Anya and the Shy Guy (Backstage Pass)

by Suze Winegardner

  In just a minute.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Matt was carrying her downstairs in his arms when she woke.

  “Put me down,” she whispered. “What happened?”

  He continued until they reached a landing, and then he put her down. She rubbed her eyes with her fists, totally adorably, like a kid. When she pulled her hands away, she looked like a panda with black eye makeup down to her cheek. He grinned. “Nothing happened. You were dead to the world and it started to rain. So I figured I’d just carry you back to your bus. But we might get less wet now that you’re awake.”

  He led her to the door outside, which he opened. It was raining torrentially. Like an Armageddon movie rainstorm. He could barely see outside.

  He braced the door open with his foot and turned to her. “Now tell me truthfully. If you get wet, you’re not going to melt or anything, are you?”

  She punched him in the chest. “Are you insinuating that I’m the Wicked Witch of the West?”

  “West. East. Can’t a guy just double-check before the worst happens?”

  “Oh you…you…”

  He ran out into the rain, leaving her holding the door. He’d left everything on the roof except his phone, which he’d stuffed into his pocket. Instantly, he was soaked. He swore it was the same pressure as a good shower.

  He held his hand out to her, and she ran to him, holding herself stiff for a moment as the rain hit her. Then she looked up at him. Her hair flat and her makeup seriously running in rivulets down her cheek. She still looked freaking amazing. He kissed her gently on her forehead, lingering like he was trying to absorb her into him.

  Voices came from near the barrier. They both looked toward the noise. Someone was singing. No, a bunch of people were singing. They moved closer, and he tried to see what was going on through the rain.

  “Oh my God,” Anya said. “Go join.”

  Laughter erupted. The other guys, with their stupid masks now on top of their heads, were singing and dancing to “WET” in front of the group of girls who’d been standing vigil at the gate with their posters. The crowd started to sing, too. He thought he’d seen it all.

  He kissed Anya’s hand, then ran over. Miles did a double take and high-fived him when he took his place at the end of the line.

  They danced and sang for the crowd of girls, who for once were singing and not screaming. They kicked water at them, at the people who had accompanied the others downtown, and at one another. They laughed and sang. The guys working security at the gate were clapping to keep time. He sang his heart out. Sang for Anya and the girls who had been waiting all day to catch a glimpse of Seconds to Juliet.

  The song ended and Ryder shouted, “And they told us you couldn’t get WET in New Orleans!” The crowd cheered as the five guys passed down the line, shaking hands, posing for photos and high-fiving the people farther back in the crowd.

  “That was awesome!” Anya said when he’d run back to her.

  “Right? I’ve never seen fans so happy.” He grinned and spun her around. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

  Her beautiful, if totally panda-like, eyes widened.

  “Not what I meant. Unless…” He winked at her.

  She rolled her eyes.

  The other guys ran to The One. Miles lost his mask and had to double back to grab it from the ground before sprinting to get out of the rain.

  Matt walked her to the bottom of the steps of her bus. “I’ll leave you here, sweetheart. I had an awesome night. I want to tell you that I love…spending time with you.” He couldn’t resist a grin.

  She swallowed and said, “I love…spending time with you, too.” She punctuated it by sticking out her tongue at him.

  “Show me that again.” His heart raced. Would she?

  She did. She poked her tongue out, and he swooped down to pull it into his mouth. A few seconds later they broke apart, both breathing heavier. “Sweet dreams, Anya.” He winked again and jumped back down the stairs. He stood there watching her, hands in her pockets, until she shut the door.

  He was seriously fucked.

  …

  Anya leaned against the door after she closed it. She shook herself all over and couldn’t help but squeak. She shook her fists and danced through the trailer. Best. Day. Ever. She spun around and around, holding her arms out wide. Perfect day. Perfect boy. Perfect day.

