Always Page 10

  There was a bang behind them and Justine turned to see David emerging from the little hallway leading back to the bunks. His eyes darted between Justine and Dillon.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your epic jam session.”

  “You’re not—”

  “I mean, you guys could be crafting the next Outlaw Rovers top ten hit and here I am getting in the way.”

  As always, Justine’s temper flared up in an instant. “Godammit, David—”

  But Dillon reached out and touched her shoulder. “David, man, relax. Justine’s just helping me work out some musical stuff.”

  David stood there another minute, jaw tense. Finally, he snorted and shook his head. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Good luck with that.”

  He turned to head back down the hall. Justine lunged up to storm after him, but Dillon tightened his grip on her arm. “Don’t,” he murmured. “Just let him go.”

  “Why should I? That fucking jerk. He doesn’t think I have a single bit of talent outside of my voice, so he gives me a hard time when somebody else does? Why do I need to give him a pass because he’s jealous? I can play with anybody I want on my own time.”

  “That’s not why he’s jealous.”

  Justine spun around to look at him. “What?”

  Dillon just shrugged and looked back down at his guitar. “It’s not why he’s jealous. The music.”

  She sat back down heavily, never taking her eyes off Dillon. “What are you saying?”

  Dillon squinted up at her. “You really don’t see it?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, starting to feel uncertain of herself and maybe a little stupid. “Enlighten me.”

  A tiny crease played at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying like hell to suppress a smile. “He wants you.”

  A cold wave washed over Justine with his words. No. “No,” she said out loud. “He’s never…. No.”

  “He might not have ever said anything to you or made a move, but it’s still true.”

  “You’re imagining it.” Justine snapped, praying she was right. Because if she wasn’t, if it was true, it would be really hard to look at David the same way. The awareness would weigh on her, infect her… No.

  “Not just me.”

  “What the hell are you saying, Dillon?”

  “I’m saying anybody can see how bad he’s got it for you. Everybody does see it. It’s obvious.”

  “Shut up! It’s not true. He can barely stand me. We fight all the time.”

  “Because he knows you don’t want him back. He knows he doesn’t have a chance, but it doesn’t keep him from being jealous of anybody who gets close to you. Me, Ash, Rocky, even Eddie. He hates us all.”

  “And you’re saying it’s because of me.”

  Dillon wagged a hand back and forth, indicating the reason was split. “Well, he’s also kind of a jerk. But yeah…the thing with you is a big part of the attitude. And the control freak thing? He knows how good you are, and he knows the minute people get a good look at you, he’ll lose you, even the shitty way he has you now.”

  Justine shook her head again, certain they must all be mistaken. There was no way—no way —David felt anything more for her than seething resentment. She was used to that. She knew how to handle it and hit back when she needed to. If it was something else… she could feel the knowledge starting to alter her perception already.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I said anything,” Dillon said, reaching out to touch her arm again when he sensed she was genuinely upset. “I figured you already knew.”

  She let out a wavering breath. “Apparently I’m clueless on this one.”

  “Don’t let it bug you. It’s not your problem, right?”

  “But don’t you see how this messes things up?”

  “How does it mess anything up if he never says anything?”

  “Because now I know. Before, I thought he didn’t like me, or was jealous of the attention I got, or whatever. Now… there’s all this other stuff going on. It’s like poison. It’s going to mess up the band, just wait.”

  Dillon’s expression softened, his eyes almost pitying. His hand slid down from her shoulder until he was grasping her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently.

  “Babe, you already know this band isn’t going to last.”

  She said nothing, she just stared back at him as his words, the finality of them, settled into her stomach like lead. Because she did know. On some level she knew her time in this band had an expiration date. And then what would happen? What would she do when she wasn’t in a band anymore and there was no audience to sing for?

  “But what will I do then?” she finally choked out.

  Dillon chuckled and squeezed her hand again. “Anything you want? Honestly, Justine, the world better hold on the day you decide to really cut loose. You’ll light it up.”

  She managed a weak smile, grateful for his unwavering belief in her. “But all I know right now is this band. I don’t know how I’m even supposed to talk to him anymore.”

  “Go easy on him,” Dillon said, leaning back and stretching. “It’s not his fault he feels that way. And I’m pretty sure he’d rather he didn’t. He can’t help it.”

  Justine watched Dillon, or rather the top of his dark hair, as he turned back to his guitar. Now she understood how Dillon was always able to brush off David’s often blatant insults and rudeness. He felt sorry for him.

  He was right, of course. In the end, although it made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t blame David for feelings he had no control over. Besides, she’d be a big fat hypocrite if she did. After all, she sat here day after day with Dillon, in love with him and never saying anything. When she looked at it that way, she almost felt sorry for him, too. They were the same stupid, hopeless fools, wearing themselves away on lost causes. Maybe she’d buy him a drink in Rochester. And then introduce him to some hot groupies so he could get on with the business of getting over her.

  As she watched Dillon, beautiful, unreachable Dillon, play around with chord progressions, she wished she could do the same thing for herself.

