Chapter 17
17
GAVIN
“ S o, you’re back in L.A. How long has it been since those sold out shows at the Palladium?” the DJ asked.
“Em, I dunno, maybe nine months?” Gavin said, leaning into his microphone.
He and the rest of the band were crammed into KROQ’s studio to promote their appearance at the radio station’s upcoming summer music festival.
“Right. It’s been non-stop touring for your debut album. You’ve really made a name for yourself in a short time. And speaking of names, I gotta ask, which one of you came up with the name ‘Rogue’?”
Gavin laughed first, but Conor, Shay, and Martin quickly joined him.
“Ah, I suspect there’s a story there,” the DJ said, eyeing Gavin over the various computer monitors and other equipment. “Let’s go ahead and use this momentous occasion of your first visit here with us to come clean.”
“Can’t do that,” Gavin said. “We took a solemn vow to never reveal the origins of our band name.”
The others laughed, but the DJ wasn’t deterred.
“All right, here’s what I’m going to do. There’s gotta be a Rogue superfan who can tell us the story. The first one who calls in with it gets VIP tickets to see you at the Weenie Roast.”
The first two calls were fans who didn’t even try to take a guess and instead begged for tickets. But the next call changed everything.
“Hey, you’re on the air with Rogue. Can you tell us what the origin of their name is?”
“I’m calling for my friend,” a female voice said. “She’s the one that knows the story but she won’t get on the line.”
“Okay, and what’s your name?”
“Gracelyn.”
“Let’s hear it, then, Gracelyn.”
“I’m not sure I have it exactly right because she started to tell me and then when I said I was going to call in she freaked out. She wants me to hang up right now.”
“This is intriguing,” Gavin said with a laugh.
“Anyway,” the caller continued, “she said it has something to do with Marty—Martin?—getting confused between the word rogue and a scholarship? Rhodes scholarship?”
“Sophie,” Gavin said. It had to be her. She was the only other person there when they came up with the name for their band. Adrenaline coursed through his body. He stood, pressing his headphones tighter to his ears with both hands. “Sophie? Are you there?”
“Who is Sophie?” the DJ asked.
“Please, Gracelyn? It’s Gracelyn, is it?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Can you put Sophie on the line? I need to speak with her.”
“Gavin, not like this,” Conor said urgently.
Gavin ignored him. There was nothing that would stop him from trying to get it right with Sophie this time. In the months since the show at the Palladium, he’d regretted everything about that encounter. He hated how he treated her, hated how he let that prick actor talk to her, and most of all, hated how he let her walk away. He’d done everything wrong but the band had moved on from one city to the next and he never found the nerve to contact her. Her reaching out to him once again was a chance he wasn’t going to screw up.
“Please. Put her on,” he said to Gracelyn.
There was a muffled conversation on the line, the reluctance on Sophie’s part clear enough.
But then he heard her voice as she said a soft hello.
He let out his breath in relief and stared at the chrome pole holding the microphone in front of him. “Sophie, I’m so glad you called.”
“I didn’t call,” she replied. “That was Gracelyn. I got the message about us the last time. I’m not looking for anything from you.”
“No, don’t say that.” He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at what a mess he had made of things. There was nothing he could do but give her his honesty. He opened his eyes and said, “Last time … it was a mistake. My mistake, not yours. You didn’t do anything wrong. It kills me that I was such a bastard to you when that’s the very last thing I ever want. Let me apologize in person. I need to see you. I need it like oxygen, darlin’.”
With a glance, he saw Conor shaking his head. Their manager, James Kelly, was squeezed into a corner just beyond them and his face was flushed red, matching the color of his hair. The DJ was watching him with barely contained glee at the juiciness of it all. Let them gawk, Gavin thought. His need to connect with Sophie far outweighed any of their concerns.
“Look, I know I've got a slagging coming,” he continued. “And I’ll only welcome it. As long as you give it to me in person. Just let me get lost in your eyes while you do it. Say yes, Sophie.”
There was an uncomfortably long pause before she replied. “Um, I guess we won the VIP tickets to the Weenie Roast? I can see you there?”
“Is that the best you can do?” He hoped she would remember the expression. They had often used it to challenge each other, both playfully and during a row.
“It is.”
He nodded to himself, despite the disappointment of her response. “That’s grand, then. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
The connection was broken as the DJ told Sophie to hold the line so that she could give her information to a production assistant.
For the rest of their segment, Conor diligently pushed the conversation back to the band and their upcoming performance while Gavin retreated to his own thoughts. They were thoughts that mingled with music and lyrics as he tried to conjure up the right way to make amends with the girl he was sure he still loved.