Chapter 12
12
REMI
Now…
Fingers stroking shadows, it’s so much easier in the dark.
No fear of us being real where the light can’t touch.
We can hide in the lies without facing the truth.
I won’t drown in you again with no visible proof.
Foster’s notebook and the lyrics he wrote have likely burned into my laptop’s screen by now, they’ve been there so long. I’ve been dying to see the footage from the spy glasses he wore while writing the other day. A glimpse into his soul he willingly shared for the documentary.
Now I’m staring at the words.
And I’ve been staring at them. Unable to look away or unfreeze the video. He’s forced me through time to a place I’ve desperately avoided for years. The real bathed in blinding light and inescapable like it was then.
Even when I ran to him.
They aren’t necessarily things I’ve said, but a remix. I recognize the original song enough for it to sting.
A video call saves me from Foster’s veiled message. I answer, only for my face to scrunch and my head to tilt. “What in the domestication are you doing?”
Heath looks over from where he’s on his hands and knees, his glare cutting. “Clearly, I’m assembling a shrine to the gods. I need to beg forgiveness for whatever the fuck I did to deserve a life of throw pillows and wine coolers. Christ, Sinner. I’m building a crib.”
I bite back a smile to prevent any more scathing responses.
Heath throws a package of screws and drops onto his ass. He lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, and blows out smoke and resignation. “Love crushes the soul as much as it completes it.”
“A wise director once said, ‘ You know true love when you’re desperate to live inside their skin while simultaneously wishing they’d forget you exist .’”
“Sounds like a brilliant man—an actual philosopher.” He does an on with it motion with the fingers holding his cigarette. “Report.”
He’s on the floor of his garage with his laptop since he’s not allowed to smoke in the house. They renovated to add an apartment above for him to work in before they moved in. He agreed to kids and suburbia. His line was having to stay outside to smoke or get high.
It also protects any neighbors with poor judgment who might see him and mistake Heath Erickson for a morning, how’s the weather type of dude.
I witnessed an unfortunate attempt at small talk with him once on set, and Heath threatened to blackball the guy from ever working in music again.
“Well, sir ”—I throw him a wry smile when he flips me off—“we have about twenty hours of raw footage between all the cams. Plenty of concert takes, multiple angles and POVs from bass and drums. B-roll on the bus and backstage. The band has today and tomorrow off, so I’m hoping to get shots of them outside the tour space. Basically, we’re on track.”
“Then where the fuck is the Adams North interview?” Heath lifts an eyebrow, and I look away. “Right. So we’re going rogue and ignoring the label’s very clear instructions to focus on him.”
I glare at him for the reminder. The execs and their agent mentioned it plenty so long as the band was out of earshot. They want Adams North, but he’s part of a nonnegotiable package deal.
“I have footage of him. And they’re a band ,” I add. “It’s a doc on Of Men and Wolves, and I refuse to make Dev or Felix feel like they’re any less a part of this.”
A corner of Heath’s mouth perks up. “I didn’t say I’m not onboard, Sinner. Only clarifying, so I can tell Mac to eat my dick if they push. But we do need interviews with Adams. You have a lot of one-on-ones with the others, but he only appears in groups or from afar. Is he intimidating you? Being an entitled fuck?”
“No.” I say it quickly and then let out a settling breath. “Adams is the lead singer and guitarist for a band finishing their first world tour, writing their next studio album, and adjusting to an entire world’s attention on them. He hardly sleeps from what I’ve seen, and there’s little downtime with the additional shows. I’m not forcing a cam and mic on him anytime he’s allowed to breathe.”
The noise-canceling of my earbuds is highly unappreciated once I finish. The only sound is paper burning as Heath draws out a drag, studying me while I try like hell not to give him anything else. No need to accidentally mention with my eyes how Adams and I are allergic to anything one-on-one at the moment.
