Wild Open (9 page)

Rushani glanced up, spotted Leah, smiled. “We’ll be at the hotel soon.”

“Are we going past the venue?” Leah asked.

“No, not tonight,” Rushani said. “It’s in the other direction. But you’ll have plenty of time to look around tomorrow morning.”

Marina tucked her phone in her pocket and sat up. “What time is load-in tomorrow?”

“Noon,” Rushani said. “So, Leah and the rest of you, soundcheck is at 3:00. Doors are at 6:00, and Timory’s soundcheck is at 5:00, so that will give you a few hours for rehearsal, and then dinner.”

Marina yawned and scratched her face. “Sounds good.”

The bus pulled into the parking lot of a hotel, and Rushani went inside to check in and get room keys. Leah went to her bunk to grab her backpack, which had everything in it that she needed for a night in a hotel room: change of clothes, toiletries, laptop. When she went back to the front lounge, James handed her a piece of paper. The words at the top, printed in bold font, caught her eye:
July 14 Schedule
.

“What’s this?”

James grinned. “Rushani’s daily schedule. She’s terrifyingly organized.”

“Wow,” Leah said, skimming the typed list. Terrifying was the right word. Rushani had their entire day planned out, from breakfast down to bus call after the show. It was a little over-the-top, but at the same time, it was probably necessary for a tour with this many people.

“Breakfast is for Andrew,” James said. “Everyone else just eats whenever. You don’t need to worry about showing up. But this way Rushani can force Andrew to get out of bed at a reasonable hour. It’s on the schedule.”

“And everyone knows you don’t argue with the schedule,” O’Connor said.

“Okay,” Leah said. She folded the paper and tucked it inside her backpack for later scrutiny. “Duly noted.”

Rushani came back with keys and room assignments, and they all trooped inside and filtered upstairs. Leah had expected to share a room, but she opened the door to a room with a single king-size bed, and nobody came in after her. The benefits of touring with an internationally famous band.

It was still early, and she wasn’t tired yet, but she changed into her pajamas anyway and climbed in bed. The mattress was soft and the sheets were cool. She put in her headphones again, Andrew’s voice and James’s drums pulsing against her eardrums, and looked over the schedule. It didn’t look like she had anything to do until 2:30, when Rushani had written
Band meet in hotel lobby for transfer to venue.
Maybe she would go over a little early and see if the sound guy would help her fine-tune her setup.

I’m adrift without you, sailboat on the sea
, Andrew sang.
Darkness rises from the water to welcome me.

Leah fell asleep.

She woke in darkness. Disoriented, she fumbled around on the nightstand for her phone. It was after 8 in the morning; the room was dark because of the blackout curtains. She sat up in bed and rubbed her face. She had gotten plenty of sleep, but she felt a little blurry anyway, like her head was swaddled in fine cotton.

Leah took a long, hot shower and then went downstairs to forage at the breakfast bar. Maybe she would run into O’Connor, and they could eat breakfast together, and do a little illicit flirting. But she didn’t see him anywhere, which was probably for the best. She needed to keep her distance.

The breakfast setup was impressive: the usual bagels and cold cereal, plus made-to-order omelets, oatmeal, pastries, and what smelled like surprisingly decent coffee. She got an omelet and a a little plate of fruit and went into the dining room to sit down.

Andrew was there, sitting by himself in a corner. He was hunched over a notebook, scribbling furiously, a cup of coffee beside him and a plate with a half-eaten croissant. Leah hesitated in the doorway, hovering, torn between the impulse to go back to her room and the guilty urge to clear the air.

You’re a grownup, she told herself sternly. Grownups didn’t avoid unpleasant conversations. They seized the bull by the horns.

God.

She crossed the room to Andrew’s table. “Mind if I sit here?”

He glanced up and saw her, raised one eyebrow. “Go ahead.” Then he bent his head to his notebook again and went right on scribbling.

