He dips down and kisses my lips, but the kiss isn’t as soft as it was last night. He tastes too good. His tongue moves in and out of my mouth with such expertise. It makes a girl wonder what he could do with that tongue below the belt. Someone clears their throat nearby, and it interrupts our make-out session.
“I’m truly sorry to interrupt, but I have an appointment at the venue, and there is no other exit,” Randy says.
Jag pulls back from me, his eyes searching mine, and then we look over at Randy who is looking at his shoes. Awkward. Jag puts me down on the floor, and I straighten myself out.
Jag clears his throat. “Sorry about that, Randy, I didn’t mean to block you in,” he says.
Randy looks up and smiles at us. “I always knew you two would end up together. It’s about damn time.” He exits the room whistling.
Once Randy exits the room, Jag turns to me. He cups my face with his hand. He searches my eyes as though he is looking for the right words to say. “I can’t rush into shit with you. I don’t want this to be some sort of fling. I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time, Hen. I can do flings, but not with you. Our lives have been connected for a long time, and if we ended, it would indeed be bad for a lot of people. I want to tear your clothes off every time I see you, but ‘you and us’ means way more to me than that. It will take every sliver of willpower I have to be good, but this is important to me,” he finally says, all breathy.
Screw him for turning me on when he is all breathy.
“What you’re saying is, you won’t be tearing my clothes off anytime soon?” I deadpan.
He growls and kisses me again. Not fair. “You aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?”
I reach down and grab the impressive hard-on he is sporting through his pants. “Now, where is the fun in that?” I leave him to find my brother, and he follows while adjusting his pants.
WE DECIDE TO eat lunch a few hours later in the dining room of our hotel. Somehow, the guys have rid themselves of their evening company. I’ll never know how they do it as smoothly as they do. I’ve seen girls pitch fits, cry, and act like fools when the morning rolls around.
Jag holds my hand the entire time. It gives me butterflies. I feel like a kid again. My brief affairs with men over the years are just that: brief. I never had feelings for other men beyond genuine care, respect, and sexual attraction. Jagger makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. His touch is enough to send shocks through my body. After lunch, we load into the Escalade for a radio interview. I’m accompanying them since I don’t have shit else to do. The concert is tomorrow in Jacksonville, and I’m really stoked about photographing the entire thing.
Once we arrive at the radio station, Jag offers his hand to me, and I smile as I exit the Escalade. He holds my hand the entire way into the building, and I have to say, a girl could get used to this. The building isn’t large like they would be in L.A. or New York, but it is big enough. The staff takes notice of us right away. They care way more about the fact that Jag is holding my hand, than Broken Access standing in front of them. A man in his late forties with long hair and tattoos greets us and shakes each of our hands. He leads us into the studio where each of the guys will speak with the DJ. I decide to sit outside the glass where I can watch and listen from there. Jag leans down and gives me a peck on my lips, then on my cheek, and follows his bandmates to a stool in front of four mics.
After a brief rundown of what the interview will entail, the On Air light lights up.
“Thank you for listening to X-1-0-2-9, Jacksonville’s alternative to rock. Today, I have the guys from Broken Access here. Ladies, keep your panties on. These guys are rocking the stage at the arena tomorrow night on the Face-Off tour. Guys, say hello to our audience today.”
“Hello.”
“Hello, Jacksonville.”
“’Sup?”
“What’s going on?”
“Your last album dropped three months ago, and you have been touring for the last four. What is different about this tour as compared to the others you have been a part of?”
Koi fields the question. “I think the amazing line-up on the bill has a great deal to do with the difference. We really have the most amazing bands in rock on tour. We are lucky that each band that joined us was free. I mean, where else do you get to see Randolph Cane, Resin, Carbon Copy, and Succubus in the same night?”
“I would like to ask about a song written on the album. The ballad Hands Down has been a fan favorite, and there has been a great deal of speculation that the song is in reference to Caleb King’s death. Is there any truth to that, or would you like to add to it?” the DJ asks.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt as much to hear Caleb’s name. I’m glad people haven’t forgotten him. I haven’t heard Hands Down, but I need to take the time to listen to every cut on Broken Access’s last two albums since I missed out on them.
There is a pause, and the guys all look at each other. Jag and Koi look at me through the glass, and I nod. Tell the truth.
“I wrote the song about my personal experience with Caleb and Henley when he died. The song is only partly a reference to his death. I have written a lot of songs as a tribute to him, but I haven’t been able to put them out there just yet,” Jag says.
“Jagger, is it difficult to bare your soul like that? You lost a childhood friend. Is that what is keeping you from recording his tribute?” the DJ asks.
“The lyrics are very personal for obvious reasons, and it is definitely difficult to bare your soul to the masses, but not necessarily in this case. I haven’t recorded the tribute yet because there is a list of people who need to be okay with it first,” Jagger replies. Oh, my sweet Jagger.
