Luke’s Interlude #1
The band’s next stop is in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s not Luke’s favorite city in the world—much too hot and humid, though really, can he say differently about LA? But he doesn’t have any real complaints. They’re just off a couple of weeks break in the tour, which was a nice change. He’d been so desperate for some time to just chill.
And sleeping in his own bed had been a dream come true.
But now, he doesn’t feel quite ready to resume the tour. The last leg isn’t long, but touring is nonstop and, quite frankly, exhausting. He’s exhausted. A few weeks off isn’t enough to change that.
He’s grateful for the band’s successes, for the chance to go on tour and perform for people who actually enjoy the music he makes, but that doesn’t mean it’s the perfect life. Not that he’d ever complain about it out loud.
Currently, Luke’s holed up inside his hotel room. He’s slumped back on the king-sized bed, curled up on the pillows. It’s quiet, peaceful, almost. One of those soft moments that come by so rarely on a hectic tour. One of those moments he needs to snatch whenever they appear. He holds the remote to the TV loosely, idly flipping through the channels. Finally, he settles on Food Network, if only for lack of anything of interest available.
He digs into his pocket in search of his phone, but finds a familiar slip of paper alongside it.
Chloe Cameron (555) 270-3313 3
Chloe. Right. It had been a long time since Luke brought a girl back to his hotel after a show. He gave that up a year or so ago, ever since he slept with a girl and the next day she went to the press claiming to be his girlfriend. Quinn likes to call it “Luke’s Groupie Incident #362”, which is a gross overstatement but funny nonetheless.
Well, funny to pretty much everyone else.
But after that show in Nashville—that damn afterparty—the stresses of touring had crept up all around him and he’d just needed an escape. And then she appeared like an angel in the night, looking just as out of place as Luke always felt. Her blonde hair had shone gold in the moonlight, green eyes sparkling like the stars ahead as she joked with him. Never asking him for anything.
Everyone always asked him for something. But not her.
He hadn’t been thinking when he asked her to come back with him, but he still can’t bring himself to regret it. To regret her.
Four weeks have passed since that night and he hasn’t so much as sent her a text. What’s the point? She lives in Nashville, of all places. And anyway, it’s not like he’s looking for a relationship (Not that he thinks she would even end up his girlfriend anyway). A girlfriend is the last thing he needs right now, in the middle of a tour on the heels of an album release. His life is too hectic for a relationship.
(Never mind that Mav and Quinn always seem to be able to hold onto relationships for years at a time. Maybe he’s just bad at relationships in general.)
Still, part of him felt bad for not texting Chloe, if only to let her down easy. She was nice, after all, and pretty good in bed. And she didn’t try to stick around and hadn’t made anything awkward. That was a lot more than he could say about the other ill-advised hook-ups he’s had over the years since the band hit major success.
He shakes his head; it’s been way too long by now. It would come across as rude, or even cruel, to text her now and reject her. With a sigh, Luke tosses the note onto the side table and starts scrolling through Twitter to pass some time. There’s still a few hours until he’s needed at the arena for tonight’s show.
Normally, Luke steers clear of his DM’s. Whether they’re on Twitter or Instagram or even on his personal (and private) Facebook account, he avoids them at all costs. Too many fans try to message him—it’s too overwhelming. And, in the past, when he did try to message people back, it always seemed to bite him in the ass. People got mad because he didn’t respond to their messages or got mad when he only responded once.
And yet, without his full conscious intention, he finds himself opening his Twitter DM’s. He can’t help himself; sometimes, it’s just nice to see how fans react when he notices them online. And maybe he needs a little bit of an ego boost right now.
He resolutely does not think about what that says about him.
He only gets through and responds to a couple messages when he stumbles on a…weird one. At least the sender seems to be self-aware enough to know it, too.
@devinangel: this is weird
@devinangel: i’m friends with chloe cameron
@devinangel: she really needs to talk to you and doesn’t know how to get a hold of you
Luke’s eyebrows furrow as he re-reads the message once, twice, three times. Just to be sure he isn’t hallucinating. His eyes flicker over to the side table, where Chloe’s note still sits, face up.
