Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (5 page)

"Kel—”

"Liza, that's enough!" He turns to me with hard eyes. "You've taken care of me, of everything, for long enough. I want to take care of myself. I want you to be able to worry less and get a job better than walking around a stage naked."

Though I know he didn't mean it to, that hurt. I don't hate what I do. Performing is something I enjoy—love, even. I hadn't planned to do burlesque or cabaret style performances.

Having seen me flinch from his comment, Kelvin closes the distance between us in two large steps. He wraps me up in his arms, holding me tight, his chin resting on my head. It’s hard to believe he's so much taller than me now that he's an adult.

"I didn't mean it like that, sis. I'm sorry." He rocks us. "You know I didn't mean it like that, don't you?" Pulling out of the embrace, he looks down, worry creasing his forehead.

I pat his side. "I know. I just get a little defensive about it. I don't hate what I do and it's better than a lot of other jobs I could be doing."

"Liza, you're so much better than that club. I wish you would realize it and do something about it." He gives another firm squeeze before ultimately releasing me. "I'm going to go clean up my room before you threaten to beat my ass next."

"Ha-ha." I shake my head.

“If you ever get the chance for more, just promise me you’ll take it.” He grins, retreating to his bedroom.

Shrugging, I go back to the sink, wash the dishes, wipe down counters, and fold the pullout bed back into a couch. Then, the real cleaning begins. I have a lot to get done before this afternoon.

With the apartment in better order and Lucas finally finished scrubbing some sticky brown substance from his bedroom carpet, he’s dressed for soccer practice and slipping on tennis shoes while he waits impatiently by the door.

"If I'm late again, Coach is going to make me run laps."
Jesus, he's only nine and I want to slap the teen out of his mouth.

"Hey, you’re the reason you were late last week, not me," I remind him. "When I say go straight to practice, that doesn't mean stop by Sean's house and wait for him so you guys can be late together."

Lucas opens the door, we step into the hallway, and I lock the door behind us.

"We didn't plan on being late," he argues, his voice lowering. "He couldn't find any socks, so I ran back here and got him some of mine."

Before he could push the button for the elevator, I grab him and pull him into a hug. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Lucas’ best friend since Kindergarten, Sean, lives with his disabled grandmother, Mrs. Johnson. She tries her best, but can barely take care of herself. His father is just as MIA as Lucas', but Sean doesn’t have a mom. Well, he does, technically, but she only shows up to collect her monthly check, get Sean's hopes up that she is sticking around this time, and get whatever she can from her ill mother. So, when Lucas says Sean couldn't find clean socks, that probably means the only pairs he has are now lost or beyond dirty.

"I'm going to be late." He pulls away. "And don't hug and kiss me when we get to the field." His scowl would be more convincing if there wasn't a hint of a smile on his lips.

"We should invite Sean to stay over," I say as we step into the elevator.

"Cool." Lucas shrugs, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

We didn't exactly have a lot, but both Kelvin and I try to help Sean out as much as we can. And since it’s getting closer to the end of the month, I’m sure Mrs. Johnson is struggling. I'd have to make sure Lucas helps him pack most of his clothes—dirty and clean, so I can wash them while he’s distracted with video games.

Cutting it close, we run the final block to the park and make it just in time.

"See," I gasp for air, "just in time."

Before he can reply, I grab his head between both my hands and kiss his forehead. He swats at me.

"Mom," he whines. "What did I say about the kissing?!" Pulling away, he runs across the field, his green duffle bag bouncing against his back.

"Uncle Kelvin will be here by the end of practice," I shout after him.

Turning and jogging backward, he gives me two thumbs up.

His coach catches my attention with a wave, so I wave back. Coach Stan and his wife—the team mom—keep an excellent eye on the kids during practices. Knowing most of them come from this neighborhood of poor parenting and/or families who sometimes have two jobs just to cover expenses, they do their best to keep the boys all accounted for.

With a deep breath, I rush for the bus stop to run my afternoon errands and check in on Mrs. Johnson. When I finally arrive back home, I start dinner.

Chapter Four

Jackson

The ringing phone interrupts my velvety lace dreams of my snake charmer. Then comes voices combined with a knock on the bedroom door. I guess the day is starting whether I want it to or not.

"What?" Groaning, I sit up on the side of the bed.

"Jackson," Julia's voice is muffled by the closed door, "we need to get moving to the arena."

"What?" I mumble from the bed.

She begins talking through the door—again.

"Julia, open the damn door."

Julia enters the room. "Jacks—”

Having stood to stretch, I twist to see why she stopped speaking.

