On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  However, Barbie and I weren’t done. Sometime in March, I’d partied a little too hard, had way too much to drink, and my head was throbbing the next morning. I don’t know if she’d stayed up all night or had gotten up early, but I woke up to her inane giggle and chatter. As she pulled me out of my dream cocoon with another giggle, I rolled over, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

  I closed my eyes again, because the room was too damn bright and I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. Giggle. “Oh, you’re just saying that.” Pause. “You’re so sweet.”

  It took me a minute to realize I was listening to a one-sided conversation. I forced one eye open and looked over at her. She was sitting at the little desk in the room in front of her laptop and she was wearing earbuds. I sat up a little and saw that she was Skyping with someone—a young Latino man, by the looks of it.

  “Oh, God, now you’re talking.”

  I sighed. “Shut up, Barbie.” Either she couldn’t hear me or was ignoring me, because she didn’t acknowledge me and she definitely wasn’t going to be quiet.

  “You have no idea how bad I want you right now.”

  My head wouldn’t stop pounding, so I lay back down and grabbed the extra pillow off the bed and held it down over my exposed ear. Unfortunately, there was no blocking out her inane giggle.

  “What exactly would you do to me? Would you touch me here?”

  I sat up, regretting it because it felt like an earthquake was shaking my brain pan, but it had to be done. My voice was as loud as I could handle. “Shut up, Barbie!”

  “‘Scuse me a minute, lover boy.” She turned to me. “Listen, bitch, I’m busy entertaining a fan—I’m working here. Fuck off.”

  “It’s—” I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand between our beds. “It’s fucking four-thirty in the morning, Barbie. Normal people are asleep by now—so shut the fuck up.”

  “You shut the fuck up, bitch.”

  That was it. I was done. I was hurting, and I was tired of her attitude. “You have got to be one of the most selfish, self-centered, egotistical, inconsiderate people I’ve ever met. You don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself. Working, my ass. You’re working yourself into a frenzy. You want to be worshipped by all our fans, and if you can get special attention for yourself, you’re all over it. But don’t pretend like you’ll be promoting the band if you decide to cyber this guy. Come on, Barbie. Don’t be fucking stupid. I wasn’t born yesterday. And I’ve pretty much had it with you. We all have.”

  “You’re just jealous. I’m so tired of you girls and your petty jealousy.”

  “We’re not jealous. We’re over it.”

  “I think you fail to realize how important I am to the band.”

  “You’re not that important. Liz can cover for you any day of the week.”

  “Yeah, she can, but she’s not that great at it.” Barbie turned back to her computer. “I’m gonna have to call you back, babe. I’ve got a drama queen on my hands here.”

  As she hung up the call, I felt myself getting angrier. I was the drama queen? Seriously? “Barbie, do you know what a narcissist is?”

  “Duh. I know the general meaning. Don’t expect me to start quoting the fucking dictionary, though.”

  I ignored her, steamrolling ahead, spurred by the beating drum in my head. “Let’s just be clear. A narcissist is someone who is conceited and selfish and is so goddamned absorbed with herself that she is her own biggest fan. Sound familiar?”

  “Yeah. You think you’re God’s gift to the guitar world. Oh, look at teen phenom Kyle Summers. Isn’t she so great? Yeah, Kyle, we fucking know you can play the guitar. We know you started young. We know—”

  “Seriously?” If my head hadn’t been hurting so badly, I probably would have started laughing. “Jesus, Barbie. You’re so fucking narcissistic, you can’t see the forest for the trees. Do you really think I feel that way?” If she’d ever get outside herself, she would know that I might have been proud that I was good, but I wasn’t egotistical. Maybe I should check myself, but now was not the time. Right now, I was fighting a battle.

  “Of course you do.”

  “You’re so high.”

  “I just want you to admit—just for once—that I’m more important than you.”