  She took off her sodden dress and hung it over the back of a chair in the galley kitchen, snuggling into her tank and shorts. Life, for once, was great. The greatest. How had her world so completely turned around so fast? She’d always believed that she’d only ever have bad luck and had blamed her mom for a lot of that.

  Her tablet lay on the booth table, and she realized that she must have left it with Natasha. She swiped the screen and paged through photos from the show. Her heart jumped when she saw the photo of Will holding his hand over his heart when he’d seen her in her dress. Natasha must have taken it. It was perfect. He was beautiful. And he looked at her as if she was beautiful, too.

  She sighed with happiness and opened her WowSounds blog, wondering which photos to post tomorrow. The third comment caught her eye.

  Good news! We’ve found him and are looking after him you-know-where. FH.

  Father Howard! And the name the post was actually attributed to was JudetheWanderer.

  There was no way this day could get any better. No effing way. She collapsed over the tablet, her whole body heaving with relief. Everything, absolutely everything was good in her world right now. Better than good. Natasha, her meeting with Cyn, Will, Jude. The planets had aligned for once in her favor, and it felt huge.

  She grabbed her notebook and scribbled some Will information.

  Memory issues (Nathan and The Tudors) – face-plant related?

  Knows precisely zero about the world tour.

  Bone structure changed since said face-plant.

  She shimmied into bed, wriggled her toes, her legs, and then her whole body against the smooth white sheets and grinned in the dark.

  Life was good.

  Except…

  Hold the phone.

  Something was…off. But what was it?

  Didn’t it make sense that some things wouldn’t make sense? He was a rock star. He was allowed his quirks.

  But still, some vital clue tickled the back of her mind—

  She jumped up and turned on the light.

  The night they’d spent at the back of her bus, Will had rubbed his right knee. But in the photos online, she’d seen a bandage around his left knee. There had to be an explanation, right? Maybe they’d transposed the photo?

  She grabbed her notebook from under her pillow and went out to the kitchen and booted up the tablet. She opened her book to the Will fact page and read them all in one go. She rubbed her eyes. Read them again. There was only one thing missing.

  She went back to the high school website where she’d found Alice Singleton earlier. She squinted at other candid photos, one after the other, seeing who was tagged in them.

  Then there were two boys dressed up like Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia for Halloween. She knew that Luke Skywalker was Will as soon as she saw it. It was tagged with Matt Fray and Will Fray. Will had a brother. She should probably have known that. She giggled again at Princess Leia.

  She scrolled through some older photos, wondering if there’d be another one of Will. Way, way back in the archive she found a picture of the brothers again. She started at how similar they looked without makeup. She took a sharp intake of breath as she read the tag: Evil Twin and Eviler Twin.

  They were twins.

  Their hair was a bit different, one was grinning, and one looked nervous. One wore a T-shirt and one looked uncomfortable in a button-down. But when you squeezed your fingers into a tight circle and placed them over the photos so only their faces showed…yes. Nearly identical. She couldn’t tell them apart.

  Couldn’t tell them apart.

  She reread he
r list of Will facts and started scribbling, heart racing. Mounting anger made her handwriting shake.

  Had he been lying to her the whole time?

  About everything?

  He wasn’t who he said he was. Could she be right? And if so, who knew? Who else knew that Matt was pretending to be Will? She fought her impulse to go bang on the door of The One, but Will/Matt had some serious explaining to do in the morning. That is, if she could bear to speak to him again.

  She sat back in her chair and gazed out of the window into the darkness. A chilled finger poked her spine.

  Had he really been lying about everything? Everything?

  “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

  The voice screeched into her sleep and yanked her awake. She’d lain awake all night, unable to shake the truth she’d realized about Will. She must have finally fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion.

  She peered out of the curtains to find LJ and…who was that? The girl from Cherry? In the trailer?

  Anya half climbed and half fell out of the bunk, bashing her head at the same time. She straightened, rubbing her forehead.

  LJ looked her up and down. “Mrs. Anderson?” His expression made it obvious he knew she wasn’t a Mrs. anything. He sighed. “Is this your dress?” He held up the still sopping wet, gold dress from the kitchen chair between two fingers.