The little heart at the end of her phone number suddenly feels like it’s mocking him.
Was Chloe upset he hadn’t texted her? So much so that she sent her friend to help? He backed out of the message, scrolling down to the next one.
@ElenaRiera: Hi, Luke. My name is Elena, and I’m one of Chloe Cameron’s friends. She met you in Nashville, and now she really needs to get in touch with you. I know this is strange, but I promise it’s important.
And the next.
@chloejane: uh, hey luke. that may sound super weird, but i really need to talk to you
@chloejane: it’s important i swear
@chloejane: calling would be better, but this would work too
Luke drops his phone onto the bed. What the fuck? Is this Chloe girl fucking crazy—siccing her friends on him like this, and then messaging him herself? Who does that?
He pushes himself up, rubbing his face with both hands. Any normal person would have gotten the memo that it was a one-time thing. He thought she’d gotten it. But this is—well, not worse than “Luke’s Groupie Incident #362:, but definitely weirder.
God, he’s never gonna hear the end of this if Quinn finds out.
His hands run through his hair, pulling harshly on the ends. He is so not in the mood to deal with this shit. He gets out of bed, shrugs on his jacket and leaves the room. Bothering Maverick should get his mind off all this weirdness. Hell, bothering Maverick is pretty much one of his hobbies at this point.
Maverick has a girl in his room, which is no real surprise. Whenever Mav happens to be between girlfriends, his hotel room often becomes a carousel of one-night-stands. He’s the lead singer and guitarist of the band—the one all the girls want. Sure, Luke has his own band of fangirls and all, but Mav is the heartthrob of the group. The heartbreaker, for sure.
Well,Quinn has definitely been known to break a few hearts, too.
And yet, somehow it’s always Luke who brings back all the crazies.
As if to prove his point, he checks his phone once more. It’s too easy to find the DM threads he’s looking for, as they’re now at the top of his inbox. Which means only one thing—new messages.
@devinangel: look i know this is kinda weird but
@devinangel: answer me please!
@devinangel: chloe really really needs to talk to you asap
@devinangel: it’s important i swear
The most recent message came in less than a minute ago. Luke backs out of the message thread and into the next one. It takes a second to load, just long enough for him to get his hopes up that it might be from someone else.
No luck.
@ElenaRiera: Hi, Luke. Elena again—you haven’t responded to any of us and we really need to get in touch. It’s really important, and not the type of thing one should send over DM.
@ElenaRiera: Please message one of us back!
Luke holds his breath, and opens the final thread—Chloe’s.
@chloejane: luke, please
@chloejane: uh, you have your read receipts on, i know you saw this
@chloejane: or maybe you didn’t even read them, who knows
@chloejane: look, i know i look fucking insane rn but please hear me out
Read receipts—shit. Hastily, Luke turns them off, frowning.
He hates this feeling—hates this Chloe girl and her friends right now. Hates that he always picks the crazy ones, the ones who would message him like this. Relentlessly, like if they send enough messages he’ll just give in and respond.
He can’t help but wonder what she wants to say. What could possibly be important enough to harass him like this? Is there anything important enough that a girl he spent two hours with could have to tell him?
Not, he decides. There isn’t. It’s all just a ploy—a crazy fan who’s taken a one-night-stand to mean something more than it did.
A woman’s laugh filters through Maverick’s door as Luke shoves his phone back into his pocket. Luke slows to a stop in front of the door, and without really thinking, he bangs his fist on the door a couple times. Hard footsteps hit the carpet, tumbling forward until Maverick opens the door and pokes his blond head out. His grin drops when he sees Luke in the doorway. He huffs.
‘Dude, what?’ he asks impatiently. ‘I’m kinda busy, you know.’ He nods to the side, indicating exactly what—or who—is keeping him so busy.
Luke grits his teeth, heat creeping up his neck.
Luke has always had a complex relationship with Maverick. It started way back in high school, before the band had even been formed. They were not friends. Not in the least. Luke didn’t really have any friends in high school. He was that lonely kid who ate lunch in his English teacher’s classroom just to avoid the cafeteria. He was just a blip in the social scene of their school.
