29. Rory #2
When Layla and I get backstage, I give in to temptation, pull out my phone again, and scroll to Marlowe’s page to stare at the pic.
It’s an image from three years ago. Jace has his arm slung over her shoulders while she leans up to kiss his cheek.
And it’s not that she’s kissing him that bothers me.
It’s that he looks so happy, like he found his person.
I don’t know if it’s the stress of this tour or if I’m just paranoid, but I don’t think he smiles like that with me.
Plus, I can’t help thinking that he and Marlowe probably had lots of sex.
And we haven’t. I mean, the oral has been mind-blowing, but I feel like she has something with him I don’t. And that’s starting to bug me.
Frank walks by, pausing when he sees me. “You coming to the VIP line afterward to get photos?”
“Yes.” Like always. “With my new camera.” I hold up the fancy bag, and he smiles. Then glances around.
“Just so you know, we’re doing more promo shots with Marlowe.”
Did I say the new images of them don’t bother me? I lied. They do. I try to keep my face neutral because my natural instinct is to roll my eyes. Because don’t we have enough of those by now? “Okay.”
He studies me for several seconds. “It’s good for the tour.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Now I roll my eyes. “You mean if your wife snuggled up to her ex for ‘promo shots’ all the time, you’d be okay with that?”
He rubs his chin. “No, but Susan’s not in the music business. These guys have to do things you and I don’t. You just have to get used to it.”
That feels like blind trust, and that’s stupid.
I like Jace more than I’m comfortable admitting, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to women throwing themselves at him.
He’s done his best to be respectful of our relationship, but girls still run up to him and catch him off guard. That’s not his fault.
Still, it’s smart not to get complacent. Because I know, without a doubt, Marlowe would swoop in if I wasn’t in the picture—she might even try with me in it.
This is why I wish I’d caught her performance in Daytona before the lasagna incident. Because now she annoys me too much.
The venues keep getting larger and larger.
Tonight, we’re in a stadium, and it’s packed all the way to the rafters.
Layla and I are in our usual fifth-row seats.
I spot some familiar faces. Quinn’s talking to fans at the front, probably for another article.
Karina and one of her snarky friends are hanging off Cooper in the wings.
“I’m glad I’m not alone today,” Felicity Gamble, Garrett’s lovely wife, says as she takes her seat next to mine.
“Layla and I will keep you company,” I say as I hug her. You’d expect someone like Felicity to travel with an entourage, but she’s really down to earth. We met a few weeks ago at a charity event.
“Thank goodness security let you through with the stroller this time.”
“I can usually get it approved if I show my pass. I’ve only had problems twice. I can strap Layla to me if I have to, but that makes recording a challenge.”
Wayward Sons are on fire tonight, and after I get the shots and video clips I need, I belt out the lyrics with the rest of the crowd. Layla kicks her legs in time with the music. She’s wearing one of her little summer dresses and her noise-canceling headphones. Because safety.
If I thought Daytona was humid, it has nothing on Houston.
My clothes stick to me, and my hair is a frizzy mess.
I finally pull it up into a ponytail so I don’t look like I stuck my finger in a light socket.
And while I’m honored Frank loaned me this beautiful camera, it’s so heavy, my shoulder cramps from hauling it around.
When Jace’s set is done, I hug Felicity goodbye and push Layla’s stroller backstage. I get lots of video of the guys signing autographs for fans and taking photos. As soon as Marlowe’s set ends, she joins them.
Freaking Cooper jumps up to hug her. “Hey, girl. Glad you could join us.”
How can he be so nice to her? Wasn’t he the one complaining about her being on this tour when it kicked off?
That’s something that bugs me about this industry—the fakeness. The way Cooper can break out the hugs when I know, deep down, he couldn’t give a shit about her. She’s a means to an end.
Marlowe is all smiles when she greets the band, and those assholes scoot down so she can sit next to Jace. I push Layla closer to the table so I can get some video.
“Here, let me watch her for a few minutes,” Edmond says, jogging up to me. “I’ll be right here, and after, I can walk y’all back to the bus.”
“Thank you. You’re getting extra cookies this week.” It’s tough to keep an eye on Layla and record at the same time.
Frank kneels in front of the table and waves me closer. “I want Jace and Marlowe to sing a little something. Maybe a few lines from ‘Red Light.’”
Marlowe grins and grabs Jace’s arm. “I love that song. Why don’t you do your thing, and I’ll sing harmony?”
Jace’s expression is stony, and as much as I hate that he has to interact with her, I know it’s good for his career and this tour. I cough to get his attention. “I bet you guys will sound great.”
His eyes soften, and he nods subtly.
Of course, they’re amazing together. When I get back to the bus, I post a twenty-second clip.
The next morning, it has a hundred thousand views.