Chapter 10
10
The guys play a single show in Little Rock, before we hit the road for another double header in Dallas. After staying late to help Donny and Trent pack the trailer with my new method, I’m beat. Unfortunately, any hope of sleeping in was dashed when my mom called at 8 a.m. to chat.
What she really wanted to do was to complain that she was lonely because Todd is on a business trip. His new promotion means he is on the road more visiting hospitals across the country trying to sell whatever fancy machine his company came up with. She doesn’t understand why they can’t ‘sell on the phone like they used to.’ I kindly don’t point out that the archetype of traveling salesman has been around longer than commercial air travel.
She is not pleased I am not in town this summer. She spends twenty minutes naming all the things we could be doing if I would have stayed home with her instead of joining the tour. She apparently forgets that if I was home, I’d have a job and wouldn’t be able to play pickleball with her on a random Thursday. But sure, the tour is what’s holding us back.
I planned to go back to sleep after that, but I was bombarded by texts from my dad also harping on my decision to come on the tour. He’s worried it’s ‘no place for a girl like me’ which is ironic considering his history with tours. He also thinks I am wasting my time and employers will be concerned I didn’t get hired right away.
He contrasts that concern by asking me a myriad of questions about the tour. Apparently he has been trying to get an ‘in’ as their tour manager for years but never made much headway. I can’t imagine why after seeing the way he treated his wife and kids they’d be reluctant to hire him . . .
The conversation ends with me fulfilling my password child duties by explaining to him that Netflix isn’t ‘messing with him’ and that he clicked on Finn’s profile by accident. Which reminds me that I need to text my brother to ask about his questionable viewing choices. The kid is watching way too many high school rom-coms for a Midshipman.
Between the conversations with my parents and replaying the moment with Jack from the day before, I need a distraction. The pendulum of emotions is too much for my system. I typically have them on a tight leash, but being this close to his playful energy is wreaking havoc on my ability to self-regulate. I am constantly keyed up.
I can almost convince myself he is similarly affected based on the moment we shared in his dressing room. But the logical side of my brain knows that isn’t true. No way is Jack Ryder thinking of me as anything other than his sister's best friend, but the way he looked at me . . .
Too discombobulated to go back to sleep, I decide now is as good a time as any to formulate a plan for what to do with my life post-tour. I know it’s only the second week, but the interview process can take months, especially in such a niche industry. I pull out my handy dandy notebook and pen collection and inventory my favorite classes and projects during school. I’m hoping I can find a common thread that may give me a direction to move.
Unfortunately, I don’t find one. Aside from not enjoying the designing side of things, I love all the rest. I enjoy helping style an outfit that gives people confidence as much as I enjoy marketing products. Defeated, I pull up a job board on my iPad and apply to the first three jobs that appear remotely interesting. If I can’t figure out what I want to do, maybe I should let fate decide. I promise myself to do this once a week for the rest of the tour. At the very least, applying will be good practice.
After submitting my last application, I’m debating the merits of going back to sleep when the door to the bus opens and I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Glancing up from my tablet, I find the wide eyes of Jack. He appears surprised to see me. I wouldn’t call 9:30 a.m. early, but in tour world it kind of is.
I’m shocked he’s up as well. I didn’t check the bunks because I’m not a creeper, but I did notice all the curtains were closed when I snuck out of the bedroom to answer Mom’s call.
“I didn’t think anyone would be up yet,” he says, breaking our silent standoff. I didn’t realize I was staring at him until now. That’s embarrassing.
“My parents have never been one to observe quiet hours,” I joke.
“Even your dad?”
I laugh because, fair. “Mr. Rock and Roll hated mornings as much as Lainey until he dated a yogi. That had him up at 6 a.m. drinking chai and meditating.”
Jack grimaces. “Couldn’t be me. Are they still together?”
“Nah. She bailed once she realized he was serious about never marrying again. For a hippie, she was surprisingly focused on commitment. But the habit stuck. He can’t sleep past nine no matter how hard he tries. Mom was the one who woke me though.”
“Everything okay?”
I warm at his concern. And then I remember our exchange from yesterday and heat for an entirely different reason. I could have sworn Jack almost kissed me before Eliza knocked on the door. That shouldn’t make me as happy as it does. Not only would it be a betrayal of Lainey, but it would make things hella awkward for everyone. There is no future for Jack and I. And yet, knowing he cares enough to ask how I’m feeling makes me swoon like a school girl.
“Aside from the fact that my mom thinks I abandoned her and my dad is worried about my virtue on this tour? Peachy. I don’t have the heart to tell him I left my ‘virtue’ at Craig Steven’s lake house.”
“Lainey’s ex-boyfriend?”
“He wishes,” I snort. That boy was down bad for our girl. She let him take her to prom and a few other important events senior year, but she wasn’t about to commit to anyone before college.
“He wishes he took your virtue or that he was Lainey’s boyfriend?”
“Both, probably. He was a horndog. And can we stop calling it my virtue? It’s freaking me out.”
“You started it.”
“And I deeply regret it,” I deadpan.
“Fine,” he huffs. “So Craig Stevens did not take Wildflower’s wildflower at his lake house.”
“Ew. That is so much worse. And no, he didn’t but his hot cousin did.”
Jack makes a motion as if he is clutching his pearls. “I am shocked our little Ellie would do such a thing. I hope he made it good at least.”
I shake my hand in a so-so motion and Jack gives me a sympathetic smile. This is the first time we have been alone—dressing room run-in aside—in years. A large part of me is cringing that we’re talking about me losing my virginity, but I guess there are worse topics.