But he knew of Maverick. Everyone knew of Maverick—bright, extroverted, charming Maverick Carter. He started Reckless 3 himself, alongside a bassist named Bobby and a drummer named Cooper. When Bobby failed to show up for the band’s first real gig at Homecoming, Luke was the only other bassist in their band class.
The next thing Luke knew, Bobby was out and he was in. Shortly after, Cooper dropped out to focus on college prep and Quinn was brought in to replace him. The three of them had been the pillars of the band ever since.
Sometimes, Luke still feels like the gawky, too-skinny beanpole kid who was only invited into the band because there were no better options. Quinn and Maverick exuded cool in a way Luke just didn’t. Even though he was in the band before Quinn, it still feels like she belonged far more than he did.
Maybe that’s why Luke has so many “Groupie Incidents”. Maybe it’s the only way he feels like he belongs in the band. If there are fangirls out there who love him that much, who care that he’s in the band, well that has to count for something, right?
‘Never mind,’ Luke mutters, kicking the door jamb lightly. Mav quirks an eyebrow.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asks bluntly.
‘Maaavvv,’ the woman in his room simpers, appearing behind Maverick. She wraps her slender arms around Mav’s waist. ‘You’re taking so long.’
‘I’ll leave you guys alone,’ Luke says. He takes a step back, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘See you at the venue.’
Luke makes it four rooms down the hall before Maverick sighs loudly and calls him back. Luke hesitates, but turns around and listens.
The girl pouts when she’s told to get lost. She tries to argue but Maverick changes so fast it’s like a switch was flipped. He’s cold and blunt to her, and she hurries to get redressed. She leaves the room with her spiky black heels dangling from her fingers.
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Luke says. Both men watch as the woman trudges down to the elevator. She glances back at them as she presses the button. Waiting to see if Mav will call her back.
‘Yeah, I did,’ Maverick says simply. He opens the door wider. ‘C’mon in, Lukey.’
Luke scrunches his nose in distaste. ‘I hate it when you call me that.’
‘Whatever, Lukey,’ Mav replies with a smirk. He claps Luke on the back, just a touch too hard. ‘You know you love me.’
‘Love annoying you, at least.’
Luke plops down onto Maverick’s bed, trying desperately to keep his mind off the fact that he’s laying on the very spot where his friend was just about to have sex. Maverick throws himself on the bed as well, hard enough to send Luke bouncing through the air. Luke yelps, scrambling for a moment before landing back on the too-hard mattress. Mav snorts, scooting until they’re sat side by side.
‘So, you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?’
‘Nope.’
Mav pokes him in the side, hitting that uncomfortable spot between two ribs. Luke smacks his hand, cursing him softly. Mav does it again.
‘You know I’m gonna keep doing this until you tell me.’
‘Stop it,’ Luke snaps, slapping his hand. ‘I’m fine.’
They go back and forth a little bit, but soon Maverick grows bored by Luke’s refusal.
‘Fine, if you’re gonna be a dick about it,’ he grumbles, pushing himself off the bed. He flicks on the TV, turns on the video game console he insists on dragging with them on tour, and pops a game in. ‘Think fast!’
Luke barely catches the controller before it smacks him dead in the face. He glares at Maverick’s snickers, though honestly he’s just grateful for the change in topic. His shoulders loosen a little.
That’s the thing with Maverick—he’s so hot and cold and Luke never really knows where he stands with the guy. Sometimes, Maverick is cool and collected, the picture-perfect front man for their band. He’s leagues cooler than Luke could ever be, and everything Luke tries to emulate on stage and in interviews. In those times, he seems to get annoyed with Luke quickly, to have little to no patience.
But then, he gets like this. The annoying big brother who will kick a girl out of his room just because Luke clearly has something on his mind. Who likes to bug Luke, to pick on him but will protect him from paparazzi and crazy fans.
Luke never really knows where he stands with Maverick. And that results in him feeling off-kilter whenever he’s around.