  June, 2008

  The man lounging against the door to the green room looked familiar. He was thin and average height, although the shaved head made him stand out a bit, as did the chunky geek-chic black-framed glasses. She supposed that was the point of his look. He was wearing an artfully casual blazer over a faded band t-shirt and really expensive jeans. His shoes looked Italian and pricey. So he was aiming to look legit, but he had money. Justine had met enough label types to know one when she saw him.

  As she made her way towards the green room, he noticed her and perked up. It wasn’t that kind of notice. She could see that coming half a mile away. His eyes stayed on her face, for one thing. His expression was sharp and alert, a far cry from the wasted leering she was used to back stage.

  When she was close enough to hear him, he smiled and extended a hand towards her.

  “Justine? Jon Verlaine from Nightfall Records. We met a couple of months ago when I came out to see the guys.”

  “Oh,” she said with a smile, everything slotting into place. Jon was the A&R guy who signed Outlaw Rovers, the only one at the label, according to Dillon, who had any sense at all. It was Jon who the band bonded with. Since then, they’d been unhappy with every single label interaction they’d had. It was someone else, more senior than Jon, who’d stuck Outlaw with their disastrous producer, and it was Jon who’d stepped in and convinced the label to let Dillon finish the job.

  She’d only met him briefly once, when he came out to see the band early in the tour, but Dillon’s faith in him meant she already trusted him.

  “Sorry, it’s always a mad house back here. It’s hard to place faces.”

  He smiled, disarming and relaxed. “No problem. I know how it is. Hey, I caught the show tonight and you were great.”

  She smiled and muttered a non-committal thanks, one she used by rote in all of these meaningless meetings. Everybody said you
were brilliant. Few people actually meant it or even knew what they were talking about.

  “Really,” he insisted. “I saw you when I came out at the beginning of the tour and then tonight. You’ve grown so much. Dillon told me so, and as usual, he’s dead right. This tour has been great for you as a performer.”

  “Oh. Wow. Thank you.” Dillon had been talking about her? To the one person at his label he trusted? That insidious warmth was back, snaking through her heart.

  “You’re welcome. So you’re only out here another week, huh?”

  She nodded, hating the thought of the dwindling days. The Outlaw Rovers tour was booked for nine months but they’d only been contracted for the first five. In the end, the record company had re-taken some ground in the battle of the opening acts and gotten their own pick in for the second half.

  “What’s next for your band?”

  She inhaled deeply and forced an excited smile she didn’t feel. “Who knows? We’ll go back to LA. Hopefully the exposure out here will lead to some new opportunities. I guess we’ll see.”

  “You guys working on a new album?”

  Her eyes cut to the side, automatically looking for David, who thankfully seemed to have left. He’d probably blow a gasket if he caught her chatting to a label rep without him, no matter what the reason.

  “We don’t have any solid plans yet. I guess we’ll get back home and just see what happens.” What she didn’t say was that she and David were barely speaking. After Dillon’s revelation, Justine could hardly look him in the eye and David’s jealousy had driven him even further away from the band. Most days she didn’t even see him until they showed up for sound check and then they said only what was necessary to get through the set.

  Justine couldn’t imagine being in a studio, working up new songs, being creative together again. Right now, it seemed impossible. She could see the band falling apart completely without the discipline of the tour to hold them together. One more reason to want to stop time. The truth was, they had no plans and no plans to make plans. She swallowed down a flash of panic.

  Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between hers for a second, like he was silently assessing her. Did Dillon tell him about the friction in her band? Maybe he was just being polite, humoring her, by asking about their plans.

  “Hey, I need to go find something to drink. Are you okay here? Do you need anything?”

  Jon waved her off with a good-natured smile. “I’m fine. Just waiting for the boys to surface.”

  She laughed. “You might be waiting a while. It’s crazy back here tonight.”

  He laughed, too. “I’m used to it. Take care, Justine. Maybe we’ll talk sometime.”

  “Sure,” she shrugged, just to say something. “Look me up when you get to LA.”

  She moved off into the crowd, forgetting all about the conversation as her worry about the future took over again.

  While she’d been talking to Jon, David had surfaced, hugging the edge of the room, nursing a beer and trying hard to look like he wasn’t looking at anybody. But her new knowledge skittered down her spine, making her feel watched. His pointed lack of attention was like a weight pressing down on her shoulders.

  In her back pocket, her phone vibrated and she grabbed for it, thankful for the distraction. She prayed it was Dillon. Maybe he was already back on the bus and looking for someone to hang out with. The name on the screen was a pleasant disappointment. Ian.

  He’d been texting her steadily as she made her way across the country, attentive and interested, but never pressuring. Sometimes she texted back. Once, he called. When the band was headed to New York, he’d wanted to see her. Remembering his kisses and his warm hands, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Still, when he was sent out of town on assignment right before she got there, she hadn’t been all too unhappy about it. Besides, she’d gone with Dillon and Ash to an amazing show that night and she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  She ran her thumb over his text.

  How’s Houston?

