My best friend, the girl I’d secretly been in love with for the past two years, shrugged. “It was okay, I guess.” The rough sound of her voice made my heart sink. Hailey lived for soccer practices and games.
“I talked to my boss and managed to switch the Saturday schedule around, so I can see your game.”
That got a small smile out of her. To get him to say yes, I’d had to agree to take the closing shift at the music store every Friday night for the next month. And there might have been something about teaching his fourteen-year-old niece to play the guitar.
“Do you want to see a movie tonight?” I knew Hailey was free. Kayla, her other best friend, had a date. Tonight Hailey was all mine.
She shrugged again. I took that as a yes.
“Wanna see Firewall?” The new gangster movie sounded good but wasn’t her thing.
She gave me the look, the one that said I knew exactly what her opinion of the movie would be.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Winner picks the movie. Deal?”
One corner of her lips curled up. It wasn’t the beautiful smile that always warmed my heart, but it would do. It meant my plan was working. I was about to distract her big-time. “Deal.”
I jumped up from the couch and pulled her to her feet, her soft hand in my callused one. I clicked the TV off and followed her downstairs to the game room. The foosball table, which her parents had owned for like a hundred years (because they didn’t believe in video games), sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, waiting for her to whip my ass. Even off the field, Hailey was a soccer superstar.
“You can pick the color,” she said.
I snorted. As if the color of my team would make a difference. “Blue.”
I sent my goalie a mental message that I would melt him in the fire pit in Hailey’s backyard if I lost. I didn’t want to see the movie I knew Hailey would pick. I was okay with chick flicks if they meant I’d get laid, but with Hailey, there would be no getting laid, no matter how much I might’ve wanted it.
Smiling, Hailey got into position. The air of confidence clung to her like the red-hot bikini she loved to wear. Realizing I would lose if I didn’t get my head back in the game, I focused on the plastic dudes on the foosball table.
“You want to go first?” Hailey asked.
I gestured at her. “Ladies first.”
“Okay. Three…two…one.” She pushed the small ball through the hole in the side of the table, aiming toward her row of players.
I twisted the handle, forcing my stiff-bodied players to kick the ball.
But Hailey was faster. She got one of her players into position, and it nailed the ball with its feet. The ball rushed past my players faster than I could move one to block the kick.
Hailey gained possession of the ball, and with the sharp clank of plastic hitting plastic, the ball flew toward my goal. I attempted to prevent her from scoring, but instead clipped the ball and scored on myself.
I hung my head in utter shame while Hailey laughed the warm, sweet sound that always made everything all right—even when the stakes were this high.
I retrieved the ball from the return hole at my end of the table and poked it through the game-play hole. For a few glorious moments I had ownership of it, until Hailey stole the ball away. Her players expertly maneuvered it back to my goal. This time I didn’t score on myself. I didn’t have to. Hailey hammered the ball past my goalie.
And for the first time since I’d come over to see how she was doing, Hailey grinned.
Which made losing to her worth it.
Chapter 3
Nolan
“What do you mean?” I barely got the words out, ice pushing through my body with each beat of my heart. Brandon couldn’t have been any clearer when he said Hailey was in a coma, but it didn’t stop me from hoping I’d misheard him.
“Sorry, dude. I don’t know all the details, other than she was attacked and it was bad.”
“What do you mean, attacked?” Somebody put their hands on my girl?
“That’s all I know. Right now her parents aren’t saying much, not even to Kayla. I only know ’cause Kayla called me.” Hailey’s parents would’ve called me if I had kept in contact after I left Northbridge. But I hadn’t kept in contact with anyone other than Brandon.
Not even with Hailey.
I dragged my fingers through my hair, pushing the messy strands out of my eyes. If I thought the energy in the hallway had been sucked dry before, that was nothing compared to now. Even the overhead lighting failed to buzz with life. “Is she going to…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence because I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know the answer. Especially not when I still had to perform tonight. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get away after the show.” The elevator door pinged open, and I stepped inside the empty space.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” His tone was gentle yet heavy with doubt. He knew how much I’d rather avoid returning home. Too many memories existed there—and there was a lot more I couldn’t remember.
The police had tried to find out what happened the night my old man went apeshit, but I couldn’t remember. They called it dissociative amnesia. A fancy term for “too scared shitless to want to remember” was my guess.
“I have to, for Hailey.” Even if she’d hate me for stepping back into her life after I’d turned my back on her for so long.
I stalked out of the elevator, rejoining the world of the living. A burly man yelled last-minute instructions down the hallway to a roadie rushing in the opposite direction.
“I’ll call you once I know what time my flight’s landing.” I ended the call as a boisterous noise headed toward me. A newfound, if not temporary, energy rolled off my bandmates.
“Yo, dude,” Mason boomed, much like his beloved drums when he pounded on them. “Show time.”
Which meant I couldn’t book my flight home until after we were finished with the show, and once the interview with the reporter was over. Shit.
“So what did the old man want to see you about?” Mason asked.
