Behind the Lens (Boys of Fallout Book 2)

by Cassandra Giovanni

  “It’s almost ten,” James says, and his foot taps against the floor.

  “Anna is going to stay with us until we get back to Texas,” Brad replies before turning again.

  “What?” James asks, and his mouth hangs open as he stares at Brad’s back.

  Brad turns around slowly. “Is there a problem with that?”

  “Dude, no one’s girlfriends stay on tour,” Aiden says, shaking his head. “It’s a bad idea.”

  “Nat is here,” Brad replies, nodding at me.

  “Nat isn’t anyone’s girlfriend,” James says, his brow scrunched as he shakes his head in disbelief.

  Brad narrows his eyes at Brent, his jaw clenching as he replies under his breath, “Could’ve fooled me.”

  James runs his tongue over his teeth. “Nat is a part of our crew. She fits our dynamic–bringing your girlfriend, or anyone’s girlfriend on board for even a few days is asking for trouble.”

  “What?” Brad brushes his hair out his eyes. “You don’t like her?”

  James tips his head back, and I watch as his vein in his neck strains. From the few minutes I’ve spent with her and the way all the guys have tensed up I’m pretty sure no one likes her. She talks… a lot.

  “It has nothing to do with liking her or not,” James replies with his hands up. “It just complicates things, that’s all.”

  Brad leans forward. “How?”

  “There’s already enough of us crammed onto this bus!” Kie says, turning to face Brent and I. “Am I right?”

  I swallow, my shoulders going up as my stomach clenches. I do not want to be in the middle of whatever this is. Brent looks over at me with eyes wide and neither of us answer. Kie rolls his eyes and sinks into his seat.

  Brad’s jaw tightens again. “It’s only a few days. What do you want me to tell her? No? She’s going to think you all hate her then.”

  “Fine,” James says, standing, hands up in surrender. “She can stay on board until our first stop in Texas. She’s not tagging along the whole time we’re there. Next time you should consult with us all first.”

  Brad’s lips curl up into a smile, and he turns back around. When he’s gone, James turns to us and points at Kie and then Aiden.

  “Don’t either of you think of pulling a stunt like that,” he says, and Aiden puts his hands up.

  “I don’t want Amber on tour with us any more than you do.” I turn my head, raising my eyebrows. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but the tour dynamic isn’t for her.”

  James looks at Kie and cocks his head. Kie chuckles to himself before standing and patting James on the shoulder.

  “You have nothing to worry about with me,” Kie says, and I look down at my hands as I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Obviously, that would mess up his dynamic with all the groupies he hooks up with. I shake the thought from my head as James clears his throat and looks at Brent and me.

  Brent’s eyes go wide. “I’m single, remember.”

  James’ gaze shifts to me and I laugh.

  “Seriously? This is my job, even if I had a boyfriend, you wouldn’t hear about it — let alone ever meet him,” I reply as I stand and dump my now cold coffee in the sink before going for another cup.

  “Good,” James says, and Brent crosses his arms, tapping his foot as he cocks his head at his bandmate. “I won’t do it either. We’re all going to pay for this little stunt in the end, including Brad. He’ll be wishing he listened to me. Chicks on tour buses…”

  He shakes his head before going up front to talk to the driver. I look at Brent as I lean back against the counter, cup covering my smile.

  “Apparently, he forgot about me,” I reply.

  Brent laughs. “You don’t count.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “And why is that?”

  “You’re the photographer lady. You’re just like us.”

