The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel

by Tamsen Parker

  “And then I was making money, a lot of it, and that made them ecstatic. We could have a better life if I just kept doing this thing. So I did. No matter how I felt when I was doing it, no matter how stressed out I was, I was determined, and I didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t strong enough.”

  Fucking A. My parents weren’t perfect, but never did I feel the weight of their expectations like that. Maybe because I was in the middle and a couple of my older siblings were already pretty successful so they let the rest of us off the hook, or maybe because they were just too fucking exhausted to care at that point. Or maybe they could spread out the pressure and the attention to all of us whereas Dempsey was the only one.

  “When Spencer’s Woods became a big hit and I got super-famous, I hated going anywhere. We’d get stopped in the grocery store. At the mall. In airports. At theme parks. Everywhere.”

  Her hands are shaking. I always think of Dempsey as this like uber-chill, has-her-shit-together kind of girl—she’s like the Vanilla Ice of anxiety. If there’s a problem, yo, she’ll solve it…by not leaving her house. Which doesn’t rhyme and is maybe not ideal, but still. Especially compared to me, she’s a real grown-up who is generally calm and collected, and to see her so rattled is freaking me out. Like, I just want to wrap her up in my arms and hide her from her parents and the rest of the world, but I know she’s done that all by herself already. See? She’s got this shit covered. Except it’s been way harder on her than most people realized.

  She rests her hands on Fi, who huffs and shifts on Dempsey’s lap.

  “I started, uh, self-medicating? I’d drink or do whatever drugs I could get my hands on, at first only after that stuff happened to dull the pain, but then pretty much all the time so I wouldn’t have to feel it in the first place. And even then, that wasn’t always enough.”

  Tears are gathering in her eyes, and she swipes a hand across them. I want to tell her it’s fine, I don’t care if she cries, but I also don’t want to interrupt so I reach on top of the toilet and silently hand her a box of tissues. She takes one, dabs at her eyes, and then crumples it in her hand.

  “There were a few times when I got assaulted. Mostly by men, but kids weren’t much better. At least they weren’t trying to be malicious for the most part, I don’t think; they just don’t know how to respect people’s personal space yet. Anyway, I got groped and grabbed and kissed and… I don’t know if I’m allowed to call it rape? I definitely slept with guys I didn’t want to. I don’t remember saying no, but I also don’t remember saying yes. So it wasn’t violent, but it was…”

  Dempsey shakes her head and squishes the tissue, strokes Fiona’s head faster with her other hand. And then shrugs. Meanwhile I feel like someone is stomping on my chest because fucking no one deserves that. No one. I don’t usually mind it when I get touched by fans, but yeah, sometimes people do inappropriate stuff, and I bet it happened to her a thousand times more than to me. It’s enough to make a person sick. But the least I can do is sit here and listen, instead of making this about my feelings.

  “Anyway, I started holing up and not going anywhere except to the studio and to house parties where I could get wasted with people I thought were my friends. And when my using was out of control, the studio sent me to rehab. Which you might remember?”

  I do, because it was all over entertainment news at the time. With headlines like “Is America’s Sweetheart actually America’s Addict?” The rest of it’s kind of fuzzy for me, though, because I was a kid back then and the band was starting to really take off and we weren’t spending as much time in my basement bugging my sister as we were in Benji’s garage, working on our shit.

  “My parents used that as an excuse to switch my financial advisor from Oona to this dodgy-as-fuck guy who’s in prison now for embezzling. I cycled in and out of rehab for a few years, and the second-to-last time I got out, I found out I had no money.”

  She laughs, a humorless ugly thing that twists her face and my stomach drops. “My parents stole everything from me. They’d spent it all. Everything I’d earned by ignoring my own needs and trying to please them, they fucking took it. And by then, none of the studios wanted to work with me because I was a mess and I looked awful and I was damn close to being homeless. Which is when I called Oona. I was really goddamn lucky she took my call, and she’s been my guardian angel ever since. Helped me get into a reputable rehab program for a good long stint, gave me a place to stay when I was finished. Helped me figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life and did everything she could to get me into school and then start up my business.”

