Release: A Ransom Novel

by Rachel Schurig

  “Yeah, and we’ve sucked the entire half hour,” Cash argues. “So what’s the point in continuing doing it if we’re clearly not there right now, man?” He points at me. “You need a beer.”

  Though it usually falls to me to keep everyone focused on practice, I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to be getting it together anytime soon. “A beer sounds great.”

  “I’m gonna go upstairs,” Daltrey says. “Meet you guys back here in fifteen?”

  Cash smirks—going upstairs is clearly a euphemism for going to find Daisy. “If fifteen minutes is all you need, I feel worse for that girl than I thought.”

  “Hey, Cash,” Dalt calls back cheerily. “How ’bout you go fuck yourself?”

  Chuckling, we leave Oscar to watch our instruments and the three of us head out to the hotel bar. At eleven-thirty it’s completely deserted, for which I’m totally thankful. I have no desire to be recognized today.

  “Big weekend coming up for you, huh?” Cash addresses me with eyebrows raised. “Excited to see your girl?”

  The sarcasm in his voice is obvious and I suppress the urge to punch his smug mouth. “Fuck you.”

  His face is the picture of mock-concern. “Trouble in paradise, big brother?”

  “Why are you being such an ass about this?” I ask. “Like it’s not hard enough already?”

  “Because I think it’s stupid,” he says bluntly. “Pretending to date someone you don’t even like is stupid.”

  “She’s going to be the mother of my kid,” I snap.

  “All the more reason it’s stupid to pretend. That’s a shitty situation to bring a kid into, man.”

  I clench my hand into a fist against the table. It’s not like I disagree with him, not in principle. But I’ve already agreed, so what’s the point in going over and over it?

  “Pretty sure you’ve made your opinion known, dude,” Lennon cuts in. “Reed is a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

  I shoot him a grateful look before swigging my beer.

  If I’m honest with myself, this is what has me so on-edge these days. Sienna is coming out to spend a week on tour with us. It was the producer’s idea, of course. A way to get us some onscreen time together. We’ll be attending some award show together on Friday night before she joins us on the road for the next several days.

  I feel like an ass admitting it, but I’m dreading the visit. I haven’t seen her since that day in Buffalo. The doctor’s visit I was supposed to fly out for was rescheduled to a show day, making it impossible for me to attend. Our only interaction has been taped phone calls and staged talking heads about each other. Any time I try to bring up baby plans, even in text message, she gets agitated and changes the subject. I have no idea how we’ll spend so much time alone—or what in the hell we’ll talk about. I have no idea how she’ll react to spending so much time with my brothers. The thought of her living on our tour bus for any amount of time is laughable.

  “Maybe it will be good, man,” Lennon cuts in, as if reading my mind. “Spending some time together, figuring out where you’re at. Maybe that’s just what you need.”

  “Yeah, I’m particularly excited to see how she reacts to all the waiting around she’ll have to do while you’re working,” Cash adds, earning himself a glare from Lennon.

  “Maybe she can hang out with Daisy and Paige?” Lennon suggests. “They’re pretty cool girls.” I can see Cash looking pointedly at me out of the corner of my eye but I ignore it. If my actions in Paige’s hotel room back in Buffalo are anything to go by, it’s best for everyone if I stick to a strict friends only position where Paige is concerned. And Cash can knock it the fuck off with his un-subtle raised eyebrows.

  “We should probably get back to it,” I say in lieu of a response. “The bridge on Let Down has been shitty ever since the tour started. It’d be nice to finally get it worked out.”

  We grab our beers and head back to the conference room. I feel Cash’s judgmental eyes on me the entire way there.

  I had hoped my flight to L.A. would be a nice break, a chance to get my head together and prepare for the evening with Sienna. Instead I worry the entire time about what will happen when she joins us on tour. Cash had a really good point about her inability to wait around while I’m working. Sienna doesn’t function well when she isn’t the center of attention.

