Always (10 page)

Fixing a bright smile on her face, she made herself focus on Ian and nothing else. Not Ash, the eternal joker behind her just waiting to bait and tease her, not David, still scowling at her from his armchair across the room, and certainly not Dillon. It was time to grab hold of her own good time and screw everyone else.

“You’re empty-handed,” Ian observed. “Do you need a drink?”

“Yes. Actually, yes I do. Come on, I think there’s beer in the fridge on the bus.”

His eyes lit up with anticipation. Justine’s insides lit up, too, either with anticipation or anxiety, she wasn’t sure which.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” Ash whispered behind her. She threw him a smile over her shoulder.

“Just having a good time, Ash. We all do it, right?”

His face was serious, almost concerned, a rare flash of Ash the person and not Ash the rock star. Every now and then he surfaced. “I get it. Just remember, the bus rolls out at 6 am. Visitors have to scram.”

“No worries,” she muttered. “I’ll be done by then.”

They talked for a while and moved on from beer to whiskey and then to weed. Ian was nice. Intelligent and ambitious. He split his time between London and New York, freelancing for several music magazines and websites. He knew everyone, had been everywhere. His stories were amazing and Justine let herself get lost in them and him.

She didn’t protest when he laid a hand on her thigh. She also didn’t protest when he leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back. In the dark, quiet, early morning hours on the still-deserted tour bus, she lay back and let him touch her. It had been a while since a man’s hands had been on her and she missed it. Maybe they weren’t the right hands or the right lips, but it felt good, she felt wanted. When his fingers slipped up under her skirt, she didn’t think too much about what she was doing. He was handsome and willing and for the moment, interested only in her. It felt good.

She sent him off just before dawn so he wouldn’t encounter any of the wasted boys staggering onto the bus. He held her face gently as he kissed her goodbye and asked for her number. Figuring she’d probably never see him again, she gave it to him. He promised to call and then disappeared into the night.

Sinking back on the couch, she closed her eyes and laid her head back. She was tired, from both the show and the sex. The alcohol and weed had faded, leaving her head pounding and her mouth dry. She needed to go crawl into a bunk and sleep away the ride to the next city.

Moments later, the door banged open, letting in cold air and hung-over boys. She cracked one eye to see who it was. Ash, and close behind him, Dillon. Ash stopped short when he saw her, and Dillon stumbled into his back.

“Where’s your company?” Ash asked.

“Gone already.”

Dillon looked at her with bleary eyes, his gaze sliding down her and back up, assessing her rumpled state. “Who?” he asked, his voice low enough just for her.

“Ian, the reporter from earlier. He was nice.”

His dark, inscrutable eyes gave nothing away. If it bothered him, she’d never know it.

“Did you have a good time?” Ash asked her with a leer. She aimed a half-hearted kick at his shin. He was just sober enough to dance out of the way.

“None of your business, nosy.”

Ash yawned. “Damn, I’m tired. Later, kids. Wait… where are we next?”

“Omaha,” Justine and Dillon answered in unison. Ash shrugged, as if their answer made little difference to him. He shuffled away towards the back where the coffin-like bunks were. Dillon watched him go, but didn’t follow. Instead he turned and dropped heavily onto the couch next to her.

“So,” he began cautiously. “You and that reporter?”

“You and… oh sorry, I didn’t catch her name. Bet you didn’t either, did you?”

He had the decency to look embarrassed. “Okay, gotcha. None of my business.”

“Nope.”

“Just… I know Ash teases you, but you and me, we’re friends, right?”

“Of course.” She looked down at her hands as she said it, so all he was left with was her confident, off-handed tone and not her pained expression.

“Be careful, Juss. It’s a crazy world out here.”

“Ugh, please don’t tell me you’re going to fuss over me like my sister. I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

Dillon chuckled and reached for her hand. It was thoughtless, effortless. She felt the warmth of his fingers close around hers and it squeezed her heart in the way none of Ian’s much more intimate touches had done.

“Yeah, I know you can. You’re one of the toughest people I know. Nobody gets to you.”