  “No sir. Nat…er, I…it was borrowed from the costume department last night. I was told that it was a rejected costume.” The words sounded stupid even to her.

  “I. Told. You,” Paige said, arms crossed in front of her and foot tapping on the floor.

  LJ rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Anderson, that Ms. Parker here reported it as stolen last night. Natasha was fired and escorted from the premises. And I will be in touch with your editor to make sure that WowSounds pays for the cost of the dress.”

  The whole world fell in. “How much does the dress cost?” she stammered.

  “About $1500,” Paige said triumphantly. “It’s a Valentino.”

  It might as well have been three million.

  “That’ll teach you to hang out with people who are rude to me,” Paige said. “I’m the talent around here, not the stupid makeup girl.”

  “All right, enough. We’ll let you get dressed.” LJ spun around and ushered Paige from the trailer, although she couldn’t resist turning around and sending Anya a truly smug smile.

  The door slammed, and Anya rubbed her eyes. She pulled back Natasha’s bunk curtain to find it empty. She looked at the clock on the microwave in the kitchen and was horrified to find it read nearly eleven a.m.

  She collapsed on the edge of a chair and put her head in her hands. She’d gotten Natasha fired? Natasha was gone?

  Her heart sank. She felt awful. Bone crushingly, stomach achingly bad. And then she realized that there was no one to help her get through her meeting with Cyn, or to take her place at it. And if LJ did call her, she’d be out of a job anyway, with her per diems eaten up by the cost of the dress.

  But it didn’t matter. She’d been expelled from the tour, so what did it matter if Cyn also fired her?

  In the space of twelve hours, she was back where she was before she got here. A familiar nausea rose in her stomach like an old friend. She never puked—she rarely had had enough food to puke anything anyway—the feeling just stayed with her constantly. But these past days it had all but disappeared.

  And now the sensation was back with a vengeance, and she felt the weight of the impossibility of her situation even more. This was her fault. She’d gotten caught up in the excitement of everything. Of having a boy like her.

  Crap.

  Matt. Will. Instantly, everything she’d discovered in the middle of the night flooded back.

  How would LJ like it if she ran and told him that Will and Matt were lying to him? How would Paige feel if she suddenly had no band to be the supporting act for?

  He’d lied to her. He’d lied about everything. His past, Alice Singleton… She had no idea if any of what he’d told her was true. Heat flooded through her. How stupid did he think she was? Kissing him, falling for a lie. Falling for him. He must have been laughing at her every night.

  She snatched on some clothes and ran out of the trailer. The SUVs that normally sat next to The One had disappeared. They were all probably out at an interview or something. She bolted to the bus anyway and thumped on the door. No one answered. She tried again.

  Nothing.

  She had to leave. She couldn’t wait for him to get back. He might be gone all day. She had to make the meeting with Cyn—it was the right thing to do, even if she threw herself on her mercy.

  In the Hanging On bus, she packed her things as fast as possible, pausing only to email herself the photo of Will—Matt—looking up at her from the stage. If she lost everything, at least she’d have that as proof to herself that she’d been here. Leaving everything that wasn’t strictly hers, she heaved her bags onto her back, paused to look around, and left.

  Every step she took reinforced her belief that she’d been stupid. She was too embarrassed to leave a note for Will. Or Matt. Or whatever the hell she should call him.

  How do you write a, “Sorry, I was busted for stealing that dress you liked me in last night, and how dare you lie to me and treat me like I was nothing” note? And she had no idea how to get in contact with Natasha to apologize.

  She knew this job was too good to be true. She knew Will was too good to be true. She didn’t deserve Natasha’s friendship. She didn’t deserve a break. She didn’t deserve anything. Just like her mom had always said.

  The threat of tears bubbled in her throat when she thought about Will or Matt, or whoever had called her his girlfriend. And then she let anger push through.