  Then I did start laughing—and immediately regretted it, because my head began hammering again. “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so. I don’t see guys slobbering and drooling over you. I don’t see girls begging their parents for guitars so they can imitate you. They all want to be me or be with me. You don’t matter.”

  The girl was clueless…and entitled to her opinion, no matter how much it was based on faulty perception. “Whatever. Just shut up and let me sleep.”

  “Fuck you, Kyle. You’re just jealous that I’m worshipped and adored. You? You fuck our white trash old fart roadies and pine over a stupid ass bassist just ‘cause he looked at you once. You’re pathetic. And then—”

  “You have done nothing but confirm that you are a narcissist. You can say and think what you want, but this band can and has gone on without you. In fact, I bet we’d be better without you.”

  Something snapped—I could see it in her eyes. The idea that we could and would dethrone her must have touched on her insecurities. The fact that Liz had threatened her before was probably also playing in the back of her mind. I saw her eyes blaze before she brought her hand up and slapped me hard. I hadn’t been expecting her to lash out physically, probably because she never had before. But there it was. And the sting of her hand on my cheek, combined with the jolt to my already aching head, angered me more than I would have expected. I exploded then and reciprocated. I wasn’t even thinking as I brought my own open palm across her cheek as hard as I could.

  It escalated from there. She grabbed my hair and pulled, and she wasn’t going to let go. I began punching her in the stomach, but my head was twisted so I couldn’t see my target very well. I swung a couple of times not effectively connecting but I finally got her with my third swing, and I hit her hard. She groaned and loosened her grip on my hair enough that I was able to pull it the rest of the way out of her hand. Then I shoved her away and she fell backward onto her bed. But she jumped up, screaming, and tackled me so I fell on my bed.

  “Dammit, Barbie. I just wanna sleep and you’re making it fucking impossible!” She wrapped her hands around my neck and I felt my airway tighten. I didn’t panic but I did realize I needed to fight more seriously. I bucked my hips up off the bed and made her a bit unbalanced so that I was then able to grab her, but she still held my neck. I finally grabbed her boobs in my hands and squeezed until she let go, screaming at me again. I could still feel where her fingernails had broken the skin on my neck. She started scratching at me, so I balled my hand into a fist and hit her hard in the jaw. “Knock it off.”

  She fell backward on her bed, holding onto her face and crying. I didn’t know if she was faking it or if tears were really dropping from her eyes, but I didn’t care anymore. She’d exhausted me, and I was tired of dealing with her childishness. “I hate you, Kyle.”

  “Feeling’s mutual.” No way could I try sleeping now. Yeah, I was tired enough, but I couldn’t trust her. I packed my bag and, without putting shoes or pants on, walked out in the hall with all my stuff, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties, and tried to remember which room Bad Dog was in. I knew he’d gladly share his bed with me, with or without the promise of sex. I couldn’t remember and figured I could find a chair in the lobby but, as a last resort, sent him a text. I didn’t want to wake up my bandmates; otherwise, I would have called Liz or Kelly, the two bandmates who didn’t deserve to lose any sleep.

  Barbie stuck her head out the door just as I sent the text message. “I’m locking the door, Kyle. Don’t you dare even look at me today, bitch.”

  “Whatever.”

  If she tried tackling me again, she was gonna regret it. But I felt my phone vibrate and looked
down as she slammed the door as hard as she could. Wow. Dog was fast. I told you my bed’s always open to you, babe. 210.

  At least some of us on tour were halfway sane…

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  MY SILLY BANDMATES put me on a pedestal for showing Barbie her place. She threatened me later that morning, whining that if she had a bruise on her face thanks to me, I would pay.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t even have a black eye. Her cheek was a little swollen, but that didn’t even last all day. Over the next month, Barbie continued to argue and pick fights with various band members, but she tended to leave me alone after that. As I continued to observe her the next few months, though, it dawned on me that the girl was insecure as hell. She came across as being overly confident, but she was actually hiding a low self-esteem. If she were more likeable, I’d be happy to help her, but most of the time, she was a selfish bitch, and I was tired of dealing with her childishness and temper.

