“Where are you going to get equipment like that on such short notice? We don’t have that kind of money in the budget.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I glance over at Jigsaw. “I know where I can get everything I need.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Shelby
Guilt washes over me with the lukewarm water in the dressing room shower.
Maybe this is what my momma wanted me to avoid. A man coming in and controlling my business. My father did something similar, taking over bits and pieces of her life until he finally knocked her up and bye-bye, singing career.
At least, that’s her version of the story. Dad’s not exactly around to give me his side.
I’m five years older than she was when she quit singing. Made it a hell of a lot further too. Rooster is nothing like my dad. Then again, my memories could be tainted with my mother’s bitterness and my own heartbreak.
Rooster’s not taking over. He’s trying to help me—that’s another important difference.
But what’s it look like to Dawson? To have my boyfriend handle things? Is he going to think I’m weak and pathetic? This business is hard enough. I want to gain respect from my peers, not pity.
All the men are out there discussing me and I’m in here hiding in the shower.
There’s some creep on the loose who thinks I’m going to have his babies.
My stomach twists. So gross. What kind of sicko thinks like that, let alone puts it in a letter and gives it to another human being? Oh, right. A man like that only sees me as a cute little blonde baby-making machine.
The tap squeaks as I twist it off. I snag my towel from the hook and wrap it around myself.
What are they talking about? Poor Shelby. She really attracts the weirdos? Is Rooster thinking this is too much and he shouldn’t have gotten involved with me? Or maybe he really has some white knight complex and—
Shoot. I need to calm the hell down.
Leaning against the sink, I swipe my hand over the foggy mirror and study my face. I’m so dang pale. Spending way too much time inside.
Quit stalling. Get your ass out there, Shelby Morgan.
I shake my jeans and wiggle into them. They stick in weird spots where my skin’s still damp. I braid my wet hair out of my face and slip on a T-shirt, then flip flop my way to the door. A cloud of steam follows me.
“Feel better?” Rooster asks.
My gaze darts around the room. “Where’d everyone go?”
Jigsaw spreads his hands in front of him. “The most important person is still here.”
That actually makes me chuckle. “Thank you, Jiggy.”
Rooster slides a half-smirk Jigsaw’s way. “Dawson needed to get ready for his set. Trent wanted to go to the hotel. Greg had to take care of some stuff. Told Bane we had you covered for the night. I’m meeting with Greg, Bane, and Trent tomorrow.”
“Wait, you’re what? Why?”
He stands, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. “I’ll explain on the way to the clubhouse.”
“We’re not staying at the hotel?”
He stops and stares at me. “I didn’t think you’d want to. We can stay anywhere you want. I do need to go to the clubhouse to get some things, though. Either tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“We should stay there then.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I hate having this conversation in front of Jigsaw. As it is, he probably hates that I’m causing his best friend so many problems.
“Come on.” Rooster slings his arm around my shoulders. “You have to be exhausted.”
We grab my stuff and the three of us walk into the hallway. The canned music they play between sets thumps through the air. Outside, I take deep gulps of the muggy night air. Rooster’s right; I’m bone-weary.
Jigsaw pats my back and waits for us to get in the truck before firing up his bike.
“So what plans were you making with all the men while I was showering?” I ask as Rooster twists the key in the ignition.
“Can you help me out of here before we start talking about that?” He reverses out of our spot and points the truck toward the main road.
“Sorry,” I mumble, pulling up the map and directions on my phone. When we’re clear of the arena, Rooster fills me in on his plan.
“Wait, so between now and tomorrow morning, you want to take some cutesy video of me? Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Something your fans haven’t seen before. Something endearing that shows your personality.”
“And you want to create new content like that every night for the rest of the tour or until we catch the creep?” Is he out of his dang mind? “Besides singing, I’m not all that interesting.”
“That’s not true.” He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “What about your tarot cards? You could show off a morning reading or something.”
“Rooster.” I try to work my voice down to a reasonable tone. “Lotta country fans are kinda religious. I don’t want to offend them with my new-agey stuff. It won’t go over well.”
“Oh.” He glances over. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” I’m not mad at all. I’m impressed with his plan. It just seems like an awful lot of work.
“What about a short video of Cindy doing your hair and stuff for the show?”
“Who wants to see that?”
“I’m thinking an obsessive stalker would love to see it.”
“Ick.”
“Some of your female fans might get a kick out of it too. A behind-the-scenes glimpse.”
“I guess. We’ll have to check with Cindy and make sure she’s okay with it, though.”
“All right. If not, maybe you and Trent collaborating on a song. A little peek of your songwriting process.”
“Don’t you think filming me with another guy might tick him off?”
“Maybe. What about a simple yoga routine? That can’t possibly offend anyone, right?”
“Oh, I like that idea.”
Now that we seem to have a plan, Rooster reaches over and rests his hand on my leg. “You were amazing tonight. I forgot to tell you.”
