Anya and the Shy Guy (Backstage Pass)

by Suze Winegardner

  She was so going to write this story.

  She hauled her backpack higher almost in defiance. But his face was all wrong. He looked hurt, sad, and angry, all at the same time.

  She was so not going to write this story. Just like she knew that even thinking about betraying him had sealed her fate from the beginning.

  She’d ruined everything. Everything. And now he hated her, thought she was a thief and worse. She could see it clearly in his eyes.

  “What do you care? You were probably going to kiss and tell anyway, weren’t you? I can’t believe I…” He shook his head.

  “What? You can’t believe you what?” Her heart beat faster with the possibility that—

  “Nothing. Just go.” He looked at the ground. “And please, don’t come back.”

  She’d been wrong last night. She hadn’t imagined a tenth of what this felt like. Not even a little.

  Anya slowly turned from him, taking one last look at the boy she loved. He was still holding the dress that had gotten both her and Natasha fired.

  Nothing in her seventeen years had prepared her for this. Every part of her felt broken, and there was no one who could help her put the pieces back together.

  She was alone. Again.

  Anya wanted to cry, but instead of sadness, a cold emptiness filled her. She didn’t even have the energy to wipe her eyes or pretend everything was okay. It was all she could do to keep walking and not curl up in an alley and pretend she was invisible.

  She stopped long enough to turn on the tablet and erase her notes. She wouldn’t expose Will’s secrets, and as far as she was concerned, no one else ever would, either.

  She needed to get her check and leave. Pretend this hadn’t happened. Move on, forget. Except she had the awful fear that she’d never forget the memory of him telling her to leave and never come back.

  She reached the hotel. The guy behind the desk told her that no one had left anything for her, but that Mrs. Wilson hadn’t come back since she’d left that morning.

  Anya collapsed into a lobby armchair after attempting to hide her backpack behind its neighboring sofa. She didn’t want people to look at her, and she was painfully aware that no one checking in or out of the hotel had a large unwieldy backpack for luggage. They were all sleek, wheeled, and expensive-looking.

  For ten minutes, she watched the door, hoping that Mrs. Wilcox would arrive. Then Anya could head to the bus station. She checked the map in vain for the location of a bank en route to her bus, so she could cash the check.

  When Mrs. Wilcox eventually came, Anya handed over the tablet without a word. Which said it all, didn’t it? No story. It was over.

  Mrs. Wilcox didn’t say much. Just gave her the check and turned around, shaking her head. She was probably making a mental note to meet all her freelance reporters in the future.

  As soon as she stepped out of the hotel, thunder rolled, and rain poured. Of course it would be raining. Because there was no way she could catch a break. She had $375 in her pocket, and she had spent the past fifteen minutes cursing out the hotel receptionist who had charged her $25 for cashing the check. And now she was wet.

  Actually, “wet” didn’t cover the magnitude of water that had been soaked up by her clothes, backpack, hair, and skin. She felt as if she were carrying an extra ten pounds in rainwater alone. And the straps were killing her shoulders. They would be blistered later.

  It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I’m on my way home.

  Twenty minutes later, it was with some relief that she realized the ticket office at the bus station was actually in a building. Often they were just booths outside. She went inside and then sighed. There was a ticket seller and three chairs in a waiting room, all of them taken.

  “One to Tulsa, Oklahoma please,” she said.

  He didn’t look up at her, just took her money and passed her a ticket. “Change in Dallas. Bus leaves in six minutes.”

  At last, some luck. She’d been worried she’d have to wait half a day, or worse, for the bus to leave. She elected to go outside so she could find the right bus stop. She really didn’t want to miss it. She was getting the hell out of Dodge.

  Brakes squeaked as the bus pulled up. A stream of people got off, then paused to get their luggage. Anya pulled her bags from her shoulders and stood by the baggage hold.

  “Slow your roll, sweetheart,” the driver said. “I’m switching out. The new driver will take your bags and ticket.” He shut the door with a lever on the outside of the bus and left her standing in the rain. Yup. That was how she was rolling: slow…and wet.

