Betrayal of the Band

by Sarah Tipton

  She preferred drinking beer to dating either of them. But maybe Halleigh wouldn’t come back, and Zoey would stay in the band. She took another swig, only to discover the can was empty. How had that happened?

  “I’ll fix you up with someone.” Bailee’s confident offer hit like a threat rather than a help.

  Zoey’d stay single.

  “Throw that junk on the floor.” Bailee waved at the shoes and clothes sharing Zoey’s chair.

  Zoey yawned. Her arms and legs felt heavy, and she cared less about the grossness. She cleared the chair, and then she relaxed and closed her eyes. Bailee and Cherie’s conversation about some skanky girl they knew faded into the background.

  ~*~

  A vibrating against her hip jolted Zoey awake. Where was she? Her muscles ached from being cramped. She stretched and her foggy vision took in an unfamiliar room.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  Blinking, she trained her gaze at the people sitting on a couch. Travis and Devin held video game controls and stared at the TV.

  Now she remembered. Bailee invited her to stay after practice. Had she fallen asleep? Bailee and Cherie were gone, and she was alone with Travis and Devin.

  Her phone vibrated again, and she pulled it out of her pocket. Four missed calls and eleven texts, all from Livvy. She squinted at the display. Two a.m.?

  Her feet hit the floor. She was in so much trouble. She grabbed her lyrics and water bottle and hurried out the front door.

  The sun had sunk below the horizon leaving a dusky hue to the world. Zoey practically ran down the sidewalk. She didn’t have a curfew, but she always told Livvy or Dad where she was going and when she’d be home. Tonight she was only four hours late.

  She scaled the porch steps and burst into the house pausing on the landing to catch her breath.

  “Where have you been?” Livvy stared up from the lower level, hands on her hips, a frown between worried eyes.

  “Sorry. I fell asleep.” After drinking a beer. She watched her sister through the wooden railing. She’d better keep her distance.

  “I was about to call Justin to see if he knew where you were.”

  “You didn’t, did you?” The words burst out in a high pitched squeak. Her pulse beat at her temples. That would make things a whole lot worse.

  “No. I figured since you broke up, he wouldn’t know.” Livvy started up the stairs. “But, Zo, I was really worried. Don’t you dare do that again.”

  Zoey backed away. If her breath smelled as bad as it tasted, she didn’t want Livvy too close. “What’d Dad say?”

  “He went to bed, so I didn’t tell him. Yet.” The warning faded from her voice, replaced by suspicion. “You just fell asleep?”

  “Yeah, that’s all. I swear.” Grabbing the handrail, Zoey stepped backwards up the stairs. “Bailee asked me to hang out after practice. We were talking, and I guess I fell asleep, until one of your texts woke me.” Her stomach twisted into knots, but she was telling the truth. Most of the truth. OK, some of the truth. “I’m so sorry, Liv. I won’t let that happen again.”

  “You better not. ’Cause, next time, I’ll have to tell Dad.” Livvy didn’t say that like a warning. More like a regret.

  “It won’t. Thanks.” Zoey pivoted on the next-to-the-top step and ran to her room. No matter what, she’d keep that promise. She wouldn’t break Livvy’s and Dad’s hearts too.

  33

  Terra Firma

  Sawyer had finally done something smart. Maybe the first smart thing he’d done ever. He’d apologized—to Chey. And after hanging out two days in a row, she still wanted him around.

  Chey parked in front of Sawyer’s house. “Your mom’s home, right?”

  “Yeah. There’s her car.” Sawyer pointed to the dirty white compact car. “What’s the deal with wanting my mom here? You afraid of what I might do?” He almost laughed. He snapped at people. He’d walk away before he actually snapped.

  She glanced at him. “I’m not worried about anything you might do.”

  “Really?” His heart pounded in his stomach. Or maybe he felt the pulsing bass of the radio. Chey had a sweet stereo system. “So you’re worried about what you might do? Like what?”

  Chey’s cheeks turned as dark as the cinnamon-red hair at the back of her neck. She switched off the car and climbed out.

