by Selena Kitt
“Well you wouldn’t be wrong there, Doc.” Tyler gave a little laugh, waving him off. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
The doctor gave another little nod, but he left without writing a prescription.
“It hurts, Katie.” Tyler put his head in my lap.
“Shh, just close your eyes. Rest. The doctor is going to come fix it all up,” I promised, stroking his hair. I’d never felt more like crying, but I held it back. I wanted to be strong for him, as strong as I could be. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Don’t stop doing that,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Telling me.”
Oh, my fucking heart. He could break it in one breath.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I whispered, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.
I promised him, over and over, until I thought I might begin to believe it for myself.
~*~
The shots worked. It was a blessed relief. It took us three hours to get to Wichita and that was just enough time for the cortisone to work its magic. I woke up to the sound of Tyler’s guitar—not his electric, which could plug into the bus’s sound system and be heard through all of the speakers—but his acoustic one. He was playing some fun, intricate melody with a lot of changes and I smiled, still half-asleep, realizing it meant he was better.
Then he started to sing.
I’d never heard Tyler sing before. He’d never sung on a Trouble album—that was all Rob. None of the other band members did either. Rob Burns was Trouble, and everyone knew it. Tyler had been hailed repeatedly as a guitar legend, even as young as he was, but I had no idea he sang too. And he didn’t just sing—he was good!
Better than Rob, if you asked me, but maybe I was biased.
Who broke my bank like she broke my will?
Who cooked my heart up like a liquor still?
Who had my back when we cut and run?
Who held my hand when we went chasin' the sun?
She came along and knocked me on my ass.
I got back up and said let's do it again.
She ain't killed me yet but she keeps on tryin'.
If Katie kills me then I don't mind dyin'.
Who drove me outlaw, never take me alive?
Who's the only one that ever took me for a ride?
Who drove me crazy, baby, like a man insane?
Who made me lose it when she yanked my chain?
K-K-K-Katie did, man, it ain't no lie.
When you ask me who really really made me fly.
K-K-K-Katie did, man, if I'm lyin' I'm dyin'.
K-K-K-Katie did! K-K-K-Katie did!
She broke me open and she stole my heart.
I called the po-lice and I made a report.
The lawyers were the only ones who made it to court.
I grabbed my Katie and we headed for the border.
K-K-K-Katie did, man, it ain't no lie.
When you ask me who really really made me fly.
K-K-K-Katie did, man, if I'm lyin' I'm dyin'.
K-K-K-Katie did! K-K-K-Katie did!
I didn’t know the song, had never heard it before, but the words brought tears springing to my eyes. Listening to him play, hearing his voice, like sweet, orange honey, was like waking up to a miracle. I could only just look at him in awe. And the man wasn’t even trying. He was just playing, messing around, singing softly because he thought I was still asleep.
Singing about me.
When he glanced over and saw I was awake, watching him, he flushed, setting the guitar quickly aside and climbing back into bed with me, under the covers.
“You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?” I whispered, touching my forehead to his.
“I’m full of something.” He grinned.
“Are they better?” I kissed his calloused fingertips.
“Yeah. Here, let me see if they can still work their magic...” He slid a hand under the covers.
“Mmmm I like this test.” I parted my thighs for him. Oh, those magic fingers. He played me far better than any guitar—at least I thought so. Maybe the rest of the guitar loving world would argue that point, but they weren’t in our bedroom.
“Me too.” Tyler’s mouth followed his fingers.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. That was my life with Tyler. It was always something else, something more. I tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible. The man didn’t just have magic fingers—those callouses could strum me to orgasm almost instantly, if he wanted it badly enough—but a magic tongue as well. Really, it was unfair for a man to be so damned talented, but I couldn’t complain.
I whimpered and writhed and eventually, in spite of my better judgment, he had me moaning and screaming and calling his name, begging him to stop, begging him to continue, forgetting completely that we existed in close quarters and everyone would later laugh and whisper and talk about Katie being a “screamer”.
Well, hell, what did they expect?
I couldn’t resist the man or keep my feelings for him in check, even when I tried.
The beautiful part was when Tyler let himself go too, when he let me climb on and go for a ride, roll my hips and rock on his cock like we were dancing to the sweetest music either of us had ever known. I loved looking down and watching his face at those times, seeing the emotion in his eyes, knowing exactly what he was thinking and feeling in the moment. We lost ourselves in each other, palm to palm, fingers linked, mouths meshed, slipping deeper together into the void.
I had to admit, sometimes I loved knowing there were other women on the bus hearing us fucking. Girls who wanted him too—but couldn’t have him. I loved it when he grabbed my hips, growling and thrusting deep as he came, calling my name repeatedly for everyone to hear. I didn’t mind being called Katie the Screamer on those occasions when we slipped out together to grab something from the fridge or loot another bottle of Jack from the booze cupboard.
But the sweetest, gentlest moments I’d ever known happened afterward, in Tyler’s arms, pressed belly to sweaty belly as Tyler traced hieroglyphics on my hip again and again. Those beautifully deft fingers, drawing tenderness all over my body.