Foster’s avoided me since Seattle, and I haven’t exactly chased him down. He didn’t even hesitate after I told him the SD card was in my bag. And asking about the fountain after so long. I didn’t expect him to remember either, and it felt like I finally found him again. Now I have to remember what it’s like to miss him.
Except he’s everywhere.
Heath tosses his butt somewhere on the concrete of his garage. Away from the pieces of unassembled crib. His eyes bore into the camera and me and likely the rest of the bus behind me before he sighs and swipes up his phone. “Get the interviews.”
Underneath the clipped tone, I latch onto the unspoken trust. We both know he’d be on a plane to Utah right now if I were anyone else.
“As you wish.” I glance up when Colton comes up the bus’s stairs and then return to Heath. “I’ll send what we have from this week after I review it. Good luck finishing your shrine. Maybe try adding a pickleball racket.”
He huffs and taps away on his screen. “Fuck off. I’m making Xander put this shit together.”
Oh, my roommate will love that. Xander video-chatted me the other day, facedown on our couch and begging for a reason as to why he agreed to be Heath’s assistant while I’m gone. I rattled off a short list of the director’s credits before he started fake sobbing. Crib duty might end in actual tears.
“Right.” Heath drops his phone and sits forward, reaching toward the camera. “Don’t fuck this up, Sinner.”
The video blacks as he shuts his laptop, and then the call disconnects.
I smile and close my own computer. Even without Foster’s—Adams’s—interviews, a loose shape’s forming for the documentary. I’ve rewritten and rearranged my original notecards a couple times, but more than a few feel solid. The key elements I’ll fight for until the end. Those reveal more truth about Of Men and Wolves than any requests from Mac Records to further commercialize Adams North.
Black fabric rustles behind me when Colton comes through again. Tugging out my earbuds, I drag my feet closer before he lands on them. He has on his usual fit, except the tee has rips and holes. They show peeks of tan abs and a nipple piercing.
“Bear attack?” I ask, and he grins.
“I did not buy enough fake blood to pull that off.” When I shrug at him, not understanding, he rolls his eyes. “Goddamn, you need to quit working. It’s Halloween?”
“Halloween,” I repeat.
As if summoned by saying the word twice, Felix bounds onto the bus decked out with leather chaps, a vest without a shirt underneath, a red bandana covering his face, and a cowboy hat. He points directly at me. “It’s motherfucking Halloween, Cam Girl.”
With a whoop, he gallops through, swinging an imaginary lasso and slapping his own ass. So he must be the horse too. A nice setup to ask someone to ride him, I’m sure.
The farther into the tour we go, the more antsy Dev and Felix become—especially Felix. He’s become a bull in a chute the past week, ready to tear the place apart to get out. Even now, the chaotic energy pulses from him. These two days off might save us all.
Felix halts his horse beside me with a pull on the reins and tips his hat. “Howdy, partner. I dare reckon you’ll need a mighty fine pair of chaps to boot scoot with us all on the Halloweeniest of all Halloweens this side the Mississippi.”
I open my mouth to respond, but, “I have no words.” My voice breaks at the end in a laugh.
Felix nods toward Colton. “I sounded just like you, right?”
Colton kicks him in the thigh. “I borderline hate you.”
The drummer winks at him. “Love you too, sexy.” He crashes on the other couch and yanks the bandana down so it hangs around his neck. “Seriously, though. We’re going out tonight, and costumes are required with faces covered. For obvious reasons.”
“For you three assholes,” Colton says. “I’m adding guy-liner and enough blood to pass as a vampire. Remi, you can…” He considers me for a second and waves me off. “Throw on a skirt and be a yearbook photographer or some shit.”
“Schoolgirl.” Felix nods. “Very approved.”
I wrinkle my nose at the costume suggestion. The idea intrigues me, though. “I don’t know. Where are you going exactly?”
Colton smirks like I agreed already, but it’s Felix who says, “I grew up in a college town not far from here. One of the frats goes all out.”