  Oona is cool. Even if she did threaten me with death and dismemberment. Maybe even because she did? Whatever. I know she’s looking out for Dempsey, and I’m just realizing now exactly how badly she needs that, even though she’s a goddamn tank. Maybe like outriders? Do tanks have outriders or is that just carriages? Dempsey’s definitely sturdier than one of those things. She’d never break a wheel off just from tipping over into a ditch.

  “So, yeah, ever since that happened with my parents, it’s been hard to think of the world as anything but a really horrible and dangerous place.”

  She looks to the side and scrunches up her shoulders, not like a shrug but more like she’s a snail who just wants to go back in her shell.

  “And when you start thinking that way, it’s hard to unthink it. Especially because, not infrequently, you get accosted by people every time you go out. And then I’d have panic attacks and be so humiliated for embarrassing myself in front of people, and that didn’t help any. So I stopped. And I have complete control over my world now.”

  Right. Except for when her clueless boyfriend descends upon her house with half a dozen people. Asshole.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t—”

  “No, I know. You were trying to do a nice thing, and maybe on a different day I would’ve been able to handle it better, but today’s been rough and I’m not good with surprises, especially in my house, and it tripped my panic reaction real hard. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me and I’m not mad at you, but I need for you to not do that again. Sometimes I can handle guests and sometimes I can’t, and when I can, it still takes some preparation to be able to manage it, so surprises aren’t good. And your whole band and their partners are like, whoa too many people.”

  “I’ll go down right now and ask them to leave.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t think you have to? I just need a little while longer to let this Xanax kick in and give myself a bit of a pep talk. And if you could tell me who exactly is here and introduce them to me one at a time, that would help. I don’t want your friends to feel like they’re visiting a prison, it’s just…”

  “Dude, you are so allowed to have boundaries. And everyone out there knows what it’s like to be accosted by the press, so they’ll feel you there. Plus, my friends are pretty cool, so even if they don’t totally understand, they’re not going to be assholes about it. And if they are, I’ll punch them.”

  “Uh, the guys might be used to that, but you probably don’t want to punch Rowan or Jordan. Just saying,” she points out.

  “Yeah, and I’m not going to try to punch either one of them. They’re tough as hell and could take me out. You’re on your own with them.”

  I may be a damn fool who can fuck up like no one’s business, but at least I can still make my girl laugh.

  “Noted. So, uh, would it be super-awkward for you to go down and give them a crash course on how not to make me flip out? I can probably talk about it one-on-one if they want to, but having them all look at me and have to make excuses…”

  “You’ve got nothing to make excuses about. They’ll totally appreciate that I’m the one who fucked up. They’re used to that. And I’ll tell them whatever you need me to.”

  “Okay.” Dempsey nods and takes a few deep breaths, still petting Fi. “And, uh, one more thing?”

  “Anything. If it�
��s in my power to give you, it’s yours.”

  “Aw, man, I was just going to ask for a kiss, but maybe I should ask for something better.”

  She’s teasing me now, and it erases some of the guilt that swamped me when I realized Dempsey having a panic attack was all my fault.

  “Ah, too late. That’s what you’re getting.”

  I crawl across the floor, the tile hurting like a bitch under my knees, and when I get to Dempsey, I cup her cheek in one of my hands, stroke a thumb across her soft skin before I press my lips to hers. Of course Fiona gets jealous and sticks her big-ass drooly dog face in there and licks at us. I mean, I’d totally be game for a three-way, but this is not what I had in mind.