  I point at him, warmth spreading through my limbs. “That I am.”

  ~~~

  “This is boring,” Anna says as she sinks into the cold metal chair as we sit watching the guys doing their sound check. “I thought this would be a lot more exciting.”

  I chuckle to myself as I play with the settings on my camera and take another test shot. I’m definitely not enjoying Anna. Apparently, me being a chick means she’s now attached at my hip, and I have to babysit her.

  I glance down at the preview and up the ISO just a bit, knowing if I go too high the picture will end up brighter but grainy. I take another test shot and then look at the results. It’s on point. Anna heaves an over exaggerated sigh again, and I turn to look at her.

  “What did you think they did? Partied twenty-four seven?” I ask, and she sucks in her lower lip. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something offensive. Instead, I give her a smile and say, “Wait for the signing. That’s about as fun as paint drying.”

  She blinks at me. “How do you do it?”

  “I actually do find this interesting, but I do know what they’re talking about. Plus, I’m taking test shots,” I reply as I turn to listen to the guys. Brent is asking the sound tech to change the levels.

  Anna scoffs, and I look over my shoulder to see her brown eyes have darkened with her expression. “Are you suggesting I don’t know anything about music?”

  My stomach twists and my jaw tightens before I answer, “Not at all. Just that you don’t find it interesting.”

  Her lips soften from the hard line they’ve become, and she shrugs. “You’ve seen it once; I guess you’ve seen it a thousand times.”

  James comes to the microphone. “Nat, do you have any clue where the hell Kie is? He knows we had sound check scheduled before the signing.”

  I hadn’t even noticed his absence. My face heats as I think of what he might be doing. I glance over at Anna who has her arms crossed and is playing on her cell phone.

  “I can go find him,” I reply and James gives me a relieved smile.

  I need an excuse to get away from Anna’s nagging, anyway.

  “Do you want me to help?” Anna asks without looking up from her phone.

  “I’m good; it’ll only take a few minutes. Plus, you wanted to see what life on tour was like, so you should enjoy watching the guys,” I reply. I shoot her a fake smile as I try to keep it from being smug.

  I head out to the tour bus, praying that I won’t find Kie with yet another woman. Tay gave me her number before leaving, purposely looking over her shoulder at Kie when she did, and I wonder if she thinks I’m going to tell her. The way Kie narrowed his eyes on me and hasn’t said a word since makes me believe he certainly thinks I’m going to.

  I open the door to the bus, calling his name. “Kie?”

  When no one responds I continue in and make my way down to the lounge. I stop at the door, listening hard. I don’t want to open it if something is going on behind it. There’s no sound, so I open the door and stick my head in.

  “Hey,” I say as I look at Kie with a bottle of whiskey in front of him. There’s barely an inch of the amber liquid left.

  “You going to tell her?” he asks, and his eyelashes flutter against his high cheekbones.

  I shake my head as I make my way to sit next to him. “It’s not my place.”

  The alcohol wafts off of his breath as he leans towards me. “Going to tell me how I shouldn’t drink away my guilt then?”

  I drag my teeth over my lower lip before replying, “I’m not here to judge you.”

  He throws his hands up. “Because you’re so perfect you won’t even judge me for cheating or drinking?”

  “I’m not perfect.” I rub my hands over my face as my chest tightens. “Did you ever think the reason I don’t drink is because I’ve been there? Because I know it won’t fix shit?”

  Kie blinks at me, his chest rising rapidly as his eyes flick back and forth. “You?”

  I stand, turning as I get to the door. I lock eyes on Kie, and my voice is hard as I reply, “I fell for a guy like you. You’r
e stupid if you think she doesn’t know. I didn’t have to tell her. So what do you think she’s doing right now?”

  He sucks his lip in, eyes falling to his bottle of liquor. His head falls into his hands, and I walk away.

  There isn’t anything else to say.

  Chapter 17

  True to his word, Brad makes sure Anna is gone after our first stop in Texas. That means there’s a hell of a lot less complaining before the show in Houston, and we relax back into our natural rhythm. The venue tonight is sold out, just like the rest of the stops in the band’s home state. It’s great, but it also means I’m on duty all night from Chaos Coma’s opening act all the way to Makeshift’s closing one. By the time Makeshift gets on stage, I’m dragging. The crowd’s been insane tonight, and I’ve almost been pulled into a mosh pit more than once. When James signals the fans to do a wall of death I make sure I’m on stage, safe from the craziness and turn my back to the crowd.

