Behind the Lens (Boys of Fallout Book 2)

by Cassandra Giovanni

  I look into the crowd gathered for the early morning flight as I rub my neck. “Which ones…besides here, of course.”

  “The typical ones– just across the border into Connecticut and Rhode Island–then Florida for Disney World as a kid.” I laugh, and Luke frowns. “What?”

  “I’ve never been to Disney World,” I answer.

  Luke blinks at me a few times. “What?”

  I nod. “Never been.”

  “No shit–we’ll have to go sometime.”

  I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace, and I watch as Luke’s eyes drop to the floor. “You really don’t think this will work, do you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I say, choking on the words as I glance at him. My stomach is hollow as I watch him lean forward to rub the back of his neck.

  He shakes his head as his eyes rise to mine. “Nat, it doesn’t seem like you want it to work. You’ve been distancing yourself from me since the day your mom slipped you were leaving.”

  I press my hand to my forehead as I suck in a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want to make it work.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I stare at the cobweb filled drop ceiling, my eyes tracing the patterns of the holes designed to make it look nice. Every design looks like a face mocking me as I struggle to find words that won’t destroy the way Luke feels about me.

  “It’s just not easy, and I feel awful you have to deal with a relationship that’s going to be like that,” I answer, biting my lip as I close my eyes. “You deserve better than what this is about to become.”

  I feel Luke turn, taking my hands into his. “Look at me, Nat.” I open my eyes to see his, piercing and determined. “Let me make that decision. Maybe I think you deserve someone who’s going to stand by you and your career.”

  I want to tell him it’s not that easy, but the hope showing in his eyes as they race over my face closes off the thought. A part of me wants to let him in, but I know if I do when this all comes crashing down it will destroy me. I don’t need relationship drama when I’m on the road. I need my mind on doing my job. The sound of the plane’s boarding announcement cuts off the chance at an even more awkward conversation– at me breaking it off here and now.

  Luke closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to mine as he squeezes my hands.

  “Thank you,” I finally whisper, and he nods before kissing me.

  It’s the kind of kiss you see in the movies; one where the world around you moves in slow motion, and all you can feel is that person’s heart beat against yours. All you can feel is the intense need for that person. When Luke pulls away, I remind myself to breathe.

  Damn, he knows how to say goodbye.

  He kisses me once more and then opens his eyes. “Text me as soon as you land?”

  I nod before leaning down and grabbing my carry on. I leave Luke standing behind me, and I don’t look back. Too bad I don’t know how to say goodbye without it being permanent.

  Chapter 6

  I sit in my seat, tipping my head back and closing my eyes as I jam my earbuds in. I need to stop this empty feeling rolling through my body. I wait to turn on my music until we’re in the air and then set it as loud as I can to avoid the drone of the plane and my mind. I paid extra for a non-stop flight, knowing it would be well worth it. I can never get used to planes, and a trip over six hours is daunting. I slump down in the seat and let the music sink into me, my breathing slowing as I relax into the heavy riffs and screams of Makeshift Chemistry. By the end of the tour, I’ll know the lyrics to every single song they play, and hopefully, written some songs of my own. The music drowns out the sound of the plane, but it does nothing for my thoughts. I unzip the backpack in my lap and carefully shift its contents– my tablet, camera, journal and pencils along with my wallet. I pull out a pencil and the journal, flipping open to the first page. I don’t usually write before a tour begins, but I don’t usually have the emotional baggage I’m carrying right now. The words flow from my mind onto the paper, and I can see Brent from Makeshift Chemistry screaming each of the lyrics. He has an intense stage presence, one that I’m excited to be able to capture; but he also has a smile that stops fans in their tracks. I shake the thought from my head as I move onto what I picture to be the singing parts of the lyrics, but my mind jams as I imagine what the voice of the singer would be. I know what I want it to sound like, yet I can’t think of a singer I know that sounds like it. I chew on the end of the pencil as I stare down at the lyrics, shaking my head. I’m pretty sure no one will ever see these words…not after what Jace–stop! I grit my teeth together as I railroad the thought completely. Lately, I’ve been thinking about Jace way too much, and I know what happens if I let him get inside my head. The anger boils in my stomach, and I slap the journal shut.

