Always (8 page)

There was silence again, but this time it was so loaded the air in the room nearly crackled with it. She stood up, eyes still fixed on David, who had raised his head again to meet her stare.

“If you have something to say, David, you’d better just say it.”

His jaw worked, his dark eyes shadowed by his heavy brows, as he debated. Finally, he spoke. “I’m not sure I’m okay with you getting us gigs on your back.”

Blind rage welled up in her chest. How
dare
he? In an instant, she reached back and grabbed her hairbrush. In another, it shot across the room, hitting the wall behind David with a crack.

“You son of a bitch!”

She had cleared half the space between them, hands curled into claws, face hard with fury, when Eddie threw himself in front of her and Paolo grabbed her arms from behind. David stood up so fast that the armchair he’d been sitting in flew backwards.

“Dave, that was way fucking out of line,” Eddie said over his shoulder. He planted his hands on Justine’s shoulders to hold her back.

“Justine, take a deep breath,” Paolo murmured.

“It’s out of line for me to want to succeed based on our talent and not on her looks?”

“It’s out of line because it’s not true, you asshole!” she screamed over Eddie’s head. “I’m
not
sleeping with him, not that it’s any business of yours. He came to our shows and he liked what he heard. I’m sorry if you’re so threatened by me that you’d spit in the face of a great opportunity.”

“She’s right, David,” Eddie said. “This is the best offer we’ve ever had. Those guys have a top ten single right now. The exposure would be amazing.”

“That’s not the kind of music I want to make.”

“Nobody said you have to play with the guys,” Paolo pointed out. “We play our stuff in front of their crowds. What’s the problem with it?”

“So you’re both okay with this? Getting a gig because of her and this guy?”

Justine threw her arms in the air. “He’s a
friend
. We talk about music.”

David started to object, but Eddie held up a hand to cut him off. “Like you said, Justine, it’s none of our business one way or another.”

David’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth and his eyes bored into hers. Justine refused to back down. “Well, I’m fucking outvoted then,” he growled.

“This is good news, Dave. A national tour with a top ten band. Can you just be happy?”

“Guess I have no choice.” He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

“Fucking asshole!” Justine shouted at the door.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Eddie said. “He’s got some stuff he’s dealing with. And you know how success scares him.”

She had to chuckle, despite the anger still making her hands shake. Her face was still hot with rage. She exhaled, trying to let it go, but her pulse was pounding. Deciding to make light of it, she chuckled. “What the hell will he do when we get signed and our album sells a million copies?”

Eddie and Paolo laughed. Justine closed her eyes and blew out a long, shaky breath.

“Eddie’s right, Justine. This is great news, no matter what Dave says.”

“Thanks guys. I was really excited and then…”

“That’s Dave. Ruining everybody’s fun since 2004. Ignore him and be happy. We are.”

And for one night, she did ignore him. She stood next to him on stage. She sang his songs. But she was selfish about it, singing them her way and only for herself. She took the tempo of one song too fast, the way she’d always thought it should be, and the band had no choice but to keep up with her. She knew it would make David furious, but she didn’t care. She took massive chances on high notes just to show off, knowing David hated it when she did that. But she hit them all and the crowd went wild, so she kept doing it. She let it feed her high and imagined playing on the same stage as Outlaw Rovers in front of thousands.

That night felt like the beginning of so many things for her. But she wondered if it was the beginning of the end of them.

“So let me get this straight.”

Justine groaned.

“You’re drooping. Pick up your end.”

She moved her side of the frame further up the wall. Emily leaned back and squinted through one eye to see if the picture was straight again. When she was satisfied it was, she popped up on tiptoe to carefully mark the smooth white wall where she wanted her painting centered.

Emily had come down to LA the day before to hang some of her pieces in a small gallery show and her timing couldn’t have been better. As good as phone calls were, there was nothing like having Emily there in person. It was always easier to really talk when it was just the two of them curled up under a blanket on the couch drinking beers.

But there was no safe couch or the numbing effects of alcohol to ease Justine into it this time. Emily had launched into her interrogation as soon as Justine had shown up at the gallery to help, and at this point, Justine would have been very grateful for a shot of whiskey or three.