Maybe it’s exhaustion or stress from the day but tears prick my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Your throat feeling okay?”
“Not great.”
“You want to close your eyes and rest? I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Rooster
The clubhouse is quieter than I expected. No party in the parking lot tonight. Music still spills out the front door but it’s nowhere near the usual volume.
I’m actually relieved. I need to talk to Ice, and I want Shelby to get some rest.
Jigsaw’s boots crunch over the gravel and I open the truck door to meet him outside so he doesn’t wake Shelby.
“She all right?” he asks.
“Just tired, I think.”
“Tell her your plan?”
I glance back at the truck before answering. “Yeah. She shot down my first idea but I think we settled on something else.”
He stares at me. “Planning to share?”
“No, because if you say something obnoxious, I’ll punch you.”
“How bad can it be?”
“We were thinking one of her short yoga sequences. Sharing how she prepares for a show, kind of thing.”
Jigsaw bites his lip, and wiggles his jaw from side to side.
“Motherfucker, I swear to—”
“No, no, no. It’s perfect pervert-catching material.”
“Do you have to be an asshole?”
He scratches the side of his head. “It’s why I was put on this earth.”
“Lucky us.” I jerk my head toward the truck. “Come on. I want to get her inside.”
“Switch those last two words around, and I’ll believe you.”
“Christ, you’re a fucking pain in the ass,” I grumble, stalking to Shelby’s side of the truck. “We’re here, chickadee,” I say
in a hushed voice.
“Jesus.” Jiggy leans on the truck and stares up at the sky. “I haven’t seen you like this since high school.”
“What’s your point?”
He glances at Shelby. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’m never fucking you, so put that thought right outta yer head,” Shelby rasps.
“You’re awake.” He slaps the side of the truck. “Listening in?”
“Kinda hard not to hear your big mouth.” She slides out of the truck.
I’m busy laughing for a solid minute. Hell, even Jiggy’s laughing.
“Now, why did your dirty little mind go there, Shelby?” Jigsaw asks with a big grin stretched across his face.
She waves her hands in the air. “That story you told about giving up your V-card to his girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I correct.
“Ex. Whatever.”
“That was years ago.” Jigsaw pulls a puppy-dog face. “I’ve matured since then.”
“If you’re not planning to help unload the truck, can you at least get out of my way?” I shove him to the side and yank open the back door, pulling out Shelby’s bags.
She and Jiggy continue their verbal sparring all the way into the clubhouse. I can’t help watching with a goofy-as-fuck grin. Nothing better than a sassy woman who can go toe to toe with my best friend.
We say hello to a few brothers we pass in the clubhouse. Ice and Pants are nowhere to be found. I’ll have to try to catch Ice in the morning.
And catch myself a stalker tomorrow night.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Shelby
Tonight, I’m more alert, and I study the clubhouse as we walk to our room.
Jiggy gives Rooster a fist bump and says good night at our door.
Inside, I take my backpack and one of my totes from Rooster. “I’m sorry you’re always schlepping my stuff around.”
“It’s fine.”
I drop my bag on the bed and unzip it, searching for my jammy pants. “So, is this place where the porno magic happens?” I ask.
“Are you still pissy about my job?” He stalks closer, hands on his hips.
I snort. “Some job.”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry, guess I haven’t had a lot of time to process—”
“Don’t,” he warns me. “You got some motherfucker stalking you, and you lied to me about it for days.”
“I didn’t lie about anything.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
I hurry and dig through my backpack faster. Where are my damn pants? My fingers brush against something soft, and I pull out the velvet bag with my tarot cards. I’ve been too scared to do a reading since the last one where the devil card and his two buddies popped up again.
“Shelby?”
I blink back tears. Oh my God. Is this it? The impending breakup? I duck my head, not wanting him to see me cry.
“Hey.” He brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
I risk a peek at him. He’s still tight with anger but love and concern also burn in his eyes. “I don’t want to break up.”
He frowns and takes a step back. “Where did you get break up from what I said?”
I shrug.
“Get over here.” He pulls me against his chest, stroking his hand over my head. “Break up? You’re not getting rid of me, woman.”
“Don’t stay because you think you have to protect me.” I snuffle against his shirt. “It’s not your job.”
He sweeps his hands up and down my back, soothing a little of the storm inside me.
“Shelby,” he says softly. “Why’d you go to breaking up?” He leads me over to the side of the bed and snaps on the table lamp.
I can’t form any words and end up uselessly shaking my head.
“I don’t like you thinking that every time we have a…disagreement or we’re angry with each other that it means I’m leaving you. We can talk and work through anything.”
I blink and turn over his words. Work through? Sure, Rooster’s gruff on the outside. But he’s always thoughtful and concerned about me. About us. But can I really trust that he won’t walk out the door one day and never come back without telling me why?
