Authors: Amanda Weaver
They hadn’t said the words, hadn’t made any promises or declarations, but it felt close, like their relationship was blossoming slowly into something real, something good.
Unable to resist, Justine leaned down and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. He groaned, a low sexy sound deep in his throat.
“Morning,” he muttered.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“Already?” He rolled onto his side, blinking himself awake.
“My flight’s at 9.”
He sighed and reached a hand up to her face. “I’ll miss you.”
It was so simply-said and so heartfelt. “I’ll miss you, too.” She could feel it like an ache in her chest already.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, then cleared his throat of the rasp of sleep before continuing. “I have a couple of projects to finish up in New York and then I have a few quiet weeks. What would you think of me coming on the road with you for a bit?”
She felt a smile blooming across her face until her cheeks hurt with the force of it. “I think I’d like that very much.”
He reached for her hand, playing with her fingers. “As much as I’m enjoying our random hotel room encounters, I think I’m ready for…more.”
He looked up at her uncertainly. She flipped her hand in his until she could squeeze it.
“I’m ready for that, too.”
He released her hand, reaching up to cup the back of her neck and pull her down for a kiss. “I’ll email you and we’ll figure out the dates.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Go,” he sighed. “Before I pull you back into bed and make you miss your flight.”
“I like that idea,” she murmured, running a hand up his bare chest.
He groaned. “Until your tour manager calls you freaking out.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll hold that thought. You’d better hurry, though. I’m feeling greedy and I want you all to myself.”
“When I get there, you can have as much as you want.”
She smiled and kissed him one more time before leaving the bed and grabbing her shoulder bag. She backed to the door, pressing her fingers to her lips as he watched her go.
Hours later, on the other side of the country, she was dozing in the back of the SUV as the driver made his way from the airport. Her phone buzzed and she smiled as she pulled it out, expecting a text from Ian. Instead, she saw it was Dillon calling.
“Hey, there you are.”
“Sorry I haven’t called. Things have been… crazy.”
Justine felt a pang of guilt, since she hadn’t been the best about keeping in touch, either. She was so swamped with planning her solo tour, and her scant down time had been devoted to Ian. She was a lousy friend. “Everything okay?” she asked, resolving to do better by Dillon.
“Not really. I, um…” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I broke up with Ash.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t deal with it anymore. The drugs… all of it. And I told him so.”
She blinked into the middle distance, trying to absorb his words. “So— now what?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t seen or talked to him in a week. It feels like I cut off my own arm.”
“Oh, Dillon. I’m so sorry.” She knew how he felt about Ash, a connection that went further than friendship or loyalty. They were family. It had to be bad for Dillon to take this step. Her heart hurt for him.
“The ridiculous thing is, as mad as I am at him right now, I’m also worried sick about him. At least when I was there, I knew what was going on, as awful as it was. Now… I have no idea what’s happening and it’s driving me crazy.”
“I’ll call him. I’ll find out how he’s doing and let you know.”
“I’d appreciate that, but just so you know, he lies. He’s a junkie and junkies lie.”
“Dillon—”
“It’s true. He’ll tell you everything is fine and the bastard will actually make you believe it.”
“Still, someone should talk to him. I’ll call.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She paused before she went on. “This won’t be forever, Dillon. When you see him again, I’m sure you’ll find some middle ground, even if it’s not like it was before.”
“I’m not seeing him again.”
“Sure you are. You’ll have to when you go back into the studio and—”
“We’re not.”
“What?”
“Recording. No plans to record another album, no plans for another tour, no shows, no appearances. Right now, Outlaw Rovers is dead in the water.”
Justine took a deep breath. “It’s just a bump. Once Ash gets straightened out, everything will be fine.”
“And how do I get him to do that? I talked to him. The guys talked to him. I walked out on him and none of it seems to matter.”
“Dillon—”
He exhaled hard. “Sorry. I shouldn’t unload on you like this. It’s not your problem.”
“But I’m your friend. So yeah, you should unload. I want you to tell me everything.”