“What are you writing?” I would whisper in his ear and he would smile that smug, secret smile, shaking his head, refusing to tell me.
I loved knowing there was more to discover about this man, that there always would be. He was my secret to keep, and that was just the way I liked it.
“Have you ever thought about leaving Trouble?” I asked him in the early morning light.
“Leave Trouble?” Tyler raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why would I?”
“You could do a solo album.” I bit my lip, testing out my theory. “Call it… Katy Did.”
“You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.” He flushed. I’d never seen him actually look embarrassed by something before.
“But I was.” I poked one finger into the middle of his chest. “I heard every amazing word. You could do it all on your own, you know.”
“Trouble’s the bread and butter.” Tyler shrugged, shaking his head. “Besides, Rob’s been good to me. To all of us. I wouldn’t bail on him.”
“It doesn’t have to be an either-or proposition,” I reminded him and then grinned. “Besides, it would be a shame to keep a song like that from the world.”
“Brat.” He laughed, leaning in to kiss me. “Every song I write lately is about you.”
“That’s because I’m such awesomesauce.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, feeling him still laughing. “Admit it, I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, Tyler Cook.”
“You can say that again.”
“I’m the—” I started, but he kissed me quiet, both of us still laughing.
Chapter Nine
It was Lana who invited the fates on the bus. Cliffie called them “the fates” after the three witches from Greek mythology. They were young, wore a ton of make-up,
and hung out together like they were sisters, attached at the hip. They seemed to have their own language, giggling together constantly. They grated on my last nerve, and I was praying they’d all pass out at the front of the bus and end up with “L’s” drawn in permanent marker on their foreheads by the morning. I thought that would be a nice sight to wake up to, when I went out to brew my morning coffee.
We were still heading south on I-35 when I went out in the morning in search of caffeine. All three of them were still there, giggling at the table over something in the middle of it. They reminded me of Cliffie’s three fates like that, heads bent, like they were about to decide someone’s destiny. Funny thing was, they were. They just didn’t know it.
I poured my coffee, but they didn’t look up from whatever they were doing. I was surprised that at least one of them wasn’t in the back, but I didn’t know if all the guest bunks were full. Nick, the bass player, in particular, had seemed interested in the one with hair down to her ass—why wasn’t she shacking up in the back? It hadn’t been that long since I’d joined the tour myself and, while everyone was used to me now, I remembered being the “new girl” on the bus. It hadn’t been easy to adjust, although Ty kept me close, showed me the ropes, and everyone pretty much knew I was his. There’d be no Katie-swaps like there were Lana-swaps for Trouble.
I filled my coffee with sugar—it was the only way I could tolerate such a bitter caffeine delivery system—and cream, listening to the girls whisper and giggle. They hadn’t acknowledged my presence, and I didn’t think they even knew I was there. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I figured it was gossip about going on tour with Trouble. What else did they have to talk about besides boys, music and fashion? They certainly weren’t discussing the ongoing violence in Syria or the rising cost of health care.
The bus hummed along, the vibration just slight under my feet. The thing was like a rolling condo. When I was in bed with Ty, I could have sworn at times we were in our own little apartment world and life was standing still outside, when in fact we were barreling down the highway at eighty miles an hour. I smiled, thinking of him back there in bed, still sleeping, an arm thrown over his eyes to block out all light, in spite of the blackout curtain on the window over our bed.
I poured another cup, knowing Ty was going to need a pick-me-up or two. We were due to arrive in Oklahoma City at nine and the production line would begin again. Life on the road was nothing if not routine monotony. It didn’t matter what city we were in—Paris, New York or Cleveland—everything was the same. We were our own little traveling world on wheels, and every day, we did the same things. The cities changed, the people, but mostly, it was the same set, the same thing, night after night after night.
“Sandy, you know what Lana said!” one of the girls hissed. It was the one with the long, long hair. “If she finds out we’re underage...”
My heart almost stopped at her words. Underage? Lana had invited three underage girls onto the tour bus? Lana wasn’t my favorite person in the world—she’d grated on my nerves since the first day—but you couldn’t have enemies on tour. We lived in too-close quarters to be fighting, so we all smiled and gritted our teeth and did our best to get along. Still, if I was going to have an enemy, she’d be it. She was like the tour mascot, she followed them everywhere and did whatever any of them wanted. She reminded me of one of those pet rocks from the seventies—fun at first, but ultimately rather pointless and very dense.
But if what the long-haired girl said was true, she’d gone from annoying to downright dangerous. Rob was paranoid about bad press, and this would be the mother of them all when it came to stories you don’t want TMZ to run with. Trouble arrested for sex with underage girls? Granted, they weren’t in the back with the guys—at least not yet. Or, not now. Had they been? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know.
I had to get them off the bus—and off the tour—as fast as I possibly could.
“Morning, girls.” I took my coffee over to the table, glancing over the shoulder of the girl with the impossibly long hair.
They all gasped and looked up. None of them, apparently, had realized I was awake, watching and listening to them, otherwise they would have taken steps to cover up what they were doing. Lana, I was sure, had given them the speech about “no drugs on the bus.” She was dense, but she wasn’t that dense.