  18

  Dempsey

  * * *

  When I get downstairs after changing and washing my face and brushing my hair, Nick is in the kitchen, talking to Zane and Rowan. Seeing me, Zane heads out the sliding glass door to the backyard, beer in hand. I see they’re all taking this one-person-at-a-time business very seriously. Which, while it makes me self-conscious and I could probably handle the two of them together, makes me feel sort of good. Because they’re being respectful. Of course it probably helps that Nick threatened them with god knows what, but whatever. I don’t have energy to spend on fretting right now. The Xanax definitely has taken the brunt of my panic away, but I still need to get my game face on to manage the rest.

  “Hey, babe. Come meet Rowan.”

  I walk over and loop my arm around Nick’s waist before reaching my hand out to say hi to Rowan. Not that I’m afraid of her, but I need that support. That sense of someone being beside me and having my back. Nick slings his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. Yeah, he’s got me.

  “Hey, Rowan. It’s such an honor to meet you. I’m a huge fan of yours. Like, huge. You were amazing in Denver, and I can’t wait to see you in Trondheim.”

  She smiles and flushes, and her handshake is good and strong. In jeans and a T-shirt that looks like she borrowed it from Zane and tied a knot in it at the side to keep it from looking ridiculous, you wouldn’t know that she’s a world-class athlete. But she is, and she’s shaking my hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you. We’ve all been curious about the woman who can hold Nick’s attention for more than five seconds.” She smirks at Nick like they’re buds, and it’s cute.

  “Hey, I’ll have you know I take way longer than five seconds.”

  Rowan and I roll our eyes at each other, because of course Nick would take that as affront to his sexual prowess.

  “I’m lucky I do. He’s, um, he’s pretty great. I mean, exhibit A, it was so nice of him to badger all of you into coming over here and hanging out at my place when I know everyone else has a way nicer house.”

  “It’s super-cozy. Where did you get those throw pillows?”

  Rowan and I talk interior decorating for a bit until I can get the down low on this winter’s luge season and who’s looking good. She’s really friendly, easy to talk to. Maybe Nick was right; this isn’t a big deal. I know he’s said that Rowan doesn’t especially like the press either. She does seem kind of young, but then again I suppose she is. Plus she’s got that genius affliction, the one where if you’re incredibly talented at one thing, you seem to be able to get away with not being all that great at all the rest. I am far too familiar with this, and it makes me a bit wary for her. Are the people in her life protecting her like they ought to be? From what Nick’s said about Zane, I assume he’d help her out if she needed it, but I’ve read that she and her dad are really close and that can be a recipe for some bad shit. I wish I didn’t automatically assume people’s parents wouldn’t have their kids’ best interests at heart, but there you go.

  I can’t help asking, “Do you have a financial planner? Your income must fluctuate a lot and be from a bunch of different sources. That can make it hard to figure out retirement savings and how much you can afford to spend on expenses like housing.”

  She doesn’t do more than blink at my blurted aside. Nick probably told her I might do this. I can’t help it. It’s my way of saying I care. “Yeah, I have a guy, and I think he’s pretty good. But if you don’t mind, I’d love a second opinion. I don’t think Terrence is ripping me off or anything, but then who does?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’d be happy to. I can’t ring a cowbell at your races, but I’d be happy to make sure your financial interests are being protected.”

  Nick

  * * *

  Everyone is gone and everything has been cleaned up. The trash and recycling are out in the bins in the garage, and what can’t go in the dishwasher has been scrubbed and is sitting in the drying rack. The dishwasher is humming away, and the house is so quiet it echoes. Dempsey is drying her hands on a kitchen towel, and all of a sudden, the red wisps at the back of her neck make her look at once vulnerable and sexy.

  I walk up behind her, not even trying to make my steps quiet so she’ll know I’m coming and won’t be scared when I touch her. Slipping my middle fingers through her belt loops, I rest my hands at her hips and kiss the slope where the column of her neck meets the rise of her shoulder. She sighs and reaches back, pushing her fingers into my hair that’s probably looking like I just got out of bed. It was a long day, and Benji and I got very serious about our game of cornhole. Plus, I narrowly avoided setting my eyebrows on fire when I added some lighter fluid to the grill. Who knew you weren’t supposed to do that? That’s, like, what it’s for. It’s right in the name.