Well. Okay. This was horrifically awkward. Sheer stubbornness led Leah to set her tray on the table and sit down across from Andrew. He kept scribbling. Leah’s face burned. She should have just gone back up to her room and avoided this entire situation. She forced herself to eat her omelet in slow, deliberate bites, like she had terrible, silent, tension-filled breakfasts every day of the week. If Andrew wanted to play power games, she wasn’t going to let him win.

After a few minutes, he pushed his notebook aside and set down his pen. “Sorry,” he said. “I wanted to get that all down before I forgot.”

Andrew, apologizing? Leah took a hasty sip of coffee to mask her confusion. “Uh, writing song lyrics?”

“Yeah,” he said. “The label’s already hassling us about the next album.”

“Wow,” Leah said, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say. She wished Luka were there. He always knew how to make small talk. Andrew leaned back in his chair, sipping his own coffee and giving her a flat, assessing look. Leah pushed a piece of omelet around her plate. “So, uh,” she said finally. “About yesterday. I wanted to apologize for—uh, losing my temper and storming out like that. It was really unprofessional.”

“I was out of line,” Andrew said, which was Leah’s second big shock of the last three minutes. Her limited interactions with Andrew, and everyone else’s warnings about him, had given her the impression that he was a grade-A irredeemable asshole, not even worth the effort of interacting with on a regular basis. But here he was speaking calmly with her, and even
apologizing.
Now she wasn’t sure what to think. “I was, uh. Sean likes to gossip. I was curious. I didn’t realize—”

“It’s okay,” Leah said, cutting him off. She didn’t want to go into the particulars. “No hard feelings. I know people are going to ask about it. I need to stop being so sensitive.”

“You were close with him,” Andrew said, his eyebrows indicating that he was asking a question. “Your lead singer.”

“Yeah,” Leah said.
Close
didn’t begin to describe her relationship with Corey, but she wasn’t about to spill all her dirty, miserable, heart-wrenching secrets over free hotel breakfast. And especially not to Andrew, who maybe wasn’t actually the devil but still didn’t strike her as a particularly reliable or trustworthy person. “Anyway. That’s all over now. Can I see what you’re working on? Unless it’s private—”

“It’s not,” Andrew said. “It’ll probably be on the next album, unless the label decides,
again
, that my lyrics need to be less ‘obscure’ and more ‘accessible.’” He made finger-quotes around
obscure
and
accessible
, and rolled his eyes in a way that made Leah think he had met with the same hard-eyed record execs who had come sniffing around wanting to sign Rung.

“Your lyrics are beautiful,” Leah blurted, and then winced. She didn’t want to come off as a fawning sycophant. He probably got plenty of that from his adoring fans.

But Andrew
blushed
and rounded his shoulders forward, looking shy. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “The label asked me to sort of tone it down on the album—some of it’s pretty trite—”

“I think they’re beautiful,” Leah said again, more firmly this time. “And I’d love to see what you’re working on now.” Shit, were she and Andrew making friends? Were they going to be friends? Weird, but better than being enemies.

“Well, here,” Andrew said, and slid the notebook across the table. “It’s nothing much—a few scribbles—”

It was so strange to see him, Famous Rock God, acting like a bashful teenager. Well, everyone had their weak points; now that she had seen his soft underbelly, maybe she didn’t have to worry about him being a jerk.

She bent her head to the notebook. Andrew’s handwriting was surprisingly tidy, but it still took her a moment to decipher his cursive scrawl.
I know they say that grace will lay its golden hand upon your brow
, she read,
and that will be your comfort when the storms begin to rage. But here on earth
—and then a few lines scratched out with thick black lines—
here on earth we only speak in words, and love reveals its tongue by crying louder than the squall: the pulse, the beat, the pulse of rushing blood.

“It isn’t a song yet,” Andrew said, apologizing now for something he had done right.

