Going on Tour: The Rosewoods Rock Star Series, #2

Going on Tour

The Rosewoods Rock Star Series

Book 2

By

Katrina Abbott

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Over The Cliff Publishing, 2017

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

GOING ON TOUR

First edition. February 2017

Copyright © 2017 Katrina Abbott

Written by Katrina Abbott

ISBN-13: 978-1542750110

ISBN-10: 1542750113

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Steven,

You always get top bunk, babe.

Getting on the Bus

It was late. Like, really late: almost two a.m. after what felt like the longest day in all of eternity.

It had started with my dad’s manager, Linda, getting injured (thanks to my badly-placed backpack) and then rushing around to get the band ready to play their first big gig. But then had ended on a very high note with them crushing their performance. To say it had been a success was a giant understatement.

But I barely had time to think about it now, and I sure didn’t have the brain power even if I had.

The band had vacated the building several hours before and had gone to meet their families at a restaurant down the block. I’d sent Sandy to go with them since I didn’t think it was fair to make her stick around and help, since she wasn’t even being paid (unless you count band t-shirts and free meals as payment, which I didn’t).

The rest of the crew stayed behind to pack up everything and get it all on the trucks—we were scheduled to get on the road tonight, so there was no leaving it until morning. I was beyond exhausted, and it was slow going, but my new job as fill-in tour manager and assistant to my dad meant I had to oversee the stage breakdown and make sure everything was packed away properly, and, most importantly, nothing got left behind.

Finally, when I was barely able to remain upright, my feet and legs aching, my eyelids feeling like lead, Dad came over and took pity on me.

Go on, he said. The bus is outside; your stuff’s already on it. I’ll do one last sweep of the building when these guys finish and then we’ll take off.

I should be here ‘til the end, I said, disappointed that my voice was a lot more slurry than it was determined. I so wanted to do a good job.

He gave me a gentle push toward the door. We’re almost done, kiddo. Go.

Relieved and grateful, I didn’t argue and shuffled out the door into the night that was only slightly cooler than the building had been. As the muggy air clung to me, I suddenly realized how grimy I was after a day of running around, touching mics, cords, dirty floors, and all sorts of filthy things, but found it hard to care very much.

The door to the bus was open, but I didn’t go straight up the stairs. Only because there was a body in the way.

Andres. He was sitting on the bottom step looking rumpled and ready for bed, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower. I swallowed as I took in just how gorgeous he was, even more gorgeous sitting there—clearly waiting for me—than he had been when he’d been perfectly groomed and on stage.

Dad and I had told Sandy and the boys right before the gig had started that I’d be joining them on tour, but I hadn’t had a chance to get Andres alone. Until now.

Hey, he said, standing up as I approached, but keeping his distance, crossing his arms over his chest.

I tried to smile up at him, but even my mouth was tired, so who knows what it looked like. Hi. Great show.

Thanks, he said.

Your family staying in town? I asked, even though I realized as I said it that I honestly didn’t care and what the hell was I doing making small talk?

For a couple of days, he answered as he looked down the street absently, something on his mind. Not small talk, obviously.

May as well get this over with, I thought. So with me coming along...

He nodded. Your father and I already talked.

I snorted and was too weary to care that I’d snorted. That must have been an awkward conversation, I said.

He finally looked at me. A little, he said with a tiny smirk. He looked weary, too.

I admit, I was kind of glad that we didn’t have to discuss it. I thanked Dad inside my head for sparing us that awkwardness. Though it might have been nice if I’d had one last chance to make out with Andres—something to tide us over until tour was over. I looked at his lips, which were lush and so kissable—and I should know—but out here with who knows who watching and Dad coming to join us any minute, it was a bad idea. Better to have a clean break anyway, I told myself.

I guess I’d better go claim a bunk, I said, almost in tears over having to climb the five stairs onto the bus; I was that worn out.

As I tried to get by, Andres grabbed my arm. Wait.

I looked up at him.

I need to ask you something, he said, sounding serious. For that, I turned back around to face him.

His eyebrows scrunched low into a frown. Something happen with Will?