  But she can also surprise me, a fact of which I’m reminded when she meets me at the airport. And she seems genuinely happy to see me when I arrive, hugging and kissing me in full view of everyone as I do my best not to show my shock—until, of course, I realize she has cameras in tow.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she coos, taking my arm and snuggling up to me as we make our way to the waiting chauffeured sedan, seemingly oblivious to the attention we’re attracting. I’m thankful I thought to wear a baseball cap. When I pull it low it’s difficult for even the most persistent photographers to get a shot of my less-than enthused face. “I had your tux delivered today so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “Thanks.” I open the door for her and she beams up at me—she seems so happy to see me I almost wonder if it maybe isn’t because of the cameras after all. Sure enough, once I climb in on my side she takes my hand across the seat, holding it in both of hers.

  “I really am happy you could come out for this, Reed,” she says. “It means a lot to me—that you’d be willing to be here.”

  “I told you I would,” I remind her.

  “You told me you would out of obligation,” she says shrewdly. She laughs a little sheepishly, a sound I’m not at all familiar with coming from her. “But, I hope you have a good time anyhow. I hope we can get to the point where we enjoy spending time together.”

  “Do you really want that?” I ask bluntly. I’m still having such a hard time believing she could be sincere about this, that it could be anything other than her attempt to keep me around for publicity’s sake. But she seems so genuine. Is she that good an actor?

  “I do want it, Reed. I want us to try.”

  I look away, confused all over again. “Well,” I finally say to my own reflection in the window, “I did tell you I would keep an open mind.”

  Her beach house is exactly as I remember it, though with much less salad on the walls than the last time I was here. I worry for a minute that she expects us to sleep together, but she points at the guest room. “I got Manuella to set it all up for you.” Does she look disappointed?

  “Look,” she goes on, whatever look that was slipping from her face to be replaced with a more familiar one—busy determination. “My hair and makeup people will be here in a half hour and I still have to shower. Make yourself at home, okay? Just be ready to go by six.”

  “Okay.”

  We stand in the hallway of her ten million dollar home, a distance of at least four feet between us, silent. There’s something so depressing about the moment, I have to turn away. “I’ll be ready.”

  Since, for me, getting ready will take less than a half hour, I take the opportunity to doze off on the balcony outside the guest room, with a beer. Sienna stocked the pantry with a case of Bells, my favorite brand, and I’m touched by the gesture. Though, I reason, it could well have been her housekeeper, Manuella, who remembered what I like to drink.

  That’s the thing with Sienna—it’s just so impossible to really get down to her intentions. Why is she so determined to have me around right now? Is it only her career considerations? Is she more scared about the baby than she lets on? Is she lonely? Or could it really be that she cares about me—about me as a person, not as a faceless stand-in who can help her accomplish her goals. I sigh, taking my beer over to the railing. Being back in her house it’s impossible not to remember all the good times we had here—and there were good times, back when our relationship was shiny and new. We used to go dancing, and I’d loved the way she would drop all pretense and move with abandon, sliding up close to me, making no secret of who she was with. And we often spent
long hours right down there on the beach, drinking wine from the bottle and napping off the stress of our jobs. We’d made love here in this house countless times—those were the moments I felt most connected to her, the only time I ever felt sure she wasn’t thinking of her career or her fans or her image. But those moments had gotten fewer and farther between.

  Could we regain any of that? Any of those happy times? If it was going to happen, I suppose that now would be the time to start. A whole week together, longer than we’ve been in the same place in months. What will the world look like to me at the end of the week when it’s time for her to fly back?

  I try to picture living here, on the West Coast. It had been one of the biggest sources of contention between us, our living arrangements. My life had been so fluid since we left home to tour with Grey Skies. I had hardly needed a home base when we were touring so much, or out on the road promoting, or here in L.A. recording the albums. Sienna, however, thought I should get a place here instead of going back to Ohio during the few down times. I had been just as happy to simply come out and stay with her when I had free time—why did I need a permanent residence?