  Exactly that. I can’t think clearly when Jace comes up. Instead, all I can hear is the angry, non-nonsensical growls of a death metal screamer. The lyrics are undecipherable to me. It’s the kind of music I don’t write, or listen to, but the only thing I can match up to the way Jace makes me feel.

  I slip the journal into the backpack and pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head before sinking back into the seat. I close my eyes again, letting the music dance around my skull as I imagine the band playing out each of the songs and the angles of the shots I’ll take.

  The emotions I can capture.

  The heat of the stage and the electric atmosphere of the crowd.

  “Ma’am. Ma’am,” someone says–well, yells over the sound of my music as they shake me.

  I shoot up, rubbing my eyes before I yank my earbuds out. “I’m so sorry!”

  The woman shakes her head, giving me a smile. “No problem. Welcome to Cali!”

  I look out the window, sucking in a deep breath as the sun burns into my eyes. I fumble with my luggage, pulling out my camera and placing it over my neck before putting the backpack on and standing to get my carry on. I freeze as I go to grab it. There’s no one left on the plane beside me. I want to say it’s the first time this has happened, but it isn’t. I fear I’ll end up flying to the wrong place, but I never cease to fall asleep accidentally. As I exit the plane, the woman who woke me gives me another big smile, knocking me out of my thoughts again.

  “Enjoy your stay!” she says.

  I return her smile before stepping into the airport. The three hour time difference means even though I left Massachusetts at five AM, it’s only eight AM here. I always take early flights because any later and the airport will become a mad house, and California’s no different. I glance around, looking for James or anyone from the band I recognize. My eyes fall on Brent sitting on the edge of a planter box, his legs crossed as he taps his hands against his jeans. I pop the cap off of my camera as I head towards him, lifting the viewfinder to my face and adjusting the frame just as he looks up with one of those killer smiles. I snap the shot and look down at it as butterflies erupt in my stomach.

  That’s not fair.

  He shouldn’t have that effect with just a smile, but it’s more than just that smile. His brown eyes echo the same warmth and his perfectly faux-hawked hair and gauged ears give him just enough edge to be the rocker he is. He’s cute.

  Dangerously cute.

  “You must be the photographer lady,” Brent says, standing and holding out his hand. “Brent.”

  “The notorious screamer whose never taken a bad picture in his life,” I reply, tilting the camera so he can see the camera’s preview screen.

  He smirks down at me, drawing his lower lip into his teeth. “Alright, try again.”

  “What?”

  “Try again!” he repeats, and I shake my head before raising my camera. “I need a warning.”

  I look over my camera at him. “You need a warning to look ugly?”

  “Play along, Nat,” Brent says, and my stomach dive bombs as he uses my nickname.

  Get a hold of yourself!

  I look at the ceiling as I ground myself, then l
ift the viewfinder to look at him. “One, two…three!”

  I snap the shot, bursting out laughing as Brent crosses his eyes, scrunches his nose and contorts his mouth. I click back to the picture, and it’s far from bad.

  It’s adorable.

  “See!” Brent says as he reaches forward, grabbing my luggage. His hand grazes mine, shooting tingles up my arm as his smile warms any part of me that became cold on the plane.

  The anger’s absolutely gone.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I reply as I slip the cover back on the camera lens.

  “You’ll learn to live with it,” Brent says, knocking his elbow against mine. “Did you bring sunglasses? You’re going to want to get them out. It’s not Fall here.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “I knew I forgot something!”

  He chuckles to himself. “As long as you brought your camera and a toothbrush, we’re good.”