  So she didn’t want to answer. The pulsing in his stomach picked up tempo. Whatever she might do to him if they were alone couldn’t be all bad.

  Inside his house, they loaded their arms with bags of chips, cookies, and sodas, and carried them to his room.

  “What d’you wanna listen to?” Sawyer dropped the food on his bed.

  “I don’t know.” Chey scanned the posters on the wall and pointed. “Them.”

  Their two albums were on his mp3 player, so he didn’t have to dig through a dozen shoeboxes for the album. He hit play and connected it to the speakers.

  Chey plopped on his bed and ripped the cookie package open.

  “Hi, Chey.” Mom walked into Sawyer’s room resting her chin on a pile of laundry. She met Sawyer’s gaze with a look half-apologetic, half-it’s-your-own-fault. “You left clothes in the dryer.”

  Was she trying to embarrass him by dumping an armload of his underwear in front of Chey?

  “Sorry.” Mom didn’t sound sorry. “I gotta do my laundry too.”

  Chey smirked and bit into a cookie.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Sawyer shoved the clothing off the foot of his bed and sat on the laundry-free space.

  Mom left them alone.

  “About my hypothetical keyboard.” Chey popped open a can of cola. “If I played with you here, where would it go?”

  “There.” Sawyer waved his hand at the empty space in front of his closet. Shoes spilled out the cracked door. As long as he kept the door closed—both the closet door and the bedroom door—the keyboard would fit.

  “Wouldn’t it be a little crowded?”

  “Yeah. So?” He crunched on a sour-cream-and-onion chip. Probably a bad food choice around Chey after their earlier conversation. His pulse sped up thinking about what she might do if they were completely alone. “It’d be a good crowded.”

  She stared at the space as if imagining how a keyboard would look.

  “You really should get the keyboard. You’re really good.”

  “You think so?” Her voice turned shy, and she ducked her head.

  “Yeah.” He meant it one-hundred-percent. No matter how much Chey excited him, he’d never lie about music.

  “I’ll think about it.” He thought he caught a glimpse of smile, but when she looked up, it was gone. “How long have you been playing the drums?”

  “I’ve had ’em about a year and a half. Freshman year I played in the school band.”

  “You were only in band for a year?”

  “Yeah. Too many people, and I didn’t like the band director.”

  “Didn’t like him because he wasn’t a nice guy? Or didn’t like him because he told you what and how to play?” One corner of her mouth inched up.

  “The second reason.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She gave him one of her rare half-smiles. “So how did it work in your band? Who decided what you played?”

  “We all did. Justin—” He swallowed against the twisting in his chest. “Justin usually wrote the melody. Then he and Zoey worked out the lyrics, and she’d come up with the bass part. I did drums. Sometimes I’d play something, and Justin would add in the guitar. It just depended on the song.”

  Chey stared at him with those strange, orangey-brown eyes, as if she was trying to read his thoughts. No, his soul. “Do you miss it?”

  “Miss what? Playing?” He glanced over at the red and silver drum set. “I’ve got ’em here and can play all the time now.”

  “But what about creating songs with Justin and Zoey? Do you miss that?”

  “No.” He avoided her gaze. This he was lying about. He missed playing with Justin and Zoey m
ore than he’d ever missed anything including his dad.

  “Liar.”

  Enough about his band or ex-band. He stood and grabbed a pair of sticks off the desk.

  “You gonna play for me, drummer boy?”

  “You want to play?” He twirled the sticks through his fingers.

  Chey’s brows sprang upward. “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He held out the sticks. What was he doing? No one played his drums except him. But his hands seemed possessed.

  She scooted off the bed and tried to take them from his hands, but he tightened his grip.

  “You’ve got to promise you’ll play exactly what I tell you,” he said.

  “OK.” She tugged on the drumsticks.

  “Promise. You won’t just hit them; you’ll play only what I say.”

  “I promise.” She gave another tug and laughed. “You want me to swear it in blood?”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Chey yanked the sticks out of his hands. “You need to relax a little. I won’t break them or anything. Girl Scout promise.”

