Chapter 6
6
FOSTER
Our first tour, we spent eight weeks camping out of the back of a van. Driving around in the hottest part of summer to open for the opening band. Most nights, Colton—who played one hell of a roadie in the beginning—would be half passed out on the bare ground while I slurred every word and told him every dream of what my first headlining tour would be. Sold-out venues, screaming fans. He’d always crack an eye open and add, “ Hotel parties we’ll never remember .”
Then one song played by the right person at the right time, an influencer slapping it onto a video, lip-syncing my words, and all the far-flung dreams lightning struck into reality. Except I remember each moment of the past few years.
Also, neither one of us ever imagined it’d be a world tour, or we’d wrap it up by crossing the continental US entirely on a fucking bus.
Even as I shake my head, a thrill tingles in my fingertips as I stare at the ostentatious wrap on the side of the massive tour bus. Black with red accents and a ridiculously large image of my face, Dev and Felix only slightly smaller on either side.
“Not tacky or over-the-top in the least,” I mutter.
When I hear the pop of gum, I glance out of the corner of my eye. The tiny blonde beside me rolls her eyes. For as annoyed as Lee looks at the moment, the gleam in her eyes lets on how fascinated she is seeing one of her acts blown up in vinyl. I let my mouth tip up on one side, which seems to have the usual thawing effect on my agent.
She heads inside the label’s building with a less irritated head shake. I stay a little longer. Let my gaze trail from one end of the bus to the other one more time.
Lee has a strappy heel planted to hold the door when I reach the elevator. Leaning on the railing beside her, I hang my head back and close my eyes, enjoying a brief reprieve from the chaos of nonstop rehearsals and interviews over the past few weeks. A break from the tour rarely means slowing down.
“Are you happy at least?” Lee asks.
I’m thinking about the bus again and the past few weeks of rehearsals when the elevator doors part. My eyes open and instantly lock onto the curves on the far side of the room. Remi’s showing Dev how to hook up the mic pack we’ll all be using while recording the documentary. Since she met with the execs earlier, she has on a cap-sleeved black blazer and pinstriped pants that flare at her ankles. Business at first glance, but the ripped graphic tee peeks through the opening of her blazer, and whenever she steps, crimson toenails and a toe ring flash. All the rebellion simmering just below the surface.
The muscles of my jaw work beneath the skin as I follow Lee off the elevator. “As close as I can be.”
Lee crosses to the window overlooking the building’s main parking. The other luxury tour bus sits below. No faces or specific branding on this one other than the same black and red. I trace my finger over the glass, following one of the lines on the bus.
“Close is good enough so long as you act like you’re in heaven every time that camera lands on you.” Lee folds her arms. Very serious. “The label ate up all the shit about throwbacks, and now…”
Now I spend four months on the road, sleeping on a cot rather than in hotels. No personal space, the combined stench of the entire band, and no more than twenty feet from the worst thing I ever let into my life.
I drop my hand and rotate enough it looks like I’m talking to Lee, but my full attention swings toward the other side of the room again. Felix is fucking with one of the handheld cams, not listening to Remi’s tutorial.
“Just remember,” Lee whispers, her body a wall between me and the others, “happy or not, this is what you wanted. It might not have come about the way you thought it would, but you need to live with the consequences.”
It is what I wanted when I chased her down and begged on my fucking knees, swearing to her I knew I was meant for this. I still know it. Even the idea of being on that stage, me and the crowd, is the only thing that settles me. The only place I’ve always wanted to be—sweat dripping, air pulsing, and adrenaline pounding.
“I’ve got this,” I tell her. I even manage to drag my attention from Remi to look her in the eye. “Although if you’re concerned with someone acting out, this is a conversation you need to be having with Felix, not me.”
Lee hesitates a little, checking over her shoulder toward my bandmates. “Maybe. But Felix isn’t the golden boy.”
I shake my head. I don’t even try to hide the grimace. The fact Lee and the label see Of Men and Wolves as two distinct parts has always pissed me off. The three of us come as a package. No trades, substitutions, or buyouts.
Before we end up drawing blood, Lee sighs. “Just remember, all you have to do is make sure this documentary and tour go the way the label wants, and you’re fucking set, Adams.”
“Right. Just the documentary and tour. And the next album. And the music vids for the singles. And whatever they want after that.”
She snorts, her attention traveling to the others across the room. “You want freedom? Be Foster. The label and fans own Adams North. The sooner you accept that, the smoother your ride to the top.”
Lee’s barely finished with her lecture when she marches toward Felix, who’s seconds from tucking the hand cam down the front of his pants. Colton moves to intervene too, but Remi proves them both unnecessary when she swats his hand away, careful to grab onto the camera so he won’t drop it. She narrows a glare at him and rips off some tape from under the neck of his shirt. If I had to guess, it was attached to hair given how fast he goes from smirk to snarl. Remi throws him an innocent smile and finishes attaching the mic.
When her gaze lifts to meet mine, her cheeks take on a red tinge, and then she’s looking away.
I make her uncomfortable. Fuck if that doesn’t piss me off.
Colton’s chuckling when he waltzes over to me. “Looks like our little lioness will have all of you in line before we embark on this party bus.” He taps a knuckle on the glass and nods to the bus below. “Not as tacky as I expected. Although, they could have thrown a giant picture of your face up there just so I’d have something to laugh at.”
I half-smile. “You haven’t seen the other bus in the back lot.”
My best friend cracks a grin. “Fuck yes. I’m holding this over you until we’re dead.”
He shoves me, not gently. I’m flipping him off and rebalancing as Christian reaches us. He has on his business eyebrows, slightly lowered with a line creased between. I already know what he wants. Remi’s been interviewing all morning to get our thoughts on the documentary. She’s already sat down Dev and Felix, even managed to get Christian to play respectable long enough for his shots. I’ve conveniently been busy every second until now.
