“Thank you, Sheriff. I hope they turn up soon.”
Brain offered his hand, and the sheriff shook it before telling James’ wife, “If you and your friends can come with me, we’ll get the missing persons paperwork filled out. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours, but since their vehicles are on service roads only open to National Park officials, this’ll be a federal case if they don’t turn up, so we may as well get started.”
Chapter 32
Hailey
I stretched out on the back seat and slept most of the way home, cocooned in my little UV-proof covering.
Dare tried to convince me that my dad and his brother hadn’t given me a choice, but I didn’t want to think about it. Usually, procrastination is a bad thing, but it’d always proved to be a winning solution when I needed to sort through my feelings over painful shit.
I finally convinced him to stop bringing it the hell up, and over the coming days our lives went almost back to normal.
Unfortunately, six weeks later I fell apart during a gig. I’d been hired to play lead guitar and act as back-up singer, which would’ve been fine if one of the songs hadn’t been Cat’s in the Cradle. I didn’t fall completely apart so I had to leave the stage, but I was too emotional to sing. I stepped away from the mic while I played the guitar and cried a little — but at least I kept the music going. When we finished, the lead singer asked if I was okay, and I stepped to the microphone to say, “Sorry, folks. My dad went missing a few weeks ago and there’s reason to believe he’s gone for good. He wasn’t much of a dad so I hadn’t thought it bothered me, but the song got to me.”
“Why don’t you take five, and I’ll hit the keyboard and give the folks a little Billy Joel.”
Dare was offstage and ready to pull me into his arms, but I shook my head as I neared him. “If you give me any sympathy I’ll fall apart. I just need to some ice on the back of my neck while I meditate a few minutes and I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll play it your way now, but you will talk to me about this tonight.”
I only missed one song, and the band slightly altered the playlist and kept things upbeat the rest of the evening. You wouldn’t think Cindy Lauper and Paula Abdul would be my thing, but I love their songs so I had a lot of fun playing with the band the rest of the evening. Their guitar player had broken his arm and I knew this was a temporary thing, but they made me feel like one of them and it felt good.
In the entertainment industry, you never really know what’ll get you noticed. There are stories of people being seen at a wedding gig and being offered a spot in a famous band, and there are the stories of people having to form their own bands and struggle all the way to the top. And, of course, the vast majority of musicians never make it big. I’d been happy being in the background when it’d meant I could make a living with my music, but I’d been on my way to something big when my career chances ended with one disastrous fall.
I assumed it’d take me years to build my reputation back, but on this night, someone saw me lose it and pull myself back together and then put on a hell of a show the rest of the evening. I’d had business cards made, thank goodness, so I could easily exchange information with the gentleman who told me he’d like to bring me in for an audition for a band, if I’d be interested.
On one of our weekly chats, Bran had warned me I’d have to be careful about becoming famous. If I played it right and didn’t get my ass killed, I’d live for centuries. A couple hundred years ago you could be a successful entertainer in Italy, fake your death, move to England and live in a little village where you mostly kept to yourself a couple of decades, and then make your way to Paris where you could work as an entertainer again. If you altered your hairstyle and stage personality enough, even once we hit the age of photographs, it was doable.
Now, though, if I ever became super-famous it might be a hundred and fifty years before I dared play on stage again — and only if I played a different genre and was super careful. I might even need to pretend to be my great-great granddaughter.
I hadn’t thought it would be an issue. A little known guitar player for a mostly-unknown band should be able to just move to the other side of the country when it’s time to start over.
But when I showed up to my audition at a house on the river north of town, I had a feeling this was a much bigger deal than I was prepared for. I smelled guards all around though I only saw two. One was a bear, and I could tell a tiger had been here though I didn’t smell her outside.
I’d worn pants and a loose, stylish jacket. Gloves protected my hands from the sun, and I had about five layers of three brands of sunblock on my face and little bit of exposed neck, all of which blocked the sun in a different way. I also wore a hat with a brim, but I took it and the gloves off before I exited the car. I made it through the ten yards of sun between shade trees to a thankfully shady front porch, but the ambient light still hurt.
“You must be Hailey,” a man in a suit said as he opened the door to let me in. “We’re going to put you in the recording studio and let you put some tracks down by yourself before we see how you do with the established talent.”
Whoever lived here had their own recording studio. It might mean a director lived here, but it seemed more likely the established talent lived here, which would mean they were quite successful.
An older man in worn jeans and a Metallica tee was in the recording studio, and he pointed to a chair and a stool. “Sit in whatever’s most comfortable. You said on the phone you play guitar and piano?”
I looked around and told him, “I’d rather stand for the guitar, sit for the piano, and stand for the keyboard.”
He put me in all three places, adjusted microphones for each position, and walked to the door. “Choose a piano piece and a guitar piece — something that shows off your talents.”
“Pop, hip-hop, country, or metal?”
“Top forty. More pop than hip-hop, but a little of both with a touch of metal.”