  “Like I believe you were ever a Girl Scout.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, drummer boy.”

  Would he learn everything about her or chase her away?

  Chey slid onto a chair from Sawyer’s dining room table. The stool was probably still in Justin’s garage. “OK, what do I play?”

  He stared at the drum set. He was on the wrong side, and everything was backward. He switched off the music so he could concentrate. Then he slowly pointed to the different drums, and Chey followed his directions.

  “Was that a song?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Do I get to play some more? Or have I had my five-seconds-for-life with your drums?” She sat behind them as if she belonged. Her eyes sparkled with a challenge daring him to let her play again, as though she knew that was hard for him. And if it were anybody else, he never would’ve handed over his sticks.

  “You can play the same thing again. Remember how it went?”

  “No.” She stated that fact without a silly giggle or an attempt that was all wrong sticking to her promise.

  He pointed her through the beats again and then faster, until the simple rhythm sounded interesting, and Chey got tangled up.

  “Sorry.” She winced. “It’s not easy, is it?”

  “No.” He couldn’t help smiling at her remark. How many times had he heard the phrase “How hard can it be?” about the drums? He’d thought it himself before learning how complicated finding a rhythm could be.

  “Hey.” Mom rapped on the doorframe behind him. She had changed into black slacks and a white shirt. Her waitressing uniform. “I’m leaving. Working until close.”

  “Bye,” he told her.

  “I should go too.” Chey stood and handed him the sticks.

  “Do you have to go home?” Suddenly an evening alone, banging his drums, didn’t sound fun. “’Cause we could go somewhere else.”

  She shrugged. “Why not? It’s better than going home.”

  They carried the food from his room to the kitchen counter and walked out to Chey’s car.

  “So what d’you wanna do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He drummed his fingers on the arm rest. “Not much to do around here.”

  “Isn’t there an ice cream place a couple of blocks that way?” Chey jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  “Yeah.” But Zoey worked there. “You still hungry? There’s another ice cream place on the other side of town.”

  “I’ve seen it. And eaten at a million of those. I want to go some place that belongs only in Fairbanks. And it’s close.”

  Sawyer drummed his fingers faster. Maybe Zoey wouldn’t be working. Maybe the ice cream shack would be busy. Maybe he’d be lucky.

  The universe owed him some luck.

  A few minutes later, Chey parked and they climbed out of the car. Sawyer scanned the tiny parking lot for Zoey’s car. He didn’t see it, but that didn’t mean anything. He walked up to the salmon-colored building as if it were a house of horrors, not a stand of sweets.

  “Alaska cranberry. Deadhorse blueberry.” Chey read some of the flavors off the chalkboard. “Spiced grapenut? Does that have anything to do with the cereal?”

  “I don’t think so.” He glanced inside.

  Zoey was scooping ice cream in the back laughing with another girl.

  He shifted out of her view. The overly sweet scent of waffle cones turned his stomach. Zoey always smelled like waffle cones.

  The universe was determined to crush him.

  “Vanilla Shower in a sugar cone,” Chey ordered. She squinted and looked over the cashier’s shoulder. “Is that Zoey?”

  “Yeah.” The cashier glanced back. “Hey, Zoey!”

  Sawyer flattened himself against the wall, next to the window, clamping his mouth shut. He still wasn’t sure how serious to take Chey’s threat about his cursing.

  Chey waved.

  “Chey!” Zoey’s voice drifted through the open window.

  Sawyer pressed against the building, out of Zoey’s sight. Sweat rolled down his temples and plastered his shirt to his skin. The edges of the siding dug into his arms, his back, his shoulder blades.

  “What are you doing here?” Zoey asked Chey.

  “Getting ice cream.”

  “Right.” Zoey laughed.

  “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “All the time, seems like. I’m either here or at band practice. But in a few minutes, I’ll have a couple of hours free all for me.”

  “Want to hang out with us?” Chey glanced at Sawyer, cocked her head, studied him.

  His heart felt like a ball of fire lodged in his throat. He wanted to hang out with Chey, not Zoey. He didn’t know how to hang out with Zoey anymore.

