by Salsbury, JB
The barren highway becomes populated with more cars and lined with buildings as we near Chicago. The buildings of downtown draw closer, and although the sun is up, it must be pretty cold outside. The thought brings a weight into my chest that seeps into my stomach.
We can’t just drop her off at a diner somewhere. What if she doesn’t have anywhere to go?
“Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask, surprising not only her, but myself.
She shrugs and refuses to make eye contact. “I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s a no.”
“I told you I’d figure it out and I will.”
I ignore her pouting and swivel my chair around, giving her the back of my leather seat so I can stare out the window. I’ve been around long enough to piece together her story. I know what a woman in a desperate situation looks like.
She’s not a groupie. That’s for sure. I should’ve seen it immediately when she didn’t reach out and try to hug any of us or burst into tears when I asked her a question.
She’s fairly young and far from ugly. Her clothes give away that she’s rockin’ the kind of curves every man fantasizes about, the combination of her darker skin and pale eyes, and fuck… all that hair. Yeah, I’ve figured her out.
Jade is most likely a woman who got most everything in her life because of her looks. I imagine men bought her apartments, cars… fuck, they probably handed over their wallets for an opportunity to get close to her. So she lived her life on the coattails of powerful boyfriends until one day the bank account ran dry and she was thrown out on her ass. Now she’s headed off to a new state, a new start, a new rich guy to smoke-screen.
A voice in my head whispers, If all that were true, how does it explain the black eye?
A sickness rolls through my gut without warning.
What if she’s in danger? Is she trying to escape an abusive relationship?
That would explain her hostility. And here I am treating her like trash for doing nothing more than a little self-preservation.
I turn back and watch her profile as she stares through the window at the city as it grows bigger and bigger. She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who would take shit from any man, especially one who would raise a hand to her.
“Do you—”
She whips her head around and glares at me as if she’s preparing for my next insult.
I clear my throat, lean forward, and let her see my eyes as they drop to the bruise on her cheek. “Do you need to use a phone”—I bring my eyes back to hers—“to file a report?” There, not too accusatory or invasive. Clearly someone hit her in the face, and I’m simply trying to help—
“No.” She turns back toward the window.
No? That’s it? And here I’m trying to be nice!
“Well, you’re going to have to call someone, right? I’m just offering to let you use my phone if you need to.”
“I’m good.”
“You’re about to be dropped off in Chicago in the middle of February wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a shitty old sweater. You’re going to have to call someone.”
This time when she turns toward me, she turns her entire body. “I know this might come as a shock to a rich, entitled, white boy like you—”
I recoil. She doesn’t seem the slightest bit apologetic.
“But there are worse things than being cold and alone.”
“I don’t know where you come from, but dressed like that? You won’t last long in this kind of weather.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I don’t think you can.”
Chris and Ethan watch the back and forth with curiosity and a hint of humor in their expressions.
She tilts her head, and the tiniest bit of softness touches her expression, just enough to make me think it’s not affection she’s showing me but highly combustible irritation. “You better be careful, Blondie, or people might think you’re starting to care about what happens to me.”
“Yeah? Well, believe it or not, I’m not a heartless dick.”
“No, just a clueless one.”
This woman has some nerve! I’m trying to be nice, and she throws every kind thing I say back in my face and adds some fire to it. I’m about to yell to Charles and get an ETA on when we’ll be at our destination but catch him watching us through the gigantic rearview mirror, and the man is laughing!
I ignore Jade for the remainder of the drive to the arena where we’re scheduled to meet up with Jesse, Brent, and the rest of our tour crew as they set up for tomorrow night’s sold-out show. Ethan and Chris take turns showering, thankfully neither of them leaving me alone with Jade. I spend my time texting my family, letting them know where I am even though they have the tour schedule. I pull up Rachel’s text messages from last night and punch one out in return.
When the tour is over, let’s get away, just the two of us, okay? Anywhere in the world. You pick. I love you.
I hesitate over those last three words. I do love her… Right? Funny, I never questioned it before until she started hammering me with the whole “love equals sacrifice” speech. I’m not giving up my career in music, not for her or for anyone. Maybe it means the only person I truly love is myself.
I delete those last three words, hoping she won’t notice their absence even though my gut tells me she probably will. Just one more thing to fight about.
I hit send and palm my phone as the bus slows to a stoplight. I see the massive United Center Arena sprawling on acres of blacktop. Brent insisted we come straight there.
What does that mean for Jade?
I send a text to Chris who is sitting far enough away from Jade that she won’t be able to read his screen.
What are we going to do with the chick?
He doesn’t look up but immediately starts typing back.
Dude, she’s not a bird. Quit fantasizing. And Charles said he’d take care of it.
Ha. Ha. Ass.
What does that mean, Charles is taking care of it? I delete the question because really, why do I care? As long as he gets rid of her by the time we leave Chicago, that’s all that matters. Cool. I hit send.
Chris laughs. I turn and look at him, wondering what the fuck is so funny. He just shakes his head and types. I watch the text bubbles on my phone, my irritation growing.