He’d said to choose one song, but I slid from Jimi Hendrix to Slash to Ozzy before giving them some of John Mayer's Gravity.
I took a few seconds to settle my guitar on the stand before stepping to the keyboard and giving them a little Werewolves of London followed by some of Great Balls of Fire, and then went softer with a few Elton John and Billy Joel numbers.
The man in the jeans came over the sound system. “Do you know Cats and Unicorns?”
It’d only been out a few months and I hadn’t had time to master much new material, but I’d learned another song by the same artist. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I can play Them’s the Breaks, though.”
He chuckled. “We were trying to give you an easy one, but let’s hear what you can do. If you know the words, let’s hear them as well.”
I retrieved my guitar, returned to the mic he’d set up for me earlier, took a breath, and dove in.
The song had spoken to my heart. It’s about picking yourself up and moving the hell on with your life. Bad shit happens, but them’s the breaks. It’s one of the few recently popular songs I’ve played over and over until I mastered. Three seconds in, the music grabbed my soul and I was playing for myself in a room, oblivious to whoever was watching.
Forty seconds later, the door opened and Byran Wilson walked in.
Byran fucking Wilson, referred to lovingly as Lord Byran by his millions of fans. The songwriter and singer of the piece I was singing.
One of the biggest artists on the planet, and he walked in while I was playing one of his songs.
I’d like to say I played it cool, but my hand strummed down as he walked in, and I froze. I’m not sure I even breathed.
“You don’t follow directions very well,” he told me with a smile.
I still couldn’t move. This wasn’t the vampire, the snake, or the wolf — this was just me being a dork. I mean, I’ve met famous musicians before. Hell, I’ve even jammed out with them a few times.
But this was Byran fucking Wilson.
“It’s okay, though,” he continued, “You seemed to understand it was about the time and not giving us full songs, and you blended the pieces together nicely. Do you go by Hailey? I actually don’t go by Byran. My name’s really Wilson Bryant, but my friends call me Will.”
I finally found my voice. “Are you saying I can call you Will?”
His eyes sparkled when he smiled. They fucking actually sparkled. “If you’ll play music for me while you have fun with me on stage, you can call me whatever the fuck you want.”
I couldn’t play with him. Could I? I’m a damned vampire, and this was Byran Wilson.
“There are a few things you need to know about me before you consider offering me a job.”
He stepped to a wall with several headphones, then to another mic set-up. He handed me one of the wireless headphones. “Later. We’ll discuss the details after we’ve made music together. Start Them’s the Breaks again from the top, and sing whatever you think will sound good to help me out. Mitch will fade you in and out, so don’t worry about singing soft or loud, just stay on key.” He looked to a camera on the wall. “Give us Mikey’s drums.”
I heard the drummer’s sticks, guessed at where to start, and thankfully got it right.
My wolf and snake have gone to the background for my music since I first got the hang of playing, and today was no different. I think my wolf was a little more in my head than normal, probably because she wasn’t sure what to think of my reaction to Byran fucking Wilson. It took me longer to sink into the music, but perhaps fifteen seconds in, my hands and fingers played the music so I didn’t have to.
Neither of us spoke when the song ended. For my part, I’d just made music with Byran Wilson and I was trying to figure out if this was a dream or if it was really happening.
I jumped a little when Mitch’s voice spoke into my headphones.
“Do you have any original work?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure it’s ready for anyone else to hear.” I’d intended to play a piece at an open mic night, but had chickened out and played a cover instead.
“Noted. We’d like to hear it anyway, if you’ll indulge us?”
I looked sideways, reminded myself he’s Will, not just Byran Wilson, and asked, “How much of your stuff do you write, and how much do you buy?”
“I wrote everything on my first album, and about half of my second album. I had help putting the music together for all of it, though.”
“Both the words and music to this one are mine. I’m happy with the music — still fiddling with the words.”
The second time through the chorus, he sang backup for me. The third time through, Mitch had it so I was the one singing backup, and tears came to my eyes at the sound of this man singing my song. My words.
Will spoke first when the song ended this time. “We’ll need to come to terms on that song, Hailey. Even if you don’t want to play with me, I hope you’ll sell me the song.”
“It just so happens I put my attorney on retainer again a few weeks ago. He’ll have to go over anything before I can sign, but we can talk terms enough to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Smart girl,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t the two of us take my boat out so we can talk without managers and attorneys? I had my cook put together a picnic — I just need to grab everything from the fridge and put it into the basket.”
I shook my head. “That’s one of the things you need to know about me. I’m extremely sensitive to the sun. I wore gloves and a hat, and about five layers of sunscreen to drive here during the day. More than a few minutes of direct sunlight and I’m burned, and even ten or so minutes of indirect sunlight can give me a sunburn too, so sitting in the shade doesn’t really work, either.”
“So you’re like a vampire?”
I shrugged. “I eat regular food, and your blood doesn’t sound appetizing. I grew up in the sunshine, but I got burned pretty badly last year and now I can’t be in the sun more than a few minutes.”