“Is everything else okay? You looked stressed when I walked in. If your parents are harping on you that much, we can sic my mom on them. She’ll straighten them out.”
“I bet she would, but I don’t want to subject Mama C to my mom’s pity party. She might keep her prisoner until her husband gets back in town.” The visage of my mom locking Crystal Ryder in her house and forcing her to watch the Home Renovation Network brings a smile to my face. I’d pay to see that.
“It’s not my parents that are stressing me out, not exclusively,” I confess. “I’m still not any closer to figuring out what I want to do next.”
“Do you need to have it figured out?”
“What?”
“Do you need to have the rest of your life figured out by the time this tour is over?”
“I guess not, but it would be nice to have a plan?”
“Plans are overrated.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re already living your dream.”
Jack pauses as if to think over what he wants to say next. He may be the jokester of the group, but I appreciate him taking our conversation seriously.
“You’re right in that I am living my dream, but that is almost scarier. I think you’re lucky to be in a place where you can embark on any dream you set your mind to. The ball got rolling on our career so young, I sometimes feel we missed the excitement of the journey itself.”
Hmm. I hadn’t considered that perspective. It puts me slightly more at ease, but I am still crushed by the weight of expectations—both mine and other people’s.
“That’s a fair point,” I reply. “I wish I was one of those kids who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up. Stable is not a job title, unfortunately. If I don’t have a plan A, then I won’t be able to have a plan B or plan C to fall back on.”
“Some people would say you only succeed when you don’t have a safety net to back you up.”
“Tell that to the nepo babies.”
“You want to know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I think that you’re afraid to fail. You’ve overachieved at everything thus far, but none of it was what you truly wanted. If you choose a path now and fail, it will be at something you genuinely want, and that is scary.”
“I wanted my achievements,” I argue.
“ You wanted to win the eighth grade science fair?”
“Of course!”
“Why? Not because you love science. Because if that were true then you wouldn’t have gone to school for fashion. You enjoyed the feeling of pleasing your teachers and parents, but you didn’t have a passion for solar power or alternative energy.”
“I might!” The tilt of his head and raise of his brows tell me he doesn’t believe me, and he’s right. I don’t care about science. In fact, I hate science. But I quickly learned that when my parents were both praising me, they weren’t bickering with each other and having tangible proof of my work warmed something inside of me.
Jack takes my deep exhale as a concession and continues on his observation of me.
“I bet if you dig down deep, there is an idea niggling at the back of your mind. Something that you think would be fun ‘in another life.’ We only get this one, Wildflower. We gotta make it count. ”
“Who would have thought the Ryder who never takes anything seriously would be spitting epiphanies at 10 a.m.,” I joke, trying to take the attention off me. A flash of something—hurt maybe—flashes through Jack’s features before he pats my shoulder and walks into the kitchen.
As I sit and process Jack’s words, he rifles through the cabinets. Finding what he wanted, he plops down on the chair across from me and flips on the TV.
My tumultuous thoughts turn to desire when I see what he has. Catching my hopeful expression, he laughs and tilts the bag of yumminess my way. Doing a happy dance in my seat, I ask, “How do you keep getting these? Do I have to be a rock star to get the hook up?”
“I’m hardly a rock star,” he chides. “But yes.”
“Disagree. But seriously, teach me your ways. Is there a secret website I don’t know about? These are my favorite and I thought they were discontinued until I saw them in your dressing room the other day.”
His lips tip at the mention of our dressing room run-in as heat spreads across my cheeks. “They’re in my rider.”
“In . . . your last name?”
“No.” He laughs. “My rider. The list of things I like to have in my dressing room. Most musicians have them. The label sends them to venues so we have the things we need to get ready. In my case, it’s honey lemon tea, these chips, and four mini bottles of local whiskey if they have a distillery nearby.”
“Why mini bottles? Surely they can afford a fifth?”
“Probably, but this leg of the tour is twenty cities alone. As big as my house is, I fear adding dozens of bottles of whiskey will give it more of a frat house vibe than I would prefer. I usually drink one mini bottle in my tea, do a shot right before we go on stage and save two for my collection.”
“We’ll revisit your secret mini bottle collection after we discuss the more pressing question: You’re telling me at every stop, you’re doing to have voodoo chips?”
“I should.” He nods. This is a revelation. Crunching on another chip, I try to think up a plan to convince him to share his spoils.
“I don’t know what that look means, but I’m a bit worried for my virtue if you plan to sneak into my dressing room before every show. To keep you from becoming the next great chip burglar, we can ask whoever stocks the bus to double the amount of chips they get.”
“We can? That would be amazing! And I wasn’t planning my next B&E. Besides, I could have Donny or Trent go in while performing. They’re no stranger to sneaking around backstage. No one would suspect a thing. Trent would do just about anything to get on Lainey’s good side.”
“Is that so? And would Donny do the same to get on yours?” There is a distinct shift in mood from our friendly banter to something more tense, but I’m not sure why. Maybe Jack doesn’t like the idea of Lainey and Trent? He doesn’t need to worry. She can take care of herself, especially against a sweetheart like Trent.
Glancing away, I shrug in response with no concrete answer. I don’t know if Donny would steal chips for me, but I would never ask him to so we’ll never know.
Jack places his knuckle under my chin and drags my eyes back to his. “If you need chips, you come to me. Got it?”
There is heat in his tone that I can’t decipher. If I didn’t know better, I would say it’s desire and . . . jealousy. But that can’t be. He’s never seen me as an object to lust after.
I want to laugh at the silliness of the statement, but the intensity of his gaze tells me he is being serious. Even though I don’t understand the subtext, I nod.
“Good girl. Now, want to hear about the crazy shit in Gray’s rider?”