Lake Charles, Louisiana. Parked behind the arena.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven a.m.”