“Okay, so no daytime concerts outside. My home’s going to be a nightmare for you because I have huge picture windows all over the place so I can see the view.” He smiled. “Looks like we’re eating in my home theater. I think it might be the only room besides this one without tons of natural daylight spilling in. Will you be okay to walk from here to there?”
I touched the sleeves of my lightweight jacket as I asked, “How far is it?”
“It isn’t close. Would an umbrella help?”
Fuck, but this was a pain in the ass. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
Even with the umbrella, my skin was bright pink when we made it to his impressive personal theater complete with stadium seating.
“Is there some kind of coating I can put on the windows? Or do I need to have blinds installed?”
“You sound like this isn’t going to be a deal-breaker?”
He shrugged. “We usually play at night. If we have to put you in a truck without windows to get you from place to place, we’ll figure it out, but it’ll be easier if we can put a UV block on the bus windows.”
“There’s a coating, but it just gives me ten or fifteen minutes on a sunny day. It helps enough so I’m okay for longer on rainy days, though.”
“Okay, so blinds and the coating. Anything else major I need to know? Kids? Husband? Wife? Tours can last months.” He shrugged. “I’d ask a man about kids or a spouse, too. Just need to know your situation so we can talk about how stuff’ll be handled.”
“I have a boyfriend and it’s serious. It shouldn’t affect anything, but he’ll probably want to come with me — at least at first.”
“The black dude? At first I thought he was part of your security, but he acted like your boyfriend when it was over.”
I hadn’t known Byran Wilson was watching me fall apart on stage. He’d sent someone else to get my information, but he’d seen the whole thing. I nodded and answered, “Yeah, he’s a little protective of me.”
He chuckled. “Not a problem. The rumors about me being bisexual are true. I was part of a poly relationship last year but it fell apart. I’m not seeing anyone now, but I guess you need to know you may have to put up with me and a guy together on the tour bus — or perhaps a guy and a girl if I find the right poly group again.”
Someone knocked on the door. Will answered it, took a large picnic basket from whoever it was, and brought it in.
I grinned as he pulled out bowls of fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, corn on the cob, and watermelon.
We talked for hours, and when my phone vibrated in my pocket, I apologized as I pulled it out. “Dare’s probably getting worried. I should let him know I’m okay.”
Sure enough, Dare had texted to make sure I was okay. I let him know the audition was going splendidly but it wasn’t over, and put my phone back in my pocket.
“I guess I understand the non-disclosure agreement I had to sign before you gave me the address,” I told him. “I was upfront about giving my security guy the address, but you should know Dare’s my security guy.”
“You have to know that’s a recipe for disaster, right? What happens when you break up and he knows everything about your security?”
I shook my head. “It’s kind of fucked up. He was my stepbrother, but our parents divorced a long time ago and we didn’t see each other for six years. Now we’re together, but he’s still kind of acting like a big brother. He’s also part of the RTMC, and he’s kind of an all-around badass. He takes care of me. I don’t think we’re going to break up, but even if we do, he isn’t the type to go mental and stalk me.”
“I can send a runner to him with an NDA, and then we can either invite him up to meet me, or you can tell him who I am tonight.”
“I’m used to signing them. He isn’t. I doubt he’ll sign anything without having his attorney look it over.”
“I’ll step outside for five minutes so you can call him in private. Are you sure I can’t get you some aloe or something for your face and hands
?”
* * *
Ghost
My wolf didn’t like her going to a house alone for an audition, but she assured me this was the norm, and the guy she’d talked to had known the right way to set up a proper audition. I’d looked the address up and found a huge-assed mansion on the Tennessee River, and asked Horse to find out who owned it. He’d gone through a half dozen corporations before telling me who the most likely owner was, but I was having a hard time believing Byran Wilson lived in Chattanooga, much less that Hailey was at his house.
I held off an hour longer than my wolf wanted before I finally texted her, and breathed in relief when she responded. I was a little surprised when she called a few minutes later, though.
“You remember the non-disclosure agreement I signed, and how I said it was pretty standard and I was used to them, so I didn’t need to get an attorney to look it over?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to need you to sign one and then come to the address I gave you.”
“You have to know I had Horse investigate so I already know it’s Byran Wilson.”
“Fuck, Dare. You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
“Horse knows, but you know he won’t say anything.”
“Will’s going to send a runner to you with the NDA. Will you sign it and then come here? Please?”
“I’ll scan it with my phone and send it to you when the runner arrives. I’ll trust your word that it’s okay to sign.”
“Thanks for trusting me. I’m going to have to tell Will about you and Horse finding out who he is, though.”
“Will?”
“Yeah, his friends call him Will.” She knew where my head was, and she soothed my wolf with, “He already knows I’m in a serious relationship with my ex-stepbrother, and you’re not just my boyfriend but also my security. I love you, Dare.”
Ghost: The Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, Book 8 Page 22
