by Lisa Suzanne
There’s a large back room that doubles as storage for the bar and a backstage area. Several doors are located off the big room, and Vinny leads us over to one with a neon sign over the top of it that reads Green Room.
When we pass into the green room, I recognize the other members of the band as they sit around what looks like an old kitchen table. Ethan’s smoking a cigarette, and all three men hold pint glasses filled with beer.
Ethan stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the table and then pins Mark with a glare from his dark eyes. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Back off,” Mark mutters at him.
“You missed soundcheck,” Ethan says.
Mark ignores him. “Reese, this is Ethan, Steve, and James.” He points to each man in turn, and I feel like I’ve stepped out of my life and into some Behind the Music special on VH1.
All three men are attractive, but none hold a candle to Mark. Ethan’s dark eyes and dark hair match his darker personality, and he usually drums without a shirt, so I know his chest is covered in tattoos and his abs are solid cuts of muscle. Steve has soft brown eyes that give off an air of approachability, like he’s already my friend even though we’ve never met before. James’s sandy blond hair and blue eyes make him look more like a beach bum than a guy in a band.
“Nice to meet you,” James says.
“You too,” I say shyly.
Mark tosses a casual arm around my shoulders. “Sorry I missed check. Anything I need to know?” A gorgeous blonde woman walks over and hands Mark a steaming mug. “Thanks,” he says, nodding at her. She nods back and disappears.
“The mics are all fucked up,” Steve says. “Charlie’s working on ‘em.”
“Fucking bar shit,” Mark mutters, lifting the mug to his face and breathing in the steam.
“It’s our shit. What’s up your ass?” James asks.
Mark shakes his head. “Nothing. Just post-tour spiral, I guess.”
James nods knowingly, and I feel like a complete outsider. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I stand tucked into Mark’s side like I do.
“Where are the girls?” Mark asks.
James nods toward a door and grins. “Getting an early start.”
“Can you let them know we’re here?”
James nods and taps out a message on his phone, and two women walk through the door a few minutes later.
“Reese, this is Angelique, Steve’s wife,” Mark says, introducing me to a beautiful blonde woman with her hair sleeked back into a tight, long ponytail that swings with her every movement. Her brown doe eyes land on me, and she looks more like a high-powered executive than a rock star’s wife in her black dress and pink cashmere sweater tied around her shoulders. I smile at her, but she doesn’t smile back.
“And this is Morgan, James’s wife,” he says, nodding to a thin woman wearing a sequined dress and ridiculously high heels that make her legs look incredibly long and lean. Her brunette hair flows to the middle of her back in beautiful waves, and I feel underdressed and dull in my jeans and vintage t-shirt.
“Lovely to meet you,” Morgan says in a warm voice. She gives me a quick hug then pulls back and smiles at me as she holds my biceps. “You’re adorable. None of us can believe Mark brought a woman to a show.”
I raise an eyebrow at Mark, and he looks away in embarrassment. I can’t help the thrill that darts through me at the thought of a self-conscious Mark Ashton—something I never imagined I’d see in my lifetime.
“We usually hit the bar while they get ready for their gig. You’re welcome to join us,” Morgan says. Angelique huffs beside her, and I get the immediate feeling she doesn’t like me.
I glance over at Mark, and he nods almost imperceptibly. We’ve already got a silent communication thing going on, and it unexpectedly warms my heart that he wants me to get to know these ladies, that he wants me here, that he’s comfortable with the idea of introducing me to the most important people in his life. Morgan steps over to James and gives him a kiss, and that’s when Mark takes me in his arms.
“Have fun,” he says. He presses a soft kiss to my lips, and I feel like everyone’s staring at us.
I pull back and realize it’s because they are. All eyes in the room are on us, and everyone looks like they’ve never seen a couple kiss before. I feel awkward. Do they know I’m with Brian? Morgan diffuses the situation by grabbing my arm.
“Come with us,” she says, and I follow her and Angelique out the door into the bar. I don’t know what this place looks like on a regular night, but tonight it’s clearly set up for an event. A stage is next to us when we walk out of the back room, and there’s probably fifty or so feet before tables begin. It’s a small place to play, but since ticket sales weren’t calculated into the night and the band gets a flat fee for the performance, it doesn’t matter how many people show up.
It’s empty except for the employees running around making sure everything’s in order and a handful of men who look like executives with their dates. The bartender asks us what we want as we plop on the chairs in front of him. I order myself a glass of wine.
“So, Reese, tell us about yourself,” Morgan says. Angelique doesn’t even bother to look at me, and I wonder what her problem is.
“I’m a high school English teacher,” I say, feeling incredibly dorky in comparison to these two.
“Do you love it?” Morgan asks.
“Most days. Some days I hate it, too.”
She laughs, and Angelique continues to pretend I don’t exist. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” Morgan says. “How long have you been with Mark?”
I chuckle. “Not long. We met a couple of months ago after the show at Mandalay Bay in Vegas.”
