Because of Luke Page 19

  Dad's smile freezes in place and his gaze flicks to me. "What's going on? Is it Sheila?"

  My heart sinks at the thought of her and I blink away the instant onset of tears. "No," I whisper.

  "What's wrong, honey?" Mom rises from her seat, but I put out a hand to stop her.

  "Wait," I say. "Let us finish." I look over at Dave and smile an apology. "I can't do this."

  "Sure you can," he says. "I'm right here. I promise."

  I close my eyes and some of the tension eases away. Without seeing their faces, how they'll respond, how angry they'll become, it somehow makes this all easier.

  "I made a mistake," I begin. "It was a long time ago. The night Sheila left. I was supposed to cover for her, but instead I got distracted. I met a guy." Dave nudges me, but I ignore him, continuing swiftly before he can interrupt. "I was attracted to him instantly and I know it's wrong." I finally open my eyes and steady my gaze on Dad, "I do. I know that and I'm sorry but...I couldn't help myself."

  Mom brings her elbows to the table surface and clasps her hands in front of her mouth. They are shaking, but not as much as me.

  "I fell in love with him, Mom. It didn't take long at all, but I fell in love. He was so perfect, the way he looked at me, the way he said my name. I could tell him anything. I feel like I did. I told him everything about myself and he listened and we connected. He went away, but we stayed in touch. Then I met him in Seattle. We were together again and this time..."

  I can't bring myself to finish the sentence. There are large tears streaming down Mom's face and Dad looks so angry I'm positive he'll burst.

  "You don't have to worry," I hear Dave say, his voice calm and collected. "I've already ensured her that I'll be there. Whatever she needs, I'll be there."

  "I won't hold you to that, son." Dad's voice is an echo.

  I am still focused on Mom's sad blue eyes, wide and disbelieving. Inside, I'm a apologizing over and over, but my lips won't move. Dave still holds my hand and has begun to pat my knee.

  "...and I know this is what I want to do," he is saying. "It's okay, Rev."

  Mom gets up from the table and Dad steps to the side, allowing her to pass. She doesn't even bother to look at me as she exits the room. A short time later, she ascends the stairs the heels of her shoes echoing in her wake.

  Sheila

  I stand at the back of the line, the sense of deja vu twisting my stomach. A few months ago, this was me. Another groupie hoping for this man to simply glance my way, offer me that signature smile, a coveted peck on the cheek, the wildly popular prolonged kiss that made every other girl in the room hate you. And, even better, the famous phrase that leads to the invite back to his room. I don't care about any of those things now. All I want to do is talk to him, break through the wall he threw up in ten seconds flat and get a better explanation as to why our friendship has suddenly ended.

  Why am I the one left out in the cold?

  There are only three girls in front of me now and I anxiously await the only opportunity I've had since the other night to get him to listen to me. Roscoe's spent every moment since finding out Luke and I were together, avoiding me. Luke has tried to talk to him, but he's refused to listen. Ryan and Dash aren't any better. They'll look at me, at least. But it's always with a grave sense of disapproval—more like betrayal. I had no idea this particular group of men could be so damn judgmental.

  My heart begins to race, as the girl in front of me steps forward. She's totally his type. Redhead, curvy, busty and slutty enough not to care that her clothes are barely covering her assets. In all the time I've been spending with him, I've picked up on as much. And just as predicted, he beckons her closer and suctions himself to her face. All eyes are on the two of them as Roscoe's hands wander to the places that really matter. She seems oblivious to the fact that every girl who came before her is glaring, the roadies are gawking, and I am still waiting.

  When they finally come up for air, he says it with just a flicker of notice in my direction, "What are your plans tonight, sweetheart?"

  She must have rehearsed for this very moment because whatever she whispers in his ear, has him grabbing her hand and turning his back without even acknowledging me again.

  But I'm not taking no for an answer.

  "Ross." I say his name so loud, it turns a few heads.

  The redhead cuts her eyes and me, but I stride forward, ignoring her altogether.

