Accidental Rock Star (19 page)

The elevator landed,
and the assistant followed him in. “We can set up studio time for
you tomorrow. Any special requests?”

Adrenalin jolted
through him. “Yeah. A bass guitar. Top of the line.”

“They have instruments
there.”

“I picked it up in
Texas. I want the bass guitar for me. I can play.”

She nodded and typed on
her phone while they exited the elevator. “I can arrange bass. But
the studio’s got the best musicians in the world. They’re going to
want you to concentrate on the vocals. What you do best.” She used
the same indulgent, yet dismissive, tone he’d heard since he was
fourteen. The elevator pinged. These interchangeable label
assistants didn’t realize he wasn’t fourteen anymore. And in a few
weeks he’d be eighteen, legal, and no longer contractually bound.
His parents had set it up that way. A feeling of freedom rushed
through him.

“Here’s your schedule.
February through August.” The assistant handed him a sheet of
paper. “I’ll email you a copy, too. But don’t forward it because
the label wants to do a big reveal.”

Tyler stuck his hand on
the biometric reader that sealed the entrance to his penthouse. “I
want burners sent to my friends in Texas. I’ll send you their
emails. I’m going to email you a list of stuff to send to the
Steeles, too, and the high school.”

“Sure. We can do that.
I’ll take care of it. But you know the safest thing for them is for
you to stay away.” The assistant curled both hands around her
computer tablet like a shield. “Spend some time at the studio.
Learn the new material. Your band’s raring to go. Even a little
sick of the hold-up because of Gina.”

Just her saying that
made him feel like a kid and at fault. He strode in, not holding
the door for her. His home was exactly the same—white walls, black
leather furniture, polished, spotless surfaces. It looked the same,
but different, too, shinier, more indulgent.

The assistant kept on,
and Tyler wanted her gone. He went to the mantle and ran a
fingertip across the base of his Grammy statue. The Grammys. That
had been a crazy night. He wanted to tell Aria about it.

The assistant kept
rambling, repeating herself now.

Tyler had had enough.
He returned to the door and held it open politely. “Thanks for
everything. Let me know when you send the burner phones.”

She remained where she
was. “You’ve been out of town for months.”

Not quite.

“We have more to go
over. Including your going out of town like that without telling
the label. We can’t help you if we don’t know where you are.” Her
voice was full-on chastising.

He didn’t need it. His
parents weren’t smothering; they’d let him move out over a year
ago. Why hadn’t he realized how pushy the label had gotten? Or
maybe it was he who’d changed. He crossed the room to the
assistant, put his hand on her lower back, and strode toward the
door, guiding her along.

“Email me the details.
After you send the burner phones.” He shut the door on her
protests. Then he moved across the room and collapsed on his sofa.
He stretched out his long legs. They didn’t hang over the side.
Having space wasn’t as satisfying as he’d have thought.

***

Garrett and Max arrived
the next evening with pizza. He didn’t have to let them in; he’d
keyed in their prints to his biometric lock when he moved in.
Something he regretted a little now, but not really. It was good to
see his friends.

Garrett shoved in
beside him on the couch and dropped three large pizza boxes on the
coffee table. “Shit. Move over.”

“Gonna shower?” Max
asked. “Ever again?”

“Whatever.” Tyler
hadn’t heard shit from anyone back in Texas. Not yesterday or
today. Though his assistant had reported she’d gotten shit set up
with everybody and given them his new number. Aunt Joellen and
Baylee were back at the trailer. Guards were in place with Ethan,
Dylan, and Aria to shoo off any unwanted press or, God forbid,
unwanted Gina. God. How pissed they must be not even to text. Not
even one of them. Not even Ethan or Dylan. He’d heard nothing from
them, and they had a game tonight. A halftime show he’d miss.

“I can’t believe the
guys didn’t call.” He grabbed a slice of pepperoni. “The girls I
get. They need time. A girl shaking off anger is like a guy trying
to sing soprano. But not the guys.”

“Girls,” Garrett and
Max said together, each with a separate, dismissive gesture.

Garrett dialed in
London, pulling up Caz on his phone. He filled him in while Max
brought in beers from the fridge. Mid-tale, Garrett turned back to
Tyler. “Wait a minute. Why’s Baylee pissed?” He narrowed his green
eyes. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing.”