  My teeth grit as I drop my camera, fixing my hair quickly before focusing the lens on Brent. His eyes lock on me, and his brow scrounges over them as he screams into the mike. I’m betting he saw how I purposely turned my back on the overly rowdy audience when James told them to get even more insane than they already are and is wondering why I’m not snapping pictures of the epic mess I’m sure it is. I love the music but hate this part of it. What fun is a concert if you break your arm or get your nose taken out? I see so much of that on tour. Sometimes I even catch it on camera; nose breaks so bad they create instant black eyes, arms contorted in right degree angles in the wrong direction, and in the case of one idiot kid who crowd-surfed right into a bass tuner pick, a guitar sticking out of someone’s skull. I can delete the pictures, but I can’t get the graphics out of my mind–not when I spend so much of my time imagining the bands singing my songs and the shots I will take of performances. It energizes them, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why. As the song ends I catch an image of Brent lowering the mike and his chin drops to his chest as he closes his eyes. The emotion painted on his face looks like regret, but I can’t quite place why it’s there. I glance down at the preview of the image, either way; it’s a fantastic shot. I smile to myself and make my way backstage as the band says thanks to the crowd.

  “Hey!” Brent calls at my back as I reach the door that leads outside to the tour bus. “Nat, wait up. I want to talk to you.”

  I turn, and my stomach rolls as I look up at him. “Sure, what’s up?”

  He nods over my shoulder. “Take a walk with me? I’m baking in here.”

  I bounce on my toes as I watch him wipe the sweat from his forehead into his hair. “Sure.”

  “I know it’s not that much cooler,” Brent says as we walk towards the bus. “But it’s fresh air. It gets so stale and nasty in the venues with all those people.”

  I laugh, biting my lip as I watch him drop onto the grass and prop his head up in his hands. He nods next to him, and I follow his lead.

  Brent takes a deep breath, and I watch as his chest rises beneath his black button-up. It’s half undone, so his tattoo shows. “Why did you do it?”

  I turn towards him, leaning up on my elbow to look down at him. “Do what?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You turned your back on the crowd when we did the wall of death.”

  I pull at the grass I’ve woven between my fingers as my heart thuds in my ears. My hand begins to shake, and I drop it to the ground, hoping Brent doesn’t see it. I’m afraid what he’ll think of me if I tell him the truth.

  I’m not that bad ass after all.

  “You saw that?” I ask, swallowing. I let my eyes rise to his, and they race over my face — kind and warm as always. “I… hate it.”

  “What?” he asks, his head jerking back. “You’re a metal girl!”

  My eyelashes flutter as I try to comprehend how to explain it to him and make him understand something he loves is something I hate.

  I shake my head, smiling at him. “I don’t know why it matters if I hate it.”

  Brent sits up, leaning his arms on his knees. His head drops between them before he looks over his shoulder at me. “It matters to me how you feel. And I saw the panic on your face the second James signaled for the crowd to move. I just want to understand why it bothers you so much.”

  I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. I shrug before replying, “I hate to see something I love so much–that I have such a passion for– turn so violent; to be so hateful. People are beating the shit out of each other, whether or not you can see it on the stage– they’re trampling one another. I know you don’t understand.”

  Brent cuts me off with the shake of his head. “I never thought of it like that. I figured it was great we got them amped up enough to do that.”

  The smile on his face looks like he’s cringing, and his hands tangle in the mess his faux hawk has become from performing.

  “It’s a part of metal music,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder and placing my chin there. “So don’t worry about me. I just don’t watch. Besides… I’d much rather be watching you.”

  Brent’s head tilts towards mine, his lips only inches away and my breath hitches in my throat.

  His eyes are sad as he replies, “I don’t think I can just un-think what you told me, Nat.”

