Always Page 13

  She laughed. “Jack it is, then.”

  He passed her a glass and she took a fast swallow, needing it for so many reasons tonight. She followed him into the half-lit living room and settled on the couch next to him.

  “So talk.”

  She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. “Remember when you told me about David? Do you remember what I said?”

  “You said it would poison things.”

  “I was right. It’s out there now, even though he’s never said anything. I still know. And it’s messed up everything. He’s mad at me for not wanting him, I’m mad at him for feelings he can’t control, and I’m mad at myself for getting mad. Since we got back from the tour, Eddie and Paolo won’t put up with his shit anymore, so now they’re always mad, too. And now Paolo’s leaving. It’s so out of control.”

  Dillon chuckled and leaned back on the couch. “Sounds familiar.”

  She looked up at him, but he was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

  “Are you guys having problems?”

  Dillon shrugged. “Ash. You know?”

  “Yeah, I know. Worse?”

  He nodded. “JD and Rocky are fed up and I don’t blame them. The label is breathing down our necks. I’m producing the whole thing this time and I can’t even get the lead vocals recorded. I just… hell. It’s rough.”

  Unthinking, she reached out for his hand. “I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in my shit that I didn’t even ask you about yours. I’m a lousy friend.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “You’re a great friend.” Then he thought about it for a minute, letting the realization sink in and surprise him. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

  Justine ignored the snick of pain that gave her. It wasn’t helpful to dwell on what wasn’t. “You have Ash, too.”

  Dillon shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s going down this road without me. I’m trying to stay with him, but it’s hard.”

  “Don’t let him pull you under with him.”

  He looked up and gave her a rueful smile. “I can’t let him go alone, though. I’ll always look out for him.”

  She sighed, once again hating Ash a little even though she was worried sick about him. “Yeah, I know. You guys will always look out for each other.”

  “Yeah, we will. But we’re talking about you tonight.”

  “That’s it. I told you everything. It feels like the band is falling apart and I can’t stop it.”

  “You want the truth?”

  She nodded.

  “It probably is, Justine. But you know what? You’ll be fine. You’ll land on your feet.”

  She took a swipe under her eyes, chasing away her tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do. Audition for new bands? Start over, I guess?”

  Dillon shook his head. “I don’t think you belong in another band. You’re too big to blend into a group. You need to go solo. You should be front and center, always.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “While that’s very flattering, I have no idea how I’d do that.”

  Dillon paused for a second. His thumb was sweeping back and forth across her hand, but she suspected he didn’t realize he was doing it, or what it did to her. “I have a couple of songs for you to try out.”

  “What?”

  “Just some stuff I wrote that’s not right for Rovers. It would work better with a girl singing. You, for instance.” He smirked at her and despite how miserable she’d felt twenty seconds earlier, she felt like her chest might explode with excitement.

  “You wrote me a song, Dillon?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. A couple. Four or five. If you want them.”

  She launched herself across the couch and threw her arms around him. “Oh, my God, shut up. Of course I want them. You’re… I don’t even know what to say.”

  He hugged her back, his arms tightening around her. “Don’t say anything until you hear them. You might hate them.”

  She sat back and sighed. “There’s no way I’d ever hate anything you wrote.”

  “If you decide to go solo, you need some material. It will get you started.”

  “It’s amazing. I don’t know what will happen, but this… knowing you did this for me…”

  “I want you to get out there and show the world what you’ve got. That’s not going to happen fronting David’s shitty band.”

  “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”

  Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. His warmth and scent hit her like a wall. The scruff of his stubble under her lips set fire to her insides. His hair brushed against her temple. Every tiny, intimate detail of him overwhelmed her senses. The wanting swelled up so fast that her fingernails cut into her palms as she resisted reaching for him. She heard him draw in an unsteady breath through his nose, and there it was, the spark that always hovered just below the surface with them. She knew in an instant that she could turn her head and find his mouth and he’d kiss her back. His arm was still around her shoulders, the weight of it seeming to pull her into him like gravity. Her skin lit up, aware of every point of contact.

  For a moment, she considered giving in and kissing him. What would happen if she did? For tonight she wouldn’t regret it. But what about tomorrow and the day after? She was so tired of fighting the pull that she almost didn’t care.

  Then Dillon’s hand slid up her back and into her hair. Her breath caught.

  “Justine…” His voice was barely a whisper, full of confusion and uncertainty. She felt the scrape of his stubble slide along her cheek, and the whisper of his lips. They trailed fire along her cheekbone and down, slowly, slowly, to the corner of her mouth. Nothing moved, not even the air in her lungs.

  Then her own voice, tinny and electronic, shattered the silence. She pulled back in surprise, a foot of space opening up between them. Dillon was watching her, his face showing everything she’d heard in his voice. Desire, for sure. That part was plain. But there was everything else, too— fear— and she knew he was no more ready to start something with her than he had been on the road. If she did this, gave in and kissed him, it would be worse for her in the long run. They were friends. Best friends, he’d said. Letting it become anything more would kill what they already had. They needed to back up and stop before it was too late.

  And besides, his phone was ringing. Now she realized that her electronic voice, hitting a high note was actually his ringtone. He must have recorded it on the road.

  He swallowed and looked down at his phone.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. She sat back and looked away as he answered.

  “Yeah?—Who—Where is he now?—Just stay with him. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  He ended the call and looked up at her. “I have to go. It’s Ash.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Just too fucked up to get home. The girl who’s with him called me on his phone. She doesn’t know what to do. Plus she sounds as fucked up as him.” They both stood and started moving towards the door.

  “Will you be okay? Do you need help?”

  Dillon had his hand on the door knob, but he stopped and pressed his palm to the door, eyes closed. For a second, he looked like he might fold in on himself and disappear. Justine reached out and touched his arm, so he knew she was there.

  “Not with this part. I’ll deal with Ash.”

  “Call me if you change your mind.”

  He nodded, then looked at her again. After a pause, he started awkwardly. “Justine, back there—just now—”

  Justine shook her head. “Forget it. We were both emotional.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. As always, she couldn’t read those dark eyes. She couldn’t tell if what she saw there was regret or relief. It didn’t matter, because she already knew what she was going to do. She was going to take another step back and build her walls even higher. Whatever it took to keep Dillon from wreaking havoc in her heart again.

  He gave her a tiny nod, his mouth tightening into a thin li
ne, before he opened the door and left to rescue Ash from himself.

  April, 2009

  Failsafe rehearsed in the garage behind the house David rented with three other guys. It was a dump and the window was busted out. Late at night, random creeps wandered down the alley outside and sometimes got into fights. Still, it was free, and for a struggling band, free was important.

  It was nearly midnight. Justine was huddled in the over-sized hoodie she’d stolen from Dillon on tour as the band argued, again, over the handful of people who’d auditioned to replace Paolo.

  It all felt wrong, forced, pointless. But she couldn’t leave now on the heels of Paolo’s departure. It felt disloyal after everything they’d been through together. She told herself she’d stay until they found his replacement and gotten settled again. Meanwhile, the weeks ticked by. She’d made her mind up to go, but she couldn’t seem to find the courage to pull the pin.

  “I think we should go with that guy from Jersey,” David said decisively.

  Eddie rubbed his eyes. “That guy couldn’t keep time. Problematic for a bass player, don’t you think?”

  David glowered at him. “He’s the best we’ve seen.”

  “So we keep looking,” Eddie snapped.

  David waved his hand at Justine. “You recorded his audition on your laptop. Play it again.”

  She rolled her eyes at his belligerence, but she scrolled through the audio files on her laptop, looking for the right one.

  “I think this is it,” she muttered. She pushed the sleeves of Dillon’s hoodie out of the way before clicking on the file.

  Music filled the garage, but in an instant, she realized it was the wrong music. She reached for the computer, but David’s hand shot out and closed over her wrist, stopping her.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Justine listened to her own voice singing one of the songs Dillon had written for her. He’d brought her into the Outlaw Rovers studio late one night and recorded her. The sound was rough, but she liked it. And it was totally different than anything done by Failsafe.

  She looked from David to Eddie. Eddie looked curious, but David looked ready to blow.

  “Dillon wrote it,” she said, as off-handedly as she could manage. “I wanted to try it out.”

  There was a long, loaded silence. David’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth together.

  “So he’s writing songs for you now?”

  Justine considered lying to brush it off, but he’d figure it out in the end. Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. She was free to do what she wanted.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “And you’re recording them.”

  She stared back at him, feeling everything coming to a head. “Yeah, I am. It has nothing to do with you, David.”

  He lurched to his feet and kicked his stool across the room. “The hell it doesn’t!”

  “David, calm down.” Eddie planted a hand on David’s chest, but he smacked it away.

  “Like hell I will. She’s over there recording with another band without telling us!”

  “I’m not recording with his band.”

  “Then what do you call that?” David pointed an accusing finger at her computer.

  Justine swallowed and looked down at it. She was proud of the song, even in its rough, unfinished state. She was proud of how she sounded. It was good and she knew it. When she looked up again, her mind was made up.

  “That’s me, recording a solo album.”

  Both David and Eddie stared at her in stunned silence.

  “That bastard,” David finally spat.

  Justine scowled. “Who?”

  “Dillon.” David said his name like it was a dirty word.

  “What’s he got to do with this?”

  “He got inside your head, twisting shit around, turning you against me.”

  “David—” Eddie started, but Justine cut him off.

  “Why, because he thinks I’m talented, David? That’s some kind of betrayal to you?”

  David just stared at her, his face dark with anger. When he spoke, his voice was low and shaky, more vulnerable than she’d ever heard him sound. “I’d have done anything. Anything. And he… you just fucking worshiped him from the second you set eyes on him.”

  Justine gasped and Eddie closed his eyes. “David,” he groaned. “Stop. Not like this. It won’t help.”

  She shook her head. “No, it won’t. And it was never about that, David. That’s what you don’t get. He listens to me. That’s all. He listens and he respects me.”

  “I think you need to leave,” he finally said.

  “David,” Eddie started.

  “No, he’s right, Eddie. I need to leave. I’m sorry. But yeah, I need to leave.”

  “Justine,” he caught her arm as she closed her laptop with shaking hands and stowed it in her bag. She didn’t look up, not wanting to meet David’s eyes. “Is this it? Are you done?”

  She put her hand over Eddie’s, the one person she would truly miss. “I’m done. We’re done, Eddie.”

  “Yeah,” David said across the room, his voice arctic in its chill. “We’re done.”

  For the first few days after she walked out on Failsafe, Justine was in a fog of unreality. The band had been her identity for two years. She had been back at her day job at the vintage store since the tour ended, but the thing her life revolved around was Failsafe. Without it, she was adrift.

  When she called Dillon to tell him what happened, he let out a shout and congratulated her. Then he and Ash insisted on taking her out to celebrate. It was fun until Ash went to the bathroom half way through the night and never came back, and then Dillon had to go hunt him down and make sure he was okay. Justine eventually went home alone.

  Emily was delighted. She said it had been a long time coming and for maybe the first time, she was in complete agreement with Dillon that Justine should be performing solo. Even Eddie seemed happy for her when he called her a week later. Failsafe was done, he said, but he didn’t blame Justine for that. In the end, it was David who caused the biggest problems in the band. She was grateful beyond words that she hadn’t lost him as a friend.

  Next came the daunting prospect of launching a solo career. She had the demos Dillon recorded for her, and she knew enough people at the clubs Failsafe used to play that she thought she could drum up a gig or two when she was ready. But she needed musicians to play for her and a vision for what her performance would be. From the start, she knew it would look and sound nothing like Failsafe. No dour, dark, brooding rock songs. She would be louder, faster, brighter. She’d embrace her pop music instincts and love of a good dance beat. She’d leave off the jeans and leather jackets she tended to wear when she fronted Failsafe and wear what she wanted—stuff that was fun and sexy. Things David would have hated. She wouldn’t stay rooted to the mic stand. She’d move, she’d flirt with the crowd, she’d entertain. She couldn’t wait. Now she just needed her chance.

  She spent the next month working the club scene, showing up for the gigs of every band she knew, chatting up every contact she had. She passed around copies of her demo, trying to interest someone, anyone, in what she was trying to do. For the first time in her life, she was flying without a net. It was alternately thrilling and terrifying.

  It was a Tuesday afternoon, dead quiet at the vintage store. There hadn’t been a customer in over an hour, so Justine was on her laptop, digging through another record label’s website, memorizing the names of the staff and the roster of artists. After all, information was power. Her cell rang, a number she didn’t know.

  “Hello?”

  “Justine?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Jon Verlaine. We met when you were on the road with Outlaw Rovers?”

  She blinked a few times as she tried to place him. Shaved head, funky glasses, blazer and a band t-shirt. Ahhh, right. The rest clicked into place quickly. “Oh. You signed Outlaw Rovers.”

  “Yeah, I was their A&R rep.”


  “You’re not now?”

  There was an almost imperceptible pause on his end. “Several people at the label deal with the band now.”

  “Oh, Dillon didn’t tell me that.”

  Jon made a non-committal sound. “Just business. Hey, word has it you’ve left Failsafe.”

  She chuckled. “Yep, that’s absolutely true.”

  “And you’re going solo?”

  “Well, I’m trying. Right now I’m selling second-hand clothes.”

  “Justine, you know I thought a lot of your performances on the road. You were by far the best thing about Failsafe.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Dillon sent me those tracks he recorded for you and I liked them. I’ve been playing them for some people here at the label and we’d like to bring you in to talk about your future.”

  Justine stopped breathing, just staring blankly at a rack of men’s seventies polyester shirts. Her ears were ringing and her mind raced. What did he mean, bring her in to talk about her future? Did that mean they wanted to sign her? Her?

  “You want me to come in?”

  “We think you have a lot of promise and we’d like to see what we can make happen. Do you have any time to talk on Friday?”

  Friday. Friday Friday Friday. She was having a hard time remembering her own name, never mind what she was doing on Friday. Screw it. Whatever she was doing could be canceled.

  “Yes. Yes, Friday is fine. I can come on Friday. That would be… I can… yeah, Friday is good.”

  Jon chuckled and she felt her nerves release a tiny bit. She remembered now how friendly he seemed when she met him on the road. “How about two?”

  “Yes!” she said with way too much enthusiasm. “Two is great!”

  Jon gave her the address, which she wrote down on the back of the receipt book with a shaking hand, before saying he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  After she hung up, Justine planted her palms on the counter and closed her eyes, breathing deeply and trying to calm her racing pulse. Her next instinct was to call Emily, but she stopped, not wanting to say anything until she knew what there was to tell. Right now, she only had a meeting. Granted, it was a meeting with a record exec who’d openly admired her abilities, someone she trusted because Dillon trusted him….