On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

MY SILLY BANDMATES put me on a pedestal for showing Barbie her place.  She threatened me later that morning, whining that if she had a bruise on her face thanks to me, I would pay.

But she didn’t.  She didn’t even have a black eye.  Her cheek was a little swollen, but that didn’t even last all day.  Over the next month, Barbie continued to argue and pick fights with various band members, but she tended to leave me alone after that.  As I continued to observe her the next few months, though, it dawned on me that the girl was insecure as hell.  She came across as being overly confident, but she was actually hiding a low self-esteem.  If she were more likeable, I’d be happy to help her, but most of the time, she was a selfish bitch, and I was tired of dealing with her childishness and temper.

Sometime in April, Liz continued to indulge her sexual fantasies.  I knew she liked women, but I think (probably due to her parents) that she was trying to like men—the problem was it wasn’t who she was inside.  One night, though, she spied a girl she had eyes for, but this girl was bisexual and already had a boyfriend.  Liz, feeling adventurous, suggested a threesome.

We all knew what was happening, because Liz got her own room that night.  We’d all been drinking and partaking of other mind-altering substances, so I and the other girls didn’t get a good look at the people Liz was going to be spending time with.

Turns out we should have…because they beat Liz and left with all the cash she had. We had no idea if they were really fans or not.  I was guessing they’d attended the concert for one of the other bands.  Why?  Because, if it were me, the last thing I’d do would be to beat and rob someone I worshipped.

Yeah…Liz never said it, but I was pretty sure they fucked her first.  And then they
really
fucked her.

We had all met at the van as usual that morning, but there was no Liz.  If it had been Barbie or Vicki—or hell, maybe even Kelly or me or Andrew (not that any of us gave a shit about the guy anymore)—we wouldn’t have thought twice about it…but Liz was
never
late.  In fact, she was usually early.  My alarm bells were clanging when I got there right at call time and she wasn’t there.  Peter’s lips were pursed, but no more than usual, when he asked me, “Have
you
heard from Ms. Mayerson?”

It was odd that he was calling her by her real name, and that was my first indication that maybe the man of stone was rattled too.  I shook my head.  “Have you tried calling her?”

He gave me a look like I was an idiot for even asking.  “Of course, I have, Ms. Summers.  She’s not answering her phone.”

“Hmm.”  Well, that wasn’t going to stop me from giving it a shot myself.  I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and called her.  Like Peter, though, I got no answer.  I decided to shoot a text next. 
Liz, we’re worried sick about you.  You okay?  Need help with anything?  Too much partying last night?

As I was pressing
Send
, Peter said, “I don’t suppose any of you know which room she checked into.”

There was a general mumbling but all to the negative.  Barbie said, “It’s about time Miss Perfect fucked up.  I’m tired of her making me look bad.”

“Seriously, Barbie?  You would say
that
shit right now when we don’t even know what the fuck’s happened?”  I wanted to beat the shit out of her again.  God, what an insensitive and rude thing to say.

Peter cleared his throat.  “I’m going to check with the front desk.  If you would all try contacting her at least once, I would appreciate it.”

Barbie flipped me off.  “She has it coming—believe me.”

I ignored her, and the fact that my phone vibrated helped.  I felt my muscles relax when I saw that it was Liz. 
No.  Not okay.

Shit.  Do you need help?

Could you come to my room?  Just you.  Nobody else.

Holy fuck.  What the hell had happened? 
Yeah.  What room?

I let everyone know what was going on, and Kelly wanted to come along, but I told her that Liz had explicitly asked for just me.  I didn’t know what to expect, but when I got to the third floor and found the room, I rapped gently on the door.  “Liz, it’s me.”  I stood back a bit so she could see me through the peephole in case she wanted to double check before unlocking the door.

I couldn’t imagine what I would find, but my mind was swirling.  My first thought was that she’d had a bad trip or maybe that she’d just gotten sick from overindulging—I hoped that was what it was, because that was easy enough to deal with.  My second thought was that maybe her “partygoers” had been a little too rambunctious and had trashed the room, leaving Liz to deal with the aftermath.  But I also knew that I was engaged in wishful thinking, that I was going to find something a little worse than either of those scenarios.

It seemed like forever before Liz finally cracked open the door.  I hadn’t expected anything quite as horrific as what I saw.  There was Liz, but she was broken.  Her left eye was swollen shut and both eyes were black, her nose bruised, her upper lip swollen as though a bee had stung it.  She looked like shit.  But what scared me was how she was moving.  I could tell she was in pain but I couldn’t tell where (aside from the fact that I was pretty sure her face hurt too).  She had a tiny robe draped over her body and my eyes quickly assessed the rest of the damage—cuts and scrapes and tiny bruises on her arms and a big bruise on her left thigh but nothing worse than her face.  “Oh, my God,” I gasped as I walked inside.  “What happened, Liz?”

She closed the door and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Can I give you a hug?”  She nodded and I gingerly put my arms around her.  Her reluctance to speak told me it was due to the people she’d picked up the night before.