My stomach churned as the almost kiss—the one between Will—who I still thought of as Dave even though we were supposed to use his first name now—and I at the photo shoot, the one that had actually been a kiss, if I was being honest—went through my head. But that couldn’t be what he was asking about. That was a week ago, well before Andres and I had gotten together at my Hamptons beach house. No, why?

He clenched his jaw and exhaled before he said, He didn’t seem as happy as everyone else that you’re coming with us. You two seemed close until this weekend. I wondered if something happened.

Oh. Right. That.

He’s probably just upset about Linda, I said with a shrug that I hoped was at least somewhat convincing. Lying to my new boyfriend wasn’t a good way to start a relationship, but now that I was going on tour, our relationship was on hold before it had even started. I had time to figure out how to explain the whole Dave situation. That whole thing about how I’d told him I don’t date musicians and then he caught me leaving the bathroom with Andres, our lips swollen from kissing. I hated hypocrites, and it seemed so did Dave.

Andres stared at me until I had to look away and not just because I was exhausted. I’m tired, I said, wriggling free of his grasp. I’m going in.

He didn’t move and I had a premonition of just how long and painful tour was going to be if we weren’t getting along. How small this tour bus was going to feel.

I sighed and looked up into his eyes, shadowed from the street lamp by the tour bus. It’s nothing. Dave and I are friends. I’m sure he’s just stressed. Tonight was a big deal for him—unlike you, he hasn’t really done this before.

He looked at my face for a long time before he finally nodded in agreement.

So, we good? I asked.

After what felt like a long moment, he nodded again and followed me up onto the bus.

The box filled with shoes by the door was a reminder that keeping the bus clean was always going to be an uphill battle; I toed my sneakers off and bent to add them to the others. I wasn’t normally a neat freak, but with nearly a dozen people living on a bus, I was going to need to be—and I had a feeling part of my job was going to be making sure everyone else was, too.

With how busy I’d been earlier, I hadn’t yet seen the inside of the bus with my own eyes, but what hit me first as I straightened up was not the new bus smell or the luxury of it, but the energy of the guys who were already on board, sitting in the lounge area at the front. They should have been exhausted. Actually, they probably were, but the high of playing had them punchy. They all seemed to be talking at once, the cacophony of voices an assault on my already overwhelmed nerves.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that they were wired after such an amazing performance, but I was so freaking tired that the last thing I wanted to do was have to paste on a smile and engage in conversation. I wished there was a back door onto the bus so I could have bypassed them until I had at least a few hours’ sleep under my belt.

No such luck. Darren, who was sitting on the black leather sofa closest to the door, saw me first. Vanessa! he yelled as he jumped up to wrap me into a hug. I suffered it and tried my best to give him a smile but obviously wasn’t successful because when he pulled back, the grin slid from his face. What? What’s wrong?

I closed my eyes for a second to focus and then took a breath. Nothing, I...

She’s exhausted. Look at her—she’s asleep on her feet, Dave said, sliding out of the booth and coming up to me. Come on. Let’s get you to your bunk.

I wanted to cry in relief, too tired to even worry about the awkward between us.

He led me past the other guys scattered over the couches and the banquette, past the little kitchenette, to the section of bunks. There were twelve in all, two sets of three per side—enough for the five members of the band, Dad, Kiki, Sandy, me, and Gary when he wasn’t driving. That left a few extras that would inevitably turn into ‘junk bunks’—extra storage, which was always at a premium.

Beyond the bunks there was a bathroom and even a lounge/office in the very back. Normally, I would have been jazzed to check it all out, but at that exact moment, getting horizontal was my only goal.

Do you have a preference? Dave asked as we stood in the aisle surrounded by bunks.

I did have a preference: the easiest one to get to at that exact moment. No, I said, not wanting to bother wasting words.

Okay, Kiki brought your bag out earlier and put it on this one, he said, pointing to the top bunk on the left, nearest to the back of the bus.

Perfect, I said. I was about to climb up when a door opened and closed with a loud kerchunk, drawing my attention toward the back of the bus.

