Chasing the Music: For the Love of Music Book 0.5 Page 2

  Bridget snorted as she tried not to laugh and Lita threw her a look. Not helpful. She already knew she was putting on a show; she didn’t need to be reminded of that in the middle of the mess.

  “Rhymes with handler…”

  Lita dropped her voice to match the rough, sexy voice she was known for, even though half the time she felt like an idiot for doing it. “And how would you know about the way he handles me?”

  “Oh-oh!” The DJ laughed. “So, is that an admission then?”

  Lita pointed at the phone and mouthed to Bridget. “They’re not supposed to ask me about him. That was in the pre-interview statement!”

  Bridget frowned. “We won’t accept an interview with them next time. Sorry,” she whispered.

  But Lita was live, so all she could do was continue.

  “And who said I was only interested in guys?” The words flew out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Hell. This could work to her advantage, or go really, really wrong. So Lita laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be asking me about music?” She scrambled for his name and Bridget tapped the paper. Lita squinted. “Brett?”

  “The new album. Yeah. Self-titled album means you’ve made it, right?”

  Made it? What did that even mean? She had no idea anymore. How did she answer? What was she supposed to say to show him that she was the Lita James? “Damn straight.”

  The words fell thick and heavy from her tongue. Lies. There was no such thing as “made it”.

  “And how do you feel about this album following IRREVERENT, which is a platinum selling, Grammy award winning album? Does that add pressure?”

  Yes, and I’m scared shitless. “I really just can’t wait to get on the road,” she lied.

  “Anything else you wanna say before we sign off?”

  “Thanks for fooling around with me today,” she said, tossing his suggestive voice back at him.

  “Oh, wait. One last question. Promise. What’s your favorite part of going on tour?”

  Being on the bus where I’m mostly left alone. “Getting to meet fans before the show. For sure.”

  Bridget gave her two thumbs up.

  “That’s seriously the best part, so hopefully I’ll see a lot of you out there!”

  The DJ signed off the air and Lita exchanged a few more random words with him as the exhaustion of keeping up “Lita James” wore on her. She did the quick plug for the radio station and the second the call ended, she flopped on the bed. As soon as her body started to relax, she jerked in a shiver. Air conditioning sucked. She was always cold. At least the interviews were done. All of them. Well...for that day.

  Two knocks on her bedroom door were followed quickly by Dave. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Where have you been?” Bridget snapped back. “You’re normally around for some of this.”

  “Schedule.”

  “You’re the tour manager.” Bridget folded her arms.

  “It’s fine,” Lita said from under her pile of blankets. “Just… Can someone turn up the heat in here?”

  “Are you serious?” Bridget asked.

  Lita rolled, dragging the down comforter with her. “Of course I’m serious.” She knew she was acting like a child, but anyone would after her day.

  “I’m going to go to the living room.” Bridget stood and tapped Lita’s thermostat. “Text me if you need anything. Apelu is in one adjoining room. I’m in the other.”

  “And I’m up the hall,” Dave said.

  Lita convulsed in another shiver. Maybe a hot shower. “You’re both a phone call away. I’m not a child,” she pouted, immediately realizing how stupid she sounded.

  The door closed behind them and Lita tugged the blankets more tightly around her, pulling her knees to her chest. Being “herself” shouldn’t be so exhausting.

  She let her eyes fall closed and thought about her tour schedule. Yes, it wasn’t as rigorous as what she’d done in the past, but it was longer. They were taking months, doing shows practically everywhere. It had better be worth it.

  Three

  The live music blasted into Griffin’s ears, and the drummer kept slipping off the rhythm. Not the best group he’d seen with Stacy at the local bar.

  Tell her. Tell her now. Or now. Or now.

  Stacy set a beer down on the table in front of him. He was twenty, but usually managed to slip into bars. Stacy was a year older and always bought the drinks. He was twenty-one soon, but for now, he still relied on her.