Julia's eyes travel up and down my body twice, her mouth hanging open.

I look down my body to make sure everything is in order. I'm wearing a pair of shorts, sans morning wood, so all is good. Turning back toward Julia, she holds a hand over her face, her cheeks flush.

"Christ, girl, I'm not naked." Chuckling, I shake my head.

"Sorry." She reddens further.

"No reason to be sorry." Scratching at the overgrown hair on my head, I walk toward her. "What's going on today?"

Julia doesn’t speak until I pass by and stand at a breakfast cart.

"Yes, today, the schedule." She finally collects herself. "You need to be at the arena this morning. The Morning Show will be there to interview the judges."

Nodding my acknowledgment, I sit down at the breakfast bar and start in on egg whites, pancakes, and hash browns covered in ketchup.

"Then you have a meeting at the studio to listen through some of the contestants who have qualified for the next stage. From there, you have lunch with the judges, as well as a radio and a local TV show appearance."

"Departure time?" I ask around a mouthful of eggs.

"We need to be downstairs in an hour." Julia moves to my side as she answers.

I shovel in the last of my food and push away from the table to stand, needing to get dressed for the day.

At the bedroom door, I turn back to Julia. Her eyes lock on me, an eager, ready-to-please expression on her face. I smile.

"I need a table at the same burlesque club I was at last night. Can you make that happen?"

She nods and begins typing away on her iPad.

Closing the door behind me, I dig through the closet and pull out my standard attire: dark jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather belt with my favorite oversized buckle with “Cock Fight” in bold silver. Slipping into black boots, I walk into the bathroom and wet my hair to gain some control over the mess.

"Fuck, I need to get my hair cut."

My eyes catch on my black leather bag. Licking my lips, I reach over and take out the brown paper package. Lining up a couple rails, I take care of second breakfast and wash any remnants from my face.

Shaking water out of my hair, I stride back out into the main area of the suite. Julia jumps to attention.

"I made arrangements with a Thom for your table at the club tonight." She grins in satisfaction. "He's pleased you will be joining them again and wants you to let him know if you have any requests before you arrive."

She looks at me expectantly.

"Oh, I have a request alright, but I don't think he can lay her out on the table for me." I grin down at Julia and her eyes widen. "But," I continue, "if he can arrange for the snake charmer spread out, I'll take it."

"Umm…" Julia stands completely still, even as I make my way to the door of the hotel suite.

"Julia?"

She looks up when I call her.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'm just being an ass." Smirking, I pull open the door to the room. "Come on, doll, we gotta get moving."

With a deep breath and a nod, she moves into gear.

And when Julia kicks into gear, she talks a mile a minute. From the itinerary for each meeting, interview, and meal, to assuring me she made the subject the interviewers weren't allowed to address clear.
She's definitely thorough.

Inside the L.A. Memorial Sports Arena, an assistant shows us to a large waiting room. There is only one co-judge I know personally.

"Gemma," I exclaim.

Her bright, neon red head turns toward me, a large grin spread across her porcelain face.

"Jackson Shaw." Gemma excuses herself from the group, approaching me with open arms.

She wraps her arms around me and I lift her off of her high-heel clad feet, spinning her in a circle.

"Put me down, you beast," she laughs. "I think I'm getting a fucking nosebleed."

Smiling, I put her back on her heels. She grabs my arm and pulls me over to a couch.

To look at tiny little Gemma, with her neon red hair, black pin-up girl eyeliner, and bright red lips, you would think she’s a member of Hush. But hidden beneath the wild hair, elaborate make-up, and a multitude of tattoos currently hidden by her clothes, is the latest operatic sensation. The voice of this girl is unbelievable. Her range is out of this world.

"How you been, gorgeous?" I sit on the couch next to her.

"Good." She shrugs. "Still can't believe I'm doing this type of show."

"How
did
you end up doing this?" I settle into the plush leather, Julia flittering around the room with production assistants catching my attention briefly before I turn back to Gem.

"I'm about to star in a rock opera." She leans back into the cushion beside me, laying her head on it. "This is supposed to help bring it to the attention of the masses." Always one to talk with her hands, her arms stretch out at the end of her sentence.

"Well, I guess it will be pretty good publicity." I nod.

"What about you? How'd you get roped into this?" Her head, still resting on the cushion, rolls in my direction.

"Unanimous vote by band and management sentencing me to weeks of ear piercing headaches."

"Maybe it won't be that bad."

We stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Okay, so maybe at first it will be…"

"Excruciating?" I finish for her.