  But right now, I’m not really thinking about lighter fluid. No, I’m thinking about how, just by being this close to her, Dempsey can set me on fire.

  “Tell me what you want, babe. I’m ready to eat you alive, but if you just want to crash, we can put something stupid on TV and I’ll rub your feet till you fall asleep.”

  She likes that, and I don’t mind. Gives me something to do with my hands instead of fiddling with other stuff. Plus, she’s got these adorable toes that I like to bite and she laughs when I do.

  “Is both not an option?”

  “Hell yeah it is. Both is the best option.”

  I slip my fingers out of her belt loops, and she turns around, resting her hands on the counter that’s now at her back.

  “I’m pretty tired, though, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up with you in bed. But I want to be with you. Have you on top of me, inside me.”

  Her brown eyes are glowing, and yeah, her face is a bit drawn because I know today took a lot out of her. Like, a lot a lot. She’s my fucking hero, though, because she did it. Not that I’ll make her do something like that again if I can help it, but she was incredible. She was warm and funny, and if she got a little overwhelmed sometimes, she excused herself. But she always came back. Always. Ate one of the burgers Teague made and drank fruity sparkle water with Rowan. It was a really good day. And now I’m determined to give Dempsey a really good night.

  “Can do. Let me just put Fi out back so she doesn’t interrupt us.”

  Fiona trots out the open door, though not without a suspicious look over her meaty shoulder, like she’s letting us know she’s well aware of what’s going down and while she won’t stop us, she doesn’t really approve. Tough cookies, princess. In this one thing, I’m not going to spoil her. I did already give her some leftover meat from the grill, though, so it’s not like she isn’t retaining her title as world’s most spoiled dog.

  Princess safely outside, I go back to Dempsey and on impulse—because I rarely do anything any other way—I scoop her up. She yelps in surprise, and I almost put her down because maybe I fucked up again? But she circles her arms around my neck and laughs.

  “Are you seriously going to carry me all the way upstairs?”

  “That’s my plan, yeah. We’ll see how that goes. If you remember, I’m not so great at thinking things through?”

  But even though I might lurch and stagger some—wow, should I be going to the gym with Benj and Teague more often—I make it a
ll the way up to Dempsey’s room and don’t just drop her on the bed. No, I place her there, her head resting on the pillows, and she looks like Sleeping Beauty. Except awake. Which is way better. Because who wants to kiss a girl who’s asleep? I mean, first off, hi, consent. But also, you don’t know how long she’s been like that; maybe her breath will be really bad. But I’m pretty sure that Dempsey’s gonna taste like those bubbly things she and Rowan were downing. Only one way to find out.

  I climb over her and kiss her, and her hands wander over my shoulders, into my hair. Her nails scrape at my scalp, and it makes me want to purr like a cat. Good thing Fiona’s not here, she does not like cats. Turns out I was right about how Dempsey would taste. Like fruity sweetness. Makes me want to explore all the nooks of her mouth, see if she tastes different in different places; grape on this side, mango over here, strawberry under her tongue. Even if she doesn’t, what’s the worst thing that can happen? I get to kiss my girlfriend and have her start pressing against me, even as her fingers in my hair start tugging more than sifting.

  Dempsey scrambles my brain but also focuses me in the best way—it’s like when I’m on stage, playing with the guys.

  With one hand, I fumble at the buttons that go down her romper and tug at the tie at the waist. She was fricking adorable in it, and the indigo and browns make her hair look brighter. Shinier. Once I’ve managed a few buttons, I groan because she’s got on this lacy bra and matching underwear, and it’s such a typical dude thing to lose my mind over but she looks really fucking hot in this stuff. It’s not my fault that lizard brain can’t come up with anything more than guh.