“I need your help packing.  I can barely move.”

I had to ask.  “Should we cancel the show tonight?”  Sometimes, we’d have a recovery night if we left the next morning, but this was one of those shows where we didn’t.  No way would I suggest performing without Liz, even though I thought we could do it okay, but she
was
the band.  It would be like asking a body to continue functioning without a heart.  It couldn’t be done.

“No.  Fucking.  Way.”  She was emphasizing her words as she pulled away from me, but she also was having a hard time talking.  I nodded my head.

“I’m gonna text Peter, just to let him know you’re okay.  We were all worried about you.”

She nodded but then said, “Just let him know I’m sorry and we’ll be down soon.”

My text? 
Taking care of Liz.  She said she’s sorry.  Be down in half an hour.  Pls sit tight.

I grabbed her suitcase and began throwing stuff inside, opening drawers, the closet, anything just lying around that didn’t belong in the room.  Liz sat on the edge of a bed and watched.  “They took so much stuff.”

I knew the
they
she spoke of but didn’t want to be presumptuous.  “
They?
”

“The guys—well, guy and girl—I brought up here.  The night started out really cool…but turns out they were just junkies looking to score.”

I continued putting things in the suitcase, expecting her to continue.  When she didn’t, I said, “Did you want to shower before we go?”

She shook her head.  “I do have stuff in there, though, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing it.”

“Consider it done.”

I headed to the bathroom and found lots of stuff—shampoo and conditioner, a flat iron, toothbrush and toothpaste, and makeup, more than I could carry in one trip, so I curled up the bottom of my t-shirt to make it a bit of a basket and loaded it up.  I tucked the flat iron under my arm and then walked back in the main room.

Liz had pulled a t-shirt over her thin frame, having tossed the robe in the suitcase, and was sitting on the edge of the bed again, pulling up a pair of snug jeans.  I tried not to look, wanting her to maintain her dignity, because I could feel the waves of humiliation radiating off her—even though she had no reason to feel that way.

I made my way to her suitcase and found good spots for all the stuff I’d lugged with me.  “Is there any place else you have things?”

“No—but if Peter doesn’t pay us today, could you spot me some cash till my dad sends me a new card?”

“Sure.  How much you need?”

“Just enough for meals.  Maybe some hydrogen peroxide…”

I finished zipping the suitcase and grabbed the backpack tucked inside the closet.  I glanced around the room one last time to make sure there was nothing left behind—but we’d gotten good about living out of our luggage—if you immediately put it back or you don’t take it out in the first place, you’re less likely to forget something when you’re leaving in a hurry.

“Should we get you to a hospital—or a doctor’s office?”

“No.  I’ll be okay.”  She slid on the pair of Converse sneakers that were at the foot of the bed and was soon standing.

“You ready?”  She nodded.  It was unspoken between us, but she knew she could trust me.  None of our bandmates would know what I’d seen that late morning in Liz’s room.  I didn’t ask if she’d been lying there in agony for hours or if the attack had happened shortly before I came up there—or if she’d been passed out.  I didn’t ask and she didn’t offer.  But she knew that what I’d seen wouldn’t go any further.  If she was okay with the other girls knowing, she could tell them herself.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I also had another thought:  we needed security.  A bodyguard never would have let that happen.  But try convincing Peter of that.

Chapter Twenty-nine

AFTER THAT, LIZ kind of retreated into a shell.  She still performed like a pro—there was no way audience members could tell that she’d been attacked (maybe if they’d been able to see her face under the makeup, but her actions never gave it away).  Even that very first night…she was amazing.  If anyone in our band had the “this show must go on” ethic, it was Liz.

But she didn’t party after that and she barely even hung out with us as a group.  She would often just head to her room.  And she started having TT and Bad Dog bring her guitar up to her room so she could write.

The music she was writing now was just as punky/ poppy/ alternate as ever, but the lyrics—her forte anyway—were even darker.  Sometime in May, she asked me to collaborate with her on a couple of songs.  She had the basic sound, but she knew—after our first album—what I could add to the mix.  And, as we got closer to winding down the tour, I realized she had written enough songs for our second album, and—after rehearsing with our bandmates a little—we’d be ready to record it.

But there was no doubt—I was a famous musician well before my eighteenth birthday.

* * *

The last stop on our tour was in Denver in early July—and it was going to be the show we were promised with CJ and crew.  And, just thinking about that concert made me realize that I hadn’t talked with him since our little truce/ monk-versus-nun conversation…meaning we’d both admitted we weren’t going to be “faithful” on the road—not that there was anything to be faithful over.  I’d kissed the guy.  Wanted him desperately.  Imagined him in my head when other guys were fucking me.  But he’d made it clear that we were not going to have sex until I was eighteen, although it was presumptuous of him to assume I’d
want
to then.

Ah, who the hell was I kidding?  I wanted the guy more than ever…and we were just weeks away from my birthday.  I was gonna hold him to it.