  But at least no one could tell the difference between the rain and her tears.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Matt looked at his watch. It had been exactly five hours since their argument—not that he was counting—and still there was no tell-all story. Not even a hint of “Seconds to Juliet breaking news coming soon!” notifications.

  Had he misjudged her?

  Because even if she’d believed his lame denial of being Will’s twin, she still had a bunch of ammunition…him joking about Miles being gay; their relationship…because yes, it had been a relationship; the stupid jokes about the industry insiders and their terrible dancing. Nothing hideous, but still, enough to embarrass the band. And him. Enough to make her story a way in to a bigger publication.

  He’d been so stupid to push her away. He should have given her time to talk. Maybe he should have confided in her. Taken that leap of faith.

  It was probably too late now. She’d go back to her life and forget about him.

  Fuck. He hated that thought. But what else was he supposed to do? Wasn’t his sacrifice necessary to protect the band? Just because she hadn’t posted the story didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

  They were all sitting on the bus, waiting to head out to that night’s performance. They had about an hour or so until showtime.

  “No word?” Nathan asked for the hundredth time. He was such a cool guy. He seemed really concerned about Anya and him, even though if “Will” hooked up with someone, it would leave him to carry the single S2Jer banner alone.

  “Nothing. But also no story. At least not yet, anyway.”

  “Seriously, mate, did you do something that she might have run off to report on?” Miles asked.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked, and usually they all butted in with things they suspected he might have done. But none of them said anything. He looked up and saw everyone except Trevin staring over Matt’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, he might have done. But anyway, I think it’s time to start using our powers for good, don’t you think?” said a voice Matt knew only too well.

  “What the actual fuck?” Ryder asked, echoing what all the others were most likely thinking.

  Matt stood up, turned around, and looked his twin brother up and down. He couldn’t suppress a grin. It was good to see him. And in such good shape. “Dude.” He opened his arms and Will strode up and hugged him.

  “Thanks. I…just thanks, bro,” he said quietly.

  “No need. It’s good to see your filthy, ugly face again,” Matt said, trying to veer away from any emotional reunion conversations in front of the others. The others. He looked around at the guys, of whom only Trevin looked amused.

  “What’s this? Some kind of freak-show ‘Parent Trap’?” Ryder seemed to be the only one who hadn’t been struck dumb by double vision.

  Will held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but I was in such trouble with those pain pills LJ gave me, and then when my mom insisted I go to rehab, he threatened to sue her for loss of earnings and breach of contract. This was literally our only option.”

  “That’s amazing,” Miles said. “I wondered why you’d forget lyrics that you wrote. You are so freaking identical.” He shook his head in wonder and peered harder. “Wait. No you’re not. Now that you’re both together I can see you’re different. I just never noticed it before. But you’re okay
now, Will?”

  “Yeah. I really am. Knee’s still a bit sore, but I just have to put up with that now,” his brother said.

  “Well, who are you then?” Nathan asked, brow still furrowed. “I feel like I should know Will’s brother’s name, but I don’t.”

  “I’m Matt,” he said, relieved that it was all out in the open, but still worried that someone could roll on them. He looked at Trevin, who nodded.

  “Guys, are we all agreed to support Will now?” Trevin said. “No grassing him up, no getting his family sued?”

  “Bloody hell, of course,” Miles said. “They might be twins, but we’re all brothers. Am I right?” He looked around at the others and held out his fist, as they did every night before they went onstage.

  Everyone leaned in to knock fists. Matt hesitated after Will leaned in, wondering if he was still included, but they all waited from him to join before whispering “Whaaaa” and pulling their hands back.

  “So what seems to be the trouble?” Will asked, sitting next to Matt.

  “Nice wife-beater, bro.” Matt raised his eyebrows and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe his twin would wear such a thing. He didn’t know if he was ready to tell Will everything yet. He wasn’t sure he could get his own head around the loss he felt in his bones and the fear that Anya could expose them.