Garrett arched his
brows.

“No, really. I sent
them a few things for the house after they told me not to. That’s
probably it. Women overreact.”

“Women,” Garrett and
Max said together.

Tyler stared at his
burner phone. Nothing.

Caz watched from the
screen on Garrett’s phone. “Silence. The Dear John letter without
explanation or closure. It’s a tough one.”

Garrett dropped a
supportive hand on his shoulder. “It’s a sad day when the best of
us fails,” Garrett said. “For when one fails, we all fail. Ask not
for whom the Dear John letter comes—it comes for all of us.”

“I’m pretty sure the
letter just came for him,” Caz said.

“Impossible.” Tyler
grabbed one of the beers. “All women love rock stars.”

“Not all women,”
Garrett said. “Some have discriminating taste that makes them
superior to all others.”

“It’s not like he can
make one of his half-assed apologies and win this one back,” Caz
said.

“Up your game, man,”
Max said.

“Aren’t you listening?”
Caz said. “He’s
got
no game.”

“Fuck you.” He had game
and he had contacts. Tyler stirred and felt an empowered rush. “I
know how to make her talk to me.”

Worst Monday following
the worst week. Ever.

A fifth girl shoved a
cell phone in Aria’s face. “Have you seen this?”

Yeah. She’d seen it.
She saw it last week when it was emailed to her a hundred times by
strangers who somehow had her email address. The video was of Tyler
landing in L.A. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and he walked between
two bodyguards in long strides toward a waiting limo. Every inch of
him looked like Sax Grayson. The confident walk, the commanding
air, the wealth of the ride.

The video rolled. “Tell
us about your girlfriend, Sax. Is she in your band now?”

Sax faltered and then a
grin settled on his face. “Wish I could keep a girl that long. I
run ’em off as soon as I catch them.” He leaned toward the mic,
raised his sunglasses and winked. “You know any girl out there
who’d take me on? Send her my way.” His shades dropped back over
his eyes and he headed on.

The video ended and her
stomach sank like she was seeing it for the first time. The girl in
her high school hallway was more persistent than the reporter. “I
thought you were dating him. That
was
Tyler, right?”

Another girl shoved
into their group. A girl who’d never talked to her before today.
“Yeah. What happened? You knew who he was, right? How long did you
know?” She turned away. “OMG. There’s Dylan. I always thought he
was so cute. Did you see him on the video at the pavilion?
OMG.”

“Ethan’s more my type.
I’ve always said that. Did you hear he was moving to L.A.? He’s
already joined a band. Like he’s not even waiting for graduation.”
She waved her hand high. “Ethan, over here.” She left.

Aria took the
opportunity to ditch them for the band hall. It had always proven
to be a haven from unwanted attention in the past. She pushed open
the door. The back two walls were lined floor to ceiling with
boxes. Director Garcia waved papers at her. He wore a huge grin.
“Check out this inventory from Tyler. New uniforms. New
instruments. Backup instruments. Including some we’ve never had
before: castanets, a gong, a fife.” He grinned big, his voice
giddy. “We’ll do a full inventory during band.” He shot out the
door. “I’ve got a faculty meeting.”

The boxes towered,
representing the most expensive kiss-off she’d ever seen. Pleasure
at the instruments warred with fury over the brush-off. Like she
could be bought.

After the news had
broken and Tyler hadn’t shown up at school, she’d known he’d gone
back to L.A. She just felt it. Then the video had confirmed it. She
had ridiculously held out hope he’d come back through two
rehearsals at Ethan’s and then Friday night’s halftime performance.
He didn’t show. Tyler wasn’t ending the semester here like he’d
promised. Throw a camera crew at him and he was out of there.

Being angry was much
easier than how she really felt. She hurt. She missed him. She
missed him a lot. He freaking loved music and was as obsessed with
it as she was. He was the only one who’d let her go on and on about
it for hours. And they’d spent so much time together. She hadn’t
realized how wrapped up in him she’d been until he left.

Dylan and Ethan gave
her sympathetic looks, which she ignored. They’d taken to hiding
out in here when they could. Baylee, too.