Nessa, finally! My best friend Sandy had just emerged from the bathroom, wearing flannel pajama pants, a tank top (complete with a bra underneath) and slippers, holding her toothbrush in her hand. I had to admit, she looked so adorable, she was like a tour bus poster girl.

Her smile quickly faded. Ugh, you look like the walking dead.

Thanks, was all I could muster and then, because I was reduced to single words: Bunk.

Need the bathroom first? Sandy asked.

Good idea. Mmhmm, I hummed, doing an about face and shuffling toward the door she’d just come out of. I got inside the tiny bathroom and had a second of thought about my toothbrush, which was in my backpack on my bunk. Crap.

Swiping a finger full of toothpaste over my teeth and gums and then rinsing, I reasoned that my normally good oral hygiene could stand to skip one night of brushing. I used the bathroom and washed my hands and face, wishing I could get my whole body clean without getting wet. I considered the shower for all of two seconds but had serious concerns about falling over. The thought of having to get one of the guys to rescue my naked body out of there was less appealing than going to sleep dirty.

When I emerged, Sandy and Dave were still there waiting for me, which was a good thing, because I’d already forgotten which bunk was mine. Dave grabbed my wrist and tugged me across the aisle where a metal ladder had been set up. You’re at the top. You okay to climb up?

No, I thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have a top bunk, I said, worried about: A. climbing up, and B. Rolling out once I got there.

No, Dave said. You don’t want the guys climbing over you all the time—I doubt they’re going to bother with the ladder. Take the top.

Good point, I muttered and then turned to Sandy. Where’s yours?

She nodded toward the bunk next to mine. Top, too. But I don’t mind being closer to the front of the bus.

Knowing her, she’d stay up late with the guys, but God help them all if they woke her in the morning. Whatever, it wasn’t my concern at that moment.

I climbed up into my bunk and even managed not to crack my head on the very low ceiling. There wasn’t even room to sit up, making me wish I’d thought ahead and had gotten changed in the bathroom, but it was too late to worry about that now.

Sweet dreams, Sandy said as she pulled the accordion privacy curtain across, shutting me into the space that felt like a coffin. Especially when I noticed how much the noises and voices beyond were muffled. Except when I heard Sandy yell, Okay guys, Vanessa’s trying to sleep! Everyone needs to keep it down!

I chuckled as I struggled to get out of my jeans, feeling like a butterfly about to emerge from a very tight cocoon. I was going to change into my pajamas, but getting out of my clothes was hard enough, so I took off my bra, leaving on my t-shirt and underwear, and tucked myself under the covers.

What Being Buried Alive Must Feel Like

It was just as dark with my lids open as it had been with them closed.

Maybe my eyes weren’t really open. I blinked. Nope, still blind. Panic ripped through me and I tried to sit up but banged my head on a ceiling. I let out a grunt but at least the hit to my head brought my memory back—I was in my bunk on the tour bus. That explained the gentle jostling, too, that I only noticed as my brain came back online. I groaned as I pressed my fingers to my forehead and lay back down, glad there was no blood, at least.

Fumbling for my phone, I found it wedged between my mattress and the outside wall of the bus. I brought it in front of my face and swiped the screen. Five-forty-one a.m. That explained the relative silence on the bus.

I had zero memory of us pulling out from the venue in Brooklyn but knew from my itinerary that we weren’t scheduled to arrive in Cleveland for a few hours yet. Good thing, since I wasn’t done sleeping. Though now that I was somewhat awake and had had a panic attack, I did need the bathroom. Doing my best to do it quietly, I pulled back the privacy curtain and nearly squeaked in surprise when, in the glow of the dim overhead light, I saw eyes staring at me from the top bunk across the aisle.

Despite the lack of light, it only took a second to identify the eyes as belonging to Dave. He didn’t say anything but held up a hand.

I waved back and then looked down, realizing getting out of my bunk was going to be not only noisy, but a dangerous maneuver that I wasn’t sure I wanted to try for the first time in the middle of the night while the bus was moving.

Plus, I wasn’t wearing any pants.

Can’t sleep? I mouthed across the aisle at Dave.

He squinted toward me, seemingly unable to read my lips. I pulled out my phone and held it up toward him. He nodded and grabbed his.