“Speaking of Henley, stories broke around the world this morning that the two of you were getting cozy in a nightclub in our city last night. Is this another set of pictures taken out of context, or are you two an item?”
This bastard is nosy as hell.
Jag looks at me with a frown. He doesn’t know what to say. I nod a yes to him. I refused to lie to my fans back in the day. These guys shouldn’t either. He smiles.
“The pictures are not taken out of context. We are dating. I have known Henley a very long time, and I’m very lucky she decided to give me a shot. I’m the luckiest man on earth.”
He winks at me. I wink back with a massive grin on my face.
The interview went on for thirty more minutes. Luckily, it got back to the music, and not Jagley. I spend the rest of the interview texting my mom. I want to break the news before she finds out from the media. As expected, she is ecstatic we are together. I let her know we are taking it slow, and she is happy about that too. We text more about my grandparents and my dad. I like to make sure their health is okay.
THAT NIGHT AT the show, the guys open with their song Reckless. It is off the new album, and the only way I know that is because Koi announced it. The song is hard, raw, and the guitar riffs are scratchy. It gets the crowd moving. When the song is over, the lights dim to just Jag. His roadie hands him an acoustic guitar.
“I’ve never sung this song live, and I wasn’t sure if I ever would. Tonight, I want to sing it. I want to make sure I’m the first one she hears it from. This is for you, Caleb. This is Hands Down.” Jagger says into the mike. Koi and Kip are by my side, both holding my hands. He strums a beautiful, but simple melody on the guitar.
When I found you, you were gone.
She tried hard to keep her hands down.
You never had a chance though,
But she kept pushing down.
She pushes down until she can bring you back.
Her heart willing yours to beat.
I’m taken aback.
Please don’t let your fates meet.
I wiped her tears away.
She kept he
r hands down.
I tried to keep her from giving way.
Her screams are the only sound.
I kept my hands on hers.
I sat there for an eternity as she struggled with letting you go.
Her tears blurred,
She misses you so much, just so you know.
The hours turn into days
And the days turn into weeks
She now lives in a world of gray.
I can’t help her; I feel weak.
Please bring her back to me.
I’m down on my knees,
Begging to see her smile.
I just want to hold her for a while.
I wipe my tears away.
I will keep my hands down.
I won’t give way.
Please give her back her crown.
I need her hands on mine.
I can’t seem to let her go.
Where has she gone this time?
I miss you so much, just so you know.
She tries to smile through the pain now.
I know better, I know she feels the loss.
But she is beginning to come around.
Maybe one day she won’t bear this cross.
Her eyes still light up when she smiles.
Man, you should see her strength.
Sometimes it means she keeps me at arm’s length.
But, I know she will only be gone for a little while.
I will wipe your tears away.
We still keep our hands down.
I wish you could’ve stayed.
Your music is the only sound.
I miss you every day.
You were full of life.
I will never forget that day in May.
Friend, I will see you on the other side.
Jag stops playing and sighs into the mic, looking down. The lights go out completely. The only illumination comes from the thousands of lighters in the crowd. They softly chant Caleb’s name. Respect. I see flashlights, and Koi and Kip wipe their tears away, and I begin wiping my own. Jag is face-to-face with me in a matter of moments.
He is panicking. “I just realized, I should have told you. I should have prepared you first.”
He kisses my forehead and hugs me. We shared the firsthand experience of Caleb’s death. The experience is one of the many ties that bind us together. He pulls away and wipes my tears. The band pulls me into a group hug while the crowd continues to chant Caleb’s name, and I love that they haven’t forgotten him. For a long time, I tried to because it hurt.
“Caleb would have loved it. Thank you for that gift,” I say, and Jag softly kisses my cheek.
“That song isn’t just for Caleb, Henley,” he says, his forehead pressed to mine.
I smile a sad little smile. “I know.” I touch his beautiful face with my hand.
The song is about me losing my way because Caleb left. It is about how this beautiful man in front of me waited for me to come home both physically and emotionally. He was waiting for me. How could I not see him in front of me all this time? I saw Jag in a physical way, but how did I not see I hold his heart in my hands? I won’t soon forget.
“Go play for your fans. It is my turn to wait.” I smile. He kisses me again softly and takes his place on stage.
Chapter 10
JAG AND I SPEND hours curled up on a couch on the bus watching television. We dozed for a few hours and then watched some more TV. Eventually, we climbed into his bunk since he also sleeps on the bottom bunk. It feels good to be held by him. I enjoy every second of it.
I awake sometime early in the morning to the sounds of passion. What the fuck is that?
“Oh yeah, girl, show ’em to Daddy,” Kip says. A female voice loudly moaning is persistently filling my head. “Shit, girl, I didn’t know you could bend like that. I think I want to marry you.”
I feel Jag chuckle beside me. “He is watching porn. He likes to wake us up this way. The sad thing is that he isn’t even rubbing one out. He is just fucking with us.”