“How’s ‘
your
cousin
?’” Aria couldn’t help the sarcasm, but she gave Baylee
an apologetic grimace as soon as the words left her mouth.

Baylee shrugged.
“Haven’t heard from him. Though a boatload of crap got delivered to
the house.” She gestured at the boxes lining the band hall. “Our
living room looks something like this.” She lowered her voice. “One
of the boxes has a deed to the nearest five acres and that includes
a house.”

“Oh, wow.” Aria sank
onto the nearest chair. “That’s really generous.”

“Yeah. Mom hasn’t a
clue how to give it back to him.” Baylee rolled her eyes. “And
heaven help us if my dad finds out.” She looked a little
uncomfortable at having shared that much and shut up.

Aria put her hand on
her arm. “Makes it hard to be mad.”

“Buying things doesn’t
make anything right.” Baylee squatted by Aria’s chair. “My dad’s
hit a few winning streaks in his life. He shows up with a boatload
of crap, too.” She looked again at the boxes. “Not this much stuff.
But it doesn’t make up for being used.” She swiped her hand over
her hair and her face flushed. “I’m not mixing up Tyler with my
dad. Tyler didn’t use us. He’s being ridiculously generous. We just
want to give it back so he knows we didn’t use him either.”

“He knows that. Okay?
Know he knows that.”

Baylee pressed her lips
together and nodded. She rose and went over to the boxes.

Conflicting emotions
warred within Aria. She knew Tyler. Despite all the drama, she knew
him and there had to be a reason he’d denied her to the press. Why
would he introduce her at a concert and then pretend she didn’t
exist a week later?
Sax.
She didn’t know him. Maybe Tyler
was the act. And Sax was the reality.
Him,
she didn’t know
at all. She went through to the office and sorted the mail for Dr.
Garcia. There were new subscriptions to music journals. Her hand
shook as she centered it on his desk. Six new magazine
subscriptions had come in her mailbox this week too: review
magazines, rock culture, country, journals. She’d read them cover
to cover, flagging the coolest parts.

Aria ran through the
articles in her mind when she needed a distraction during the day.
It worked okay to block out nosy questions, not so much to block
out thoughts of Tyler. He was too entwined with music in her
mind.

She was headed out to
her car when Baylee ran up to her, panting, trying to catch her
breath.

“What’s up?”

Baylee pointed toward
the band hall.

A thrill shot through
her.
Tyler.

Baylee waved for her to
come on and ran back toward the school. Aria threw her backpack in,
clicked the locks and followed. She half-jogged, half-ran while
trying to smooth her hair.

Baylee put her finger
over her lips to indicate silence and led her into the room. Band
hall was dark except the lights from the office. Two guys were
silhouetted inside.

Hunter and one of his
football buddies, Jay.

Her shoulders sank.

“I saw them headed in
here,” Baylee whispered.

Jay said, “I don’t
know. There’s just so many of them. We didn’t make enough.”

Hunter held up a large
bowl. Lime green gelatin jiggled inside. “We’ve got what we’ve
got.”

No. No freaking
way.

“If we can pop the top
off the trumpet,” Jay said, “we can use it to funnel the Jell-O
into the flute.”

Baylee gurgled and
snarled. If gelatin could talk and turned rabid, those were the
sounds it would make.

Both guys turned their
heads at once. Buzz cuts. Busted expressions.

“You two have been
messing with our stuff?” Aria tilted her head.

“Now, Aria,” Hunter
said.

“Why?”

Hunter shrugged. “Just
playing with you, Band Geek.”

He was just playing?
All those ruined performances. All that ruined equipment they
couldn’t afford to replace. The music. The thing that mattered most
to her and clearly mattered nothing to him. She knew what mattered
to him.

Aria ran to her chair
and grabbed her conductor’s baton. She jetted to the door. She ran,
barely watching for cars, straight to the field.

Li-War bounced around,
fully inflated, tongue taped up, ready for tonight’s pep rally.

“Wait up!” Hunter and
his buddy were catching up. Baylee had hold of Hunter, wrapping
herself around him like a guitar strap, slowing him down. Dumb-shit
Jay was slowed down by the massive bowl of Jell-O in his arms.

“What?” Aria looked at
the grass under Li-War’s belly. “You were going to invite me to
hang out here?”