Don’t act like you don’t care. It’s obvious you do. And before you get all pissed off and defensive, just answer me this and be honest. You think she’s hot, don’t you?
The question catches me off guard, and for some fucked-up reason, my face gets warm. I start to type back that no, I don’t think she’s hot, but it would be a dead giveaway I’m lying because even a fucking blind man would sense her beauty. So instead, I shove my middle finger in the air.
Chris chuckles. “I knew it.”
Rather than say what I want to, I type it.
I do have eyes, asshole! Doesn’t mean I want her around.
I hit send only to have Chris answer me with a mumbled, “Yeah, right.”
Jade
I got to give it to Charles. I didn’t think this big-ass rig would fit on the congested inner-city streets of downtown Chicago, but he maneuvers through traffic like he’s driving a Fiat. My face is glued to the window as a world I’ve only ever seen in photos bursts to life in front of me. So much concrete surrounded by blue water, the contrast is breathtaking. Although it’s warm in the RV, people walking on the streets outside are in coats, some wearing scarfs.
I’m reminded of the concern in the blond guy’s voice when he asked if I had somewhere to go.
I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. After all, he was mostly right. I’m not dressed properly for this kind of weather, not that I plan to expose myself to the elements for long. I’ll find a homeless shelter—there have to be plenty in a big city like this—a meal, a shower, and get some sleep. I’ll get my hands on a coat before I go searching for my next ride west.
The bus stops, and the movement calls my ey
es toward the windshield where I watch a security guard wave us through a gate. Ethan, Chris, and the blond guy rustle about, unplugging phones, closing laptops, and gathering toward the door.
Charles drives us through a gigantic parking lot toward an arena. The bold letters above a series of glass doors reads United Center.
Judging by the empty lot, they’re not here to see a show.
My pulse kicks up.
They are the show. At a venue of this size?
I study them, all three guys, through new eyes. Ethan and his easy smile, Chris and his genuine kindness, and Blondie with a lazy kind of male beauty that makes it seem like he doesn’t even try—he just is. I still can’t place them. I’m sticking with my original assessment—a country-western band. It would explain why I don’t know them. I’ve never been a fan of the twangy music. They’re obviously bigger than I originally assumed, playing arenas rather than college campuses.
The bus pulls around to a loading dock and stops at the top of a sloped driveway. My cheek squishes against the window as I take in the row of eighteen-wheelers along with another bus identical to this one. Holy shit, this is quite the production.
“Jade.”
My wide eyes snap to Chris’s, and he smiles as if he knows what I’m seeing.
“If we don’t see you again, safe travels to wherever you end up.” He lifts his chin by way of goodbye and stomps down the stairs.
The blond guy’s eyes linger on me for a second as if he might be thinking about saying something. I try again but still can’t place him, and with a slight shake of his head, he turns without a word and follows Chris.
“It’s been fun.” Ethan holds up a hand, and I give him a weak high five as my brain still attempts to compute all this new information. He shoves his phone in his pocket and heads to the exit. “Maybe we’ll see you around—”
“Wait, Ethan!” I jump up, and he turns halfway down the stairs. “How famous are you guys?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up on one side.
“Like, one-hit-wonder famous or Justin Timberlake famous?”
He throws his head back and barks with laughter, then descends the rest of the stairs, yelling over his shoulder, “Don’t let Jesse hear you say that.”
“Jesse?” I turn around and study the bus and its homey opulence, then duck down to peer out the window as the other rigs swarm with roadies all dressed in black, unloading enough equipment to host a presidential inauguration.
That’s when I see it. Big white letters spray-painted onto a black box of equipment.
Jesse Lee – Playing by Heart Tour
My breath freezes in my lungs. My heart pounds triple time.
“I’m on one of Jesse Lee’s tour buses.” My legs get wobbly, and I drop into the closest seat. “Holy shit.”
They’re Justin Timberlake famous… even bigger than JT.
I don’t know how long I sit there as I rewind the last few hours and play them back in slow motion. No wonder they were skeptical of me. Ah… and the stealing underwear thing makes a lot more sense. I pour over every verbal exchange and cringe when I remember blurting he was a Big Bird fucker. I never did learn his name.
Wishing my cellphone hadn’t been stolen so I could Google the band to confirm my fears, I miss the door opening and jump when Charles appears at the top of the steps.
“Sorry about that. I had to smooth things over with the tour manager.” He takes the seat across from me, looking more exhausted than he did before he jumped off the bus. “The guy is a real piece of work.”
“You didn’t tell me,” I whisper, but Charles hears me.
“Tell you what? That you were traveling with one of the biggest bands in the world?” He chuckles, the sound smooth and melodic. “Why would I tell you that? These guys are around fumbling, screaming females all the time. It was best for everyone involved that you didn’t know.”
I cover my face and grown. “But I was such a bitch.”
“Why? Because you stuck up for yourself? Because you didn’t fall to their feet offering to lick their shoes clean?”