  “This isn’t about me, Brent,” I say as his eyes race over my face, stopping on my lips. I should pull away, but I can’t.

  Act normal. Nothing is going on here. Brent doesn’t think of you like that.

  His hand reaches up, moving a limp curl behind my ear and it reminds me I probably look and smell awful. My heart races with panic at the thought before slowing or stopping– I’m not sure which, as he replies, “That’s what you think.”

  Rules, Natalie. Rules!

  “Brent,” I say, and my voice is a whisper that sounds sad and breathless at the same time.

  He drops his hand and looks straight ahead as his jaw tenses. He won’t violate my rules, but God, I want him to. It’s not right that he can make my heart race like this while making me feel so comfortable. I never tell the bands why I rarely photograph the crowd.

  “I just want you to enjoy being on tour with us,” Brent finally says, his voice cracking.

  “I do,” I reply, and my mind seems to blank as I lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  His eyes are closed when I pull away, and I can see the vein in his neck pulsing faster than normal. If he wanted to kiss me — if he tried — I wouldn’t stop him.

  Why hasn’t he?

  I look at the sky, counting to three and follow Brent as he stands.

  “No more walls of death,” he says as we begin to walk.

  “Seriously?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.

  “Yeah,” he replies, rubbing his scruff. “Absolutely.”

  “Good luck getting the band to go along with it,” I reply, turning and walking backward.

  Brent grabs my arms just as I trip. “Maybe you should stick with walking forward, and let me handle the rest of the band.”

  My breath catches in my throat as his arms wrap around my body, pulling me back to stand with our bodies pressing against one another. My hands rest on his flexing biceps, and every part of me tingles as he smiles down at me. My head spins with the heat of his body against mine and the way his head tilts down. My fingers tighten on his biceps as I fight the urge to let my hands slip up his shoulders to the back of his head to tangle in his hair.

  “Good advice,” I say, and his head arches downward, the smile fading as his chest rises against mine. His arms tighten around me, and his lips part as his eyes fall on my mouth — parched and begging for the moisture of his.

  Screw Rules.

  The door to the venue opens, and Brent pulls away from me, sticking his hands in his hair and coughing.

  “There you guys are,” James says as the rest of the band piles out behind him. “I’m starving–you guys up for Wendy’s?”

 
“Sure,” I reply, looking over my shoulder at Brent.

  His face is pale, and as he nods, the smile he shoots them doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze is still locked on me, and I want to know what he’s thinking.

  All I can think about is how hard I’m falling.

  And if I’ll let him catch me.

  Chapter 18

  I watch as the guys file off stage, and the energy that usually flows off of them after a show is gone. I snap a few shots and a tight knot forms in my stomach as they grab their towels to wipe off the sweat before heading to the after-concert signing. I shake my head as I follow them out to the crowd. Usually, I’d go back to the tour bus, but tonight I’m not sure what’s going on with them. They take their seats, plaster on what I know are fake smiles and start signing CDs, shirts and posters. I go over to the merch guy, where people are buying things to have signed and nod at him, grabbing one of the shirts. I slip into the line, and when I’m up hand the t-shirt to Brent.

  “Just signed?” he asks, without looking up.

  “Seriously?” I reply, putting my hand on my hip.

  Brent’s eyes slowly rise to meet mine. “You live with us, yet you waited in line for us to sign a shirt?”

  “You live with them?” the girl behind me asks, nudging me in the back.

  I hold up my camera without turning. “I’m the photographer.”

  “Oh.My.God. You’re so lucky!” she says, and her voice is a high pitched squeal that causes me to close my eyes and clench my jaw.

  I inhale through my nose before looking down at Brent. “I do live with you, so I know when you’re all being super emo about something.”

  “It’s nothing,” Brent replies, rubbing his neck and looking down the table.

  “Bull shit.”

  “Are you going to get that shirt signed or what?” a guy a few people back hollers at me.

  I watch as Brent licks his lips, his grip tightening around the black permanent marker. I roll my eyes and step to the side of Brent.

  “Please, go ahead,” I say, and the girl swallows as she looks between Brent and me.