“Oh, right.” Morgan and Angelique glance at each other, and I hate that they share a secret language I’m not privy to. Did that look have something to do with Brian? “That was a great show. The last night of their tour before the post-tour spiral.”
“Mark just mentioned that, too. What is it?”
Morgan laughs. “It’s just this thing they all go through when a tour ends. James always falls into this, like, desolation after a tour is over. They don’t know what to do with themselves before the next big thing starts up, so he mopes around the house and drives me up the wall looking for me to distract him. It’s when Angie and I start drinking heavily together.”
Am I just a distraction for Mark? A way to get past his post-tour spiral?
I want to ask that question, but I don’t know either of these women well enough to allow the words out of my mouth. Besides, Angelique and her glares intimidate me. Instead, I ask, “Do either of you work?”
“We both volunteer with several charities. I used to be a nurse, but I had to quit when James and I started getting serious,” Morgan says.
“Do you miss it?” I play with the stem of my glass as I think about whether I’d miss teaching.
“Sometimes. Life on the road can get lonely, but my nursing skills come in handy when I’m looking after four idiot grown children on a tour bus.”
Angelique laughs at her assessment, the first sign of sociability out of her. I don’t miss the fact that it wasn’t directed at me.
“That’s why the two of us grew so close,” Morgan says, nodding toward Angelique. “We have each other—the only two people who are spouses of Vail members.”
Part of me wants that. I want to be in their little secret club, privy to their secret language. I want Angelique to like me and I don’t even know why.
“He’s different with you,” Morgan says, changing the subject abruptly.
“Excuse me?”
“Mark. He’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re the only one in the room to him.”
My cheeks heat, but I don’t respond as I stare at my wine.
“It’s a completely new Mark. I’ve seen him with other women, but with you, I get the sense he isn’t just playing around,” Morgan
says. I take it with a grain of salt, yet I know both these women know him on a different level. They’ve seen him for years as he messed around with his flavors of the week—or flavors of the night—so I latch onto Morgan’s assessment that he’s different with me. It finally clicks with me why Angelique has been so cold toward me. She thinks I’m just this week’s flavor. She thinks I’ll come and go like all the others.
I almost tell them about Brian. Almost. I trust Morgan and I don’t know why—but I don’t trust Angelique, so I don’t mention anything about him.
Morgan stares down into her wine for a few seconds. “He’s usually pretty introspective, but he tells Ethan everything and Ethan has a big mouth. He mentioned you to Ethan.”
I feel good that he’s talked about me with his best friend, but the fact that his best friend might’ve blabbed to others is a little disconcerting.
I think about our talks. He’s easy with me. Conversation has never been an issue between us. I’d never peg him as introspective, though it did seem difficult for him to talk about his feelings for me. I always just assumed that had more to do with the fact that I’m dating his brother than it had to do with his actual personality.
“Is Ethan a bad influence on him?” I ask.
Angelique glares at me, and I wonder if my question was out of line.
“Ethan’s not a good influence on anybody,” Morgan clarifies, and I laugh.
I wonder what Mark’s doing backstage as he gets ready for his performance. I wonder how long it’ll be before they go on. I wonder how I can get Angelique to talk to me instead of ignoring my presence.
But all those thoughts get pushed to the back of my mind when my phone lights up with an incoming call, the words Brian Fox flashing across my screen.
fourteen
“Hey,” I answer softly, ignoring the spears of pain jabbing into my chest as I wander away to a quiet corner of the bar. I pace back and forth before I realize I’m right in front of the door. Someone opens it into my back and walks through it with a muttered apology. It was my fault. It was stupid to stand in front of a door. I’m not paying attention to my surroundings because I’m trying to focus on keeping my heart from beating out of my chest as I take a phone call I don’t want to take right now.
“Hey.”
“How’s Germany?”
“Lonely without you. Remind me when you’re getting here again?”
Here it is. My opening. My chance to tell him I decided I’m not coming.
Someone starts playing with the sound system, checking to see if the microphones are working. The voice blares loudly behind me and I jump, startled. “Test one. Test two. Test one. One. One.” The mics definitely have sound.
“Where are you?” he asks.
A flash of fear tightens my chest. “At a bar.”
“With who?”
I clear my throat. “A friend. Can I call you back?”
“I’m heading to bed.”
“What are you doing up so late?”
“Jet lag, I guess. I went out for a bit. I miss you.”
This is where I say I miss you, too. But I’m already holding enough truths back from him. I can’t outright lie to him with his voice in my ear.
I’m tempted to ask where he went and who he went with. Where’s out? What does that mean?
I remind myself that I just traveled to Los Angeles on Mark’s private jet with every intention of spending the next couple days by Mark’s side. I have no right to ask him any of those questions.
The severity of what I’m doing slams into me with the force of a freight train. I’m giving into whims because of some fantasy. I think back to the morning I met Brian when I was stepping off the elevator leaving Mark’s place. I remember thinking I needed to write my own rule book because I didn’t know how to walk out of a one-night stand with a rock star.
I can’t even fathom how far off course I’ve traveled since that morning.