“Maybe we should give him a run for his money?” I ask with a wink.
“This is going to end badly for me,” Jagger answers with a sigh.
I moan and softly call Jagger’s name. I throw in lots of “Oh’s” and “right there’s.” Jagger pretends to tell me to be quieter several times, and then he groans.
“Shit, Henley, you’re so tight.” I have to hold back my giggles because during all of this we are both lying on our backs staring at the top of the bunk.
“Jag, your dick is huge. Yeah, right there.”
Kip’s porn stops.
“Oh, baby, I knew you were a squirter,” Jag says.
“Hold the fuck up,” Kip says. I hear his bunk curtain open. “You’re a squirter, and you never told me, pumpkin?”
Everyone on the bus bursts into laughter, except Kip.
“Thank fuck someone finally one-upped his morning bullshit. Even if I had to hear Jag pretend to fuck my sister, it is worth ending that screaming whore. How do you find ridiculous porn at eight in the morning?” Koi asks, and we all chuckle.
“You aren’t really a squirter?” Kip asks.
“Oh banana bread, I’m capable of squirting so much I can cover the faces of an entire army in my love juice,” I answer.
“Nice, Hen,” Cam says.
Jag looks at me and whispers, “Are you really a squirter?”
“Not so far.” I wink.
“Yup, it ended badly,” Jag says, and I giggle. Poor guy.
WE ARE IN Birmingham now. The guys have a show tomorrow night, but we have the day off. I get up and cook breakfast for the boys, and we take our time lounging around the bus. I read a book, and the guys play Xbox. The banter between them always cracks me up.
Later in the morning, Koi sits at the booth table writing a song. He throws his pen down in frustration and lets out a few expletives.
“What’s wrong, bruh?” I ask.
“I can’t finish it. It has holes all in the damn thing. I’m ready to throw it away,” he says.
“Let me see it.”
He hands me the paper. I read over the song, and it did have holes, but it is a great song. I move to the table and pick up his pen. He sits beside me. I’ve done this a hundred times with Koi, and I realize how much I miss it.
“What if you put something like, ‘And it takes all I had,’ right here. Then you can use the line again here and put it in the chorus. It fills up a lot of the holes and rounds out the meaning of it.”
“That’s fucking genius,” he says.
“Have you thought about what sound you are going for?”
“The song is about living on the road, and seeing face after face, and not finding anyone who truly gets it. Everyone wants a piece of me, wants to touch me, wants to fuck me, but no one truly wants to know me,” he says.
“Ah, the curse of the rich and famous. We become the industry’s whore.” I know all too well the feelings he describes.
“The song should be soft and sweet, to begin with, to show your love affair with music, and then it should get dirty and angry to show the love affair the world has with you. The angry shows you want no part of it,” I say.
“Acoustic opening?” he asks.
“Yeah, it can work. You can bring in a slow drumbeat after the first two lines, then drop the bass line in it, and have Jag pick a blues number until you get to the first chorus. Then the drums should explode, the bass should dig in, and Jag should scream with the guitar to mimic you screaming at the world.”
Koi picks up the phone. “Find me a studio in Birmingham,” he orders.
WE END UP AT a house studio outside of Birmingham within the hour. The
guys are amped and ready to lay down the track. I work with each of them when they ask for help. It feels great to write and make music again. We are there for six hours before it is done. It turns out exactly how I had imagined it would.
I take a cat nap when we get back to the bus, and I’m awoken by the most horrible sound a musician can ever wake up to. Someone is attempting to play an acoustic guitar, and it hurts to hear the sounds coming out of it. I make my way to the back of the bus where the sounds are flowing from. Kip is attempting to play the damn thing. I instantly take pity on him.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m serenading you, sweetheart,” Kip says. “The way I figure it, you like those idiots who play guitars. I figure I will learn how to play to seduce you. Jagger will understand. I mean, he can’t play drums for shit, so you’ll have no choice but to fall madly in love with my guitar and drum playing skills.” He grins like a child.
“Good thinking,” I say. “At the rate you are going, though, I will be eighty before you pick a decent lick on the poor thing. You are hurting its feelings right now.”
“Yeah, but I will practice every waking moment until I have written and played you the most epic love song of the century,” he says while wiggling his eyebrows.
“Epic, yeah? We need to work on your guitar lessons right now. You have to set small goals and work from one up to the next,” I advise.
“Show me, oh great one.” He laughs.
Kip and I sit in the back of the bus for two hours. I show him some basic chords, and he gets them down quickly. We hand the guitar back and forth, and he mimics me. I give him several goals to work toward, and he accomplishes a couple during the lesson. I set up a practice schedule for him to maintain what he’s learned today. He is very serious during the entire lesson, and the world is only ever graced with that side of him when it comes to music.
I look up to see Jagger is standing in the door. “You are teaching him to play guitar?”
Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1) Page 10