“She needs half an hour,” he says.
Remi’s finished with Felix, and she snags the spy glasses from Dev. With the wave of a hand, she dismisses them. Lee steers them out the door, no doubt to make sure Felix doesn’t destroy anything without Remi’s supervision. Colt starts to follow them but pauses, tossing a look back at me.
“Can I trust you to play nice, or do I need to hang around?”
“Whose security are you?” I ask, feigning offense.
“She’s a nice girl.” He shrugs. “Don’t ruin her, yeah?”
By the time he and Christian saunter out the door, the room has cleared out. Remi must not realize I stayed back. She pulls her phone out, and a second later the steady drum and bass beat cuts off. It’s replaced with a slow intro. Guitars and then soft vocals. Familiar.
“Mazzy Star.”
She startles and spins. Her eyes crush closed when she sees me by the window. “I thought everyone left.”
“Would have, but apparently the director requested me for an interview.” I move toward her and the table of equipment, and her gaze falls to it too.
“We should get you set up with a mic pack. I can show you how to change out the batteries, and then?—”
She cuts off as I drag my fingers over the black-framed glasses. They feel so familiar, and as if sinking into a former life, I slip them on. The silence echoes in that moment. I look over to find Remi staring up at me, her lips parted and eyes glued to my face.
“I always wondered what you’d look like with them on.”
We stand there a few more seconds, staring at each other. Even after everything, it feels wrong not to be touching her right now. Just like in Prague, when it seemed like such a waste not to put my hands on her, my lips. It’s easy to forget something so soft and beautiful is heartless.
I swipe off the glasses and toss them in front of her, not giving a shit about the ripple of tension spreading between us.
“The weight of the camera in the bridge will leave marks on the nose,” I tell her. “Might want to think about that before we wear them. Make sure there aren’t photoshoots or appearances scheduled after.”
She nods and then finally lets her gaze fall to the table. “Right. That’s a … really good point.” The last part comes out with a breath of air, either surprised I’d think of it or bothered she hadn’t. “So, the mic pack.”
When she turns with the black box in hand, her attention lowers to the bottom hem of my T-shirt. I get another flash of the discomfort she showed earlier, only this time I want more of it. I lazily lift my shirt, and a blush rises in her cheeks while her eyes skate over the ridges of my abs. They settle on the tattoo slightly dipping below the top of my jeans.
Restless .
“We don’t have all day, sweetheart,” I tell her in a bored tone.
Remi’s gaze jerks to mine, and I point my chin to the mic pack still tightly clutched in her hand.
She releases an annoyed huff of air and starts hooking me up without another word. I watch her fingers brush my bare skin, my teeth clenching together with every second of contact. With her so close again, the same hint of jasmine from Prague floats through the air, something darker underneath.
I’d never admit it to a living soul, but I once sniffed my way through a perfume aisle, wondering which she’d use. A fragrance with flowers was my pick, but not dark. The memory of standing in the store like a creep surprises me. Especially when one side of my mouth turns up the slightest bit, remembering how much I didn’t fucking care because it made me feel closer to her somehow.
The redness from her cheeks dips down her neck when she has to slip her hand farther up my shirt to attach the mic. “Lee said to keep the mics hidden as much as possible when filming,” she says in a quiet rush. “God forbid we ruin the aesthetics with too much honesty.”
I lean forward to give her less of a reach while she clips it on. “No one behind this wants honesty,” I tell her. “They only want the profitable illusion of it.”
“I want it.” Green orbs flash to mine, then she’s back to fucking with the battery pack on my waistband.
We’ve both kept our voices low, despite the room being empty. Maybe a shared habit of being around recording equipment. Yet some part of me says it has more to do with something more specific to us. A history of not wanting to be overheard by parents or roommates and to avoid aggravated stares from tourists in galleries and museums.
A section of her hair falls forward. She gives a slight shake of her head to move it, but it tumbles over her eye again. It’s not until my fingers are brushing the strands away that I realize I’ve moved. The backs of my knuckles brush her forehead as I tuck the lock of hair behind her ear with the rest. The gesture stills her hands. Her lashes flutter along with her breath.
It takes a second for my arm to lower back down to my side. Remi looks up, and I have to look away before those eyes land on me.
“Basic mic pack. I think I got it,” I tell her.
She takes a step back then and roughly swallows. My eyes wander up to find she’s plastered on what I know is a fake smile. “Perfect. If you just want to finish hooking it up, then we can get this over with.”
I nod, but my jaw tightens.“Yeah … about that.” My fingers undo the microphone, and I snake it back down my shirt.
Remi shakes her head, the fake shit sliding right off her face until she’s almost glaring at me. “What are you doing?”
“I realized I have somewhere else to be.” I toss the pack next to the glasses.
“Oh really?” she says, the annoyance palpable in her tone. “And where might that be?”
“Anywhere but here.” I give her a quick smirk and wink before I stroll off toward the elevator.
“And the interview?” she hollers after me.
I hit the button and swing my head toward her. She has her arms crossed, a hip popped out to the side in a sassy little display of the fire beneath the cool exterior.
“We have nearly four months together,” I remind her. The elevator opens, so I walk in, turning around at the back to face her again. “I’m sure I’ll have time eventually.”
She drops her arms, frustrated, our eyes staying locked while the doors close between us.
It’s the last time I’ll be able to get away from her for the next few months.
Fuck if I’m not going to take advantage.
Sure, it’s a dick move. I know it. But that’s what I was missing the first time around with her—the armor. Since she’s the reason I forged it in the first place, it’s only fair she gets the shiniest, most dickish parts.