Laughing louder, we draw the attention of the other judges. As they begin gathering around, Gem and I stand from the couch, and introductions are finally made.

I know of these judges, but this is my first time meeting them in person. Melody Waymen: a tall, curvy, young, golden-blonde, who can't be mistaken for anything but a country girl. She has dominated the country music charts for the past four years and recently found some pop chart success. Gideon Thorne: an average-sized man with a broad nose and dark hair
,
who's produced some of the greatest artists at Bel Suono Studios—the sponsor of the show. Kamden "Big Kam" Miller hit the rap scene nine years ago, built an empire around his name, and has discovered at least five major rap artists. And Cheyenne Post: the most hard ass music critic around. To this day, I think even Chris gets nervous about her reviews in HITS magazine. Hell, the whole band’s balls shrivel up when she’s involved.

After the last introduction, I do a count.

"Someone missing?" I ask anyone who has the answer.

"Zar—”

Just as Cheyenne is about to answer, a tall, wide-shouldered man enters. He stands a foot shorter than me, his dark hair just brushing his shoulders.

"Cheyenne, you talking about me already?" With a broad grin, he winks at her.

She blushes.
Holy shit, he just made the hard ass blush! I may love him, too.

"Hey, man." He steps toward me first, his hand out.

We clamp hands tightly and shake. The sleeve of his shirt pulls back, revealing some nice ink around his wrist disappearing beneath the fabric.

"Hey." I give a nod. "Jackson Sh—”

"No need to introduce." He releases my hand. "I'm honored to be in the room with you." His grin grows larger. "I'm Zarek Sisko, singer for Vehicle of Destruction."

"Fuck, man. I'm sorry."
I'm such an ass.
"Best New Artists 2013." I smile. Finally recognizing him, I feel like an ass cheek.

"No apologies necessary." Zarek turns to the rest of the group, greeting them. When he comes to Gemma, he pauses for a second and scowls.

"You," she growls from beside me.

"That's right, sweetheart. Me." A smirk tips the corner of his mouth.

"Are you stalking me now? And don't call me sweetheart!"

They step toward each other, facing off. The rest of us take a step back—a step way back.

"Don't flatter yourself,
sweetheart
." Zarek's nostrils flare. "You aren't worth the effort to stalk." He crosses his arms over his chest.

"You self-absorbed, arrogant jackass!" Gemma closes the distance, clenching her fists at her sides.

Zarek leans close to her face. His lips move, but no one could hear. Except Gemma—she hears him. Her face reddens and she starts shaking. Her hand snaps back and across his face so fast, if you blinked, you missed it.

He grabs her wrist and yanks her against his chest. I step toward them.

"Okay, you guys don't like each other. We get it." Putting my arm around Gemma, Zarek's eyes go to my hand before they meet my face, anger flashing. "Let go, man."

For the briefest second, I think he might attack me. I don't know what the hell went on with these two, but I don't want any part of it.

"Calm down and let go. Don't do something stupid." I keep my voice calm and level.

He takes a deep breath, exhales, and turns to Gemma with a smirk. "This isn't over." Abruptly, he releases her and walks to the other side of the room.

"What the hell was that?" I look down at a flustered Gem.

"Nothing," she mumbles, pulling herself free of my arm.

"It didn't look, or sound, like nothing."

"It's nothing, okay?" she snaps.

Putting my hands up in surrender, I walk away.
As I said, I don’t want any part of it.

"Jackson, I'm sorry," she calls after me.

I just lift my hand in a loose wave.
I don't need this shit. Women are fucking crazy.

Sitting down next to Julia, I bury my head in my hands.

"When can I get the fuck out of here?"

"Good morning, everyone. Thank you for joining us today." I look up from my hands at the sound of a man's voice. "If you will all follow me, I will get you set up with your microphones."

He waits as we file out the door. I motion for Julia to exit before me and scowl at the man as he checks out her ass. When he sees he's busted, his eyes drop to the floor.
Yeah, fucker, how do you know she ain't with me? You don't.

In a large, open space with multiple cameras and crew members, our interviewer, Meriwether Shay, sits, flipping through oversized index cards. We sit to the left of Meriwether in assigned director chairs. Crew members flit about, wiring us up and having each of us test the small mics. The gleam in Meriwether's eyes when they land on me tell me she's not going to hold back. So much for topics not to be discussed. This bitch is going to bleed me for everything she can get. With shaking hands, I feel around my pockets for the little brown vial of numbness and think of a reason to escape to the bathroom.