Chapter One
"Ms. Harrington?"
Damn it! Why did I answer my phone? Obviously, this was someone who didn't know me. I was a very informal person, preferring to be called by my first name. Further, anyone who really knew me understood not to disturb me past nine o’clock in the evening outside of an emergency. I was an early riser; early as in long before the sun came up. It was the only way to capture a sunrise and early morning light, perfect for landscape pictures. Plus, I liked the solitude of that time; it was soothing to my soul, so even on mornings I didn’t have a photoshoot, the habit had stuck.
Under normal circumstances, I would've never answered a call without looking at the caller i.d., but I'd been so focused on the images on my computer that I'd recently taken that I'd been reluctant to look away. So much so, I hadn’t realized how late it was.
"Yes,” I answered, not bothering to disguise my irritation at the interruption.
"This is Doctor Craig Harper. We found your name listed as a --"
My front door was flung open, and the ensuing whirlwind, also known as my sister Rose, blew papers and photos every which way as she rushed into my living room. I’d put them there to take to an editor for a travel magazine tomorrow.
"Emma! Oh, my God! Have you heard the news?"
I sighed and rubbed my throbbing temples. I turned and glared at my sister, wondering not for the first time why I'd given her a key to my house. Her enthusiasm for anything sometimes made it hard to remember she was the older sister, or maybe my more bitter outlook made me appear older.
I rolled my eyes and pointed to the phone. She bit her lip and rolled her hand in a 'wrap it up' gesture so she could talk to me.
"I'm sorry, I was interrupted," I said to the mystery person on the phone. "Could you please repeat what you were saying?"
"I’m calling from Massachusetts General Hospital. Your name is listed as an emergency contact for Andrew Davisson. I'm sorry to let you know that he was in an accident..."
I nearly forgot how to breathe. I barely absorbed the rest of what he was saying. Something about Drew and a bus crash and in serious condition.
Drew. My former boyfriend, the one I thought was my forever. The one who got away, or at least, the one I let go and ran as far away as I could.
"Ms. Harrington, are you hearing me? You’re geographically the closest contact he has listed. Since you don't live too far away, we thought you might be able to come to the hospital. You'll need to have proof of your identity when you arrive."
"I, uh, yes, of course. I'll be there as soon as possible." Somehow, I ended the call, but my hand remained frozen, along with my heart. The same heart that once thought each pulse beat to that name to the name of Drew Davisson.
"Emma?" Rose sank to her knees in front of me and gripped my hands.
"It's...it's Drew. He was in an accident. It sounded bad." I stared at her with shocked eyes, willing her to make sense of all this for me.
"I know. I was trying to get here before you found out some other way." Her eyes were full of compassion as she squeezed my hands. "It's the entire band, sweetie. Their tour bus was in an accident. It's bad. It's all over the news. There were a lot of injuries, and at least one person died, but they haven't said who."
I choked down the bile that rose in my throat. I lurched from my chair. Files, magazines, and discarded snack wrappers scattered everywhere as I searched for the television remote on my coffee table.
"Emma?"
The screen flickered to life. I ran through the channels until I found one showing breaking news, and sure enough, there was the truth of her words in a live shot by a local news station.
"Shit. Turn it off. You know the media coverage always makes it look more dramatic than it is."
Her warning was in vain; my eyes were glued to the carnage on my set. First responders and their emergency equipment were everywhere, but they couldn't shield me from the image of a smoke-blackened giant coach bus with the front end almost completely crushed on one side as if it were nothing more than a soda can. It was tipped sideways where it rested in a ravine.
If I weren't already sitting, I'd have fallen to the floor. Crawling to the large screen, I searched frantically for any signs of life. Rose had mentioned a death, but looking at the wreckage, I couldn't imagine how there wouldn't be more. And that meant someone I knew. Large letters at the bottom of the scene posted, ‘Southern Pleasure’s tour bus involved in deadly accident.' I frantically tapped the volume button to hear the details.
"...survivors have been taken to a nearby hospital, but no word has been released regarding the condition of the victims. A spokesperson from the band's record label has released a general statement saying that, 'They are devastated to learn of this horrific accident, and their thoughts and prayers are with the band members, the crew, and their families.' While no word has been made about the concert that was to take place tomorrow, I can't imagine the show will go on. Savannah, back to you."
The station switched back to the studio where Savannah picked back up. "Thank you, Sean. The Grammy-winning band Southern Pleasure was concluding their second national tour for "Emerge," their recent best-selling album. Several of their songs, including the hits "Believe," "Simply Complicated," and "Never," hit number one on Billboard charts. The band is composed of lead vocalist Drew Davis, bassist Andy Cauffman, drummer Rick Houk, and guitarist Ryan Fitz..."
I tuned out the rest of what she was saying as images of the band's players flashed on the screen, as well as snippets of their concerts. I knew more details about the band and its members than she would ever know. Fans knew how Andy hated lima beans and that he always carried a pack of wintergreen mints in his pocket. Most assumed it was for fresh breath, especially useful when he flirted with women. But I knew it was because they reminded him of his now deceased grandmother who always carried them in her purse and handed them out like candy when he was a little boy. The same woman who scrimped together the money for his guitar lessons when his parents refused to support his dream of becoming a musician.