  I lift the camera up, pursing my lips at him just as he grabs my arm and pulls me into one of the shops with overpriced tourist items.

  “I don’t think I need sunglasses that bad, Brent,” I say as he grabs a pair and hands them to me.

  I blink at him a few times, before shaking my head. “Absolutely not.”

  “What’s wrong with these?” he asks, placing them over his eyes, and then lowering them with one eyebrow raised. “They look amazing on me.”

  In one movement I slide the lens cover off and take the picture.

  “You’re going to be able to blackmail me with those pictures,” he says, giving me a pout as he puts the Ray Bans classic sunglasses back down.

  “I’m going to be living with you for six months. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get far better blackmail material than that,” I reply, wiggling my eyebrows at Brent.

  He crosses his arms, and my eyes fall to his biceps, only one half covered in ink. “And I’ll have something to blackmail you with.”

  “Ha!” I shoot back, reaching passed him and pulling a pair of pink-lens aviators off the shelf and putting them on my face. I imitate his actions. “Except, I’ve lived with like fifty other bands–so I know how to cover up my blackmail-able flaws.”

  Brent holds his hand out, and I give him the glasses. He flips the tag and grimaces. “Ouch, you have good taste.”

  “I told you I don’t need them,” I say, and he rolls his shoulders before pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. I reach for his forearm. “Brent, no! How much are they?”

  He winks at me before turning to the cashier and signals with his hand to zip his lips. The girl smirks, taking his credit card and running it through the machine.

  I blink at him and nod to the glasses as the girl gives him a pen to sign the receipt. “There’s a tag on them,”

  He looks at the cashier, and she grabs a pair of scissors to snip it off.

  “You two make a cute couple,” she says as she hands Brent the receipt and gives me the sunglasses.

  My jaw drops open, and Brent shoots her a smile before putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me out.

  “My boyfriend would be pretty pissed,” I reply, looking up at him as he pulls his sunglasses off his shirt. They’re almost the same ones I shot down, except in a different color. He slips them over his eyes before holding the door for me.

  “Good thing he’s not around,” Brent replies.

  I stop midstride to look at him. “So you’re that guy?”

  Brent shakes his head, turning to face me as we step out into the warm California air.

  “No,” he says, rubbing his scruff. “I’m not that guy. Trust me.”

  His tense posture makes me believe him. He’s not that guy.

  “You’ll need sunglasses, and you’re going to have to deal with a lot of shit being on tour with us. It’s my way of thanking you for doing the job you do,” he says before continuing to lead the way. I fall into step with him.

  “Fallout and you guys already wrote me a check for that.”

  Brent shrugs. “Some things a check doesn’t quite cover.”

  “And sunglasses do?”

  “At least I can protect your sight. I can’t promise anything about your hearing,” Brent says before jumping up on the cement railing, throwing one hand up as he pretends to hold a mike and growls the words. “Protect your sight!”

  A few girls whistle as he jumps back down, and I stand slack jawed at how natural his scream is.

  My skin tingles. “I can’t get over how much I love your scream.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m a screamer then,” he replies, before swallowing as his hands become fists at his sides.

  “Do you do anything else?” I ask.

  Brent taps his hands on his leg as we wait for traffic to pass and then head to the parking garage. “Yeah, I play guitar and stuff…”

  “And stuff?”

  “Yeah,” he replies, and his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck bulging.

  I know he won’t say more.

  Chapter 7

  “So, enlighten me, how did you draw the short straw and have to pick me up?” I ask as we cross the road.

  Brent waves at the car stopped for us before tucking his hands back in his pockets. “I wouldn’t call it drawing the short straw.”

  “How long were you waiting in the airport?” I ask, glancing over at him.