  Anger was better than tears.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Matt was getting antsy. They were at an interview at a local radio station and it was going well, but all he could think about was getting back to Anya.

  The questions were getting banal. Questions that’d been asked and answered a million times. Maybe more. Why did Ryder write “Kiss This”? How did Miles manage to persuade the band to sing that song to Aimee?

  Jeez, man. Let me Google that for you.

  “And Will,” the DJ asked, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Some people who enjoyed the band’s impromptu number last night in the rain, said that you had been kissing a girl right before joining in. Who was that? A fan? Are you off the market now?”

  Every face turned to him. Nathan looked petrified. If Matt said he was taken, that’d leave Nathan holding the hopes and dreams of every single girl in his lone, unattached hands. Behind the glass, LJ drew a finger across his throat. Oh, how he’d love to piss him off just to see his face. But he had to think about the real Will. He forced a laugh.

  “Sometimes you just want to kiss a pretty girl, you know?”

  The DJ laughed. “Absolutely nothing wrong with that, Will. Who could blame you?”

  Nathan looked so relieved that Matt almost laughed at him. Poor Nathan. Even LJ looked satisfied.

  “So you and Nathan are the only two single members of the band now. Are you worried that being attached may reduce your fan base significantly?” the DJ asked.

  They had a stock answer to that, and luckily Matt never had to deliver it. Trevin took that one. “You know, we’ve found our fans stick with us through thick and thin, and frankly—we all agree—no one gets between us and our fans. We’d be nothing without them.”

  The band’s job here was to interject “Yes,” “Absolutely,” and “We love our fans,” in a chorus of agreement. They all did it perfectly, so it sounded spontaneous. LJ had them well trained. Like dogs on leashes, Matt thought.

  He took an offered coffee as the station played one of their new tracks, again written by Ryder. They were all turning into songwriters, and it made the band sound way more authentic. Maybe they weren’t destined to be trivia questions ten years from now. Maybe they wou
ld segue their fame into a real band that he knew the others really wanted.

  Matt just couldn’t wait to let his hair grow again and take up the place he’d been offered at FSU. And somehow get Anya into his life without letting on that… Yeah, he still hadn’t sorted that one out.

  Thirty minutes later, they were signing photos, notebooks, and phone covers outside the radio station, posing for photos, and kissing cheeks. After twenty minutes or so, their security team came over to escort them back into their transportation. They always worked it that way so it appeared that the band didn’t have a choice but to leave.

  The SUVs took them the short distance back to the stadium and dumped them all at the door to The One.

  Matt took off toward Hanging On, but as he got closer he saw a team of cleaners traipsing up and down the stairs with trash bags, vacuums, and bucket and mops. Huh. Well, Anya wouldn’t be in there if they were deep-cleaning it. Maybe she was in the makeup trailer with Natasha. He ducked in the door.

  Someone was there. Shit. He recognized the face. Will had shown him photos of everyone on tour before he’d taken his place. She was…oh crap…the sick makeup artist who Natasha was filling in for. What was her name? Dammit. It wouldn’t come to him; he’d have to wing it. “Are you better?”

  She turned and gave a wan smile. “Nope. Not really.” She pressed her hand to her stomach and sneezed, almost doubling over and groaning in pain.

  Matt ran to help her to a seat. “Jesus. What happened to you?”

  “It’s Murphy’s Law, babe. I got a cold just after I had the operation. Every time I cough or sneeze, or move fast, it feels like my stiches are being yanked out. It’s hell.”

  “So what are you doing here? I thought they’d given you like a couple of months off.” He sat down next to her and handed her a bottle of water.

  “They had. Paige Parker made some kind of scene and insisted that LJ fire Natasha and some reporter girl. They left last night, I think, because at midnight I got a call to come back”—her voice changed to a spot-on impersonation of LJ—“Deb…we need you back before tonight! Deb…you’ll get a raise!” She rolled her eyes. “A raise? From LJ? I had to come back and see what that was like.”