  Was that what had driven the wedge between us? I had always blamed her for her inability to show she cared, but what if I had it backwards? What if I was the one unable to commit by refusing to move to California? What if she had merely been reacting to what she perceived as my own lack of trying?

  And now there’s going to be a kid. I can’t very well expect Sienna and the baby to follow me around on tour. Any off time I have, I’ll need to spend here, whether we’re together as a couple or not. No matter what happens with Sienna, I’m damned sure going to make sure that my child knows me, knows he can rely on me.

  So does that mean moving here?

  The thought makes my chest feel tight, like there’s something pressing down on me. L.A. isn’t bad—there’s good night life, obviously, and great weather. The paparazzi are way too out of control for my tastes, but there are ways to avoid that. But my friends aren’t here. My family isn’t here.

  It will be once the baby’s born, I realize. The thought hits me so hard I have to sit down. I’m going to have a family. I’ve been feeling so sorry for myself this entire time, trying to avoid thinking about the situation, just trying to get through the show taping and the tour, I haven’t really given much thought to the fact that the baby isn’t some abstract concept tying me to Sienna. The baby will be a real, living being. My child.

  Holy shit.

  My phone buzzes with a text and I pick it up to see Lennon’s name on the screen.

  You might be enjoying a glamorous night out with the Hollywood elite, but we just visited a cat museum. So there.

  I know he’s joking, know he’s trying to cheer me up about the night ahead. But I can’t help the sick little feeling of jealousy in my stomach at his words. Visiting a cat museum has Paige written all over it. Why does that make me feel slightly... angry? That she would continue her plan to sightsee the weirdest things across the country without me there? I literally feel jealous of Lennon right now; that he gets to be there with her when I don’t.

  Damn it, I think, a cold feeling filling my chest. No matter how many times I might say Paige is only my friend, no matter how much I might insist it’s inappropriate for us to be more than that, there’s no denying the proprietary urge I have when her name comes up. I have feelings for her. It’s not a secret, I’ve been battling them for weeks. But now, hundreds of miles away from her, in the mother of my future child’s home, it’s clear to me that those feelings are lot bigger than I’ve been willing to admit.

  You have to put it behind you, I tell myself, feeling inexpressibly depressed at the thought. No more side trips with her. No matter stolen moments, accidentally on purpose brushing up against her just to feel her skin, like some horny twelve-year-old. No more sandcastles or roadside picnics in the middle of the night. It isn’t fair to Sienna to carry on the way I have been when I promised her I would keep an open mind. And it’s certainly not fair to Paige to get so close when I know nothing can come of it.

  There’s a knock on the bedroom door and I jump, having been so lost in my own thoughts. I jog across the plush carpet of the guest room to answer it and have to bite back a groan. Craig, the producer of the show, is standing there with that half-annoyed, half-nervous expression he does so well.

  “Hey, uh, there, Reed.” He always sounds so completely terrified to talk to me, like I’m going to rip his head off or something. I know I don’t go out of my way to be positive about the shooting, but it’s not like I refuse his requests, either.

  “What do you need, Craig?” I ask, forcing my voice to be as polite as possible.

  “We were hoping to get some shots of you while Sienna gets ready,” he says. “You know, pacing around the living room or something, drinking a beer, nagging her to hurry up.” He smiles a little sheepishly and I suppress a sigh. Of course they want shots of us being a “normal” couple. Me in my tux with a beer, waiting impatiently while Sienna gets ready—see, kids, celebrities are just like you! It’s enough to make me want to vomit but I nod. “I’ll be out in twenty minutes.”

  He looks incredibly relieved as he backs away from my doorway. “Thanks, Reed.”

  I jump in the shower, trying to recapture my earlier chain of thought to get the sick feeling out of my stomach. It was so much easier to think about a potential future with Sienna, to think about the implications of our child, when there wasn’t a camera crew dictating my actions.

