22. Chapter 16
Decode
Rain
I had hoped that our little heart-to-heart would mean no more cold shoulder from Dax, but he’s as standoffish as ever. Except for the morning after, when I let Kitten out of the bedroom, Cohen was two seconds away from freaking out until Dallas put his foot down.
“Kitten stays out.”
His hard expression leaves no doubt that he means it, though it’s almost unheard of for Dallas to stand up to Cohen, so much so that Co’s emerald eyes widen in surprise.
Though because it’s Dallas who said it, he doesn’t fight back.
He grimaces and pouts because he’s a man-child, but from that day onward he hasn’t uttered a single complaint.
Kitten is thrilled, and she’s explored the whole bus since then.
She’s also taken to rotating between my bed and Dallas’s bunk.
I caught them both stretching out this morning.
With his thin, often graceful frame, Dax is pretty cat-like anyway.
Seeing it side by side with an actual cat just makes it all the more obvious.
She seems to be the only one enjoying herself.
I can also admit I’m a bit jealous. He’s got all the time in the world for my cat but can’t even have a conversation with me unless it’s in secret in the middle of the night.
Well, it’s not a complete secret. Dutch clearly overheard at least part of our little chat because he’s taken to watching me with the same anxiety I see in his grim face whenever he looks at his brother, like he’s waiting for our demons, as we call our bullshit, to start acting up.
I know I’m also a big fucking hypocrite because despite encouraging Dallas to talk about what haunts him, I’ve kept my lips zipped about Lou for weeks.
Hell, I’ve kept my lips zipped about a lot of things.
Not that I haven’t thought about it, about the past, which can’t be helped, and what to do about Lou right now.
Hell, I’ve had nothing but time to think. On the bus, the days all blend together, and in the aftermath of our first show, they’ve been eerily quiet. Even though I’m no longer hiding out with Kitten in the bedroom and all of us spend our days milling around the bus, no one speaks to each other.
Occasionally, by accident, I make eye contact with Dutch, who smiles in return.
More than once, he’s beckoned me to join him on the couch, but each time, I hesitate.
I want to make up, to get close to him again, to tell him my secrets, though it’s the ugly reality of those secrets that holds me back each time.
Mostly, I watch the windows and the country sailing past us on the other side.
We pass small towns and cornfields, lakes and exposed rock faces where the highway has been cut right into the Canadian Shield.
Eventually, the view transforms again, and all you can see for miles is the great expanse of the Atlantic, dotted by the occasional fishing boat or lighthouse.
“We’re here,” Cohen says to no one in particular.
Cambria. I’ve only been here once before during the Skids Tour after our second album.
The coastal town is steeped in musical traditions of its own, and one day, I’d love to experience them.
Not this time, because, like on the Skids Tour, we’re here for one night and one night only, so all we’ll be seeing is the venue.
At least it’s a nice one. More than nice actually, it’s really fucking cool.
The Quay, it’s called, probably because of its shore-side location.
Or because it’s a former fishing warehouse.
The inside has been hollowed out so there’s an open floor plan in front of the stage, perfect for dancing or a mosh pit.
Upstairs, a balcony runs around the building and is reserved for VIPs.
It’s the only part of the club that has any seating.
From the outside, you’d never be able to tell any of that, though.
Red-painted shiplap covers the exterior, and the name McKye traces of their conversation reach me.
“Boyfriend?” Dutch again.
“Who the hell?” Cohen.
“Did you know she had—” Cohen again, though which of the Kelly brothers he’s asking, I have no idea.
Turns out all it took to get them talking was news that maybe I hadn’t been a goddamn nun in the ten years since they’d last seen me. Not that they’d asked about my sex life. Not that I’d have told them if they did. It was none of their business.
The front doors of The Quay are big grey fire doors with aggressive floor and ceiling bolt locks and one small circular window in each face. The bouncer gestures to the glass and, doing my very best to keep out of sight, I take a peek.
With under an hour until doors open, there’s a huge lineup of people waiting to get into the venue and right at the very front, thumping his chest and getting in another bouncer’s face, is Trey.
How the hell he got here, I have no idea. In all the time we were together, the man had never owned a car, and he’d certainly never had the money to spring for a plane ticket to fly from Calder to Cambria. Our country is big, and those flights are priceyyyyyy.
I visibly recoil from the window, prompting the bouncer with me to ask, “So not your boyfriend, then?” He watches me closely. “Do you want us to bar him from the venue?”
My head is swimming, and my voice is failing me.
“Ms. Gamble?”
I’m too busy retreating away from the door and too shocked by Trey’s appearance to answer any of his questions. Like the last time I saw Trey, I run. This time it’s to my private dressing room so I can have a panic attack in peace.
The only problem is, Tina is still in there. She is packing up the last of her stuff as I crash through the door. But one look at me, and she drops her tools.
“Shit, girl. You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Mmmhmmm,” is all I manage to squeak before I freak the fuck out completely. Bless her, Tina stays while I have a silent meltdown. I hold back scream after scream because I can’t go and ruin my throat before the show. The dam nearly breaks, but Tina grabs me by the shoulders and shakes.
“First, snap out of it. Second, tell me what the hell happened out there.” Something in her knowing expression breaks through my adrenaline-soaked brain, especially when she asks, “What did those dumbass men do to you?”
It’s obvious she thinks my freak-out is the guys’ fault, which any other time would probably be true. Now, it causes a nervous laugh to slip out, “Ha!”
The dam really does break then, and before I can stop my mouth from moving, the whole story comes oozing out of me. About my relationship with Trey, how it started, how it fucking ended. I even tell her about Lou putting me up in the Seascape. That makes her brown eyes go wide.
“Lou Braun doesn’t do something like that for nothing.”
“Tell me about it,” I confirm, and then I do something that might be seriously dumb, but the weight is becoming too crushing to keep carrying alone, so I tell her about my deal with Lou.
“Shittttt, those men of yours are gonna be pissed.”
“They aren’t mine, but you’re right about that second part.”
I groan, “I need to tell them.”
“Not right now, you don’t. You have a show to do first.”
Tina’s not wrong. And I’m a coward, so I let her persuade me into keeping my mouth shut while she spends the next twenty minutes calming me down.
Good thing too, because by the time my heart is back to beating at a normal rhythm, there isn’t long before our stage call.
Together, we resolve that if this show goes well, everyone will be in a good enough mood for me to tell them the overdue truth.
Let’s just hope no more groupies or exes get in the way.
Lou Braun might be a world-class creep, but even a creep can do good things, occasionally, or more likely, by accident.
And he’d done me a big fucking favour by hiring Tina.
Confessing to her is a boon to my soul, and I nearly float my way to the front of the stage.
The guys join me one by one. We don’t say much.
We’re waiting for the curtain. Our in-ear mics start the countdown.
Three, two, one. Curtain drops. Stage lights on. The Quay comes to life before us. Only problem is there, right in the centre of the crowd, is Trey. His eyes never leave mine, and though it is impossible to hear him over the deafening roar of the crowd, I read his lips as he mouths, You are mine.