I need a new rule book: How to Live with Yourself when You’re Doing Everything Wrong.
“I, uh…” I trail off. I can’t force myself to say something I don’t mean. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to come to Germany.” I blurt it out because if I don’t, I’ll lose my nerve.
“What? Why not?”
“It’s just…” What? It’s just what? It’s just that I’m not coming to Germany because I want a week alone with Mark more than I want to fly to Germany to see you. It’s just that I’m in love with your brother. It’s just that I love you, too, but it’s not enough. I love him more. It’s just that I’m an awful person and you deserve better than I can give you.
The truth should be told in person. This isn’t an over the phone kind of conversation. Even if I leave Mark out of it, which I will…he still needs to hear it from me in person. I don’t even register how hard that’ll be because it doesn’t matter. It’s the right thing to do.
So despite the vow to myself that I’m going to tell him the truth, I lie. “My principal asked if I could teach the last week of summer school.”
The door opens and more people enter the bar. I guess I could move away from the corner by the door, but I don’t know where else to go. I don’t want Morgan and Angelique to hear me, and I can’t exactly go back where the boys are.
Show time is quickly approaching. The crowd is starting to gather.
“And you said yes?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Reese.”
Ain’t that the truth? “I was his last option. The other teacher had a family emergency.”
“But your ticket’s non-refundable.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back. It’s bad timing anyway for me with school coming so quickly.”
I hear an audible sigh over the phone. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just disappointed.”
“Me, too.”
“I thought it’d be a fun last vacation for you before school started back up.”
“It would have been.”
“I need to get some sleep. Early morning and all that.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my apology. “Night.”
“Night.” He ends the call, and I stare at my phone for a beat.
The picture in the background behind my apps is one of Brian and me. I look genuinely happy in the photo. I flip to the last page of my apps. I purposely put only one app on the last page so I can flip to the picture of us I love so much that I set it as my phone’s background. I study us. He’s smiling. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, his lips are turned up.
My imagination might be working overtime, or I could be reading something I want to see as a way to excuse my behavior, but for the first time, I notice something’s missing. It’s something in Brian’s smile. Something in the way his head is tilted away from me instead of toward me. I’ve looked at this same picture hundreds of times—every time I open my phone, really—and I’ve given it a longer gaze when we were apart, when I was thinking of him or missing him. I never noticed it before, but something’s definitely off.
I’m looking at it through a different lens now. Before, Brian was the one in my heart. Now, I’ve chosen Mark. Funny how those lenses can so drastically change the way I view the exact same picture I’ve looked at hundreds of times.
Morgan and Angelique are still at the bar. Before I go back to them and my wine, I change the picture of Brian and me to one of Jill and me as guilt burns in my chest.
*
“Our job is to stay out of the way,” Morgan explains as we walk around backstage. “Usually Angie and I have chairs set up for us backstage and we watch from back here, but there’s not a good backstage area here, so we can go out to the bar if we want tonight.”
We’re not allowed in the green room right now because of whatever the boys do for their pregame, and we didn’t want to sit in the bar anymore as the room started filling with party-goers. Angelique is sitting in one of the offices wit
h a glass of wine and her cell phone, and Morgan’s giving me the rundown of what happens backstage before a show. Men move trunks and instruments, and Morgan surveys the area as we stand back and step out of the way.
I haven’t even seen Mark since we got here forty-five minutes ago. I need to see him, need to talk to him. I need to tell him about my phone call with Brian. Brian’s one question keeps playing over in my mind: Where are you?
His tone had been so accusatory. Surely he’s been backstage at his brother’s shows, heard the roadie test the microphone. But, on the other hand, those same things probably happen at any band’s performance.
But then I told him I wasn’t coming to Germany. I wonder what he’s thinking—and whether he suspects something’s up with me, though I doubt he’d ever think something was going on between his brother and me.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts when Morgan yanks my arm. I tumble back and almost fall, but I regain my balance at the last second as two men carrying what looks like a heavy trunk scurry by us.
“Are you okay?” Morgan asks.
I nod and brush my hands down my jeans.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get run over.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay.”
“You seemed lost in thought.”
“I need to talk to Mark.”
She nods. “I hate that feeling. Like you need to see him, but you can’t. You won’t get him alone until after the show, and even then he’ll have other stuff to do.”
“Like what?”
“The meet and greet, and usually after smaller private events, they’ll either invite fans to the green room or go mingle for a bit.”
“They mingle? Like regular guys?”
“They are regular guys. Well, regular guys with security and bodyguards who follow them around.” She laughs. “They didn’t claim their spot at the top by ignoring their fans. Just sometimes Mark and Ethan give a little too much attention to certain fans, if you know what I mean.”
My eyebrows furrow as I feel a little like I was just punched in the gut.
“Oh…I—I’m sorry,” she stutters. “I meant before you. Mark with one girl…it’s just gonna take some getting used to.”
Her apology and subsequent explanation don’t help the sting of her words. I’m a fan he gave too much attention to. Mark claims I’m more, and I believe him…but I’m terrified it’s not enough.
