Tangled Up In You (Rogue #1)

Chapter 15

15

GAVIN

2002

“ O h, get out of there. Get out of there! We’re gonna die!”

“Steady on, Marty. We’ve got them where we want them.”

Gavin barely registered his bandmates’ videogame-inspired banter—not just because he was distracted, but because the dynamic playing out between bassist Martin and drummer Shay was typical. Shay was the solid force within their rhythm section, the one to impose some discipline onto Martin. Whereas Martin was stocky, baby-faced, and aimless, Shay was all compact muscles, prominent Irish cheekbones, and laser-focused. Gavin had no doubt that Shay would be the one to lead the two of them to victory in their Call of Duty gaming battle.

They were on their tour bus heading to Los Angeles after sold-out shows in San Francisco. This was the band’s first time in America and it had been a wild ride with both the college scene and alternative radio latching onto their debut album, It Could Be Now . With two singles charting in the top ten, they’d sold just over three million albums worldwide.

So why was he feeling such a strong sense of desolation? The view through the tour bus window was of a barren landscape, all beige and lifeless in temperatures so hot and foreign to him that the heat of the sunbaked glass nearly singed his fingertips.

“What’s rattling around in that head of yours, Gav?”

Gavin reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the window to look at Conor, his best friend. Conor was lounging on the sole sofa in the bus, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles with his head resting in the crook of his folded arm as he read a book. If Gavin showed the slightest interest in the book— Life of Pi —Conor could recite an on-the-spot essay on its literary merits. Besides being the best-looking guy in the band, he was also the smartest.

“What’s that?” Gavin asked, still feeling out of sorts.

Conor didn’t look up from his book. “What’s keeping you from finalizing that setlist?”

The sheet of paper on the table in front of him was blank, the Sharpie in his hand still capped and unused.

“Ah, I feel like boiled shite,” Gavin said with a grimace and rubbed the scruff on his face. While it was true that he was hungover, the thing that had sent his mind into a fog more than anything were thoughts of Sophie Kavanaugh.

In fact, he’d been thinking of her nonstop since their most recent shows in northern California. Fantasies that Sophie might be in the audience of one of those shows had swirled in his head, tripping him up during a couple of songs before he regained his concentration. Knowing Sophie had grown up in nearby Menlo Park in Silicon Valley and returned there after her year of studies in Dublin made him hope she would turn up for the band’s shows.

But she hadn’t.

And he’d partied especially hard after each show to numb the disappointment he felt.

“I wouldn’t know from experience,” Conor said, “but I hear a bit of the black stuff is a good tonic for what ails you.”

“You got a magic stash of Guinness, then?” Gavin muttered grumpily but Conor just raised his eyebrows in self-satisfaction.

Conor was notorious for never overindulging in alcohol. Not only could he hold his liquor, but he never got hungover. Hell, no matter how late they were out partying, Conor always got up early the next day to work out. He possessed a rare and, honestly, annoying, kind of discipline. Annoying because discipline wasn’t something Gavin was normally associated with. He was more of a follow-your-heart, spontaneous kind of person.

After a minute more of moody silence, Conor dropped his book onto his lap and said, “You could have reached out to her, you know?”

Even though he hadn’t spoken to Conor about Sophie in ages, he wasn’t surprised his friend had sussed out that there was more on his mind than a hangover. Conor was there, after all, when Sophie left Dublin.

He’d been shattered.

Both because he truly couldn’t imagine life without her and also because her leaving triggered the same kind of abandonment issues he’d struggled with for most of his life. Resentment that she—the one person he’d thought was his safe space—was responsible for that searing pain all over again soon followed. His gut reaction was to feel betrayed. Logically, he knew she had no choice but to go back home, but it was both his worst and best trait that he led with his heart. And his heart turned her into the thief of his common sense on the matter. If she could walk away that easily, he’d rationalized, then he mustn’t have mattered all that much to her.

So, he’d gone on with his life, forcing her from his consciousness while indulging in the many oh-so-willing young women he encountered in the music scene and especially on tour. This was the life he’d always envisioned. Amazing times with his best friends, making music, partying, and sleeping with whoever he wanted whenever he wanted.

Then why did he ever entertain the possibility of seeing Sophie at the past two shows? Opening himself up to that fantasy earned him nothing but disappointment.

“Let’s do ‘So Real.’”

He looked up to find Conor had abandoned his book and was sitting opposite him at the small table.

Thankfully, Conor had dropped his question about Gavin being the one to reach out to Sophie. Focusing on music instead was just what he needed, not reminiscing about a girl he’d never see again.

Having just one album of their own songs to play, they had to flesh out their sets with covers and had been working lately on a couple of songs from Jeff Buckley’s album Grace. Conor had long been itching to put “So Real” on the setlist since it would give him the chance to toy with feedback on the guitar.

“What about ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’?” Gavin suggested and sang the line about being too young to keep love from going wrong. It was one of those hurts-so-good lines that he wished he had written for himself. It was so fitting to his experience, after all.

“Nah, let’s not indulge your moodiness with that one,” Conor said.

“All right. Here’s what we’ll do,” Gavin said, and wrote the song title “Last Goodbye” because he knew it would make the girls in the audience scream when he sang one particular line that sounded like a flirty invitation.

Conor nodded.

“What did you decide?” Shay asked, not taking his eyes off the wall-mounted monitor. He and Martin were still deep into their game.

When Gavin told him the name of the song, Martin sang the line Gavin had in mind when he chose it, belting out an ear-splitting falsetto: “Kiss me, please kiss me.”

“You’re rubbish, Marty. Never do that again,” Gavin said with a laugh.

Martin and the others joined in the laughter. Soon he and Shay were back to their game and Conor had returned to his book.

Gavin looked down at the setlist but all he saw was a fleeting memory of Sophie. It was her smiling at him before turning away, her long blond hair swinging over her shoulder. He had played that image in his mind over and over in the last few years. It was the hint of her smile before he lost sight of her that captivated him. There was warmth, sweetness, and a teasing flirt in that small gesture. It was everything Sophie. But he knew there was no point in holding on to that vision. Especially because the good memories were tainted by the ache of loss.

When she’d left him, he knew he couldn’t keep in touch with her. It would’ve been too painful. Seeing her again would only rip open the wounds he’d let scar over.

It was for the best that she didn’t show up to their gigs. Sophie wasn’t a part of his life and never would be again. It was time to push thoughts of her away.