“It will be,” Leah said. She saw what he meant; some of the phrasing was awkward, and the meter broke down in the second-to-last line. It needed work. But still. “Keep going. I want to read the rest of it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Soundcheck was, to put it bluntly, a disaster.

James and O’Connor both showed up at the arena a few minutes ahead of time, looking pissed. A knot of tension tied itself around the base of Leah’s spine. Jeff, who was crouched on the stage beside her, fiddling with the connection to her guitar, murmured, “Bad news.” He sighed, and glanced up at Leah. “Don’t let them derail soundcheck. This is for you. You haven’t played with the band before. Tell them to put their dicks away and stick to business.”

“Right,” Leah said, thinking that Jeff was seriously overestimating her chutzpah. “Okay.”

She had walked to the arena with the roadies for load-in. They wouldn’t let her touch anything—said she didn’t know where anything was supposed to go—so she had sat in the shade and called Luka, and watched the stage taking shape on the field below. She had thought the band’s crew would do everything, but instead a small army of local arena employees had descended on the field to set up barriers and seats, wire up the sound booth, and help with the rigging. Stage construction had begun several days ago, and only the finishing touches remained. The whole production was choreographed as carefully as any ballet. It was pretty impressive.

She and Jeff were friends now, maybe. He seemed to think she needed guidance and wisdom, which she was happy to accept. He had spent the last hour working with her to get her guitar to play nice with the sound system. She felt better knowing that her instrument, at least, wouldn’t let her down.

She wasn’t so sure about the other humans involved in the process.

James and O’Connor climbed the steps onto the stage and bee-lined for their respective instruments. O’Connor met her gaze and flexed his mouth in a tight, humorless smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Leah let out a low whistle. No sign of Andrew, and the other two were pissed—she could put two and two together.

“Don’t sweat it,” Jeff said. “This happens a lot.”

Great. So she could look forward to this level of tension for the rest of the tour.

Several minutes passed. O’Connor’s guitar emitted a terrible squeal of feedback, and the roadies erupted into good-natured shit-talking. The back of Leah’s neck itched. Her T-shirt, damp with sweat, clung to the small of her back. It was hot as hell. She couldn’t wait for the sun to go down. O’Connor was wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts that kind of stretched the limits of what Leah thought it was appropriate for a man to wear. He had good legs, though: muscular and not too hairy. His shoulders were lightly freckled. She remembered what those muscles felt like beneath her hands.

Oh, God.

Jeff adjusted her amp again, played a few notes, and nodded. “You’re all set.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles. “I’m going for a cold one. See you later. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Leah said weakly. Most of the other roadies had already bailed, except for a few of the sound and lighting people.

James rattled his drumsticks against his snare. Leah turned to look at him, and he raised his eyebrows at her. She rose from her crouch and crossed the stage to the low platform where his kit was set up. “Are we starting?”

He nodded toward O’Connor, who was talking with one of the roadies. “FOH’s chatting with O’Connor. We’ll get started pretty soon.” He raised his eyebrows again. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Leah said. She would never admit to being worried. That was unprofessional. “I had an interesting afternoon.”

James grinned. “Yeah, load-in is intense with these arena shows. Not like playing at a little club.”

“No,” Leah said. She was used to hauling her own gear, and making do with whatever sound and lighting equipment came hard-wired with the venue. The elaborate rigging the crew had erected around the stage was like nothing she had ever seen.

“Fuck,” James said for no apparent reason, his eyes catching on something past Leah’s shoulder.

Leah turned, following the direction of his gaze, and saw Andrew climbing onto the stage, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Rushani was a few steps behind him. She didn’t look happy.

“Soundcheck in five,” yelled the roadie who had been talking to O’Connor—the front of house engineer. Leah couldn’t remember his name.

O’Connor leaned forward and spoke into the microphone set up in front of him. “Nice of you to join us, Andrew.” His voice reverberated through the stadium and ended in a feedback whine.