“You’re letting them go to a house party?” I ask Colton, shock not at all hidden.
The security guard shrugs and nods toward Felix. “Have you seen this dude lately? Between him and Dev, it’s more dangerous to not let them loose. I’ll be with them, and Anton and Henry are dressing as mimes.”
Ideas already swirl for POVs and an overhead shot. The schedule might not allow for any other chances to show the band out in the wild, so to speak. At least not until the break in Texas. It’s not guaranteed all three of them will spend those two weeks together. Dev’s mentioned more than once he plans to visit his grandmother, and I imagine they’ll want to write.
“I’m bringing my camera.”
Colton chuckles. “Sure, lioness. Bring your work along, but you’re required to chill and keep me company.”
“And take shots,” Felix adds. “You and me are taking shots, Cam Girl.” He glances out the window to the parking lot. “Rest of the party’s here.”
Figuring he’s talking about Dev and Foster, I ask, “What are they going as?”
Before either answer, Dev climbs the stairs. He’s wearing a black onesie—barely zipped because, of course, we need the obliques on display—with chicken feet. Then he flips up the hood to show me the red spiked ridge down the center.
He grins, holding up a beak. “I’m a cock.”
I snort as he passes for the curtain.
“As for Adams, he’s going as what he always does,” Colton says.
I’m about to ask, but then Foster boards the bus, and I can’t breathe. A deep V cuts down the middle of his black shirt with laces undone at the bottom, fitted ripped jeans, and a play sword hanging off a belt slung low on his hips. I don’t need to see the black eye mask to know.
“A pirate,” I breathe out while looking at a memory.
“A fucking pirate,” the others echo.
Foster and I stare at each other for a beat too long before he swallows, turns around, and walks straight off the bus.
* * *
Turns out, a frat in Utah is not too bad of a place for three rock stars to blend in for Halloween. In no time at all, Felix and Dev—or Cowboy and Chicken, since I refuse to call Dev Cock all night—are fully integrated into the frat party with no one even batting an eye.
The names are a Colton—Vampire—demand. Rather than chance someone overhearing all of the band’s real ones and blowing their cover, everyone’s going by their costumes for the night.
I’m walking through the crowd recording neck-down on the bodies because Colton’s right. I never stop. But why waste a chance to catch these three merely existing? They can be a cowboy or a chicken or a pirate without the weight of who they are pressing down.
Cowboy ducks in close to my cam as I wander by him. He tugs down his bandana, revealing the Felix beneath, and then with a wink he pulls it back up and returns to the girls he’s accumulated. Even without their status, they’ve managed to find a fan club.
Chicken has on a pair of spy glasses above his beak. Given how he’s grinding on a bunny at the moment, I’ll have to skip through the cleavage shots he’s undoubtedly getting.
Students all play up the camera, too, but other than the overhead shot I managed from the stairs, I won’t use it. Asking them all to sign a release form draws a little too much attention.
Once I’ve wandered enough to scratch the itch, I find a vampire where I left him on the outskirts of the room. Foster was with him when I left, but now he’s alone and already shaking his head at me.
“Do I need to physically remove that from your person or are you going to fulfill the chilling requirement for the evening?”
“Hmm.” I cock my head at Colton, hand-cam falling to my side. “Can it truly be considered chilling if it’s required?”
He hands over my drink that he held like a gentleman. “One of these days, I’m forcing you to have fun, Catholic School Girl.”
“No,” I tell him. “You are not calling me Catholic School Girl. For one, it’s a mouthful. Two, just … no.”
“You have on a fucking plaid skirt and a button-up.” He points at my legs. “ And knee-highs. What do you expect me to call you?”
I’m about to say Remi because no one will tie me to shit, but before I can, a pirate materializes beside him.
“Call her Saint.” Foster hands Colton a red cup, lasering in on me. “She acts like one.”