  Chey narrowed her eyes, but not like she was angry. More like she was trying to figure him out.

  Did Chey want to hang out with him or with Zoey? After last Sunday, Chey should’ve figured out he failed at hanging out with two girls. He failed at hanging out with people.

  Chey looked back inside the building.

  “Us?” Zoey asked.

  “Sawyer and me.”

  “Oh.” Was that hesitance in Zoey’s voice? Maybe she didn’t want to hang out with him either. But then she added, “Sure.”

  Chey received her change and faced him. “You don’t want Zoey around?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Chey lifted her chin, her gaze unwavering. “Because you kissed her?”

  Why else? “No, because the band broke up.”

  “The band broke up because you kissed her.” Chey spun on her heels, walked over to a red metal bench, and plopped down.

  He swore under his breath and marched after her. “You don’t know that.”

  “So that’s not why the band broke up?”

  He slammed onto the opposite end of the bench.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said.

  “Why does it matter to you?”

  “It doesn’t.” She shrugged a shoulder and watched the order pick-up window.

  Sure it didn’t. “Then why’d you ask?”

  “I wanted to know if you’d be honest.”

  Fail. Weird since he usually had no trouble being honest. But he didn’t want to be honest with Chey. Not when honesty made him look so bad. For Chey, he wanted to look good. Or better, to actually be good. He wanted the impossible.

  Zoey called Chey’s number from the window. Then her gaze locked on Sawyer.

  He looked away feeling nauseous.

  Chey stood at the counter for a few seconds, both girls glanced at Sawyer. Probably talking about him. He should leave.

  Chey returned licking around her ice cream. “Zoey’s meeting us at the park.” She headed for the opening in the short picket fence. “Coming?”

  She still wanted to hang out with him? He hurried to catch up.

  �
��Living close to a playground must’ve been fun when you were a kid,” Chey said between licks.

  “Yeah, my mom used to bring me here. I fell off that slide probably a dozen times. Had to get stitches once.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s how I got this scar on my chin.” He pointed to the dimpled scar on his jaw.

  “Did you fall on your head every time? Because that would explain a lot.”

  “Ha-ha. Funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  Sawyer glanced sideways at her. She did look serious. But that kind of comment was always a joke, right? “Are you this mean to everyone, or am I special?”

  Chey ran her tongue around the edge of her ice cream cone. Clockwise. Counterclockwise.

  Sawyer watched her pink tongue flicking in and out.

  “The last guy I dated was using me to make his girlfriend jealous.” Chey spoke to her ice cream cone, not looking at Sawyer.

  “Huh?” Sawyer snapped out of his Chey’s-tongue trance. “I’m not...I don’t like Zoey.”

  “You go around kissing girls you don’t like?”

  “No, I...” He put his hands on his head, gripped the stiff, gelled spikes. If Chey couldn’t see past the kiss, if she couldn’t believe he wasn’t interested in Zoey, if she couldn’t like him, then... “Forget it.” He started to walk away.

  “Sawyer…I...” Chey touched him, her fingers icy against his arm.

  But jolts of heat shot through him.

  “Hey.” Zoey walked up behind Chey carrying a red shaved ice, her lips already stained dark. “What are you guys doing?”

  Chey held Sawyer’s gaze a second longer, a warm glow in her eyes.

  The warmth traveled straight to his stomach.

  Why did Zoey have to show up now? Why did Zoey always show up at the wrong time?

  34

  Bury Your Heart

  Zoey interrupted something between Sawyer and Chey. Awkward silence followed her greeting, and Sawyer glared. Not his usual grumpy glare. This was a why-did-you-show-up-now glare.

  Of course, Sawyer may not have wanted Zoey to show up at all. Which was why she had. When Chey asked if Zoey wanted to hang out with them, Zoey saw the chance to figure out what was going on between Sawyer and Chey. And between Zoey and Sawyer. And between Zoey and Chey. Could Zoey and Chey be friends? Especially if Chey and Sawyer had a thing?