Except you
, she thought, but she said nothing.

“Just know I’m looking out for you, okay?”

She leaned her head back on the couch and smiled at him. “And who looks after you? Ash?”

He huffed. “That reprobate? He needs a sitter. I look out for myself, too.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty tough stuff, too. But I’m looking out for you. It goes both ways.”

He squeezed her hand and gave her a weary smile. Too much booze and too many hours awake were about to take him under, just like her. He scooted down on the couch until his shoulder was level with hers.

“That’s nice to know. I can’t remember the last time anyone looked out for me.”

She elbowed him gently. “Well, you got me now.”

He smiled down at her, a tiny warm smile she never saw him give away to anyone else. This one was only hers. It made her heart turn over in slow motion.

“Hey, you know what’s in Omaha?”

She tipped her head until she was leaning on his shoulder, happy for the moment to soak up what she could get, a few quiet minutes with him that were theirs alone.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, feeling lethargy steal over her. “Tell me what’s in Omaha.”

“Homer’s Music.”

“What’s that?”

“Only the most amazing record store you’ll ever visit.”

“Record stores? They still have those?”

Dillon huffed, his breath ruffling her hair. “Yes, they still have those. You won’t believe this place. Every CD by every band you’ve never heard of. Stacks of vintage records in the back. They have listening booths where you can check stuff out.”

“Sounds amazing,” she sighed.

“Hey, our show is tomorrow—well, today, I guess. But we have the next day off. What do you say we go and listen to music all day?”

“I love that. Let’s do it.”

He chuckled again, his warm body shaking under her cheek. “Okay, it’s a date. Close your eyes, Justine. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Except her eyes were already closed and she was mostly gone. “Omaha.”

“Yep, Omaha.” She thought she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head, but later, she was sure she must have dreamed that part.

April, 2008

“So are we getting this party on the road or not?” JD stood in the lobby, shouting to the ceiling. Rocky howled and slapped him on the shoulder. Paolo laughed and whistled around two fingers. Justine was left standing to the side, smiling and shaking her head. It was nice to see the members of the two bands getting along so well—for the most part—but the rampant boy energy often left her feeling like the token girl, more chaperon than member. They were in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for Dillon and Ash, who’d said they were coming along, and Eddie, who was on the phone with a girl in the corner.

Leave it to Eddie— sweet, kind Eddie— to meet a girl and establish an actual relationship on the road. While all the other guys were slipping away with an endless army of willing groupies, Eddie struck up an honest-to-God conversation with one—Heather from Cincinnati. Heather was in college and a huge fan of Outlaw Rovers. Long blond hair and a remarkable rack got her backstage, but she wasn’t interested in any of the ordinary band hook-ups. She actually came for the music, as quaint as that notion was turning out to be. Lucky for her she ran into Eddie in the hall. Eddie might not have been in Outlaw Rovers, but he was a musician, and cute in his own adorable, unassuming way, besides being one of the only truly stand-up guys Justine had ever met. So upstanding that nothing more had happened in Cincinnati than a particularly heated goodbye kiss.

Now Eddie and Heather were conducting a long-distance relationship via cell phone and Eddie was the brunt of teasing from a bus full of rock and roll party boys. He shrugged it off in his own good-natured way and disappeared into corners every five minutes to text or call Heather.

Justine watched him surreptitiously, envying how easy it seemed for Eddie. He set eyes on the girl and that was it—true love. Meanwhile, she was trapped in this hazy friend-zone with Dillon, arguably closer to him than anyone except Ash. She was his best friend, his confidant, his playmate, his musical soul-mate, but not the one thing she desperately wanted to be. And nearly every night she had to watch him disappear down some shadowy hallway with another girl, too drunk and stoned to even wonder what she was up to.

She’d known right from the start what the deal was, so it was all her own fault. The boys in the band were riding the crest of a wave, more successful, more popular, more powerful than any of them could have ever imagined. They’d been turned loose like kids in a candy store, going from sleeping on floors to commanding thousands of adoring fans. There was no way Justine could compare to any of it and she wasn’t really interested in trying to. She just wished things were different. She wished she’d met him earlier, before the band was famous, before his life had exploded into a circus of hedonism. There was no place for her now as anything more than she was already. It didn’t stop her from wishing, though. The heart was remarkably steadfast when it marched towards its own destruction.