  "We need to talk about this," I say. "You owe me that much."

  "I don't owe you anything," he replies.

  "What about my two weeks?" I ask.

  "You were fired."

  "Unjustly." I cross my arms and step closer to him lowering my voice so only he can hear. "If you want to let me go, that's fine. But you need to give me a better explanation than your disapproval of my relationship with your brother. What Luke and I do is our business."

  Roscoe turns his back, bending to pick up his guitar. "I thought you were different." He doesn't sound angry anymore, but his voice is thick with emotion.

  "I am different." I step around him, forcing him to look at me. "You know I am."

  "I don't know anything anymore. When I met you that day at the interview, I thought, here's another trick looking for her way in. But when I looked at you I knew you weren't. You didn't show up dressed like you were meeting me at a concert, you were dressed like you were looking for a job. And then you started talking. And I knew. She's the one." He stops short and clears his throat. "She's the one that's going to take us to the next level. She believes in our music."

  "And I still do. I got you that meeting. I've worked my ass off on this tour. And you just dump me because I started sleeping with your brother?"

  Roscoe sighs. "I like you, Sheila Carlson. You're...special. But the band comes first. When we started off we made a pact, no girlfriends. It sounds stupid, and maybe a little immature, but it was a promise we made to each other to protect our interests. We also made another pact. And well...this is how things are now. Sorry."

  He tries to walk past me again, but I put a hand on his chest barring his way. "What other pact?"

  "Just let it go, Sheila. You're young. You'll bounce back."

  "Tell me." I cross my arms, and level my chin.

  He lets out another heavy sigh and rests his guitar on top of the stage. "It's no secret you've got a lot more than smarts and gumption going for you. You're smoking hot too."

  I fight back the urge to smile, keeping my gaze fixed on him.

  "And a smoking hot tour manager was always a bad idea. That night you met Ryan and Dash at the party, they tried to shut it down. They took one look at you and decided it wasn't worth the risk. Even Maya wanted me to fire you, but since I knew I was going to end things with her anyway, I didn't care. The only thing that saved your ass was the fact that you started that fan club. All those letters we got over the years, the Valentines," he chuckles. "The envelope full of concert panties. It kept us going. Made us believe we were worth something. But we promised each other that no matter how drunk we got, no matter how horny we were, no matter how good we thought it would be, we wouldn't make a pass at you."

  I crook an eyebrow. "You make passes at me all the time."

  "But I never planned on following through."

  "This is stupid, Roscoe. In case you forgot, I'm no one's property. You can't make a pact like that without my say so. And to fire me because of it? It's not fair."

  "Fine," he says.

  I prepare myself to throw my arms around his neck, but the look on his face stops me.

  "You're not fired, but I'm letting you go. I need you off the bus in two weeks. They cancelled the last two shows. Tour’s over anyway, and it's just not working out anymore."

  Through a veil of threatening tears, I make my way out of the hotel and down the street. There's hardly anyone out this early in the morning. Luke is still sleeping and no doubt Roscoe and the others'll be knocked out for most of the day, after the party they had last ni
ght.

  The early morning air is thick with humidity, and even though the sun has yet to make an appearance, it's hotter than hell. I peel off my outer layer and pull my hair up into a ponytail.

  This is it. The final leg. And the literal end for me. I guess I should have seen it coming. After Dallas, everything completely changed. Roscoe started acting weird and even after I laid down my rules, I felt like something was off between us. He can use their stupid pact as an excuse all he wants, but I know better. I'm being left behind and that's all there is to it. By this time next week, I'll be back in Washington licking my wounds.

  Paula's warnings keep playing on a loop in my head. But even though I know I should go back there and fight for my job, I don't have any fight left in me. It's been a long summer and despite what I'm leaving behind, I miss my bed. I miss home. I miss my family.

  I stroll along the sidewalk in the direction of the hotel. It was fun while it lasted though. A memory I'll take with me forever.

  "Sheila?"