“I’m tired of talking about it. Tired of thinking about it. Tell me about you instead.”
Justine thought about her life right now— the luxury SUV currently driving her to the hotel, where she’d have the best suite available, the concert later tonight with thousands of screaming fans, the TV appearance she had booked tomorrow, the photo shoot for a magazine happening the day after, and beautiful Ian back in a hotel room in Las Vegas, probably calling her any minute.
“I’m fine,” she said simply. “Everything’s fine.”
He chuckled. “You sure have a lot going on in your life these days to describe it as just ‘fine’.”
“Okay,” she relented, smiling. “Things are great. Kind of crazy, but great. The tour is selling really well. So well they’re sending me out on my own as soon as we finish in September. The second single did better than the first, everything’s good news.”
“And what about you? I know it can be intense when things start to take off. Are you doing okay?”
“Really good. Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life. I mean, the schedule is brutal. It makes it hard to keep…” She almost mentioned Ian, and then stopped herself, although she had no idea why. There was no reason not to tell Dillon about him. He’d probably be glad she found someone.
“Hard to keep what?” he pressed.
“Relationships,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “I’m seeing someone and he’s based in New York. It’s hard.”
The silence that stretched out on the phone lasted long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. She cursed silently. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything. Although there was no reason for Ian to make things weird between them, her gut told her that it would. And now it seemed she was right.
Dillon cleared his throat. “You’re seeing someone?”
“Yeah… um, Ian Blackwell. Do you remember him? He came out to interview you guys for
Spin
two years ago.”
“Ian.” Dillon said, letting it hang there.
“Yeah, Ian.”
“Wait— is he the guy… that night…?”
“Yeah, I met him then. We had a little… thing.”
“Since then?” Dillon said in a near whisper.
“No, no. We lost touch after that. I didn’t see him again until last month. He interviewed me for
Spin
, too.”
“So it’s serious then?”
Justine thought back to saying goodbye to Ian that morning, his gorgeous sleep-softened face, the way he played with her fingers as he suggested coming out to spend time on the road with her, the near admission at the end that he wanted more with her.
“Um, it hasn’t been all that long,” she caged. “Right now we’re just having a good time.”
“Well— I hope he’s good to you,” Dillon finally said.
Justine exhaled. He seemed fine with it after all. He was probably just surprised, and she was too conditioned from months of hoping for him to care like that. In reality, there was nothing between them but friendship and nothing for either of them to feel weird about.
“He is. You don’t need to worry about me, Dillon.”
“I always will, though.” And his words felt different, not the usual way they told each other they cared. It felt almost like he was trying to tell her something else, something more. She shook her head. He was an emotional wreck after the fight with Ash. He was feeling lonely. That’s all it was.
“I know you will. And you know I’ll always worry about you.”
“That means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he said with a sigh. And once again, it sounded like there was more to those words. But since she couldn’t read his mind or read between the lines, she let it go. He needed her to be a friend now and that’s what she’d be. She was very good at that.
After she got settled in her hotel and the requisite phone calls had been made, email had been checked, schedule had been gone over, and questions had been answered, she closed herself in the bedroom and called Ash. It nearly went to voicemail before he picked up, sounding half-asleep.
“Well, well, well, it’s Superstar Girl.” Despite his obviously wrecked state, she could hear the teasing and humor in his voice and it made her smile in spite of herself.
“Hi, Ash. How are you?”
“Not too bad, when I can clear out the hordes of adoring fans and get a decent night’s sleep. You know how it is. It’s hard at the top.”
Remembering Dillon’s words, how badly the band was doing right now, Ash’s joking flippancy almost hurt. As much as she wanted to play along with him and let him joke his way through the conversation, that wasn’t why she called, so she cut right to the chase.
“I talked to Dillon. He told me what happened.”
Ash sighed. When he spoke again, the charming jester was gone, and his voice was hard. “Yeah? He told you he walked out on me?”
“Yes. And he told me why.”
Ash said nothing, but she could hear him breathing heavily through the phone.
“Ash, you gotta fix this.”