“I’ll tell you later.” I wasn’t ready to be the bearer of fucked-up news just yet. The least I could do, before I told them the truth, was let them think they were getting a long break, like we’d originally planned.
Jared handed me my guitar. With him, like with the rest of the band, fatigue peeked out from behind the glow of preperformance excitement, ready to crush us if we let it. Thank God tonight was the last show of the grueling touring schedule, which had lasted over a year. At the rate we’d been going, I didn’t think we could’ve lasted much longer before one of us collapsed from the strain of it all.
The roadies at the bottom of the metal stairs leading to the stage handed Jared and Kirk their instruments. I exchanged my guitar, which they would hold on to until I needed it, for my microphone.
In anticipation of our arrival, the arena lights darkened. I could almost taste the audience’s restlessness for the show to begin. A loud murmur of voices filled the air, inching me toward the zone I needed to be in for the performance to be a success. I hoped to hell I could flip over to autopilot and pull this shit off. I could do this set in my sleep. It was hard to shove from my damn head the image of Hailey lying broken and unconscious. But I had to do it for the band. They didn’t need me to screw up our last show.
We needed to go out with a bang.
The announcer introduced the band, and the audience cheered, filling the arena with their growing excitement. As Mason stepped onto the stage, I turned off my cellphone and shoved it back in my pocket.
Kirk and Aaron were the next ones out, and both were met with the same level of enthusiasm that greeted Mason. Jared turned back to me, and we fist-bumped.
“Let’s go fuck this place.” I grinned at him, the storm of emotions twisting inside me, giving me a stomachache.
Jared’s grin met my fake one. “Here’s to fucking the place.” He turned around and walked out to thunderous applause.
/> I took a deep breath, pressed my hand for a brief moment against the pocket with Hailey’s picture, and eased the air out of my lungs as the band started to play. Okay, Nolan. You can do this.
I strutted onstage, the heat of the stage lights trying to warm my cold insides as I sang the opening lyrics to our debut song. The fans went wild. Especially the girls. Arms stretched toward me, the girls screamed and sang along with the upbeat melody and words. It was a song about chasing after a passion and making it yours. It was a song about success and what it took to get there. It was a song everyone could relate to, which was why it had done well on the charts.
I worked the stage, moving my body in time to the music, smiling at the girls. Making love to each one with my eyes. That only made them scream louder.
The song ended. “Hello, L.A. Are you ready to party?” I yelled into the microphone, then held it out for the audience to answer. The concert was sold out, and even though not everyone was here yet since we were just the opening act, the arena was already three-quarters full.
Answering my question, the place went wild with cheers, whistles, and hoots. “I can’t hear you,” I said, laughing. I cupped my hand against my ear, and I swear the answering noise could’ve cracked the roof.
Mason took this as the cue for the next song and seamlessly segued into the new beat on his drums. Another round of cheers charged the air as people recognized the song, and I continued feeding off the energy bouncing around the arena.
I strutted across the stage, song after song. The passion around me—from the band, the roadies behind the show, the fans—consumed me, helped me stay in the moment, helped me push aside the world outside the arena walls.
And then came the opening strains of the song I’d been dreading. Hailey’s song. I’d written it for her before I left Northbridge, not that she knew my love for her had inspired the lyrics. “This One Moment” was our biggest hit. Everyone expected us to play it. It was the ballad that had critics comparing us to the bands I respected and admired.
The stage lights dimmed. A spotlight poured down on me, but it wasn’t enough to push away the darkness growing inside me. I placed the mic in the stand and poured every emotion inside me into the song, as I did every time I sang it. The pain in my words was clear from the emotion in my voice. Girls mouthed the words, as if they too could relate to them. I closed my eyes, blocking out their faces. Only one face filled my thoughts every time I sang the lyrics.
And she was now in a coma.
That thought just about brought me to my knees. But somehow I kept myself together as I finished the song—the final one of the set, thank God.
The last notes of the music rang out over the audience, and the crowd burst into the loudest cheering of the night. I’d be surprised if the applause for Crazy Piper could top this.
We waved our appreciation to the audience and left the stage so the crew could set up for the main act. As I climbed down the last step, the roadie handed me my guitar, already in its case.
I high-fived my bandmates, our usual post-performance tradition. “Don’t go too far,” I told them. “Remar told me some reporter from Rock News wants to interview us.”
The guys groaned. Post-concert interviews were the worst. Everyone wanted to get out of there and relax, not answer a bunch of ridiculous questions.
“Can’t Mason at least shower first?” Kirk said, smirking at the drummer. “He reeks like something from my old hockey bag.”
Mason leaned closer to the dark-haired bassist and lifted his arm so his armpit was near Kirk’s face. “And I bet it’s turning you on something fierce.”
Kirk shoved him. “Yo, dude, save it for the women.”
“No clue,” I said, answering Kirk’s question and ignoring their antics, even though normally I would’ve joined in. “Gotta do something first. Catch up with you in a few.” I started to make a beeline for a side corridor, where I wouldn’t be overheard, to book my plane ticket.
I didn’t get that far.