  “I’m so glad you wanted to go out tonight.” She pecked his cheek. “I was tired of staying in.”

  Griffin tried on a smile. “Come on.” He nudged her shoulder. “What about the girls from beauty school or the salon?”

  Her lips pursed together and she shrugged. He got it. A lot of guys hadn’t been nice to her in school, and as a result, a lot of girls were awful to her as well. Small town. Big rumors. They lived in a place with beauty schools that were still called beauty schools. And he was thinking of leaving it all behind for a few blissful months. His eyes connected with Stacy’s again, and he wondered if he’d be able to leave when it was time.

  “You’re way better than them!” she yelled over the music gesturing to the band.

  He was.

  It was an asshole thing to think, much less say, but the third band up on open mic night was even worse than the first two. Griffin just shrugged in response.

  “Why didn’t you sign up?” Stacy asked as she sidled next to him, resting her small chin on his shoulder.

  Griffin planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “Wasn’t sure if I’d make it on time tonight.”

  That was a lie. He knew he’d make it on time. But what was the point? If he was well liked for his music, he might feel even more tied to Taylorsville instead of chasing after the music career that probably wouldn’t happen. Feeling like he could have a life elsewhere wasn’t going to help whatever had shifted him further from Stacy.

  The few months away would help.

  Her small lips brushed against his earlobe before sucking it into her mouth. He used to love that. The second her lips touched his ear or his neck he’d wanted to rip off her clothes. He picked at the label on his beer.

  Band number three finished, and the fourth was setting up.

  “I’m tired,” he lied. “Can we go after I finish this?”

  Stacy sat back, her preened brows pulling together. “You okay, baby?”

  He tightened his jaw to hold in the scream that tried to shove its way out from nowhere. “I’m great. Just tired.”

  She blinked a few times and then nodded slowly. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  He knew she didn’t completely believe him. He also knew she wouldn’t call him on it, and for that, he was infinitely grateful.

  Another night without sleep.

  The thin sheet felt stifling, and it was only April. Griffin blinked, tried to force his eyes closed, but being stuck between Stacy and the wall only worked when the air conditioning was on. She didn’t normally crash at his place night after night, and now she was. Not sleeping was starting to get old.

  He stared at the wall where the last three guitars he’d found at pawnshops, and given new life to, rested. He thought about all the details of refinishing the wood, of strengthening the neck of the guitars, finding the perfect strings to give the guitar the richest sound… His fingers itched to play, but again, he couldn’t cure insomnia by staying up and playing all night. He just got less sleep.

  Griffin’s phone vibrating on the nightstand snapped him from his thoughts. He sat up and tentatively tried to reach over Stacy to the small table. No luck.

  Crap. Now what? He really didn’t want to wake her.

  He moved to his hands and knees, leaned over, and snatched up his phone.

  RYKER.

  “Hey asshole,” he croaked. “It’s three a.m.”

  “And you’re not here yet.” No hesitation. No pause. No ‘I’m sorry for calling in the middle of the night.�
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  Griffin sighed. His brother was always into something new. Half of his schemes worked out like his gig with Lita and the other half landed him in jail or the wrong side of a pissed-off ex-boyfriend’s fist, or boyfriend’s fist...

  “No. I’m not there.” Griffin hated that his life was so boring that he let his brother talk at three in the morning. He shifted away from Stacy. “I leave in three days.”

  “Griff, just get on a plane. Come on. I can show you LA while we’re getting ready to leave.”

  “I’m coming when Dave said to come,” Griffin hissed. “He’s the tour manager.”

  “Griffin.” Ryker slurred his name just enough for Griffin to know his brother had been drinking. Not surprising. Just annoying. “You really need to learn how to have fun.”

  “Grow up, Ryker.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. No way would he be able to sleep after this.

  Ryker snorted. “You’re such a douche, Griff.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Or I’ll just see you in a few days,” Griffin mumbled. “Stop calling me in the middle of the night. I do work a day job.”

