I didn’t even know Grim was there until I heard him behind me. “Not bad for a trained monkey,” he’d said, stepping out of the shadows. He glared Lucky down then headed over to get his sound gear wired.
Our show was pretty rough. Shit just wasn’t jelling like it usually does. It wasn’t really Grim, and I don’t think I was fucking up either. It was just that we weren’t pulling together as a unit the way we usually do. We weren’t feeling each other. It was strained, and I’m pretty sure the crowd heard it in our music.
So, I’m in Lucky’s bus after the show because I don’t want to go back to the suite. Billie was in bed when I got here, which is probably good, because I’m still pretty pissed that she sabotaged Lucky’s best shot at being able to do her stuff. Freddie called me last week. Said he’d gotten a call from Billie.
“She wants me to stay the hell away from her clients,” he said. “Especially Shiloh.”
Billie is Lucky’s safety net. She trusts her, and I know trust doesn’t come easy for Lucky. I don’t want to be the person to pull that out from under her, so I haven’t said anything.
Lucky and I are in the back lounge, and she’s working her fingers over the strings as we play with chord progressions.
“Why do you lie to everyone about your father?” she asks, as if she’s asking if I want a Coke. But when her eyes flash to mine, I know she’s been holding onto that one for a while, waiting for her chance to ask.
I press into the cushions of the couch. “He was a lowlife drunk. Swore he’d kill me for what I did, and I believed him. I changed my name so he couldn’t track me down. Never occurred to me then we’d get big enough that anyone would ever care where I’d come from or who my parents were.”
“But you got huge,” she says, “and everyone wants to know. How have you kept it hidden this long?”
“I don’t do interviews. And I give them plenty to talk about that has nothing to do with then and everything to do with now.” I lower my gaze as I say it and rub the back of my neck, for the first time feeling a little uncomfortable about my diversion tactics.
Lucky lets it slide, thankfully. Her eyes scrunch. “So, the thing about your mom dying when you were three…?”
“That part’s true.”
“And your father raised you,” she says, putting the pieces together.
I nod.
“What do you think would happen if he found you now?” she asks, her fingers still working absently through progressions on the strings.
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m so close to telling her he already found me. Something deep in my core wants to. But I grind a heel into it. Crush it. I’m not ready to go there, even with Lucky.
“Maybe you could talk to him,” she says. “He might have cooled down by now.”
I blow out a humorless laugh. “Not likely.”
“So you won’t even try,” she says, irritation bleeding into her words.
I get where it’s coming from. Here’s a kid who’s never had any family. “Listen, Lucky. I get how this probably looks from your perspective. But there are some people, family or not, who are just fucking toxic. You just have to walk away.”
She shakes her head and her focus shifts to her fingers again. “So what if we extend the bridge into the third chorus and add a solo there.”
I can tell she’s not buying it, but I’m happy for the change of topic, so I don’t press my point. “Yeah…that could work.”
#
I wake to bright sun in my face. When I open my eyes, I find I’m still in Lucky’s bus. I’m stretched on the couch and she’s thrown a blanket over me. But she’s nowhere.
I rub my eyes, then sit up and fish my phone out of my pocket. It’s totally blown up, with text and call notifications all up the screen. And when I look at the time, I get why.
Our flight to Miami leaves in twenty minutes.
“Fuck!” I hiss, springing to my feet. “Fuck!”
I scan through the most recent texts. There are a few from our tour manager, but most of them are from Jamie. This isn’t the first time one of us hasn’t been at the hotel when we were supposed to leave, so we’ve worked out a contingency plan. Jamie has all my shit. Says just to meet them at the airport.
That isn’t going to happen, but at least I don’t have to go back to the hotel.
I grab my hoodie off the coffee table and am tugging it on just as the door to the lounge slides open. I’m hoping for Lucky, but it’s Billie who’s standing there, all bristle and sharp edges. Her mouth is pursed into a small circle and her gaze is hard.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to surmise that she’s not happy I’m here.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” she says, stepping through the door and closing it behind her. “Shiloh’s sleeping, so this is my chance to tell you to stop thinking you know what’s best for her career. She has a professional who’s taking care of that.”