“Leave it, Justine. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re losing everything that ever mattered to you. You need help.”
“I said I’m fine! I’ve been using to relieve some stress. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Dillon’s blowing it way out of proportion because he’s a control freak.”
“And what about JD and Rocky? Because they’re freaked, too. Everybody loves you and they’re scared.”
“I’m okay, Princess. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I am worried. You and Dillon aren’t speaking. Ash, that’s— after everything you guys have been through, for it to come to this, things must be really bad.”
He blew his breath out in a gust. Maybe she was imagining it, but she could feel his sadness. Losing Dillon was hurting him, however he was trying to spin it now. “Okay, Beautiful,” he finally said, the suave lilt back in his voice again, “if it will make you stop worrying, I’ll quit the hard stuff.”
“You’ll go to rehab?”
“I don’t need rehab.” The facade cracked for just a second and she could hear the edge in his voice again. “I can quit it any time I want, angel. I’m not some junkie, despite what Dillon might have told you. Maybe I got a little carried away, but if it gets everybody off my back, I’ll lay off.”
Liar.
She pressed her eyes closed against the sudden burn of tears. Dillon was so right. Junkies lied.
“You promise?” she finally forced out.
“Cross my heart and hope to die. I can’t have you worrying about me, Sweetness. You’ll get premature wrinkles and ruin your career.”
She chuckled in spite of how miserable she felt. “Well, if the threat of my wrinkles is what it takes, then fine. Do it for my face. I’m counting on you.”
He laughed, sounding tired and so far away. “Anything for you, my queen. And hey, Justine?”
“Yeah?”
“I really am proud of you. I knew you would set the world on fire. Didn’t I tell you so?”
Now she was crying in earnest, but she swiped at her cheeks and kept her voice steady. “You did. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Nah,” he sighed. “You never needed me. Just come out with me the next time you hit LA and buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal.”
“Besides, I want to be seen behind the velvet rope with the hottest woman in rock. It’s good for my street cred. We’ll start scandalous rumors and drive Dillon insane with jealousy.”
She laughed weakly. She knew she’d failed in trying to reach him, but she wanted to leave things in a good place, and with Ash, joking always worked. “You could have your way with me on the bar and Dillon wouldn’t care. It’s not like that.”
Ash was silent for a moment. “So that’s what you think, huh?”
“That’s what I know.”
He made a little sound in his throat and then went quiet for a minute. “Hey, do you remember when I told you we needed to become friends because we shared him now?”
“I remember that.”
“Well, he’s all yours now, Justine. So take good care of him, okay?”
“Ash, wait a minute—”
“Hey, I’ve got some stuff I gotta do. I’ll talk to you soon, okay, angel?”
And then he was gone.
August 2010
When the phone call came, Dillon wasn’t even surprised. It wasn’t Jon Verlaine. He’d moved on and cleaning up the wreckage left by Outlaw Rovers wasn’t part of his job description. Instead, it was some mid-level junior exec who Dillon had never met. The call woke him up and he was massively hung-over, so he said very little. There wasn’t anything to say, really. The stumbling, stuttering young kid explained in formal, stilted language he was clearly reading from a legal document on his desk that Nightfall was choosing to terminate its contract with Outlaw Rovers, as was their option, outlined in Chapter 5, Paragraph 27, Subitem 3 in the contract he’d signed. They were free to seek new representation but all distribution rights to works recorded while with Nightfall remained in the possession of Nightfall, with all attendant royalties to be distributed as per the rider to the contract dated June 27, 2009…
Dillon stopped listening after the first few words, but he let the guy finish his little speech, because it was a shitty call to have to make and he didn’t want to make it worse for him. When he finally finished, he asked Dillon if he had any questions.
“No questions,” he rasped, and ended the call. The bottle of whiskey from the night before was thankfully not yet empty and still on the floor next to the bed. He reached for it and took several long pulls, until the burn of it washed away the phone call, Ash, the yawning chasm of the rest of his life, and everything else he couldn’t bear to face. He kept drinking until he sank back into sleep and left it all behind.