Time passes quickly as they get sucked into the video game. Maverick is a very vocal gamer—he verbally cringes whenever he gets hit in the game, cheers loudly when he wins and boos Luke every time he makes a mistake. And Luke’s clumsy enough to make many mistakes.
Three levels later, Mav decides to broach the subject once more.
‘C’mon, dude, it’s me,’ he says without taking his eyes off the TV. It takes Luke a moment to realize he’s not talking about the game anymore. ‘You can tell me what’s bothering you. I’m not gonna make fun.’
Luke snorts.
‘I’m serious! Ah, shit—’ Maverick cringes as he loses a life. He glances at Luke, nudging him with his elbow. ‘I can be serious, you know.’
Luke knows. He’s known Maverick long enough to know that he knows when to get serious, whether it was during an interview, or a song-writing session or a photoshoot, Mav knows when to reign it in.
But Luke also knows that Maverick’s favorite thing is to give him shit over his poor life choices. And, evidently, asking Chloe back to his hotel was a very poor life choice.
Luke stays silent for a long moment, his thumbs faltering enough to get his character killed in the game. Mav sighs and hits pause, turning to face him.
Without really meaning to, Luke spills his guts and tells Maverick everything. How he broke his unofficial rule to stop sleeping with random fans, how this Chloe girl was weird enough to be sending him DMs and getting her friends to do the same.
Mav’s eyebrows rise higher and higher until they almost disappear underneath his blond fringe.
‘What the fuck,’ he says finally, a laugh in his voice. Luke flushes, feeling stupid. ‘You really have bad luck with girls, huh?’
‘You’re telling me,’ Luke mutters, unpausing the game. He doesn’t really feel like playing anymore, but it’s excuse enough to not have to face Mav. To not see the judgment on his face. He feels Maverick’s eyes on him for a long moment before he finally turns back to the TV and resumes playing.
‘You shouldn’t answer them,’ Maverick says after they beat the next level. ‘Just…stay away from this Chloe chick, and her friends too. I think you’ve had enough crazy for a lifetime.’
It’s a painfully accurate statement. Luke nods, and mercifully Mav lets the subject drop for good.
Backstage at a concert arena has long since lost its exciting edge for Luke. It finally feels normal to be back here, which is bizarre in and of itself. Luke’s bass is slung over his shoulder haphazardly—something he never would have done a few years ago. But he’s famous and unfairly rich now, which leads to a certain lack of care for items that can easily be replaced.
For example, Maverick. He’s settled in on the cushy couch of the dressing room, goofing around and trying to bat at pieces of popcorn with his guitar. Luke laughs at his poor aim as more popcorn ends up in a pile on the floor than hit by the red backside of the guitar.
There’s a surprising monotony that comes with prepping for a show. The stagehands and other crew of their tour manager cart the band around. Luke’s dark curls are tugged and brushed and gelled into stage-ready perfection. Quinn once more slaps at the hairdresser’s hands, preferring to do her hair on her own.
Luke blanks out mostly, allowing the people around them to do their jobs and get him ready for the show. Once, it felt weird to have someone picking out his outfits while another does his hair and a third tunes his bass. But now, he hardly notices it happening.
It’s not until they’re shepherded to the stage for soundcheck that Luke comes back to Earth. Quinn’s pissy about something (what’s new?) and Mav is humming an unfamiliar tune as he twirls his guitar in the air.
‘Can you stop that?’ Quinn huffs. She grabs the guitar out of the air, narrowly stopping it from hitting a speaker. ‘You’re going to break something.’
‘Q, I’m fine,’ Mav replied carelessly, yanking his guitar out of her grip. Quinn’s nostrils flare. She glances at Luke, as if waiting for him to step in. He looks away, fiddling with the strap of his bass.
‘Don’t call me that,’ she says sharply, stomping forward and onto the stage. Luke watches as she settles on her drum kit.
‘Do you have to antagonize her like that?’ Luke asks. ‘You know she hates being called Q.’
Mav chuckles. ‘She makes it too easy! She needs to lighten up.’
‘I heard that, asshole!’ Quinn doesn’t even look at them, just fixes one of her cymbals. She never trusts the stagehands to do it right.