  The voice just ahead of me startles me, and I stop in my tracks. It's too dark to make out the face, but he looks vaguely familiar.

  "Sheila Carlson?"

  I've seen him around the tour. Likely a member of one of the other bands. For the first time in hours, I feel a sense of hope. Roscoe Gold may be done with me, but I've already made somewhat of a name for myself in the industry. People know me—Paula Tracy, Bill Fiennes, Jerry Cowell. I'm not just some pathetic girl from Palouse who got dropped by her favorite band. I'm Sheila Carlson.

  I nod eagerly. "Yeah, that's me."

  He makes his way toward me. He's so close to me, I can see him clearly now and the anger etched on his face burns my chest.

  "I...who are you?" I take a step to the side, but he blocks my path.

  "Keith Creighton. You're the manager for Roscoe Gold, right?"

  Not anymore. But does he need to know that? Not if he's willing to hire me. Then again do I even want to work for a guy who looks more pissed off than Dash on a bad day?

  I shake my head. "I managed their tour. It's over now."

  He laughs. It's dry and humorless and I'm suddenly regretting stopping to talk to him.

  It's just the two of us out here, the streets otherwise void of life.

  I take another step to the right, and now I'm sure I've made a stupid mistake.

  He braces a hand on the side of the building and towers over me.

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  "An explanation."

  "For what?" My legs are shaking now and with all my might, I'm forcing my voice steady.

  "Why you thought it was a good idea to sell us out?"

  Oh, my god. I recognize him now. The lead singer from Machete. No wonder I couldn't place him. I haven't seen him since May. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you thrown off the tour."

  "I'll bet you didn't, you little bitch." He glances around, then before I can even think about running, he grabs ahold of my upper arm and squeezes. "What do you think of Miami?" he smirks. "You're on my turf now."

  "Let go of me," I demand. I'm not at all convincing. And considering we're alone on this damn street, I have no clue what my next move is going to be.

  "Answer me," he squeezes tighter.

  "A—answer what? What do you want? I said I was sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "Bullshit. Do you have any idea what you cost me?"

  Holy shit. Is this guy seriously blaming me? Is this actually happening?

  "Please," I say. "Just let me go."

  "Not until you give me something for my trouble, you little trick. You ruined my fucking life!"

  My tears have started to fall now and as much as I try to yank my arm out of his grasp, it doesn't even budge.

  "Wh-what do you want?" I ask, even though I have a pretty good clue. "Money? It's all up in my hotel room, but I can go get it."

  "No," he licks his lips. "I don't want money."

  Shit. He wouldn't do that. Would he actually do that? Out here? It's practically daylight.

  I glance over my shoulder, trying my damnedest to think straight, to figure out some way to escape.

  When he suddenly yanks away, I turn back to see Roscoe towering over him, one hand gripping Keith's neck the other one balled in a fist tunneling toward him. In the next few seconds, Keith is on the ground, Roscoe burying his boots in the man's side. There's blood and the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh and at first all I can do is stand there, watching in horror as my would-be attacker gets his just desserts. But as I come to my senses, I start screaming for Roscoe to stop.

  He's breathing hard as I practically drag him down street and back toward the hotel. His knuckles are bleeding and he looks like he's ready to kill someone.

  "What was that?" I ask. "You could've—"

  "Like he didn't deserve it," he spits.

  "Well, that doesn't mean—"

  "What the hell are you doing out here by yourself?"

  "I—I just needed some air. I didn't know it was a crime?"

  He laughs, turning to face me as we linger outside the entrance. "No, but that is. And you were almost a fucking victim." He lets out a growl, and turns his back on me. "Jesus, Carlson. If I hadn't have come in late...Fuck!"

  "I'm sorry to inconvenience you," I snap.

  '"I think this is where you're supposed to thank me for saving your ass."

  I narrow my eyes. "Nice. One day you ruin my life, the next day you save me. I guess chivalry isn't dead after all."

  He shakes his head and heads toward the stairwell. "You're welcome."

  "Ross," I call out. "Wait."

