Runaway Rock Star

by C. J. Anthony

  He looked so dejected as Brandon continued to watch him.

  “So you decided to run away? And am I your chauffeur or your accomplice?”

  “I’m not… running away. I’m planning to be back in time for the Cincinnati gig. I would never skip out on a show. This is more of a… vacation road trip, yeah? I just thought… well, you seemed like a cool dude this afternoon who might be a good bloke to hang out with for a while.”

  Brandon didn’t know what to say. Or do. What if Lucas’s manager called Madeline? Could he lose his job over this?

  Lucas sighed and shifted around in his seat, trying to put his phone away in his pocket. “It’s okay. You can take me back. I’ll take all the blame. Don’t worry, you won’t get in any trouble for ‘kidnapping a famous rock star’ or anything.”

  Lucas’s voice was colder now, similar to the tone Brandon remembered from the Rock Hall, when Lucas had first arrived. There was no emotion as he stared straight ahead, stone-faced. The teasing smirks and conversation were gone. He was a completely different person, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde… someone who had probably lived more of his life as Jekyll, never allowed to let Hyde escape very often.

  As the rational voices in his head told him to take Lucas back, Brandon found his body moving, shifting the car into drive and heading back onto the highway. They drove in silence for a few miles, and when they came upon an exit that would have allowed Brandon to turn around and go back the way they came, Brandon flew past it.

  “Well… how far on 90 do we have to go to get to Cedar Point?” he said without looking over at Lucas. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucas gape at him for just a second before he pulled himself together and got his phone out again, a small smile creeping across his lips.

  Chapter Three

  TWENTY MINUTES later Lucas made Brandon take their first pit stop at an exit with a gas station. He used the restroom but also came back with arms laden with a junk food buffet. Three kinds of potato chips—plain wavy, salt and vinegar, and barbecue—a big bag of Doritos, two packages of Ding Dongs, Red Vines, beef jerky, and two burritos. Brandon raised his eyebrows at the haul.

  “Did you buy the place out?”

  “I’m starved, mate. Always am after a show. Are you hungry? I got extra.”

  He waved a greasy paper-wrapped burrito in front of Brandon, who turned away from the offending item with a grimace. “Microwaved gas station burritos? Um, no thank you. Did you get my coffee?”

  Lucas handed over a warm paper cup, and Brandon took a big swallow. It tasted like cardboard water, but it would have to do. He needed the caffeine to stay awake. Brandon settled the cup in the car’s cupholder and shifted into drive, ready to get back on the highway. He made a face as he watched Lucas take a huge bite of one of the burritos.

  “I can’t believe you’re eating that. If we have to stop every few miles for bathroom breaks, I’m leaving you on the side of the road.”

  Lucas just mumbled something unintelligible through his chewing.

  AFTER LUCAS had devoured both burritos, a whole bag of chips, and one package of Ding Dongs, he pulled out Brandon’s iPod, which had been sitting in a dashboard cubby but not connected to the car stereo.

  “Aha!” he said with a gleeful grin, glancing at Brandon. “Let’s see what you really listen to.”

  Brandon cocked an eyebrow. “You doubt my taste? I have nothing to hide.”

  Lucas was scrolling through Brandon’s songs, making humming noises and grunts. Whether these were noises of approval or derision, he really wasn’t sure.

  “Well, you do have a lot of Ryan Adams.”

  “I told you I was a fan.”

  “Yeah, but so many people I meet in this biz are such name-droppers. I never know who can be believed anymore. For all I know you could be a poser with an iPod filled with One Direction and Kesha.

  “So… Ryan, Alabama Shakes, P!nk, O. A. R., Butch Walker… all right, Harris. Not bad. Very eclectic. I have to question Coldplay, though, but I’ll let it slide.”

  “Coldplay? Their first two albums were really good.”

  “Yeah, but so overplayed. Ooh, Joseph Arthur… nice, Harris. Big indie cred points for him.”

  “Did you hear the Lou Reed album he did?”

  “What? Shut the fuck up!”

  Brandon nodded toward the iPod. “I have it on there; check it out. He did a whole cover record of Lou Reed songs. They’re amazing.”