  “Now, there’s a classy building,” Sienna murmurs, pushing her oversized sunglasses down on her nose to survey the venue through the limo’s window. “I’ve definitely missed this.”

  Typically for a venue, the parking lot and façade do look a little rundown. But her words still send a shot of annoyance through me, which I try to bite back. We’d actually gotten along really well at the event the night before. She’s been in a good mood, laughing and smiling at me, constantly touching me. I’d been at least slightly hopeful that the positive atmosphere could continue now that we were on my turf.

  “I went to your party last night,” I remind her, my voice as light as I can make it. “It’s your turn to deal with my stuff now.”

  “I know.” She gives a long-suffering sigh but smiles at me to show she’s only kidding. Or pretending to be kidding, at least. When the driver comes around to open her door, she gives me one last grin before stepping out, tossing her oversized knit scarf around her. It’s strange, watching her turn into a movie star right in front of me. But there are fans out there screaming her name, not to mention her own camera crew scurrying from the car behind us to get shots of us arriving together. I suppress a sigh, wishing we could just go inside, but climb out and join her, slipping my arm around her waist so we can wave at the fans a bit before heading into the building.

  “Good job,” she murmurs in my ear as we enter the back hallway. “I thought you were going to sit in the car and make me do the walk of fame on my own.”

  “I forgot about the cameras for a minute,” I mutter, and she laughs, patting my arm.

  “Sometimes I wonder how on earth you ever became famous.”

  It’s not an insult to your music, I remind myself, biting down on my tongue so I don’t snap at her rudeness. In Sienna’s view, talent has little to do with success. She just meant that I’m bad at playing the game.

  Sure enough, when the cameras follow us in, she stops right outside the dressing room, turning us both slightly so that we’re directly in their view. It’s too precise to be unintentional. Sienna could never be accused of being bad at this game. She places her hands on my arms and rises up on her toes to kiss me. “I have to make these calls. I’ll see you after rehearsal?”

  “Sure,” I say, surprised by how friendly I sound. Maybe I’m getting better at the game after all.

  The cameras follow her down the hall to the second dressing room her people have arranged. Not that she has
any need for her own dressing room—she’s not performing or working in any capacity. But she wanted one, so her people made sure she got one. And I can’t say I’m sorry—it will provide a buffer between her and my brothers.

  “There’s the movie star,” Cash says as I enter the dressing room. “We’ve been waiting for you—too busy mixing with the A-list?”

  “Shut up, Cash,” I mumble, throwing myself down onto the couch. “We came straight from the airport.”

  “Where’s Sienna?” he asks.

  “She’s making some calls.” I glare at him pointedly, annoyed by the knowing look on his face. “She knew we had practice and didn’t want to get in the way.”

  “Uh, huh,” he says and I could smack him for the condescending tone.

  “Well, practice probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Daltrey says, standing up and stretching. “You ready?”

  We head out to the stage and get through the rehearsal without much incident. I think the guys can tell that I’m on edge and not in the mood for any drama. Cash even manages to get through the entire set without calling anyone a dickhead. When we’re finished, my brothers head out to the bus—probably trying to avoid Sienna. I’m inclined to follow them, not at all wanting to run into the camera guys, but figure I should man up and find her instead.

  She’s not in her personal dressing room, or in ours. I do, however, find Daisy and Paige curled up on the couch in the dressing room, laughing about something. “Reed!” Daisy calls out in greeting. “I didn’t know you were back.”

  “Yeah, we got in a little while ago.” Paige gives me a wave but avoids my eyes. I again feel that little stab of jealousy, but remind myself of my resolve in L.A.

  “You have to see these pictures,” Daisy says. “Paige, show him the pictures.”

  “What pictures?”

  “The cat museum, in Portland? It was actually a museum of cats, Reed,” Daisy explains, laughing. “Like, living cats. In someone’s house.”