“She’s a sinner pretending to be a saint ,” Adams sings in “Haunted,” “ crushing your soul while you kneel at her feet .”
A challenge lies in his eyes even beneath his mask. Except he’s not the only one who can stab with our past.
“I’ve been told I’m a beautiful liar,” I say to him while flashing a smile for Colton.
“Saint of the Beautiful Liars it is.” Colton taps his cup to Foster’s and then mine. “That should be a song.”
Our gazes remain locked over the rims as Foster and I drink. Maybe it’s the shots with Felix earlier that make me think his eyes heat when he looks down at my skirt. My school uniform was green instead of red and showed less thigh, but the way he lingers on the exposed skin above my black knee-highs, I don’t think the color matters.
A lot of things have changed in five years. Foster West’s preference for skirts and legs doesn’t seem to be one of them.
He has a bandana covering his disheveled hair now, the dark red tails long. Between it and the mask, he doesn’t look anything like Adams North tonight. But even disguised, I have no idea how I didn’t recognize him that night in their dressing room. His full lips and ocean eyes. I fell for his voice and words before the rest avalanched, but his eyes I worried I wouldn’t recover from months after I left him behind.
“Please tell me one of you has a joint,” a blonde nurse says. She stops beside me out of necessity, although I’m not sure she notices with Colton and Foster in front of us. The length of her skirt puts mine to shame, and one wrong move with her top threatens a nip-slip.
Colton glances at Foster before he slides on the good ol’ boy accent. “Sorry, kitten. All out.”
“I’m sure you could make it up to me … someway.” She looks between the two of them, seemingly weighing her options. She moves closer once she’s decided on the pirate. I hate how my grip tightens on my cup.
My gaze flits away, only the tug of Foster has it returning a second later. He’s staring into his beer, free hand held out toward his best friend. Colton curses and fishes in his pocket, then he slaps cash into Foster’s waiting palm and sighs at the nurse.
“You picked the wrong dude, kitten. He’s not interested, and I’m petty. So as much as I need to fuck someone, it will not be you.” He smiles at her, closed-lipped, and as he said, petty. Even his accent lightened.
“Whatever.” She throws me an unnecessary mean-girl scowl before walking away.
“I hate you, Pirate,” Colton says. Then he explains to me, “We have a continuing bet to see who gets more fuck me eyes. This douche canoe only wins because…” He shrugs and waves a hand for me to fill in the rest.
“Ah, but I’m just a pirate tonight.” Foster pockets the money. “Time to admit defeat, lil bro.”
Colton shakes his head. “Not a chance. Don’t forget, I pull dick far better than you.”
Foster smirks, about to take a drink. “I don’t like dick.”
“Eye-fucking is eye-fucking for the bet. You’re the one paying me most of the time with dudes.” He starts to drink, too, but then pulls his cup away at the last second. “You know what? I’m replacing you as my best friend.” He nudges me. “You’re in, kid.”
I nod once. “Best friends for life, Vampire.”
“I’ll give her my half of the heart necklace,” Foster deadpans, unfazed by the loss.
Colton tips his chin toward a guy by the window, wearing an open black robe and a rosary that hangs down his bare chest. “Wingman me, bestie. I’m going to fuck that hot priest.”
Foster chuckles. “Not a phrase I ever expected you to say.”
Colton licks his lips to hide a smile so he can pretend to ignore the pirate. “Seriously, let’s go. I suddenly lost all interest in protecting a certain asshole.”
“So you’re going to bury your cock in one instead?” Foster asks.
Risking my new position, I laugh at that one.
“At least I share mine with the world,” Colton mumbles before finally sipping his drink. “Unlike some pirate standing left of me has lately.”
Foster’s gaze bounces to me, and I look anywhere else. I blame the heat of everyone packed together for the flush creeping into my cheeks. It has nothing to do with Foster sharing his cock while dressed as a drool-worthy pirate. Or how he’s watching me like he’s not thinking the exact same thing.