  Lucas tapped on the iPod and connected it to the car stereo. Seconds later a soft, soulful “Walk on the Wild Side” started playing from the speakers. Lucas sat back and let the music roll over him. “Fucking A,” he breathed.

  THEY DROVE another fifteen miles in silence with only the music filling the air. Brandon kept stealing glances at Lucas. He listened to—no, enjoyed—the music intensely, with his whole body. His fingers tapped out invisible notes and rhythms on his legs, his lips mouthed words. And his eyes participated too—sometimes they widened, sometimes they squinted to slits, and sometimes he closed them, leaning his head back against the headrest.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Brandon asked.

  “Absolutely,” Lucas replied while still jamming to the music.

  “I guess I’m just curious. The music you like is… well… so different than your music?”

  Lucas’s whole body paused, and his fingers stopped their tapping. “Just because I play pop crap doesn’t mean I can’t like other styles of music.”

  “Right, but you just called the music you play ‘crap.’ And you’re on the lam from your tour. Neither of those things infer that you like the music you play.”

  Lucas was silent for quite a while. “Do you know how I got into music?”

  Brandon’s mind tried to quickly rifle through what he had heard of Lucas’s history over the years. “No,” he finally answered.

  “I started an interest in music early. Banging on pots and pans when I was just a wee babe. Drove my father insane. He yelled all the time when I was growing up. Even after I started school and graduated to real instruments, all he ever did was bellow for me to shut the fuck up. Then he was watching some news program on the telly one night and there was a story about how this young Canadian kid got a record deal after someone saw his videos on YouTube and was now starting to bust up everywhere.” He paused to look at Brandon. “Three guesses as to who that was?”

  Brandon made a face. “Justin Bieber.”

  Lucas sighed. “Justin fucking Bieber. I was fourteen at the time, about the same age as Justin, and my dad got it in his head that I could do that. He made videos of me and put them up on YouTube. Then he started taking me around to fairs and festivals and clubs, getting me gigs any place that would let me play. He contacted anyone he could who was in the music biz, and he even fucking called me the ‘British Justin Bieber’ in his sales pitch. And, sadly, it actually worked. Gods, the British labels gobbled it up and there was a nasty bidding war for me—which my father handled. Once we’d signed a contract he quit his job to become my manager, and I’ve not had control of anything I do or sing since. I immediately got thrown into the whirlwind of studio recording and public appearances, and that has been my entire goddamned life. My first record came out in Britain when I was fifteen, and broke in the US when I was sixteen.”

  “Wow” was all Brandon could utter.

  “I know most people would think I’m being a whiny rich douche, complaining about my success and my life. And of course I loved it when it all started, but I was a kid, you know? And I’m not a kid anymore. Recording the last album was pure hell. Pure fucking hell.” Lucas’s voice got very quiet.

  “Can’t you—” Brandon was interrupted by the chirpy voice on Lucas’s phone navigating them.

  “Our exit is right up here, in two hundred fifty feet.” Lucas relayed, effectively shutting their discussion down. “We’re almost there!” he said excitedly.

  Brandon decided not to say any more, and the two were silent the rest of the wa
y. In another ten miles, they turned onto the road next to the large Cedar Point sign.

  Lucas had booked them a room at one of the hotels that was actually part of the park, Hotel Breakers. They would only be steps from the beach and the rides. Which Brandon figured might be helpful tomorrow, but right now all he cared about was maneuvering the car in a straight line and being able to get to a bed soon. The drive hadn’t been long, but it was after 1:00 a.m. and he was exhausted. He might not have been able to make it all the way to Cincinnati tonight after all.

  When they were getting out of the car, he noticed Lucas was wearing a different hat, this time a green and yellow John Deere cap. He didn’t know where that had come from; Lucas must have picked it up at the gas station. He also wore a pair of nerdy black-framed glasses that Brandon had never seen before. Brandon wanted to laugh at the hot, sexy rock star in nerd glasses and a trucker hat, but Lucas obviously knew what he was doing. The disguise worked and no one gave him a second look as they walked through the hotel lobby to the check-in desk.