“I hate that every time we spoke on the phone and I asked you if you were okay, you didn’t tell me about the letters.” He taps his chest. “But I’m right here.”
“You’re still mad at me?”
“Not at you. Just the situation.”
“I didn’t want to make you worry. And it didn’t seem like a big deal.” I sniff and pull away. “At least, it didn’t until today. That was the worst letter by far.”
He hums in agreement. “Okay, so why would you think we’re breaking up after everything we did and talked about today?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Nothing about you is stupid. Tell me why you thought that.”
I shake my head. He’s going to think I’m even more ridiculous than he already does. “I keep getting certain cards in my readings.”
He blinks several times. Poor logical, linear Logan. “Come again?”
I roll to the side and grab the velvet bag I’d laid on the bed and pull out my tarot journal and deck of cards.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. I can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or if he’s about to blow a gasket. He slides one leg on the bed and turns to face me.
I flip through the notebook until I find what I’d written about the first reading that plunged this shaky sensation into my heart.
He leans over and studies the page. “What’s this one?” He points to the Devil card I’d noted on the side of the page.
“It was a jumper card.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“You know, when you’re shuffling a deck and a card or two pop out?” I flip through an imaginary deck of cards in my hands to demonstrate. “I’m a slow shuffler, so that doesn’t usually happen, but that time it did. And it’s happened two more times since then. Same card.” I stop my frantic rush of words and take a breath. “It’s freaky as shit, Logan.”
He scrubs his hands over his face and through his hair. “I don’t believe this,” he mutters.
“I know you think this stuff’s stupid—”
“Here I’m worried I triggered some abandonment issue you’ve got over your dad walking out on you, but you’re letting some pretty pictures on a deck of cards guide our relationship?”
“Abandonment issues?” I sputter. “I don’t have abandonment issues. And you’re not that much older than me, so don’t you go sayin’ I’ve got daddy issues either.”
He snorts and then laughs.
“It’s not funny.” I shove him, and he falls to the side, still laughing. How dare he think I have abandonment issues. I got over my father leaving years ago. Didn’t I?
A few more chuckles spill out before he finally stops and holds out his hand. “Can I see your booklet?”
“What? No. Why? You don’t believe in this stuff anyway.”
“But you do, so let me see if I can help you.”
I don’t know whether to hug him or smack him. “Why? So you can mansplain my cards to me?”
“Fucking hell. I can’t win tonight.” He leans over and scoops his phone from the nightstand.
“What are you doing?”
He snatches my journal off the bed and studies the open page for a second before typing on his phone. “Googling it.”
“Googling what? You can’t google tarot readings.” I tap my chest. “They’re guided by intuition and inner wisdom.”
“Everything can be googled.” He grabs a pen and paper off the nightstand and scribbles down his own notes. “Each one of these could mean one of a thousand fucking things,” he grumbles.
“That’s why you read the entire spread and use your intuition. Not Google.”
“How’s this?” His smile takes on a seductive gleam. “My intuition says I’m gonna be fucking
you doggy-style right here in this bed forty-five minutes from now.”
I blink and scoot back a few inches. “Like hell you are.”
He shrugs. “My prediction is about as accurate as anything here.”
I reach over and scoop up my stuff. “Get your negative energy away from my cards.”
“Which ones do you keep getting?” He rests his hand over mine to still my movements.
“The Devil’s jumped out three times.”
“What else?”
“The Three of Swords. I guess those are the two consistent ones. And Justice.”
He flicks through a few more screens on his phone and jots down more notes.
“Your handwriting looks like chicken scratch.”
He ignores me.
“Fuck me,” he breathes out, staring at the notes in front of him. “Your Three of Swords isn’t just breakups. It’s loneliness and rejection.”
“I’m lonely on the road,” I admit with a pathetic shrug. “It made sense.”
He sighs and pulls me to his side, kissing the top of my head. “Chickadee, I’m going to be so far up your ass from now on, you won’t have time to be lonely.”
Rooster
“There’s your faulty intuition again,” she sasses. “You’re not getting anywhere near my ass.”
I snort. “Famous last words.”
My gaze strays to the notes I made. Do I believe in this stuff?
Fuck no.
But I’ll admit it’s weird that she keeps dealing the same cards. But there’s probably a perfectly logical reason for that. Maybe she ate a cinnamon bun one day right before touching the deck and a few of them are sticky. Or maybe one’s bent a fraction in a way that makes it easier or more likely to be pulled from the deck.
But now that my initial surprise that she thought we were going to break up because some cards told her so has worn off, I genuinely want to understand.
Before we get distracted, I tap my pen on the notepad. “Your Devil card?”
“It’s not as bad as people think.”
“Few things are.” I tap my pen harder on the word Devil to keep her attention. “Obsession. Negativity.” I slide my pen to the Three of Swords. “Loneliness. Rejection.”
Rhythm of the Road Page 37