My parents were going to come to our concert too, even though I thought that might not be the best idea.  They weren’t metalheads, so even if they liked the non-metal rock sounds of
my
band, they wouldn’t care for Death Crunch.  And I intended to watch their part of the concert, because I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of watching them live.

I found myself on pins and needles the day our van first crossed the border into Colorado from Nebraska.  I almost begged Andrew to stop the van so I could jump out and kiss the ground, but I instead kept myself contained.  I’d already talked to my parents the night before, and I knew I’d see them the soon…but maybe it was time to check in with CJ—if he even cared anymore.

I pulled up my messages and scrolled till I found him.  Then I started typing. 
Looking forward to playing with you tomorrow night.

It was just a minute later that I got a response.  I hadn’t expected it so quickly. 
Likewise.

How’ve you been?

Before he could respond, Barbie asked, “What are you grinning about, Summers?”

I shrugged.  I was not going to give that woman any more ammunition for her constant barbs.  My phone vibrated again, pulling my attention back to my phone. 
Not bad but ready to be home for a while.  You?

Yeah.  Had a blast but a lot of shit went down.  Ready to chill for a bit.
  Then, after pressing
Send
, I had an afterthought. 
We’ve already got enough material for our next album.

He responded to my first text with
What shit?
  Then followed it up with
Us too.

Lots.  Drugs, fighting, sex.  I’ll have to tell you about it later.

Yeah, us here too.  But let me be clear.  I don’t want to hear anything about YOU having sex.

LOL  That’s not what I meant.
  Although I could have told him about lots of horrific things too, I would just tell him a few key events.  I was sure he had similar stories.

Good.  BTW, isn’t your birthday this month?

I felt all my muscles clench as my smile grew wide once more.  I turned in my seat a little bit to keep Barbie’s eyes off me in case she decided to turn around again. 
Maybe.  Why?

He sent a smiley emoticon and then texted,
I think you know why.

July 28.

You and me—we have a date on July 27.

The 27th?  Why then?

I had to wait a little longer for his reply. 
Because I’m sure your mom and dad want to spend your 18th birthday with you.  No way in hell am I going to make them enemies by stealing you on your special day.

Aw.  That was sweet. 
Why don’t you come to my party on the 28th?

I can.  But what about the date?

Wouldn’t miss it. 
I was feeling so warm and loved right then. 
See you tomorrow.

See you then, babe.

* * *

Mom and dad asked if they could take me out to dinner before the concert, and Peter—being his control freak self—said that was fine as long as I was at the venue by five PM.  When Kelly heard me talking with mom and dad, she said, “Great idea!” and asked her parents to come early too.  Barbie, not to be outdone, said she had an entire mother-daughter day planned.

Man, I wasn’t going to mind not being around her smarmy ass for a couple of months.

Dinner with mom and dad was great.  Mom commented that I looked like I’d lost weight and both of them said they were proud of me.  I had to steer them away from some of the obvious questions they kept veering toward.  I could tell they wanted to know how much the road had corrupted me, but we wound up talking first about the adventures I wanted to share with them (and, believe me, I did
not
throw in the bad stuff), and then they told me what had been happening with them.  They were considering going on the road again themselves.  At first, that freaked me out, because it had been comforting to know I had something and someone to come home to…but I realized they had their own lives too and needed to be happy.  I didn’t want to stand in their way.

Dad then muttered something about tenure and mentioned that they could hit the road when he was on sabbatical or retired.  And next mom told me she was considering opening a music store downtown.  So were they pulling up stakes or putting down roots?

I couldn’t keep up—and I’d just been there in December.  But they seemed happy and they were still together…and I was hoping to make them two of the proudest parents on the planet in a few short hours.

* * *

Wow.  The energy in Denver was unlike anywhere else we’d been, but I honestly think it was due to two things.  The first was obvious—this was our home state and these folks were proud to say we belonged to them.  The feelings were mutual because it was good to be back.  The second, though, was something it took me a while to figure out, but it might have been that none of us (with the exception of Vicki) was under the influence of
anything
.  Our minds were clear and our hearts were light.  And that was all pre-show.  We could just feel it coming from backstage.  It was absolutely incredible.

Once I found out Death Crunch was on the premises, I excused myself from my group.  I wanted to find CJ.  And all it took was for me to turn down the wide hall.  He and their guitarist were chatting outside one of the doors.  I didn’t recognize him at first.  His hair was longer and, when he turned, I was floored by the facial hair he’d grown out and styled on his face.  He’d had a little facial hair before, but now that goatee was thick and—very masculine.  My legs felt warm and melty.  “Hey, CJ!”

“Kyle!”  We met in the middle and he picked me up and twirled me around.  The strength in his arms made me feel more feminine (girly!) than I usually allowed myself to, but I didn’t break out into giggles.  He led me into a room just off the hallway and introduced me to Joe, his drummer, and then Joe excused himself to go have some beer.  And as soon as he was out of the room, CJ pressed me against the wall and kissed the shit out of me until I was breathless.

Yeah…I still wanted him.  I wanted him bad.