Maverick shoots Luke a look—See? She’s crazy. Luke just kind of shrugs and readies himself for soundcheck.
The stage is relatively silent as the three of them ready their instruments. Maverick tweaks and tunes his guitar, Luke checks his bass’ strings and Quinn carefully inspects her drum kit for any scrapes that could have happened in transit.
As Regina, the band’s manager, calls for tests of various equipment, the tension onstage begins to melt into something more normal. By the time they start playing a song to test the speakers, Luke almost can’t remember why they were getting on each other’s nerves in the first place. For all of their differences, music is the one thing that can always bring them back together and get them back on the same page.
Music is magic in that way.
All three of them are in much better moods by the time soundcheck ends. They head backstage for the pre-show meet and greet, which has become a staple of this tour. At the front of their group, Quinn pats an unfamiliar beat against her thigh—one of her tells that she’s writing a new song. Luke wonders vaguely what it might be about.
The songs Quinn writes on her own tend to become their singles, so he’ll probably find out soon enough.
‘The meet and greet starts in ten minutes, then you’ll have half an hour before the concert,’ Regina tells them, leading them through the backstage area as if she knows it like the back of her hand. Regina has a knack for learning the backstage floor plans.
Luke trails behind Maverick as Regina leads them into a room down a hall, just outside of the large backstage area. It was clearly once a dressing room, but has been repurposed for their meet and greet for the day. There are chairs strewn about the room, plus a picture area with “SPONSORED BY MULTIPLEX” written all over the background banner.
Meet and greets have never been Luke’s favorite. There’s so much pressure to make the moment as memorable as possible for the fans, and there’s always so many of them. It’s exhausting.
At least to Luke. Maverick never seems to tire of the ego boost he gets from meeting fans. And Quinn, for all her prickliness with the band, brightens like the sun when she meets fans. Maybe it’s just another way they’re better suited to fame than Luke is.
He shakes his head, pushing that thought from his mind. If he gets too in his head before the show, he won’t perform well.
Maverick drags one of the folding chairs to the picture area and plops down, spreading out comfortably. He tilts his head back, stretching.
‘It’s gonna be a good show tonight,’ he says to no one in particular. ‘I can feel it.’
Quinn snorts quietly, settling on a chair nearby. She doesn’t contradict Maverick’s statement, though Luke knows she doesn’t believe in feelings or luck or anything like that. She’s very practical, whereas Maverick is very superstitious.
Luke, like with most things, is somewhere in the middle.
Before long, the first group of fans are let into the room. Two teenage girls squeal and hold hands as they almost tackle Maverick in hugs. A younger girl and her mom approach Quinn, who’s all smiles in the face of fans.
Luke’s stomach twists and the familiar urge to hide appears deep within his bones. It happens every time he’s in a crowd, where people have their eyes on him and he can’t hide behind his bass.
Hell, it’s what happened the night he met Chloe. He tried to mingle, to enjoy himself and revel in the party that was in his band’s honor. But the room became claustrophobic and there were simultaneously too many eyes on him and yet no one actually seeing him. That night, he’d slipped out of the way and hid until Chloe found him.
But he can’t hide now. Not when the two teenage girls are headed his way, phones in hand and ready for selfies. He takes a deep breath and shoots them a winning smile, which makes one of the girls audibly swoon.
Yeah, he’ll never get used to that.
Eventually, he falls into a groove. His anxiety never fully dissipates, but it takes enough of a backseat that Luke is able to joke with some of the fans who come in and actually kind of enjoy himself.
He sticks his tongue out in a silly-face selfie at a young boy’s request as one of the last groups are ushered out of the room by some stagehands.
‘Thank you!’ the boy cries, grabbing and hugging Luke tight around the middle. Luke laughs, a little startled, and hugs him back. Behind him, the door opens and the next group of fans are brought inside. A girl squeals, as they often do when they meet Maverick.
Luke watches as the little boy leaves, the last of his group, before turning to face the new group.
His smile freezes on his face when his gaze falls on someone far, far too familiar. Fiddling with the hem of her shirt, staring up at him with big, green eyes.
Chloe Cameron.