  He can't leave me like this. He can't. I've worked so damn hard.

  He stares back at me, the anger never leaving his face and I suddenly lose my nerve.

  "Thanks," I say in a small voice.

  He nods. "Go home, Carlson. This is no place for a girl like you."

  I hold the phone to my ear, listening to her soft breathing on the other end. "Hello?" My sister's breaths are coming harder and faster now and I know she's onto me. And all it does is make me feel worse. We haven't spoken in months. What do you say after all this time?

  "Sheila?"

  Tears spring to my eyes. "Hi," I whisper.

  "Oh, my goodness. Oh, Sheila. Where are you?" A sob is threatening to choke her and she laughs it off, in her usual lighten-up-the-worst-mood fashion.

  "I'm so sorry I haven't called. I...Shannon..."

  "It's okay. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have run after you, but I thought...you never came back."

  I smile. "I am now."

  "When?"

  "I don't know. As soon as I can scrape up some money, I'll be on the next bus home."

  "Where are you?"

  "Miami."

  "Oh, my god you're in Florida? Are you crazy? With that band?"

  I chuckle. "It's a long, long story. And I promise I'll tell you the second I get back. How are Mom and Dad? Ready to kill me?"

  "No. I mean, they were worried. But you're eighteen, there wasn't much they could do. At first they were kind of embarrassed, but they've been telling people to pray for you and stuff, so I guess they've just come to accept the fact that you're gone. I never have though."

  "Me neither." There's an awkward pause. "What have you been up to? Are you still in school? Do you have a boyfriend?" I snicker. "In other words, is the guy who was on the other end of that hickey still around?"

  "No." I can hear the pain in her voice when she answers, but she doesn't let on. "I'm back with Dave."

  "Baker? When did that happen?"

  "It's complicated. I have a lot to tell you too."

  "Well," I say. "I'm coming home. Think Mom and Dad will take me back?"

  It's the last thing I want to do, but the best choice. Coco's in New York, about to start at NYU and I've got nowhere else to go.

  "I'll do you one better," Shannon says. "You can stay with me."

  Luke
/>
  I told Sheila I was making this decision for her. That if we leave together, if we take away two things he can't survive without—a great tour manager and a kick ass bassist—he'll come crawling back. He'll rehire her and all will be forgiven. If it weren't for me, for what we've been doing these past few weeks, she'd still be living her dream. I've made her think I'm doing this for her. And, in a way, I am. But not entirely.

  Sure, I feel bad for everything that went down and I fully recognize that it's partly my fault, but I've also been holding on to that open door—the one at the end of the three month leg. And I just want to walk through it, back into my old life. One summer was all I promised him. I promised to go on tour. He promised I could go back to school. The tour is over and in a few weeks, school starts up again. As much as being on stage, playing all my stress away in front of thousands of people has grown on me, I still want more. I'll miss it. But I miss being me too.

  In theory, walking out on the band and off into the sunset with my girl was a good idea. But the practical exam is making me regret the whole thing. Because now, I have to drop the bomb on my brother and as much as I believe in what I'm doing, I know it won't be easy.

  In just a few days, we're supposed to meet with Columbia. If I leave, when I leave, it could ruin everything.

  Roscoe's polishing off a plate of ribs when I get to his room. The second he sees me a grin lights up his face. I recognize the look—it's been a while since I've seen it. Last time was when he told me we were opening for a good chunk of The Clash of the Titans tour. A few minutes later I wiped the smile off his face, cursing him for making me leave school behind. That seems like a lifetime ago.

  My brother's hand slips into the inside pocket of the jacket hanging on the chair beside him and it reappears wrapped around a brown envelope. He gestures for me to take a seat opposite him. The moment I do, he pushes the envelope across the table with a sly smile.

  "What's this?"

  "Your piece."

  "My piece of what?"

  "Jerry Cowell called. We're in."

  My face mirrors his—lit up so bright my cheeks hurt. "They signed us?"

  "Not yet, but they're going to. They're flying us out to New York next Monday."