  “Nice subject change. What happened?” he insisted.

  “It’s a long story,” Matt said, shaking his head.

  “Will…I mean Matt, fell in love with the reporter assigned to find some dirt on the band,” Miles said.

  “That doesn’t sound like a long story, to be honest,” Will said.

  “Natasha and she…” Matt began.

  “Anya,” Miles said with a grin.

  Matt threw him some shade. “Natasha and Anya…”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve been holed up in Hanging On with Natasha all afternoon getting reacquainted with her. She texted me as soon as she was fired. Well, I assume she thought she was texting you…but still. I know everything. Maybe more than you do. I just wanted to watch you squirm,” Will said.

  “You do not know more than me. And how the hell did Natasha have your number?” Matt said, anger tweaking his misery.

  Will hesitated. “Oh right. Oh right. Was that weird? I forgot to tell you that me and Natasha had a little thing going before my accident.” He pulled an apologetic face.

  “That’s why she was so strange around me? You dick. How could you forget to tell me that?”

  “I was high,” Will said.

  “You can’t use that as an excuse for everything, dude,” Matt said. “Besides, we’ve got bigger problems now.”

  “I think you’re missing the point here,” Will said. “I had time to think while I was away. Guys, listen. We’re multi-million dollar artists. This whole tour—and the livelihood of LJ and his company and the whole crew—is dependent on us right now. If not now, when can we ever make demands? When can we take charge? When can we insist on not letting terrorists like Paige win? They can’t just fire our friends. We’re American. We must not let terrorists win, dammit.”

  Miles raised his hand.

  “Yeah, I know Miles. You’re British, but you’re supposed to be shoulder to shoulder with us when it comes to terrorists.”

  “I am. Paige scares the crap out of me,” Miles said wincing.

  “And let’s not forget that she’s had her tongue in your mouth, too,” Ryder said.

  “Did she? I wiped it from my memory. Deleted.” Miles shuddered and grabbed his phone.

  “So what are you suggesting, Will?” Trevin asked.

  “Just that we shouldn’t stand by and let one of our opening acts get our friends fired. We want Anya and Natasha around, we should be able to have them around. Who’s with me?”

  Everyone raised their hands.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Matt said “Hold on. What do you mean ‘getting our friends fired?’ It was just Natasha that got fired, wasn’t it? I mean, Anya will just go back to WowSounds, right?”

  Will frowned. “I doubt it. Natasha told me that Anya was expelled from the tour. And probably fired from the magazine, too.”

  “No…” Matt murmured. That couldn’t be, could it?

  How could she have walked out after their first fight? Who did that?

  Will nudged him. “I need to talk to you. You and I have something to discuss. Speak to you outside?” Will got up and saw the PC on the table. “Wait, you guys haven’t taken to watching porn together since I’ve been gone, have you? Not sure I can buy into that.”

  Nathan hit a button, and a girl’s voice came flooding out of the speakers. He was still watching that one video she’d posted.

  “Who’s singing our song?” Will asked.

  “Just a girl in her bedroom,” Nathan said, shrugging. His eyes were on the screen again. “Abby, it says her name is.”

  “Huh. Nice voice.”

  Nathan just nodded. “Nice everything.”

  Matt followed Will out of the bus, wondering what he wanted to talk about.

  As soon as the door closed, Will dived straight in. “Look, there’s no way to sugarcoat this. How into this Anya are you?”

  “Very.” What in the hell was he getting at?

  “Natasha texted me as soon as she was fired, and I got here as soon as I could. She wasn’t worried about herself, she was worried about Anya.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, aside from the fact that it was Natasha who took the dress and put Anya in Paige’s sights, she told me that Anya doesn’t have anywhere to go. She’s been homeless since she was fifteen. Her mom ran off and left her.”

  The bottom fell out of Matt’s world. Why hadn’t she told him? How was it possible that he didn’t know? Where in hell was she now? Why hadn’t she trusted him?