  “Boring.”

  “Asshole.”

  Griffin stared at his phone for a moment longer before hitting end.

  Since he first started playing guitar at eleven, he’d wanted to chase the music—whether it was following a favorite band around the country, actually working on the tour, or just going from city to city to see musicians. He’d never cared if it were him on stage or not. Just wanted to be there.

  His heart sped as he slowly slipped out of bed, picked up a guitar from the floor stand and headed outside.

  The trailer steps creaked as he tiptoed onto the clay driveway and he once again sat on the back of his car.

  His fingers easily picked out the riff of Lita’s first big hit, Under My Skin, and he wondered what she might be like in real life.

  He’d talk to Stacy tomorrow. Until then, he had to decide if it would help cure the stagnant way he’d been feeling, or just make it worse.

  Darren’s scratching on the guitar grated on every nerve Griffin had. If the kid would actually practice between lessons, he’d get a lot further.

  “That’s a G,” Griffin said. “You missed the G.” The third chord he’d taught him.

  “Oh.” He tossed his sloppy hair off his face. “Right.”

  Stacy stopped just outside the practice room door and held up her phone so he could see through the small window. “Is this for real?”

  “What?” he mouthed knowing she wouldn’t be able to hear unless he really yelled.

  “This.” She pointed and he shrugged, having no idea what she was talking about.

  Finally she just pushed open the door. “Hey, Darren.” She glanced at Griffin’s student. Small town. Everyone knew everyone. “We’ll just be a sec.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Griffin asked.

  Stacy frowned. “No.”

  Griffin sighed.

  “Is this Lita James thing for real?”

  The Lita James thing. THE Lita James thing… After staying up all night thinking about how to tell her, he’d still chickened out that morning.

  “How did you find out about that?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes as she leaned against the side of the soundproof door. “Your brother’s words were - Griff is too pussy-whipped to ask permission, so I’m doing it for him.”

  “Oh. Brilliant.” Griffin pointed to his student. “There are children present.”

  “Nothin’ I haven’t heard before,” Darren sulked.

  “Fine.” Griffin sighed. “Stace. Can we talk later?”

  She frowned, her full lips pulling into a pout. “I’d kind of like to know why you kept this from me.”

  Griffin’s widened his eyes and tilted his head toward Darren. “Can we do this another time?”

  “I’m fine.” Darren sat back in his chair, resting his arms over the guitar.

  Dammit.

  Griffin scrambled for all the things he’d practiced in his head. “I love you, Stacy. I’ve been terrified you’ll think that I’m doing this because I don’t, when I do. It’s something…” How to explain. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Just a few months, and then I’ll be right back here, teaching Darren again and working the music store.”

  He saw the fight go out of Stacy’s face as her mouth fell and her eyes grew sad. “I’m gonna miss you so much.” She sniffed. “And I wanna be pissed you didn’t say anything, but I can’t be mad with you looking all...sincere.”

  “I hadn’t totally made up my mind.” He stood and pulled Stacy into his arms. “I can stay. If you want me to stay, just say the words.”

  Her small hands clutched him tighter, making it feel like he couldn’t breathe.

  “You’ll call all the time?”

  “And Facetime and Skype and text. As much as you want. As much as I want. All the time,” he reassured her. He held her tighter. Needed her to know he’d come back. Not everyone in her life had come back.

  All he’d wanted, until the opportunity to tour with Lita James came up, was to feel better about his decision to stay where he was. He already felt unsettled about being so settled. He hoped that a break from everything would change that.

  “I know you like her music, Griffin. I’m tryin’ so hard to be the good girlfriend when I’m terrified about you leaving.” She sniffed again, her whole body shaking a little against him.

  Torn. That’s how he felt. Torn between being there for Stacy every second she needed him, and doing something that was all for him. “I’ll love you forever, Stacy. Don’t worry about me.”