The three little fates didn’t have their heads bent over a crystal ball, but rather an eight ball. It was either cocaine or heroin, although my bets were on coke. Three underage girls on the tour bus doing coke. This just got better and better.
“You girls know that’s not allowed, right?” Jesus, I sounded like my mother. “I’m going to have to confiscate that.”
Now I sounded like my high school principal.
“Oh, uh...” The long-haired girl’s big, violet eyes grew even wider as she handed the package over to me. The other two were doing lines off their make-up mirrors and finished like two kids wolfing down lunch so they could go out to play at recess. Now that I knew they were underage, I could see it in their faces, all round moons and big eyes. This was bad. This was unbelievably bad.
“Scoot over.” I nudged the long-haired girl with my hip and she slid around on the padded bench.
The three faces that looked at me were all incredibly young. How old were they? Sixteen? Younger? The one with the nose ring and the short blonde bob looked younger than that. Maybe fourteen. God forbid. The other brunette, the one with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing a studded leather jacket, looked maybe like she was almost eighteen. Either that or she was just cocky. She eyed me coolly, watching as I slipped the eight ball into the pocket of my robe.
“If I go to Rob and tell him you were doing drugs on the bus, your ride’s over.” I looked around at those big eyes in their round faces. It was like scolding the three little kittens who had lost their mittens.
“We’re sorry,” the long-haired girl stumbled. “We didn’t know...”
“Yes, we did.” The girl with the studded jacket leaned back on the seat, arms folded.
“Sandy!” the long-haired girl nudged her friend under the table. So, the one with the studded jacket was Sandy.
“Shut up, Jess!” Sandy snapped at her long-haired friend. “She caught us, ferchrissakes! What are you gonna say? Oh gee, I’m sorry, this eight ball of heroin just fell out of the sky into my lap.”
She had a point. So, it was heroin then, and not coke.
“We’re sorry,” Jess repeated. Those violet eyes of hers were captivating. No wonder she managed to get a spot on the bus. I didn’t know how the guys had managed to resist taking her back to one of the bunks. She was young, shapely, and stunning. I’d seen them take some scary, skanky looking girls back there. This one was fresh and startlingly beautiful.
“Okay, good.” I gave her a parental nod. “So, tell me the truth, have any of you been back there?”
I jerked my head toward the back of the bus and they all shook their heads. Even the leather jacket girl indicated that she hadn’t been back to the bunks. What had they been doing all night? Getting high?
“Nick told us to stay up here when they went to bed,” the little blonde said. I still didn’t know her name.
“He wasn’t being mean, Zoey,” Jess admonished her friend. “He gave us blankets and pillows, said we should sleep out here.”
“I think he knew we were underage,” the blonde one—Zoey—piped up.
“Zoey!” Sandy snapped, her eyes wide. She put her head in her hands, shaking it. “Jesus. The stupid. It hurts.”
“That’s okay, I already overheard you talking,” I told Sandy with a sigh. “I’m afraid the tour’s over for you three.”
“We’ll be good,” Jess pleaded, her big eyes tearing up. “I promise!”
“How old are you?” I asked her softy. I didn’t want anyone else overhearing this conversation.
“…thirteen,” she finally confessed. She couldn’t even look at me when she sa
id it.
Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
It was far worse than I had imagined.
“You?” I pointed to the blonde with the piercing. If she had a piercing, she had to be eighteen, right?
“Fifteen.” Her lower lip trembled, another piercing there. Either they were fake, she got them without parental permission, or her parents were fucking idiots. I was voting for the latter, since she was on Trouble’s tour bus, probably already miles from wherever she called home.
“You?” I looked at Sandy, with her leather studded jacket. She wore it like armor.
“Seventeen. Look, it’s not Lana’s fault. We have fake I. D. s”
Well that was a little better. Although not in the eyes of the law.
“But you brought an eighth of an ounce of heroin on a drug-free tour bus and you had every intention of sleeping with the band if you could, right?” I rolled my eyes. “Such angels you three are.”
“You don’t understand,” Zoey piped up, reaching over and grabbing Jess’s hand. “Jessie is completely in love with Rob. They’re soul mates.”
Jumped up Jesus Christ in a sidecar. This was deteriorating, and fast.
“Listen to me.” I turned to Jess of the violet eyes and gorgeous hair. She could have been a model, if she hadn’t been born in America’s heartland. I took that pretty little face in my hands, looking into those brimming eyes, and gave her a dose of the truth. “You are thirteen years old. You’ve got a long damned way to go before you can even think about a man like Rob Burns, let alone go after him, and I don’t care how old you are, snorting heroin is never, ever, ever a good idea. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, those tears starting to spill over onto her cheeks. It made her even more beautiful. It was heartbreaking, really. This girl was going to be ruined, utterly destroyed, by the time she was old enough to vote, if someone didn’t step in and do something. Clearly, her parents weren’t.
“You won’t read about it in the papers, but Rob has a girlfriend.” I fudged things a little here, but it was for her own good. “They’re very serious. They’re going to get married. You’ve got no shot with him, honey. None. I’m sorry, but you need to know the truth.”