  Maybe because I didn’t trust her.

  “You didn’t tell her who you were, so you can’t have expected her to trust you when you didn’t trust her,” Will said, uncannily reading his mind as he’d always done. And then he punched him firmly on the arm.

  “What the hell, man?” Matt said, rubbing his bicep.

  “That’s from Natasha. She says you’re so dumb for thinking Anya would write anything to hurt you. Is she right?”

  Matt’s gaze rested on the place he’d last seen her, between the bus and the gate. Hell, she hadn’t even grassed Natasha up for the dress. She’d allowed him to believe it was Anya who’d taken it. He clenched his fists. “Yeah, she probably is.”

  “How long has it been since you last saw her?”

  Matt looked at his watch and his stomach clenched. “Nearly six hours.”

  “Did you leave on good terms?”

  He gritted his teeth, remembering how cold he’d been to her. “No.”

  “And there have been no blog posts, no Tweets, no articles, no teasers of a huge story?”

  “No.” Fuck. What have I done?

  “What do I do?” Matt grabbed Will’s shirt in his fists and yanked it. “What do I do? How can I find her?” All he could feel was fire in his belly and heat in his face. He gritted his teeth again, this time not in anger, but trying really hard not to cry like a fucking baby.

  “Firstly, get your hands off my wife-beater, you’ll pull it out of shape. Secondly, we’ll find her. Don’t worry about that. We have the attention of the world’s media if we want it. So take a chill pill—”

  Matt let go of his shirt. “Another rehab joke?”

  “Kinda.” Will looked at his watch. “I’m going to go get Natasha. Take a few minutes and come up with a way to make things right with Anya when we find her. How to get her off the street and look after her, okay? I’ll be back in ten.” He checked his watch again and smiled. “Maybe twenty.”

  “We only have forty minutes to showtime,” Matt called as he watched him go, a million confusing feelings fighting for dominance. Knowing Anya was on the street, knowing she hadn’t betrayed them, seeing his brother again an
d knowing he’d have to leave the tour, wondering how to find Anya…

  He shook his head and went up the trailer steps, his hand trembling as he opened the door.

  Ten minutes later, Matt was standing in the corner and Will and Natasha were snuggled up on the sofa of The One.

  “This is all kinds of wrong, man,” Miles said. “There shouldn’t be chicks on the bus.”

  “Pot, meet the kettle. Kettle, meet the pot,” Ryder said, barely taking his eyes off the TV screen.

  “That was different. You were all asleep,” Miles said, his eyes lighting up, obviously remembering that night he’d spent with Aimee.

  And that made Matt think about spending the night with Anya in her bus. And that amazing, sexy, comfortable night under the stars.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was on hold, waiting for the manager of the shelter in Tulsa to come to the phone. The manager knew Anya and was the best way of getting in contact with her. As the hold-music hymn played, he tried to keep track of the conversation in the bus.

  “I’ll be gone in a few minutes, I promise.” Natasha turned to Will and grinned. “I am so happy you’re here. I was seriously considering a laxative punishment for you blanking me and moving on to Anya with absolutely no acknowledgment of that night we spent—”

  “Ahem,” Will cut her off. “You can punish me later for that. So do we have a plan?”

  “Well, yes. We fire the merry band of monsters, Cherry, and insist that Natasha gets her job back,” Miles said. “But that doesn’t cover the most important part, does it? No offense,” he said, looking at Natasha.

  “None taken. I agree that finding Anya takes priority. I can’t bear the thought of her alone on the streets.” Natasha said.

  “I’ve been in some horrible places when I was younger, and I’m telling you, it’s no picnic out there. Finding her is our first priority. Will? I mean Matt?” Miles frowned and shook his head at his slipup.

  Matt was in the kitchen on his second hymn as he listened to the guys talk. Emotion rose in his throat when he realized he wasn’t alone in this. That he and Will weren’t alone here. These guys were family. Real family.