  He kept track of where she was on the road. That wasn’t insignificant. She just wished his actual text set off half the excitement in her chest as just the possibility of a text from Dillon had. Glancing up one more time to see if he’d finally wandered in, instead her eyes met David’s. Her stomach clenched with a whole new kind of anxiety. She felt sick with it, and sick of all these people and fake conversations and loud laughter.

  Pushing through the crowd towards the door, she was determined to find Dillon. He might be just her friend, but he was her friend, dammit, and she needed one right now. She had a right to seek him out. If she was lucky, he was still sober enough to have a coherent conversation.

  Rocky and JD were in the hall with a bunch of fans. Neither had seen Dillon. The big dressing room, the one assigned to Ash and Dillon, was right off the green room, and although there were a ton of people in there—a full-scale party of its own—none of them were Dillon.

  She pressed on, peering into rooms further down the hall. Rocky and JD’s room had a couple in it making out. She backed out with her hands raised in front of her in apology, but neither noticed she was there. The room shared by David, Eddie and Paolo was likewise filled with a party for two. Rolling her eyes, she snapped the door shut behind her. Seemed everyone was scoring tonight but her.

  She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. She was soul-sick. Screw this. She’d clear her stuff out of her tiny closet-sized dressing room and go crash on the bus. Maybe it would all look better in the morning. Maybe, in the morning, she’d call Ian back. Or maybe not.

  Down the dark hall on the right was her room, the corner where they’d tucked the token girl. She pushed the door open and fumbled for the light. She blinked at what was illuminated. A girl was lying back on her table, eyes closed and shirt off. She was giggling as Ash bent over her, inhaling a trail of white powder in a line up to her breasts. Incongruously, Justine was pissed they’d moved her stuff.

  But there was still worse. So much worse. In the chair in the corner, Dillon had a different girl in his lap, straddling him. Her shirt was off, too. She was trying to light a joint and laughing. His face was pressed to her chest in its magenta lace bra. His eyes were closed.

  Justine wished she had a snappy insult, a biting quip. Instead, she just stood in the doorway, watching as one by one they registered her presence.

  “This is my room,” she finally said. That was all the brilliance she could manage.

  Countertop Girl turned her head. “Ooops, sorry. We’re almost done with it.”

  Ash looked back over his shoulder and for perhaps the first time ever, he looked a little ashamed.

  “Justine—”

  Her eyes skittered away from the two of them and back to Dillon. Slowly, his eyes came open and then widened with shock. He was pale and sickly looking, his eyes wild with whatever he was on.

  “This is my room,” she repeated.

  Dillon pushed at the girl’s hips, trying to get out from under her. She squealed in dismay. “Hey, we were going to party.”

  Finally, her blood started flowing again and her brain started working. And she was just done.

  She looked back to Ash. “You moved my stuff, asshole.”

  Then she turned on her heel and left, striding down the hallway and back towards the green room. She heard shouts and voices behind her but she didn’t stop.

  “Justine.” Dillon’s voice sounded raw behind her.

  She spun around to face him, livid with anger and humiliation, ready to let him have it, ready to unleash all her disappointment and hurt, but the ragged look on his face killed the words in her throat. Yelling wouldn’t change anything anyway.

  “You know what, Dillon? It’s none of my business. Really.”

  He shoved both hands into his hair and fisted, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, you should get back to that,” she snapped. “She’s probably waiting.”

  “It’s not like
that. I mean, it is, but I’m not—”

  “I just said its none of my business,” she cut him off with a shout. A few people nearby turned to look.

  “No, you’re right to be pissed. We were out of line using your room.”

  She wanted to cry. The tears welled up so fast in her throat that it hurt. She could barely breathe for it. She swallowed them back, because there was no way she would cry in front of him. “Jesus, it’s not the room, Dillon. It’s you. Why the hell do you do this? Why do you… waste yourself like this?”

  On someone else.

  She didn’t say it out loud, but her face showed it plainly. It was as close as she’d ever come to confessing to him—asking him to choose her. She still wouldn’t do it, she had too much pride. But he had to know she wanted him to. His face told her he did.

  “Justine, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not better. More.”

  “I just need you to be you, not this. I don’t know this guy.”

  He took a stumbling step towards her and reached out, grabbing her face with both hands. She was so startled, she took a step back, but his grip stopped her retreat. His eyes, red-rimmed with pinprick pupils, were frantic. “No. You know me better than anyone. You know the best part of me. You…”

  He leaned closer, so close she could feel the heat from his body. His fingers curled in, she could feel them pressing into the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. It set all her nerves on fire. She was suddenly, painfully aware of him and his overwhelming physical presence, the part of him she worked so hard at ignoring.

  “You,” he whispered, pulling her even closer. Her eyes darted to his mouth without her wanting them to, but he was right there. So close. She could still smell the liquor and weed on him. She could see the coke in his eyes. And she could almost see the fingerprints of that girl all over him. His mouth, so close to kissing hers, had just been on that girl. She’d never want something so cheaply given. Besides, he probably wouldn’t even remember this tomorrow.

  At the last second, when his face was just inches from hers, she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes.