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  “Don’t apologize. I want to hear every bit of it.”

  “In a minute. How are you?”

  He sighed and scrubbed his hand across his face. “Fine.”

  “And Ash?”

  He paused. “Fine.”

  “Mm-hmm. How much longer are you on the road?”

  “Three months.”

  “Be careful?”

  “Always,” he lied. Never. I’m walking along the edge of a cliff and about to fall over. “Now, tell me about your tour. Who’s playing for you? Who’s your lead guitar?”

  “This guy, Smith Walton. Jon found him.”

  Dillon grimaced. “That guy?”

  “What? Does he suck?”

  “No, he’s a decent player, just a douche. He’s going to make a pass at you at some point so watch out.”

  She snorted. “I think I can handle that.”

  “You can, huh?”

  “It’s happened once or twice. Or a dozen times. I can handle horny guys.”

  Dillon went still, imagining her out there on the road with all of those guys that weren’t Failsafe or Outlaw Rovers, guys who would want her, guys who would try to win her. An unfamiliar sensation flooded his chest and it took him several beats to recognize what it was. Jealousy. He hated every guy who existed in her orbit. And considering the way her career had just taken off, there must be hundreds of them.

  Suddenly the distance between them felt like far more than physical. She was on a whole new trajectory and it was carrying her away from him. He thought back to last year, when she’d been right here on the bus with him, day in and day out. How did he spend so many months with her and never reach out and grab her? It would have been so easy then. They were friends and it would have been the smallest step in the world to make it more. He’d wanted to. He was fairly sure she’d wanted to. And still, he never had. He’d had his reasons for not doing it, good reasons that were still valid. But now that he was on the verge of losing her, they all seemed secondary. She could have been his and he was too stupid and stubborn to take the chance. It was starting to feel like the worst mistake he’d ever made.

  “Hey,” she murmured, interrupting his litany of self-abuse. “Where’d you go?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. So you have Smith the Douche to put up with. Who else?”

  She laughed and for the next few minutes, the conversation was easy. She told him all the particulars of her touring band and he gave her his thoughts on anyone he knew. Throughout the conversation, he heard voices behind her, people coming and going around her. Once or twice someone spoke to her and she had to lean away from the phone to answer.

  “Do you need to go?”

  “No, I’m good. I’m doing wardrobe fittings today, but I told them this was important.”

  “I’m flattered, Ms. Rock Star.”

  She laughed. “You are, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Important. To me.”

  Again, a flood of unfamiliar emotions, these distinctly warmer and more pleasant than jealousy.

  “Same,” he murmured quietly. Then he cleared his throat. “Hey, email me your itinerary. Maybe we can find a time to come and see you.”

  “I will. I’d like that. I’m nervous about doing this on my own. I wish I had a friendly face out there.”

  “Call me whenever you need to.”

  “Uh-oh. They’re really glaring at me now. I think I have to go.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll call you soon?”

  “I’m counting on it, Dillon.”

  March 2010

  It was late. Two a.m. in Atlanta only meant eleven p.m. in Seattle, though, so Justine made the call she’d been desperate to make all day. She’d managed her television interview, a phone interview with a high-profile music blog, a lunch meeting with the director of her next video, and then the sold-out show at the Fox theater. Now the after party was over and Justine was finally alone in her hotel room. After a long day surrounded by dozens of other people, the silence of a room devoid of anyone other than herself was deafening. She turned the TV on low just for the hum of background noise.

  “Hey, baby sister!” Emily nearly shouted when she answered the phone. “How’s the rock star life?”

  There was music thumping in the background, which meant that Emily was on a roll with a painting. Justine could picture it perfectly. Emily was probably wearing her ratty sleep-shirt that nearly reached her knees and her chunky long socks. She’d have her hair up, but half of it had probably fallen down and gotten stuck to her canvas. She’d have tiny bits of paint in her hair, on her face, and all over her hands. Emily blasted music when she was deep into a painting, wandering the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she alternately stared at the canvas and attacked it with her brush. Justine missed her so much she wanted to cry.

  “Good,” she murmured, her voice tight with emotion. “Everything’s really good.”

  Emily was silent. A moment later, the music lowered in volume. “Don’t pull that with me. I can hear it in your voice. What’s wrong?”

  Justine waved her hand dismissively even though Emily couldn’t see it. “Nothing bad. Just… today was kind of intense.”

  “Intense how?”

  “I had to go to this TV station this morning to do an interview and there were all these people there.”

  “People?”

  “Fans.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Fans means they like you, right?”

  “Of course they like me. It’s hard to explain, Em. It was great. They loved me. All they wanted was to get near me, and see me up close. There’s nothing wrong about that. It’s amazing, really. But there were so many of them, and there’s just one of me. When they saw me… and they started screaming…there was like this wall of energy coming right at me. And all this… want. The shouting, the grabbing. And I didn’t know how to give it to them. I had this moment when I thought ‘If they all get what they want—a piece of me— then there won’t be any of me left.’ I don’t know.” Justine sighed and tipped her head back against the headboard of the bed. “It shook me up, and then it was a long day after that and it just—”

  Before she even felt it coming, she started crying. Her throat closed up and hot tears streaked down her face.

  “Oh, hey…” Emily soothed. “It’s okay.”

  “I don’t even know why I’m crying. It’s all good, right? I wanted this.”

  “You don’t have to like every bit of it.”

  “It’s not even that I don’t like it. It’s just… this is my life now. I was in this little bubble in the studio, and all that promotional stuff was crazy, and the tour keeps me kind of isolated, but it doesn’t seem real, you know? Not like today. It just hit me…when I get back home—”

  “No more runs to the Starbucks in your pajamas.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re right about that, sweetheart. You might be in a bubble, but we’re not. You’re famous. Like, really famous. Chase Me is all over the radio. Mom and Dad are so proud.”

  That made Justine smile. “I’ll be fine, Em. Reality just caught up to me today and I wasn’t ready for it.”

  “You should call Dillon.”

  “What? You don’t even like Dillon.”

  Emily scoffed. “I don’t dislike him. I just hate what he does to you.”

  “Did.”

  “Right. What he did to you.”

  “And he didn’t do anything to me, Emily, except not want me back.”

  “I meant what he does to your soul. He makes you sad.”

  “He also makes me happy,” Justine said quietly.

  “I know. Which is why I don’t hate him. I was saying, he’s been through this. The sudden shift to fame. He might be able to help you.”

  Justine made a non-committal noise in her throat. “I’m not sure Dillon has the healthiest way of dealing with fame. And he’s got problems of his own these days. He doesn’t need to deal with mine.”

 
; “But he’s your friend.”

  “And the last thing he needs is me whining about the pressures of fame when his band is… well—”

  “They’re not doing well, huh?”

  “No.”

  “Well,” Emily said, inhaling. “You’ve always got me. Do I need to come visit?”

  Justine gave a watery laugh as she swiped at her tears. “As a matter of fact, yes. You know what? I’ll fly you out. I’m a rockstar, goddammit. I can do that now!”

  “Damned right!”

  “Damned right!”

  “Okay, babe, you tell me when and I’m on the plane. In the meantime, it’s almost morning where you are. Are you going to be okay?”

  The day and the emotion caught up to Justine like a tidal wave. She was bone-tired in a way she rarely was. She felt like she could sleep for a year. “Yeah, I think I’ll sleep fine. And I don’t even need a drink to do it.”

  “Tell you what, you leave that stuff to Dillon and Ash. If you need help, you call me. I’ll set you straight.”

  Justine smiled, her eyes nearly sliding closed in her exhaustion. “I know you will. I love you, Em.”

  “Right back at you, baby sister. Sleep tight.”

  April, 2010

  It was so different now. When Justine toured with Outlaw Rovers, she’d been the token girl, often on the periphery of the debauchery and boy-rowdiness. This time, she was in charge and she felt it wherever she went. Backstage, every set of eyes turned to her, every person there sought her out. Every face at the stage door wanted nothing more than a moment with her. There were three other acts sharing the billing on the road with her, but her album had taken off so fast, she’d become the de facto headliner.

  She had to admit, it felt good. After the beating her heart had taken over Dillon, she needed to feel wanted, even if all they wanted was her image, not her.

  The show felt good, too. Finally, she felt like herself up there. She chose the music and she decided how she wanted to sing it. When she performed now, she didn’t worry about pleasing anyone but herself and the people who’d come to see her. She could feel herself finally growing into the performer she always wanted to be.

  The funny thing was, it seemed like maybe she was the performer the industry wanted, too. Every step forward she took into this empowered new vision of Justine James was embraced by the public. All she did was stop trying so hard to be something else and everything finally started to click.

  And now she had the number one song in the country. “Chase Me” was verging on over-exposure, it was so widely played. Her manager was calling several times a day with new offers and opportunities. Television shows, awards ceremonies, movie soundtracks, red carpet parties. She could do anything she wanted. At least it felt that way.

  The label was gearing up for the release of her second single, “Meltdown.” It wasn’t one of Dillon’s songs. It was written by an industry veteran, a guy she’d never met. But it was a good song with a solid pop hook. Jon Verlaine thought it was poised to be the big summer hit of the year and in her bones, Justine felt he was right. The Summer Heatwave tour was supposed to wrap up in September, but already her manager was busy with the label, arranging a solo tour for her to launch right on its heels. The craziness of the last couple of months was just the beginning.

  Thank God she had Ariana, her new manager,on the road with her for a few days. The label had tried to steer her towards one of those big talent agencies like Outlaw Rovers had, but she’d hated what she’d seen of those organizations. She’d met Ariana Garis at a party and their connection had been intense and immediate. Ariana was tiny, forthright and energetic, reminding her a lot of Emily. She’d been working at a large talent management agency but had just left to launch her own company. Everybody at Nightfall had expressed concern that Ariana didn’t have the experience and resources to handle a career like Justine’s, but she decided to follow her gut and she hired Ariana. So far she hadn’t had a single regret.

  Tonight, Ari was in the green room, talking to a couple of the touring back-up players. Thankfully Smith was nowhere in sight. Dillon had been dead right about him. If he was in the same room, he was putting the moves on her. She’d have him fired in a heartbeat if he wasn’t such a damned good player. Besides, she could handle one desperate horny guy without breaking a sweat. Being an attractive girl in rock, she’d grown used to a certain amount of male attention, but nothing like now. Not just fans. Other musicians, executives from the label, even a movie star she’d never met sent her a message through Ariana asking her out. It was insane, but none of it felt real. They were strangers and they only knew her picture and her songs. None of them knew her. It was impossible to know who to trust now.

  When she got close enough to see who else Ari was talking to, she stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t seen him in two years, but she recognized him immediately.

  Ian.

  He was replying to Ariana as his eyes absently skimmed the room. When he saw her, he stopped talking and froze. She didn’t move either. Ariana turned to see what had grabbed Ian’s attention. Seeing her, Ari smiled and motioned her closer.

  “There you are. Remember that interview with Spin you had scheduled? Look who they sent. Ian says you might have met when you were out on the road with Outlaw Rovers.”

  Finally, Justine made herself move forward. It was no big deal, just one night, two years ago. She and Ian had texted back and forth for a little while, and talked on the phone a few times, but nothing had come of it and eventually the communication petered out. She was fairly certain he’d be cool about this. It wouldn’t benefit him to get weird about it.

  “I remember,” she murmured, reaching out to shake his hand when she was close enough.

  “Justine, good to see you again.” The words and the smile were exactly as they should be, but there was a flash in his eyes that let her know exactly what he was thinking about. To her surprise, it didn’t make her feel uncomfortable or awkward. Ian was a good-looking guy. She’d almost forgotten how good-looking. The last two years had been kind to him. He seemed a little older and a lot more sophisticated. Gone were the hi-tops and hoodie. In their place, leather shoes and a blazer, all put together with indefinable European panache that American men just couldn’t pull off. He looked like he was growing into himself, just like her.

  “This is a coincidence.”

  He grinned. “A good one, I hope.”

  “I guess we’ll see.” One golden eyebrow hiked slightly in interest, but he didn’t volley back, choosing to keep his professional game face on. She immediately gave him points for that.

  “It’s a little bit of a madhouse in here tonight.” Ariana interjected. “I was thinking you could sit down with Ian in your dressing room? Or maybe the bus would be better. I think you’d have it to yourselves.”

  At the mention of the tour bus, her eyes shot to him, and his did the same. The rush of awareness, the memory of the night on the bus with Ian came over her in a wave. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. If she had to be honest, the encounter had been good; she’d just been too wrapped up in Dillon to give it the attention she should have.

  “Not the bus,” Justine murmured, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the corner of Ian’s mouth twitched up in a suppressed smile. She found herself holding back her own smile.

  “Sure thing. Let’s get you settled in the dressing room.”

  Ariana led the way back to her dressing room, making sure they had water, drinks, coffee, and anything else she could possibly want before leaving them for the interview.

  As the door clicked shut behind him, she and Ian observed each other in loaded silence. She was starting to feel she might not have been fair to him. He’d filled a hole in her heart that night, and when she was done, she’d turned her back on him. Hardly the first time it happened in the world, and by no means the most egregious example of it, but still, she wondered if she might have missed a chance with a great guy because she couldn’t see past Dillon.

&n
bsp; Well, Dillon had been managed, safely relegated to friend status. The feelings lingered, and probably always would to some extent, but she wasn’t breaking herself to pieces over him anymore. Maybe it was time to test her newfound clear-headedness by giving someone else a go. Something to consider.

  “You look fantastic, Justine,” Ian finally spoke into the silence. “Success suits you.”

  “You think? I have to say, it doesn’t suck.”

  He laughed out loud. “No, I imagine it doesn’t. It seems like you were always meant for this. Does that make sense?”

  “In a way, it feels that way, too. I’m having the time of my life.”

  He smiled and it was so warm, so genuine, that her breath caught momentarily. He had a great smile. “I’m glad. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. When I met you before—” His eyes met hers briefly in one tiny meaningful flash. “You didn’t seem happy.”

  She cocked her head to the side at that. “I didn’t?”

  He shook his head. “I could see why. That band you were in—Failsafe?—wasn’t right for you. And all that testosterone on the road… it must have been miserable for you.”

  Justine thought about it for a minute. Yes, the tour had been full of a lot of male hijinks that at best exasperated her and at worst, broke her heart on a regular basis. But when she remembered spending every day with Dillon, hanging out, making music… she’d been far from miserable then.