“I told you everything already.”

“You told me you’re going out on this tour with this band— this
guy
— you’ve been idolizing for a year. And you’ve told me David is inexplicably upset about this amazing piece of good fortune.”

“Furious
.” Justine rolled her eyes. She rested her temple on her forearm as she braced her side of the picture, watching Emily scowl at the wall. Her wild dark hair was pulled back, twisted and speared with a chopstick, but huge messy curls had escaped and were half-obscuring her face. Her features were smaller and more delicate than Justine’s, lacking her dramatic beauty, but her dark eyes were sharp, lending her a no-nonsense presence that made her seem older than twenty-five. She was smaller than Justine, too, only five three, and looking even smaller in a pair of massive, paint-splattered overalls.

“So explain to me why he’s mad again?”

“Well, it’s so
hard
for David,” Justine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He has all these feelings and standards and things. And nobody ever takes music as seriously as he does. You can see how it would be such a burden.”

Emily laughed. “That guy has always had the biggest stick up his ass. I just don’t get it. Who doesn’t want success? I mean, I’m a freaking fine arts painter and I’d be happy as hell to actually make a dollar or two on this. He acts like going on this tour would be like selling his soul.”

“To David it is. Outlaw Rovers has a top ten single right now.”

“And?”

“That means it’s popular. You know, like with regular people. On the radio.”

“Ahh, I see. He’s a snob.”

“Total snob. He can’t bear liking something other people like. It makes him feel less smart. It’s what’s so great about Dillon. He’s this amazing, talented musician and he still has an appreciation for what people like. He makes songs people want to hear and they’re still good.”

“And now we’re getting to the good stuff.”

“What stuff?” Justine asked as she set her corner of the painting gently on the floor in tandem with Emily. They both stood up and Emily planted her hands on her hips.

“Dillon.”

“What about him?”

“You’re going out on tour with him.”

“We went over this part already.”

“But not the you and him part.”

“There
is
no me and him. I mean, we’re friends. That’s all.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

Justine shrugged and examined her fingernail. “Sure. I mean, yes, I like him. In a lot of ways. Kind of a lot.”

“Oh, Justine—”

“But I’m not dumb. He’s not in that place right now. You should have seen what it was like backstage that night. The drugs, the girls… it was ridiculous. I’m not into that scene.”

“And he is.”

Justine nodded. “Right now, yeah. And I can’t really blame him. It sounds like he and Ash struggled for a long time and now they’ve made it. Why shouldn’t they enjoy it? It’s every guy’s dream, right?”

“But you can’t be with a guy like that. You know yourself.”

“I know. Which is why nothing’s going to happen. I mean, it could. There’s this vibe, and I’m not crazy, he feels it, too. But I haven’t done anything and he hasn’t either. And I think it’s because… this is going to sound like me justifying him and I don’t mean to. It’s weird, but I don’t think he wants me to be like that. All those stupid, easy groupies.”

“Every guy wants a stupid easy groupie. Don’t let them fool you.”

Justine laughed. “He does. I’m not arguing. But I think he wants more with me.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Emily groaned, “now I really am worried about you!”

“I mean the other stuff we have might be more important than making me just some conquest, you know?”

Emily looked immensely skeptical as she blew a curl out of her eyes. “Okay, I’ll give him a little credit for valuing you as more than an easy lay and recognizing your genius talent, because it means he has good taste. But what about you? You still want more with him.”

Justine shook her head. “Not now. Not like this. I won’t settle for less.”

“And you’re going to be okay going out on the road with him, close quarters and all that, watching him do the sex, drugs and rock and roll thing up close? Baby sister, I’m worried. This might crush your heart.”

“Give me a little credit, Emily. When have I ever been that fragile?”

Emily eyed her beautiful little sister, braver and tougher than she was in so many ways and also about to get herself stomped on. She sighed. “You’re not. And you’re not a thirteen-year-old who needs advice about boys anymore.”