  “Good evening, sir.” The woman behind the desk gave Lucas a wide, friendly smile. “Welcome to Hotel Breakers. Are you checking in?”

  “Yes,” Lucas answered. “It should be under Franklin Thomas.”

  The fake name broke through Brandon’s sleepy haze and caused him a moment of panic, but then he realized that Lucas probably had to give a fake name when he stayed at hotels. Especially this time since he really didn’t want to be found.

  After they entered the elevator, Brandon smirked at Lucas. “Franklin Thomas?” he asked.

  Lucas squared his shoulders. “Yes, what of it?”

  “Nothing. Where did you come up with that?”

  “It’s my porn name.”

  Brandon stared at Lucas for a moment before doubling over in laughter at that unexpected answer.

  “What? It is. Name of my first pet and the street I lived on back in England. Franklin was our beagle when I was ten, and we lived on Thomas Lane.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t go into porn, then…. That’s the most unsexy name for a porn star I’ve ever heard.”

  Lucas tried to look offended but his lips quirked, holding back a smile. “Hey, I bet I could make a fortune with that name as the… shy nerdy guy in the library!”

  That set Brandon into a fit of laughter again, just as the elevator doors opened onto their floor.

  Their room was done in bright and cheery primary colors and had two beds. The headboards of each bed had a picture of a Ferris wheel on them.

  Lucas walked in, immediately threw his bag down on a bed, and sat his guitar case next to it. So Brandon followed suit and took the other bed… by collapsing on the mattress with a groan. Lucas turned around.

  “You don’t look so good, Harris.”

  “Just tired,” Brandon mumbled.

  “Why don’t you hit the bathroom first, mate.” Lucas went over to the windows and opened the curtains enough to look outside.

  Brandon forced himself to stumble off the bed and into the bathroom. When he came out, Lucas went in. Brandon left his T-shirt on and stripped down to his boxers before settling into the comfy bed. He forced himself to text his mom so she wouldn’t worry.

  Hey mom. Stopped for the night at a hotel. Too tired. C U tomorrow.

  He was surprised to get a message back from her almost immediately, as late as it was.

  Oh good. Thanks for letting me know. I can head to bed now. Sweet dreams, baby. XO.

  Brandon smiled and shook his head at his mom. He laid the phone on the nightstand and drifted off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Four

  “HARRIS! HARRIS! Get your arse up!”

  Brandon mumbled and grunted and shoved at the hand shaking his shoulder.

  Next thing he felt was a sharp slap of something on his butt. That had him bolting upright. His eyes focused to see the lean, very fit, naked torso of Lucas Black standing way too close to him. In Lucas’s hands was a rolled-up towel, obviously the weapon that had caused the sting on his backside. Brandon glanced down at himself and found that he had kicked most of the covers off during the night, baring his boxer-clad bottom as a perfect target for Lucas’s antics with the towel.

  “Ow,” Brandon said belatedly.

  Lucas laughed. “You were crashed out, mate. Come on, we’ve got to get moving!”

  Brandon rubbed his face. This time when he opened his eyes, he registered that Lucas was across the room, still naked from the waist up and from the waist down… only covered with a low-slung towel. Why was he in a hotel room with a half-naked man? He groaned as yesterday came back to him. Oh God, he was in a hotel room with Lucas Black. A nearly naked Lucas Black. He felt the blood rushing to his groin as he got another good look at the man’s body. No, no, no, he thought. Brandon swung his legs to the floor, grabbed his bag, and hurried into the bathroom for a cold shower.

  When he emerged, Lucas was just coming in the door with a shopping bag.

  “Finally, Harris! Sheesh. I’m starved and there’s a restaurant downstairs we can stop for breakfast before we head out. Just give me a minute.”

  Lucas headed into the bathroom with his bag and shut the door. Five minutes later he emerged wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a souvenir T-shirt with graphic art of a big roller coaster, and a ball cap with the Cedar Point logo on it.

  Brandon popped an eyebrow. “Do you really have to go full tourist mode on this road trip?”

