I thought I was living the good life. That I had made it. That the years of being broke and chasing dreams were worth it, because I had achieved the ultimate dream: playing music for a living; gaining fame and all the perks that came with it, including a seemingly limitless supply of money and women.
I was wrong. So fucking wrong. Nothing comes close to the satisfaction and pure wellness that fills my soul. All from one woman. Because that woman is mine. Lexi owns me, everything I am, without pretense or bullshit. She’s the most honest, real person I know, and this past week together has been both exciting and enlightening.
She’s letting me in and I take that as a true honor. From city to city we give our best performances, and at night, tangled together in sheets, we learn each other’s bodies. But more than that, we learn our stories. Those sacred, insignificant moments in our lives, like first kisses and heartbreaks, tenth birthday parties and childhood friends, filling in all the spaces of our pasts. She hasn’t talked about her father, or the day Iz told me about when things went wrong, but I trust she will when she feels safe and ready. It’s quickly become my goal to earn that from her, because she’s already done that for me. I can tell her anything. Like I said, she owns me.
The guys have been surprisingly good with things. Sure, they give us shit and complain about having to listen to us have sex, when in reality, I know they’ve heard worse. Lexi gives it right back, though, her feistiness and sarcasm unscathed by our new relationship. If anything, I’m the one struggling not to go ballistic every time one of the guys throws out an insult. Even in good fun, a protectiveness I can’t contain comes over me.
We roll into Ohio, our third show of the week, and Bedo’s there to greet us before we head out for a press tour. The thought of leaving Lexi on the bus while we meet radio station hosts and give interviews doesn’t hold much appeal today, but it comes with the job.
“Go, do your thing. I need to work on stuff anyway,” she says, pulling on a tight T-shirt that shows her curves.
“A few things?” I raise a brow and meet her reflection from where I’m styling my hair in the mirror.
Her face lights up with a smile and she almost bounces on the balls of her feet. “Amie called me when you were taking a shower. After this tour, I’m recording my first full-length album. In a professional studio, using a legit producer, not paid for with my life savings. I’m so excited!”
“That’s great, babe!” I turn and pick her up when she jumps into my arms, squeezing her tight and swinging her in a half circle.
“Sorry, I know that’s pretty average news for you, but this is a big deal.” She pulls out of my arms and tries to play off her excitement, but her eyes still hold their joy.
“I remember what it’s like, Lex. It hasn’t been that long since 3UG was just a bunch of nobodies touring in a rented van, using tips to pay for gas and bumming a place to stay the night courtesy of our fans’ generosity. This is big. I’m so fucking proud of you. When are you going to record?”
“Not ’til September. But she wants to book the time now.”
“In LA?” I hate how needy I sound, but I can’t stand the thought of her being far away. I know it’s a possibility; more like a probability. We might share the same career, but logistically, it’ll be a challenge to be together after this tour.
“Amie said she’ll email over some options. Right now, I just want to focus on getting my best songs ready. Maybe write something new.”
“You’re gonna kill it.” I pull her in my arms for a kiss. The intention is a quick good-bye peck, but when her fingers thread into my hair and tug me closer, I lose myself in her spell.
Knock, knock, knock. “Break it up, lovebirds. Time to roll, T,” Austin yells through the door.
“That’s me.” I pull my lips away with a grin and Lexi shakes her head.
“You may need to fix that hair.” She lets loose a giggle and steps back, climbing onto the bed where her notebook and guitar await.
“It was perfect until someone messed it up.” Stepping in front of the mirror, I have to laugh.
“What a bitch.” She rolls her eyes.
“Nah. She can mess it up anytime.” I finish combing it down with my fingers and grab the door handle. “Later, Lex.”
“See you soon.”
Some stuff never gets old, like being onstage, or recording a new single, or even being awarded recognition from peers. But other stuff, like today when we’ve spent the last three hours going radio booth to booth, being asked the same questions and having to appear engaged when all I want to do is get back to the bus, I feel every bit the entitled rock star I am. Same fucking questions. Same fucking answers. It gets old.
“Trent, you’ve been known for being a bit of a player with the ladies. Can I ask, how does the field in Ohio hold up compared to other states?” The disc jockey asking this wears a stupid smile.
I tap an anxious beat against the denim of my jeans because I’m not exactly sure how to answer. Sure, Lexi and I aren’t seeing anyone else, but we also haven’t had that conversation. The one about how to deal with press, or really anyone outside this tour. I haven’t even approached the subject with Bedo, though I’m sure he suspects we’re together more than not. I lift my gaze to him instead of the DJ, and catch his narrowed glare. My guess is he also doesn’t approve.
“They say ladies never kiss and tell, so for this time only, you can call me a chick.”
The DJ cackles and I tune him out, holding Bedo’s gaze in a stare down until the next question hits my ears.
“They say rock is a dying art, especially with so many of the greats passing away this year, and now with the news of Richie Sands. How do you feel about that? Where do you see rock music in the next ten to twenty years?”