  I catch his eyes drifting over me, and he looks straight ahead as he coughs. “Umm…it wasn’t so bad. It’s early enough–the traffic might be a bitch getting out of here, though. It was either me, James or Aiden seeing the rest of the band isn’t always that well behaved. James is running last minute errands, and Aiden refused to drive when he has no clue where he’s going. Plus, I’m actually one of the only ones old enough to rent a car without the ridiculous surcharge, and it’s got a GPS, so I said screw it, I’ll go.”

  “That’s right, you guys are from Texas, right?” I ask as he presses the elevator button.

  He turns, leaning back against the wall, and I resist the urge to snap a shot of him. It’s one of the things about being a photographer; I have to resist the temptation to take pictures during normal conversations when I’m not on the clock. I stretch my hand as it tingles to pick up the lens.

  “We sure are. A small town right outside of Dallas. Obviously, we range in age–none of us went to high school together–just kind of met out of coincidence,” Brent says as we get into the elevator.

  I bite my lip as I stand next to him, counting each inhale as I watch the numbers go up. I’m not a fan of elevators. When it stops I exhale, stepping out into the fresh air. Brent’s eyebrows rise above the frame of his sunglasses as he looks down at me.

  I smile at him, but don’t explain my unease. “So…whose sister were you dating?”

  He cocks his head, his tongue running over his teeth. “Thanks.”

  I put my hands up. “Seems like the way you’d meet each other.”

  “Well,” he says, popping the trunk of a VW Jetta. “Just so you know;” he picks up my luggage, and I can tell he expects it to be heavier by the way he lifts it. “It was my sister James was dating.”

  “Ah, okay. How did that end? You guys are still in a band together so either they got married, or she dumped his ass.”

  Brent chuckles as he settles into the driver’s seat. “The latter.”

  “And how did you meet the rest of the guys?”

  “I met Aiden at our previous job at a construction company. James knew Brad and Kie from the scene. It just happened they left their bands as we were forming ours,” he replies, pulling his iPhone out of his pocket and handing it to me. “Pick something to listen to?”

  I look down at his cell phone expecting a picture of him and his girlfriend but find it’s just the band symbol.

  “Password is 82945,” he says, and I enter the numbers, waiting for a picture of them as the background. Instead, it’s black. My face warms, but I ignore the feeling. He’s cute, but I shouldn’t be looking for pictures or caring about his girlfri
end.

  “Anything you want to listen to?” I ask as I open up the music folder.

  Brent looks at me from the corner of his eyes, his lips curling slightly. He shakes his head. “No, you pick.”

  I lean back in the seat, settling in for whatever length the ride might be and begin scrolling through his playlist. “I get the feeling this is some kind of test.”

  “Not at all,” Brent replies, his voice playful.

  I roll my eyes before picking an album and setting the phone in the center between us.

  Brent shakes his head. “Deftones – White Pony…interesting.”

  “Did I pass?” I ask as I cross my arms and stare at him expectantly.

  “Definitely. I was afraid you were going to pick something like Undertow,” he replies, laughing through his nose.

  I look out the window, covering my mouth with my hand as I suck in a breath.

  “They do have one song I like, though–at least the lyrics,” he continues, and I close my eyes as my heart hammers its way up my throat.

  “Which one is that?” I manage to croak.

  “Monster’s Epitaph.”

  My fingers grip the edge of the seat as my vision blurs. I pull my hands into my lap and concentrate on them as the contents of my stomach threaten to come up.

  My song.

  “You know it?” he asks.

  I give a stiff nod. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty popular,” he replies with a shrug.

  “So who’s your favorite band?” I ask, watching as Brent changes lanes. Despite the fact he’s using a GPS, he seems comfortable driving in the five lane highway.

  “You picked them. You?”

  The thought of Jace disappears. “Same.”

  “No shit,” he replies, smiling over at me.

  I blink before looking ahead.

  Luke. Luke. Luke.

  Except the name doesn’t really do anything for me. It never really did. I can’t remember the last time a name did something for me– aside from Jace. Now his name creates butterflies for the exact opposite reason. Love turned into hate.