  “Well, I can’t exactly look like myself, can I?” Lucas put on his sunglasses and turned to Brandon with his arms outstretched and a wide grin on his face. “Ta-da! Now come on. Let’s get outta here!”

  Brandon just shook his head as he closed the door behind them.

  THERE WAS only a small wait at the Perkins restaurant downstairs before they were seated. Brandon ordered scrambled eggs, toast, and a fruit cup. Lucas ordered the Tremendous Twelve, which was four pancakes, three eggs, bacon, and hash browns.

  Brandon stared at Lucas after the waitress left. “You’re not seriously going to eat all that and then go ride roller coasters, are you?”

  “Why not? I’m hungry!”

  Brandon groaned. “Because I’m going to be the one you projectile vomit on as we’re dropping one hundred feet at sixty miles an hour.”

  Lucas grinned and patted his stomach. “I’ve got an iron stomach, nothing to worry about.”

  As he watched Lucas’s hand on his stomach, Brandon flashed back to the flat washboard abs he’d seen that morning and now couldn’t unsee. His mouth dried up as he tried to shake the image out of his mind. The waitress chose that moment to bring coffee, orange juice, and glasses of water. Brandon grabbed the small water glass and gulped the whole thing down.

  Lucas eyed the glass and then Brandon carefully. “You all right, Harris? You’re not a fish or something, are you?”

  “A fish?”

  “The way you just inhaled that water, I thought maybe you were secretly a fish.”

  Now Brandon gave Lucas a wary look. “No, I’m just really thirsty this morning.”

  Lucas looked wistful. “Ah damn. I thought maybe you might be a merman. We are on the shore of a lake after all.” He waggled his eyebrows and winked at Brandon.

  Brandon grew hot at the sexy wink Lucas shot him and then immediately kicked himself. Lucas Black was an out and proud heterosexual, the tabloids constantly publishing photos of him with whatever young female was his flavor of the week. All of them beautiful, sexy, and famous just like him.

  “You are crazy, you know that?” Brandon finally retorted.

  Lucas laughed. “Just trying to have some fun, Harris. Lighten up!” He wadded up a piece of paper napkin and threw it at Brandon, hitting him in the chest.

  Their food came then—one plate for Brandon and three for Lucas. He watched in amazement as Lucas devoured the food on his plates as if it were a religious experience… or maybe an orgasmic experience.

  Lucas groaned in deli
ght as he chewed. “Bacon… oh my God, so good!”

  “You act as if you’ve never had food before. I always thought venues catered in massive amounts of food. Did you not specify bacon on your tour rider?”

  Lucas gave him a murderous look. “I have no say in my rider,” he said through a mouthful of food. “My father handles it and makes sure I get nothing but healthy crap like wheatgrass juice and nuts and berries. And dry, boiled chicken with broccoli. Massive and massive amounts of broccoli. Gotta keep my energy up and not ruin my ‘girlish figure’ and all that. God, it fucking sucks arse!”

  Brandon frowned. With every detail Lucas dropped about his life, he was really starting to feel sympathy for the guy. How sad to have so much of your life controlled by not just your career, but also by another person. And worse when that person was your father.

  “That does suck,” Brandon answered. “I hate broccoli.”

  When Lucas finally cleaned every plate, he paid the bill and they walked outside. The weather was perfect—the sun was out and the temperature was still warm enough for T-shirts and shorts, but just starting to cool slightly as the calendar headed toward fall. Skies were bright and blue with puffy white clouds.

  Lucas flipped his Ray-Bans on, and Brandon had to admit he looked like the typical tourist. No one would ever guess who he really was.

  Brandon’s phone buzzed, and he grimaced when he looked down at it.

  “Hi, Mom,” he answered. “Yeah, um… well, I’m not sure. It might be later tonight by the time we get there—”

  Suddenly the phone was grabbed out of his hand. He whirled around in time to see Lucas holding the phone up to his ear.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harris. This is Lucas Black. I must apologize for detouring your son from his trip home, but I am so very, very grateful he was able to give me a ride. He’s been such a nice young man to help me out.