  She buried her face in his chest further. “I’m gonna miss you,” she whispered.

  And that was it. She knew he was going. She said she’d miss him. He was leaving. Holy shit. Lita James.

  “But what about the mail?” Griffin’s mom asked.

  He shoved a few more t-shirts into his pack. He’d only been on a plane once in his life, and that was a short hop to Washington D.C. to watch a benefit concert with about ten big names playing. Two years ago. “You have the mail key, Mom. Pick it up. Open it. I can pay the bills from anywhere.”

  Her large eyes got even larger as she processed the information, and she twirled a chunk of bleached blond hair as she leaned on his doorframe. “I’m just… I know I rely on you too much, Griffin, but months… That’s a long time.”

  A lot of people are long gone from home at twenty. “You’ll be fine, Mom. You know how to reach me.”

  “I guess.” She sighed again.

  Funny that he’d pegged Stacy to be the one who would hold on to him this way and not his mother.

  “You ready babe?” Stacy called from the hallway. “We should go.”

  “Coming!” He gave his mom a peck on the cheek and she grasped his arms tightly. Her brown eyes reflected his own, but her face was wider and her lips pursed together in a frown. “Come back home to me, Griffin.”

  “‘Course, Ma.”

  Stacy flipped her keys over and over. She always did that when she was nervous. “This is so weird.”

  He flopped into the passenger’s seat. “Yeah.”

  As soon as they started up the street, Stacy slipped her hand into his. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and he wondered again if he was doing the right thing. “I’m gonna miss you.”

  He turned and stared at her profile—tiny nose, round cheeks, soft skin, curvy shape… “You too.”

  He kissed her hand and smiled. This was perfect. He loved her, and a little time away would put his head right back where it needed to be.

  Also. Lita James.

  Four

  Lita stared at the printed hotel room curtains as she sat in bed, the down comforter pulled nearly to her chin. The monologue from The Tonight Show shouldn’t bother her—it actually played in perfectly to her tough girl image, but his harsh words were still stuck in her head. It was after midnight, she once again couldn’t sleep, and sh
e once again scrolled through her phone to check for missed calls.

  One from Bridget that she’d answered later. Nothing from her dad. There rarely was. She knew he was busy, but she also knew there was more to his distance than that; it’s just not something she wanted to think about.

  Flipping over to her Tumblr account, she did a quick search for herself and re-posted some fan art. Big points with fans there, and she was fine as long as she didn’t look too hard at anything. Or too long. For every couple of posts that screamed about her being awesome, there was one tearing her apart.

  She curled her knees to her chest on the massive bed and felt...so small. Tiny. Impossibly unimportant. If she hadn’t been “Lita James” what did she have?

  The fact that she didn’t have a real answer shook her, so she did what she always did when she felt alone.

  The fan site for Loni Terrance came into view with a click and Lita went straight to the photo gallery. She knew that she’d sold many thousands of times the number of albums her mother had, but still… Even years after her mother’s death, she had a faithful following. Some of those fans followed Lita’s career. Some didn’t. Lita was so grateful no one had put together the fact that she played one of her mother’s guitars. That part of her very public career still felt too personal to share.

  She paused at a picture of her mom standing next to Joan Jett, looking almost like twins. She’d never met Joan.

  Her heart thumped a few extra times when a photo of her on her mom’s lap before a show slid onto the tiny screen. She’d grown up backstage at her mother’s concerts or in her father’s wood-paneled doctor’s office. Opposite worlds but she never remembered arguments—the opposite, really. Even at seven she’d rolled her eyes at the way they ogled each other.

  She scanned the empty hotel room. Thought of the parties she didn’t go to. Some because she knew she’d just come off as either bitchy or awkward. And others because she couldn’t deal with being around the drugs.

  Knowing she needed sleep, she slid lower in her bed, still slowly scrolling through pictures she’d seen a million times. There was just something about the familiar.