Now they had a night off in Chicago and everybody was gearing up to head out to some club JD heard about. Justine was starting to question her own decision to go. Spirits were high. Everybody seemed in a mood to cut loose and cause trouble, and Ash, the Dionysus who led them all into the most mischief, hadn’t even shown up yet. She worried the night would lead to scenes she’d wish she hadn’t seen. But she already told Dillon she’d come and he’d wonder if she didn’t show. Of course. He wanted her there even though he’d never go home with her. She was the one he talked to about music and art and the state of the world, but someone else got his kisses and his hands and his body in breathless dark corners. She was the biggest fool on the planet.

The elevator doors opened, spilling Ash and Dillon into the lobby.

“Friends and fellow revelers!” Ash shouted, his voice echoing off the marble floors. His arms were spread wide, his favorite long leather trench coat belling out behind him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, despite the near-freezing temperature outside, but he did have a purple scarf —
her
purple scarf, damn him— draped rakishly around his neck. Justine had to give him grudging props for his style, if not for his sense.

JD, Rocky and Paolo let out shouts of victory when he appeared. Justine thought about slipping away upstairs, not sure if her heart could handle another night of this kind of debauchery.

“No escape now,” Dillon whispered at her side, like he could read her mind.

She turned to look at him, freshly-showered, sober, in a dark t-shirt and a leather jacket. Her mouth watered and she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching out to touch his damp hair where it curled over his ear.

“Just not sure if I’m up for being the token girl in the club house again.”

Dillon nudged her. “C’mon, you’re the best part of the night.”

And just like that, she was back in his pocket and along for the ride. One day, she swore to herself, she’d get past the way he made her feel. She’d stop jumping the second he crooked his finger at her.

They turned to head toward the entrance just as David pushed through the revolving door from outside. He stopped when he saw the group and there was a silent moment, just long enough to be awkward. Justine knew she should probably invite him. It would be the nice thing to do. But the last thing she wanted was David’s dour presence throwing a pall over things all night. Paolo stepped in and made the decision for her.

“Hey, Dave, we’re headed to this club JD heard about. You want to come?”

David looked quickly at Justine, and then his eyes flickered to Dillon at her side.

“No, thanks.”

“You sure, man?” Paolo pressed. “The local crew says this place kills.”

Once again, he looked at Justine and she got irritated. Clearly her presence alone was enough to keep him away. Fine. She liked it better that way.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Later.”

He pushed past them and headed to the elevator. Justine exhaled in relief.

There were no cabs at the hotel and Ash didn’t want to wait for the front desk to call him one so they decided to walk. There were more intelligent choices to make in Chicago in early April, when spring felt a long way off. By the time they found the tiny club JD kept swearing was just around the corner, Justine was chilled through. Her outfit, a mini skirt and a little fitted jacket, had been all about looking good, not feeling good. When Dillon pressed a glass of bourbon into her hand, she slammed it back without a thought, just looking to get warm. When another round came by, she kept going, liking the way the warmth flooded her limbs and banished the anxiety. All that emo stuff back at the hotel seemed a million miles away. Tucked into a booth with Dillon’s thigh pressed alongside hers, his arm slung across the back of her seat, she was right where she wanted to be.

It took only minutes for word to spread that Outlaw Rovers was in the house. One by one, heads turned towards them, and the room filled with eager, curious whispers. Justine ignored prying female eyes, slamming back another drink and turning to listen to Dillon and Rocky’s conversation.

“I fucking hate this song,” Rocky groaned as the music changed and a techno beat filtered through the bar.

“Shut up! I love this!” Justine howled with outrage. Well, the truth was, she sort of loved it. She couldn’t stand the vapid former American Idol who sang it, but the song was insidious, making her hum along even while she hated herself for doing it.