Justine reached out for her, pulling her in for a tight hug. “I might not need it, but I still appreciate it. And I love that you’re always looking out for me.”

Emily leaned back and brushed Justine’s bangs out of her eyes. “I always will. Just be careful out there. I know he’s important to you in ways I can’t begin to understand. But you’re important to me and I’ll happily kill the guy if he hurts you.”

Justine’s expression grew serious. “If he hurts me, it’s nobody’s fault but mine. Because I know exactly what I’m getting into.”

February, 2008

The knock on the hotel room door came just minutes after she’d set her bag down and ditched her shoes. It was the first hotel stop on the tour. For the last week they’d slept on the bus between cities. The cramped quarters combined with back-to-back shows and the chaos of the tour kick-off meant that she’d barely slept, showered in a variety of crummy backstage bathrooms, had eaten nothing but pizza and chips, all while working her ass off every night. Failsafe got two rooms in the hotel and in a rare display of chivalry, the boys had declared they’d bunk together and leave her, the only girl on the tour, with her own room. Her plans had been to soak in a hot shower for a solid half hour, order a huge meal from room service, and then sleep until the show the next night.

But someone was pounding on her door, which meant a delay in the “Justine gets comatose” plan. The identity of her unwelcome invader didn’t surprise her in the least.

“Justine! Open up! We’re going out!”

Ash.

She scowled as she stomped towards the door. A week on the road with him had taught her many things. He was fun, wild, crazy, a walking good time. He was also spoiled, reckless, self-centered, and right now, a huge pain in the ass.

“Ash,” she snapped as she opened the door. “I’m not going anywhere tonight except straight to bed.”

Ash and Dillon stood outside her door. Ash leaned forward with a comical leer. “Wow. I am
totally
on board with that plan, Princess.”

She planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back with a dismissive snort. “Alone.”

“Uh-uh, my queen,” he said, snagging her hand and tugging her forward. “Dillon’s got the lead on some awesome local music and we’re going to go find it.”

“Guys, I’m so tired.”

“You can sleep when you’re dead. Now get your shoes on, Angel, because I don’t want to carry you all the way there.”

Justine cast a pleading look at Dillon. He smiled, lacking all of Ash’s over-the-top charm, but having a thousand times more pull on her. “This band is supposed to rock. You should come.”

The one thing that could convince her to leave the sweet allure of a quiet room and a soft bed was Dillon. She cast one more longing look back over her shoulder at the hotel room before Dillon drove the final nail into her coffin.

“Come on, Justine,” he said quietly. “I really want you to come with us.”

She groaned, hating her weakness where he was concerned, but also recognizing when resistance was futile. “I need my shoes. And a jacket. And you assholes are buying all my drinks.”

“It would be our honor, Sweetness,” Ash said, pressing his hand to his chest. Dillon snickered.

“Thanks for coming,” he told her. “I promise, you won’t be sorry.”

Thinking she would be very likely sorry tomorrow, she turned to find her shoes.

One of the local crew had pointed Dillon towards the best bars for local music, and told him about one place and one band in particular he shouldn’t miss, so they headed there first. Downtown Louisville was pretty unremarkable and at nine pm, mostly deserted. Justine doubted there was any live music scene at all, never mind one worth giving up her date with her bed. Ash and Dillon entertained her the whole way, though, so eventually her bad mood improved.

Their deep connection to each other was clear, now that she was spending so much time with them. Ash was by far more talkative and outgoing. Most of the time, Dillon hung back and just watched him. A casual observer might think Ash didn’t even need him there. But Justine had seen him turn to Dillon in quiet moments, asking his opinion on everything from small things, like which number to sing for the encore to major ones, like what they should do about Japanese distribution rights. And when Dillon talked, Ash listened. That was, unless Dillon was telling him to slow down or take it easy. Then Ash didn’t listen to anyone. He charged through life like he had something to prove. Like his only mission was to suck every last dreg of enjoyment from his stardom now that he had it. Justine suspected he’d had no impulse control when he and Dillon were sleeping on bare mattresses in a crummy Hollywood apartment. Now that the world was his oyster, nothing would slow him down.