  Sometime in April, Liz continued to indulge her sexual fantasies. I knew she liked women, but I think (probably due to her parents) that she was trying to like men—the problem was it wasn’t who she was inside. One night, though, she spied a girl she had eyes for, but this girl was bisexual and already had a boyfriend. Liz, feeling adventurous, suggested a threesome.

  We all knew what was happening, because Liz got her own room that night. We’d all been drinking and partaking of other mind-altering substances, so I and the other girls didn’t get a good look at the people Liz was going to be spending time with.

  Turns out we should have…because they beat Liz and left with all the cash she had. We had no idea if they were really fans or not. I was guessing they’d attended the concert for one of the other bands. Why? Because, if it were me, the last thing I’d do would be to beat and rob someone I worshipped.

  Yeah…Liz never said it, but I was pretty sure they fucked her first. And then they really fucked her.

  We had all met at the van as usual that morning, but there was no Liz. If it had been Barbie or Vicki—or hell, maybe even Kelly or me or Andrew (not that any of us gave a shit about the guy anymore)—we wouldn’t have thought twice about it…but Liz was never late. In fact, she was usually early. My alarm bells were clanging when I got there right at call time and she wasn’t there. Peter’s lips were pursed, but no more than usual, when he asked me, “Have you heard from Ms. Mayerson?”

  It was odd that he was calling her by her real name, and that was my first indication that maybe the man of stone was rattled too. I shook my head. “Have you tried calling her?”

  He gave me a look like I was an idiot for even asking. “Of course, I have, Ms. Summers. She’s not answering her phone.”

  “Hmm.” Well, that wasn’t going to stop me from giving it a shot myself. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and called her. Like Peter, though, I got no answer. I decided to shoot a text next. Liz, we’re worried sick about you. You okay? Need help with anything? Too much partying last night?

  As I was pressing Send, Peter said, “I don’t suppose any of you know which room she checked into.”

  There was a general mumbling but all to the negative. Barbie said, “It’s about time Miss Perfect fucked up. I’m tired of her making me look bad.”

  “Seriously, Barbie? You would say that shit right now when we don’t even know what the fuck’s happened?” I wanted to beat the shit out of her again. God, what an insensitive and rude thing to say.

  Peter cleared his throat. “I’m going to check with the front desk. If you would all try contacting her at least once, I would appreciate it.”

  Barbie flipped me off. “She has it coming—believe me.”

  I ignored her, and the fact that my phone vibrated helped. I felt my muscles relax when I saw that it was Liz. No. Not okay.

  Shit. Do you need help?

  Could you come to my room? Just you. Nobody else.

  Holy fuck. What the hell had happened? Yeah. What room?

  I let everyone know what was going on, and Kelly wanted to come along, but I told her that Liz had explicitly asked for just me. I didn’t know what to expect, but when I got to the third floor and found the room, I rapped gently on the door. “Liz, it’s me.” I stood back a bit so she could see me through the peephole in case she wanted to double check before unlocking the door.

  I couldn’t imagine what I would find, but my mind was swirling. My first thought was that she’d had a bad trip or maybe that she’d just gotten sick from overindulging—I hoped that was what it was, because that was easy enough to deal with. My second thought was that maybe her “partygoers” had been a little too rambunctious and had trashed the room, leaving Liz to deal with the aftermath. But I also knew that I was engaged in wishful thinking, that I was going to find something a little worse than either of those scenarios.

  It seemed like forever before Liz finally cracked open the door. I hadn’t expected anything quite as horrific as what I saw. There was Liz, but she was broken. Her left eye was swollen shut and both eyes were black, her nose bruised, her upper lip swollen as though a bee had stung it. She looked like shit. But what scared me was how she was moving. I could tell she was in pain but I couldn’t tell where (aside from the fact that I was pretty sure her face hurt too). She had a tiny robe draped over her body and my eyes quickly assessed the rest of the damage—cuts and scrapes and tiny bruises on her arms and a big bruise on her left thigh but nothing worse than her face. “Oh, my God,” I gasped as I walked inside. “What happened, Liz?”