I knew big, bad, tattooed Rick was really a math genius and was the only reason his friends passed their math classes. I'd lay odds that he still carried a small, ratty teddy bear in his suitcase every time he traveled. It had been given to him by his baby brother, younger by twelve years, on their first tour so that 'he wouldn't be lonely.' Rick came from a huge family and was the only member of the band who was married. God, if I was freaking out, his wife must be a wreck.
And I knew Ryan wasn't the drummer's real name. It was Reginald Joseph Oliver Fitzroy, the third. There was some connection to an ancient dukedom back in England, but his father was something of a rebel and a wanna-be musician who took his inheritance and moved to California where he worked his way up in the recording industry. He found out he was a father when a woman showed up with a baby produced from a one-night stand. She hadn't even given him a name. Reggie never questioned what he should do. He took the baby in, shared his given name with him on the birth certificate, then one day decided to change both of their names legally to Joseph and Ryan Fitz.
But the member I knew most intimately was Andrew James Davisson, or Drew, as he was better known. I knew how he chewed on a pencil, the only way he wrote music, as he crafted lyrics for songs. I knew that he was superstitious about those pencils, and he never threw the nubs out but kept them in a cigar box that he kept in his closet. I also knew how he was ticklish on his inner thigh, how he loved to clasp my hands as his body sank into mine, and how he loved to hold eye contact but closed them just as his orgasm hit. I knew how he loved to play with my hair while we cuddled after sex. And unlike all the women who thought their song 'Mercedes' was about a lost French lover that he wrote using a car as a metaphor, I knew it was about me.
We'd been each other's firsts. We'd meant to be each other's lasts. But it had never happened. I'd never had a truly committed relationship since. Rose called me a cynic, and maybe I was, but if Drew and I couldn't beat the odds as hard as we'd loved each other, how would it work with anyone else? And now maybe I'd never know how and where we failed.
A gentle touch on my thigh roused me from my thoughts. Rose was crouched beside me, and she pulled me in for a huge hug. "Are you okay, sweetie?" She sat back and surveyed me. "Why am I asking? Of course, you're not. Come. Let's sit down." She guided me to my couch. "Here. I grabbed Justin's bourbon on my way out. It burns, but in a good way."
Despite the upsetting news, I laughed as I watched her reach into her purse that was more like a suitcase and pull out a bottle and two plastic cups. "Who are you, Mary Poppins?"
She grinned. "Mary Fucking Poppins doesn't know shit. Who needs a spoonful of sugar when alcohol works faster?" She poured us each a generous amount. We clicked our plastic cups and drank.
"Damn." I shivered as the fiery liquid warmed me from the inside out.
"Now," Rose said, in her take-charge way. "I called Justin and asked him directly if he knew about the conditions of any of the band members.” Rose’s husband was an orthopedic surgeon at Mass General.
"You asked him? Isn't that private info?"
She shrugged. "More like I threatened him."
I lifted an eyebrow. "Should I ask?"
"I told him if he ever wanted to have sex again, he'd tell me. As a little extra insurance, I sent him a picture of me in my newest Victoria's Secret outfit and told him if he'd never see it in person if he didn't."
"You'd never be able to uphold that."
"True, but I can go longer without sex than him. Besides, he knows your connection and knows I wasn't asking as a fan." She held up her hand. "Not that I'm a major fan. I mean, I support you more. But they are really good."
"Or were," I said, glancing at the commercial ended and returned to the breaking news.
"Don't talk like that," she said. "They're there. All four of them."
I grabbed her arm. "Alive?" I could barely choke out the word.
"Justin said yes, although at least one of them is in critical condition. That must be Drew. Word on the news is their manager and bus driver were both killed."
Lauren's dead. The thought circulated in my head several times before it began to sink in. The 'Wicked Witch is Dead' song started to play in the back of my mind, but I quickly shut it down. As much as I hated her, I could never be that vindictive. She was an easy target to blame for all the grief I'd felt the past several years, but she had been an instrumental part of the band's initial success. And while there was no love lost between us, my relief was someone else's unwelcome news. I said a quick mental prayer for her family, as well as that of the driver’s. "What else did Justin tell you?"
"All he did was confirm that all the band members are alive. Even for me, he won't risk his job by sharing personal information. I tried, but that was all I could get from him."
"I need to go. I need to see him...them."
Rose looked at me, sympathy lining her features. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Yes. No." I shook my head as tears filled my eyes. "I don't know. But that doesn't matter. He still had my name as an emergency contact. I have to honor that. Besides, what if this is the last chance I have to talk to him? There must be some reason he sent me that ticket.” I glanced at the concert ticket and backstage pass for their Homecoming concert in North Carolina in a few weeks. Whoever had sent them hadn’t known I’d moved. I’d received them a couple days ago, forwarded from my previous address. There hadn’t been a note with them. They’d caused so much uncertainty about wanting to see them, but with the new circumstances, I knew what I was going to do.
Rose read my mind. She raised an eyebrow at me. "It won't be easy to get in. The hospital is going to have crazy security in place."
"Then I’ll just have to be crazier.”