I peer through a veil of my hair and push it away so I can see him. “People do that?”
He rolls his eyes and leans back. “You have no idea. More when Jesse’s around, but they go nuts over Ryder too.”
“Ryder.” I test the name on my tongue. “Blondie?”
“Mm-hm. He’s very popular with the fans.”
My upper lip curls in disgust. “I bet he is.” I can only imagine the string of naked ass they have parading through this place on any given night. I guess it makes sense they assumed I was one of the many, possibly left behind from their last stop like a discarded bra.
Charles makes a sound, half chuckle and half groan as if he knows the direction of my thoughts and validates my assumptions. “They’re good guys.”
Why does he say it like an apology?
He’s probably apologizing for Ryder. I don’t care how good looking he is, and he very much is. I found it impossible not to notice how well he filled out his jeans and T-shirt, and his bone structure looks like it was designed by an artist, a perfectly shaped and powerful jawline and chin, high cheekbones—proportionate in every way. His full lips and long black eyelashes framing crystal-clear blue eyes… If it weren’t for his hard stare, subtle frown, and stubble, he’d be femininely beautiful. What the hell am I doing?
“I, uh...” I pat my pockets as if I want to make sure I don’t forget something and remember all I have to my name is my beanie. I find the hat safely tucked in my back pocket. “I should go.”
“Now hold on there,” Charles says. “The band and crew stay in a hotel tonight. Their show isn’t until tomorrow. I’ll be leaving the bus here. There’s plenty of room, plenty of food. You’re welcome to stay here tonight in the free bunk.”
“Why would you trust me to do that? You don’t even know me.”
“Nothing you could do to hurt this thing. Everything valuable is locked up.” He nods toward a door at the back of the bus. “Besides, I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I don’t think you’d bite the hand that feeds you.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I don’t think this is a good idea. They wouldn’t like me being in their space—”
“It was Ethan’s idea.”
That catches me up short. “Really?”
“Mm-hm. And Chris supported him completely.”
I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t, but I do. “And Ryder?”
Charles shrugs. “What the man don’t know won’t hurt him.”
This time I can’t hold it back, after Charles’s kindness, the opportunity to stay somewhere safe, warm, and stocked with food. I grin as tears of gratitude gather in my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He slaps his legs and pushes to stand. “Oh, one more thing. A cleaning crew will be here soon, and they’ll take all the dirty clothes. You’re welcome to add yours. They’ll return them first thing in the morning.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. I don’t have anything to wear.”
He waves me off and pulls open a drawer under the couch, then tosses me an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. “Take these. We keep a few pairs, ya know, just in case. We’ve got plenty to go around.”
Just in case some girl stumbles out naked?
I hold them up. If I doubted whose tour bus I was on, these clothes answer the question.
A Jesse Lee concert shirt and sweatpants that say Jesse Lee down the leg.
Great. Now I really do look like a groupie.
“Will the cleaning crew mind that I’m here?”
“Nah, they’ve learned to keep their mouths shut on all manners of these sorts. It’s important if they want to keep their jobs.” He shrugs. “Life on the road is… unpredictable.”
I hear what he’s saying without him saying it. Whatever happens on tour stays on tour. How very rock and roll. Gag. “How long have you been doing this, driving tour busses?”
“Thirty-fiv
e years.”
“I bet you’ve seen a thing or two in your day.” I smirk, imagining the stories Charles could tell.
“I have. And every bit of it will go with me to the grave.” He winks in a friendly, paternal way, then waves me off. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in the morning.”
I clutch the clothes to my chest and circle around the space I get to claim for myself for an entire night.
First things first, I’m going to get in that shower.
4
Ryder
After a quick rundown of our timeline for tomorrow and some kick-ass Italian beef sandwiches brought in by one of the crew who’s from the Windy City, we finally broke for the rest of the day.
I exhale a breath when I finally get to my room on the fifty-fifth floor of the Waldorf. Touring with a crew in the hundreds and being stuck on a bus for days, there’s nothing better than our nights off where we get a room all to ourselves. My bag is waiting for me, having been dropped off earlier by my assistant, and I don’t have to look to know there’s a six-pack of Sierra Nevada in the fridge.
The sun is slowly setting at just after five o’clock.
I hit the switch on the gas fireplace, snag a beer, and drop into one of the two overstuffed chairs.
I pull out my phone and hit Rachel’s number.
“Ryder?”
“Hey, babe.”
She huffs an irritated breath. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
I do, but it’s a habit. She didn’t hate it when I lived in Vegas. Once I joined Jesse’s band and moved to LA, she seems to hate a lot of the things I do. “Sorry.”
“I thought you’d call me earlier.”
“I would have, but I didn’t get to the room until just now.” I’m not a fan of having an audience when Rachel and I talk, mostly because we’re fighting. On the bus, I prefer to text. I try to call her when we get to arenas in various cities, but today I had little alone time. “Sorry.” God, I’m getting really fucking sick of that word.