  She closed the door and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Can I give you a hug?” She nodded and I gingerly put my arms around her. Her reluctance to speak told me it was due to the people she’d picked up the night before.

  “I need your help packing. I can barely move.”

  I had to ask. “Should we cancel the show tonight?” Sometimes, we’d have a recovery night if we left the next morning, but this was one of those shows where we didn’t. No way would I suggest performing without Liz, even though I thought we could do it okay, but she was the band. It would be like asking a body to continue functioning without a heart. It couldn’t be done.

  “No. Fucking. Way.” She was emphasizing her words as she pulled away from me, but she also was having a hard time talking. I nodded my head.

  “I’m gonna text Peter, just to let him know you’re okay. We were all worried about you.”

  She nodded but then said, “Just let him know I’m sorry and we’ll be down soon.”

  My text? Taking care of Liz. She said she’s sorry. Be down in half an hour. Pls sit tight.

  I grabbed her suitcase and began throwing stuff inside, opening drawers, the closet, anything just lying around that didn’t belong in the room. Liz sat on the edge of a bed and watched. “They took so much stuff.”

  I knew the they she spoke of but didn’t want to be presumptuous. “They?”

  “The guys—well, guy and girl—I brought up here. The night started out really cool…but turns out they were just junkies looking to score.”

  I continued putting things in the suitcase, expecting her to continue. When she didn’t, I said, “Did you want to shower before we go?”

  She shook her head. “I do have stuff in there, though, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing it.”

  “Consider it done.”

  I headed to the bathroom and found lots of stuff—shampoo and conditioner, a flat iron, toothbrush and toothpaste, and makeup, more than I could carry in one trip, so I curled up the bottom of my t-shirt to make it a bit of a basket and loaded it up. I tucked the flat iron under my arm and then walked back in the main room.

  Liz had pulled a t-shirt over her thin frame, having tossed the robe in the suitcase, and was sitting on the edge of the bed again, pulling up a pair of snug jeans. I tried not to look, wanting her to maintain her dignity, because I could feel the waves of humiliation radiating off her—even though she had no reason to feel that way.

&nb
sp; I made my way to her suitcase and found good spots for all the stuff I’d lugged with me. “Is there any place else you have things?”

  “No—but if Peter doesn’t pay us today, could you spot me some cash till my dad sends me a new card?”

  “Sure. How much you need?”

  “Just enough for meals. Maybe some hydrogen peroxide…”

  I finished zipping the suitcase and grabbed the backpack tucked inside the closet. I glanced around the room one last time to make sure there was nothing left behind—but we’d gotten good about living out of our luggage—if you immediately put it back or you don’t take it out in the first place, you’re less likely to forget something when you’re leaving in a hurry.

  “Should we get you to a hospital—or a doctor’s office?”

  “No. I’ll be okay.” She slid on the pair of Converse sneakers that were at the foot of the bed and was soon standing.

  “You ready?” She nodded. It was unspoken between us, but she knew she could trust me. None of our bandmates would know what I’d seen that late morning in Liz’s room. I didn’t ask if she’d been lying there in agony for hours or if the attack had happened shortly before I came up there—or if she’d been passed out. I didn’t ask and she didn’t offer. But she knew that what I’d seen wouldn’t go any further. If she was okay with the other girls knowing, she could tell them herself.

  I didn’t say it out loud, but I also had another thought: we needed security. A bodyguard never would have let that happen. But try convincing Peter of that.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  AFTER THAT, LIZ kind of retreated into a shell. She still performed like a pro—there was no way audience members could tell that she’d been attacked (maybe if they’d been able to see her face under the makeup, but her actions never gave it away). Even that very first night…she was amazing. If anyone in our band had the “this show must go on” ethic, it was Liz.