Luckily, I’m saved a second later. An arm slings around my shoulders, and an amber shot appears in my face. This time it’s not Felix, but Dev’s arm and pouty, glassy eyes above his beak.
So, kind of lucky and kind of saved.
“You drank with Cowboy,” he whines.
“Yeehaw, she did, Cock.” Felix joins us along with two angels, a devil, a cat, and a firefighter. “Now she’ll drink with you. Then me again. Then Pirate. Then Vampire. Then we’re taking this show on the road.”
I shake my head, accepting the plastic glass. “This counts as drinking with all of you, Cowboy.”
“Boo,” he jeers, and there’s a repeat from the women.
Dev lifts his other hand, salt on his skin and a lime wedge ready. “We’ll have to make this one count then.”
“I have a perfectly good hand, you know?” I eye him, and he grins.
“You’re holding a drink and your camera in it. Trust me, mine’s better anyway. Lots of practice with my fingers.”
He wiggles the wedge.
With a squint at him, I lean in and lick the salt before taking the tequila shot. I bite into the lime and then bat Dev away, grabbing it myself. He howls like a chicken-dog and hauls the cat to his side.
“You all saw it, boys,” he says. “I got her tongue first.”
I flip him off, which only earns me a wink. I drop the wedge and empty shot into my cup.
“You said what now about taking this show on the road?” Colton asks. “Because I remember this field trip having a singular destination.”
Felix brings a half-full bottle of rum to his mouth, taking a swig. “It’s not Halloween without a haunted house.” He waggles his brows and then marches off with four girls in tow. Dev smirks and follows with the last girl. The two mimes who’ve been hanging back trail after them both.
“Fuck.” Colton drains the last of his beer. “I’m not sure if it’s worse to stop them or go with them.”
Foster finishes his drink, too, and grabs all three of our cups—our fingers graze when he takes mine. Dev’s words repeat in my head, only about a guitarist rather than a bass player.
He sets them on a side table and slaps Colton on the back. “It’s Utah. Better to fuck around in the middle of nowhere. Otherwise, you’ll be buying photos off random people of an impromptu orgy in a Starbucks bathroom.”
He heads in the same direction as the others.
“Why do I think that’s happened before?” I ask.
With a look of resignation, Colton grasps my shoulders and points me toward the door. “Because you’ve spent more than a day with the band. They’re cavemen, remember?”
Dev proves it once we step outside, and he’s literally carrying one of the women over his shoulder.
It only takes three blocks before we reach our destination, walking while a mime follows with the van. Colton stops with his hands on his hips right in the middle of the street, and we stare up at the three-story Victorian together.
Felix immediately climbs the tire of the bulldozer parked on the dirt lawn and throws his arms out. “My fucking castle.”
“It’s not really haunted,” one of the angels says, walking toward us. “Daddy’s building condos. The owner of this dump finally died, so he’s rushing demo. I don’t even think they’ve cut the electricity yet.”
Colton sighs, his entire body relaxing. “I can work with this.”
By the time he finishes, Dev’s already dashing up the cracked concrete steps to the deteriorating porch. Felix dismounts the demo equipment, chasing him in while the bodyguards gather up the fan club.
I’m stuck on the exterior, though. The cracked and peeling white paint over wooden siding, each side a direct mirror of the other. Bay windows and dormers and an oculus window high up beneath a gable.
“A beautiful thing.” Foster steps beside me.
I nod, spellbound by the snapshot of time. “Art.”
We stand there even after a flood of giggles rushes up the stairs. But not the entire fan club, apparently. The angel comes back to join us after a minute. Only she has her eyes set on a different piece of artwork, stopping in front of Foster. “Gross, right?”
Foster half-smiles at the house and says, “Not even close,” before walking inside.
After he disappears through the door, Colton whistles and hooks his head from the porch. I step, and so does the angel.
“Are they really letting you bring that with you?” she asks with a point at my camera.