Can’t sleep? I texted.

I did for a while, he sent back. I get pretty bad insomnia sometimes. You?

Same. These bunks are tiny, huh?

I heard him snort and then he sent back, Very. I had to open my curtain—too claustrophobic. Like a morgue.

I thought back to how I’d compared my bunk to a coffin. I get that.

At least there are tvs.

TVs? I looked up and sure enough, in the glow of my phone I could see there was a little screen attached to the bunk’s ceiling that I could pull down. Cool. Not that I imagined I’d have a lot of time to spend chilling out to watch The Bachelor, but I had a feeling there were going to be some times when coming to my bunk and putting on headphones was going to be a very necessary way to get some downtime.

You had a good time at the gig? I typed, realizing I hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of the guys after. I didn’t count the little chat with Andres.

Yeah, he sent. We were pretty tight and it was a rush. The crowd seemed to have a good time.

They did. They didn’t want to leave! They love you, boy band.

Another snort came from across the aisle.

My heart did a bit of a lurch and not from us hitting a bump in the road. There was still something weird between us. Something I didn’t really want to address, but was going to have to—this bus was very tight quarters for the next however many days or weeks. For both personal and professional reasons, I couldn’t bear for it to be awkward between us.

Are we okay? I sent.

A second later, even as I looked at my screen, I could feel his eyes on me. I turned and met his gaze. He nodded.

Good, I typed. I hated pissing you off.

I wasn’t pissed off.

I looked over at him and hoped he could see the withering look on my face.

Either he did or guessed at it. He exhaled loudly and then sent: Okay so I was pissed off. You told me you don’t date musicians.

I took a breath and held it as I thought about what to say. I really didn’t want to get into this here and now. I didn’t exactly feel like I owed him an explanation, since who I did or didn’t date wasn’t really any of his business. But...I guess being friends meant coming clean.

It’s complicated. Can I explain later?

I don’t need details, he sent back.

I sent him a sticking-out-my-tongue emoji. You weren’t going to get any. Andres and I have a past. A rocky past

Ah, so that’s why you hate musicians!

Part of it, I sent before I realized I should have just said yes and left it at that.

??

Another time, I sent. And by another time, I meant never. Like I said: complicated.

But you’re dating him?

I felt his eyes on me again, but kept mine trained on my phone. Not on tour.

We should probably both get more sleep, he sent, abruptly changing the subject, which was both disconcerting and cause for relief at the same time. I really didn’t want to be having the whole dating conversation with him.

We have another gig in...he looked up at me questioningly.

14 hours, I tapped out.

Right. Get some rest. Night, tour manager

I smiled. Night boy band.

I pushed thoughts of needing the washroom out of my head, hoping I’d be able to just force myself back to sleep. I tugged the privacy curtain back across the bunk and tucked my phone back between my mattress and the wall; it was a good place to store it where I wouldn’t risk kicking it off my bunk.

Maybe it was the lull of the gently swaying bus, the fact that despite a few hours’ sleep, I was still bone-tired, or the relief over knowing that Dave and I were more or less okay, but whatever it was, I was asleep again within seconds.

A Number Machine Might Not Be a Bad Idea

The second my eyes snapped open, my brain started whirling with thoughts of everything I had to do: where the guys needed to be, prep for tonight’s gig, the itinerary for the next day, stuff I needed to buy, what my dad needed from me.

But then came the impossible-to-ignore biological need.

Despite it still being pitch black and quiet, my bladder told me with great urgency that I was done sleeping. A glance at my phone told me it was time to get up anyway. For me, at least. The guys could afford to keep sleeping—they’d earned it and had a big day ahead. It was technically still early morning, but I had a lot to do.

The bus was still moving, so, staying horizontal, I wiggled into my jeans from the day before and then, using the light app on my cell, I found the bunk’s light switch. Once the bunk was lit, I opened my backpack and found my toothbrush and phone charger. I plugged the phone into the outlet on the wall over my bed, wishing I’d thought to do it the night before.

Then, as quietly as I could, I pulled back the curtain and peeked out into the aisle. All the other bunks were closed