A girl stepped away from the wall she’d been leaning against near the stage. She wasn’t the usual variety of female who hung around concerts, hoping to see her much-beloved stars and possibly get lucky. Her straight blond hair hung to her shoulders and she had nice tits, but nothing compared to most of Mason’s girls. Even her outfit was different from what most girls who hung around backstage wore. She had on jeans and a thin cardigan, and looked like she’d be more comfortable in a library than at a rock concert. Only the media badge hanging around her neck betrayed her reason for being here.
Shit.
She held out her hand to me. “Hi. I’m Jodi Merrill with Rock News.”
I shook her hand, though I’m sure she regretted that considering I’d just played a forty-minute set under hot stage lights and I was positive I’d sweated at least two gallons of fluid. But if my sweaty hand disgusted her, she didn’t show it. “Tyler Erickson.”
She also shook hands with each of the guys, not once flinching at how sweaty they were, and indicated for us to follow her, away from the backstage craziness.
Pretending to listen to her glowing review of the concert, I fought back the need to remove Hailey’s picture from my pocket and examine it. It wasn’t as if that would save the girl I loved. All it would accomplish was to let everyone know she existed.
A few minutes later we were sitting in a room with nothing more than a table and several plastic chairs. Nothing like where Remar had been waiting for me. But as sparse as the room was, life and energy weren’t taking a vacation. They were all around me, doing their best to soothe my agitation at being here instead of being on the phone with the airline.
Jodi placed her iPhone in front of her on the table. “Is it okay if I record the interview?”
“Sure, go ahead,” I said. Not that it ever made a difference. Even when they recorded the interviews, reporters still kept quoting us out of context.
My knee began bouncing, counting away the seconds the interview was delaying my escape.
“First off, thank you for agreeing to let me interview you guys.”
I almost snorted at that. The way I saw it, we hadn’t been given a choice.
The interview proceeded as they normally do. Jodi first asked us about our musical influences. Next came the questions about our pasts, which I faked as usual.
“Have you always lived in L.A.?” She looked at each one of us, but paused on me for what felt like the longest.
“Yes.” I practically held my breath at where this could possibly be going, but she apparently took what I said at face value. Jared, Kirk, and Mason replied the same.
“I’m from small-town Illinois,” Aaron said. “But I moved to L.A. when I didn’t get into Juilliard.”
“Do you ever regret that you didn’t make it in?” she asked him.
“Hell, no. Originally I wanted to compose movie music, but rocking the stage night after night is way more fun.”
“And more likely to get him laid,” I said with a chuckle.
The rest of the guys laughed. My knee bounced faster. C’mon, end the interview. I kept silently repeating the words to myself, hoping to send her a subliminal message.
Jodi rolled her eyes. “So, what was the spark about each of you that made you want to put together the band?”
“Jared and I had known each other for a few months,” I said, trying not to groan out loud at my failed attempts at subliminal messages, “after the girls we were seeing at the time decided we should meet. We were both musicians playing the L.A. scene, but neither of us was in a regular band. We were just jamming around with other musicians. I’d been writing my own songs for years, but I’d never played them for anyone.” Other than for Hailey. “It was only with Jared’s encouragement that I finally played them for him.”
“I knew Tyler was a great singer and not a bad guitar player,” Jared explained, “but I had no idea about the depths of his talent. Not until I heard his songs. That’s when I knew he shouldn’t be wasti
ng his time playing with cover bands. So I told him as much.”
I burst out laughing. “Actually, what he really said was that we had a chance to make it big if I’d stop screwing around with covers. But I realized he was right. I already knew we worked well together onstage, and once we started collaborating on songs, we knew we had what it took to get where we wanted to be. But we needed a bassist and drummer. We’d seen Kirk and Mason playing around the circuit with numerous other bands. None of the bands seemed right for them. I knew Kirk was a business major, and figured he’d bring more to the table than just his musical talent.”
Kirk snorted. “Face it. You only asked me ’cause you guys needed a manager.”
I grinned at him. “Damn straight.” I looked back at Jodi. “It was the best decision Jared and I made. Without Kirk, we would be just another band trying to be heard in the crowded L.A. music scene. He got us seen.” Mason slapped his buddy on the back.
“Aaron joined us after he approached us one night at a gig,” I went on, “and told us we needed him. We were skeptical at first when we heard he was a classically trained pianist, but we gave him a chance to audition and he proved himself right.”
Aaron chuckled. “I’m always right. Eventually you guys will realize that.” He high-fived Kirk, his biggest supporter in the band.
The interview continued with some thought-provoking questions about our lyrics and ambitions for future projects.
“Right now we’re just focused on writing songs for our next album. Beyond that…well, who knows,” I said, biting back the urge to check the time. I could practically hear the seconds ticking. And as each second passed, my restlessness climbed a hundredfold. If this interview didn’t end soon, I’d have to feign a sudden illness.
“More and more singers have dabbled in Broadway and Hollywood. Have you considered becoming an actor, Tyler?”
Considered? I am one, every freakin’ day. I shook my head. “It’s all about the music for me.”
This One Moment Page 2