“What? Why?—”
“Remi.” Colton cuts me off once we reach the steps. The angel bats her lashes at him on her way up and goes with the mime detail into the house. He tips his head to maintain a view of her ass. “She already gave Adams the fuck-me eyes?”
“Oh, yeah.” His comment registers, and I look up at him. “You used his name.” And I remember, “You used my name.”
He shrugs. “Not much of a point after the NDAs. We still confiscated their phones, though. We haven’t fully made it past the orgy possibility of the night.”
I blink. “I need to remove Dev’s spy glasses.”
We head inside, and he does me the solid of snagging Dev’s glasses. Colton powers them down and hooks them in the collar of his torn shirt.
It takes about two seconds for me to hit record and pan around the gutted foyer. A dusty and precariously dangling pendant light above proves the angel right about power still being on. Toolboxes and broken pieces of plaster cover parts of the scratched hardwood. I pick my way around them to a stripped and partially torn-down wall. Through the hole, enough light shines in to see the massive brick fireplace. The mantel’s long gone in what seems to be a forgotten parlor.
I scan the high ceilings, only checking the viewfinder to make sure it’s capturing the crown molding. I want to see it all with my own eyes.
As I’m coming back, I film the grand staircase, spiraling up into darkness. The intricate carvings on the banisters break my heart. So much beauty to be destroyed.
“All right, ladies,” Dev announces, and I swing around to see him and Felix in the center of the room. They’ve pulled down their beak and bandana, their grins downright salacious as they peruse the five women in front of them. “Whoever catches you keeps you for the night.”
The women exchange quick glances, but none of them appear against the idea of being hunted down for what will likely end in sex. One is already slipping off her heels.
I stop recording and let the camera tip to the side. Any more footage will end up useless anyway. No chance the label wants the world to know about how the guys divvy up chicks for tonight.
Surprisingly, I’ve only stumbled in on rock star sex twice so far. Most wheres and whens to avoid are obvious, but Dev also informed me they’re being gentlemanly for my sake.
Doggy-style on the bus’s floor in front of the couches fits that definition in his case.
Colton’s actually discreet, typically reappearing from between the buses after concerts with his chosen flavor of the night or re-zipping on their way out of the restrooms at venues. A wink when he sees me is more than enough confirmation.
I’ve dreaded walking in on Foster with anyone in any capacity. Women scream for him to fuck them or flash him their tits, and I have a physical response like with the nurse every single time. He hasn’t visibly returned interest in any of them. I thought it was just good timing I haven’t noticed, or he was that damn skilled at maintaining an untouchable persona.
More than one of the women blatantly stare at him right now where he props against a wall with seductive smiles and Adams North lust in their eyes. My jaw sets, and I slowly inhale, realizing my luck might have run out.
Felix chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “Should we give y’all a head start?”
There are some excited giggles and nods.
“Ten … nine … eight…” Dev starts counting down, the girls scattering in different directions—except two who stick together.
The numbers pause, his eyebrows rising at me. “You won’t make it far with the camera.”
I laugh, but it dies in my throat when he and Felix look at each other. “What?”
A wolfish grin forms, and Dev jerks his head over his shoulder at Foster and Colton behind them. “Four of us. Six of you. Sounds fair to me.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not a joke at all, Cam Girl,” Felix says. “Need me to repeat the rules? You want me to tell you exactly what’s going to happen if one of us finds you?”
My gaze shifts to Foster against the wall. He lost the bandana and sword but has the mask on still, his focus on the hardwood. Colton’s smirking off to the side of him, and he gives me a shrug.
“Run fast, lioness.”
“Eight…”
Dev starts the countdown again, and Foster’s staring at me now. So is Felix.
I scowl at them all, and my feet start moving as Dev hits six.
“Your music’s trash,” I call, rushing up the grand staircase and whipping out my phone for light.
Laughter follows me and my lie, along with Dev shouting, “One.”