Thankfully Austin answers, yammering on about how great music always survives and lives on.
My fingers can’t move fast enough across the screen of my phone. Going straight to the search bar, I type in Richie Sands, and find the breaking news stories. He’s dying. Cancer. And because I can’t find an official press release, I can’t know how much of this is true and what’s exaggerated. I only know that I have to get to Lexi before she sees this.
Bedo points at Austin, twirling his finger, a signal to wrap things up, and we finish the interview. I go through the motions, good-bye pleasantries and thank yous, but my heart isn’t in it. As soon as we are back in the SUV, I fire questions at our manager.
“Did you know? Is he really that sick? What’s the prognosis? Does Lexi know?”
“Whoa. Slow down, lover boy.” Bedo sets his phone on the seat while our driver navigates the route back to the stadium. “I’ve heard rumors for a while, but yeah, Richie Sands is dying. I don’t think he has long.”
“Did you know?” I turn to Iz because he’s more silent than usual.
“I heard rumors too. But you know how that goes, man.”
“Does she know?” My gaze bounces between the two.
Iz shrugs and Bedo picks up his phone, focused on his cell when he answers. “Your guess is as good as mine. Lori Mallory knows.”
“Her mom? How do you know that?”
Bedo holds his finger up, cutting me off to answer his ringing phone. “What’s the problem now? I told you to work out the pyrotechnics before tonight’s show. We’re six hours from go time. This isn’t child’s play.” He continues to go back and forth with whoever’s on the line for the rest of the ride.
My thoughts race as I search my memory for every conversation Lexi and I have shared—whether there’s a possibility she is already aware her father is dying, or if her mother hasn’t yet told her. And what kind of mother doesn’t tell her child something like that? I can’t come up with any indication Lexi knows, and my palms sweat, my nerves taking over. Goddamn, we just got together and now this, real life demolishing the carefully stacked trust we’ve been building. She’s stronger than any woman I know so I have to believe she’s tough enough to handle this. To not let it shake her. To shake us.
“It’ll be okay. Just tell her,” Sean suggests with a nudge to my shoulder.
I nod, acknowledging his words but not completely believing them. My leg bounces with nervous energy that only increases when the car pulls up alongside the tour bus.
“Hey! Don’t be late for sound check!” Bedo shouts after me, but I’m already out the door, running to the bus.
“Lexi!” I shout but find her exactly where I left her.
“Trent? You okay?” She sets down her acoustic and pushes up on her knees.
I drop to the foot of the bed. I can’t catch my breath. Fear. The fear of how this will hurt her consumes me, but I push the words from my mouth. “Lexi, I’m so sorry. I just heard the news.”
She crawls over to me and brushes her palm against the scruff of my cheek. “What? What’s going on?” She doesn’t know. Her eyes hold so much care and concern.
“About your father. Richie Sands. Lexi, he’s really sick.”
She pulls back, her hand leaves my face, and she straightens her spine where she sits. “Oh. Yeah. That.” She’s not at all surprised.
“Wait. You already know?”
“That he’s dying of cancer? Yeah.” She picks up her notebook and flips through a few pages. As if it’s no big deal. “Hey, I want to run this song by you.”
“How long have you known?” I rise and pace the length of the bed, unable to remain still as all that energy from before, the fear of how she’d take this news, courses through my veins again, but this time it’s fueled by irritation.
She blows out a rushed breath and slams her notebook shut, giving me her full attention. “For over a month. Why?”
I still my steps and throw my hands up to meet her indifferent stare. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
She blinks once, her jaw hard, and pins me with a glare. “Why would I tell you? Why would I tell anyone?” She’s pissed. Well, good. Because I am too.
“Because we’re together, Lex! That’s the kinda shit you’re supposed to share. I shouldn’t have to hear from celebrity gossip that your father’s on his deathbed.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Just stop. Okay, he’s a sperm donor. He’s no father. Not to me.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“No! Why would I want to do that?”
I don’t get it. How she can play this off like it doesn’t matter? Like it isn’t significant. But then again, maybe she doesn’t think it is. Maybe she doesn’t realize. Maybe only I do. If I had the chance to do it over, to say good-bye if only for a few minutes, I would jump on the opportunity. “Because he’s dying, Lexi. This is your last chance—”
“To what?” She cuts me off, standing from the bed, and her glare is so fierce I have the good sense to take a step back. “Spend time with someone who never gave a shit, who was a horrible father? No. I don’t think so.”
“I don’t want you to have any regrets. I really think you should consider—”
“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “You want to play that and we’re done. I don’t need another relationship with someone who thinks they know best. I get enough of that from my mother.”
Fuck. Those are fighting words, given what I’ve witnessed from her mom. I throw up my hands and take a deep breath. “Hey. All I did was make a suggestion. I’m not telling you how to live your life.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, hardness etched in her stare. “From here, that’s exactly how it sounds.”
I tap my fingers along the sides of my pants. I imagine everything I want to do to convince her to change her mind. Talk through this rationally. Even throw her on the bed and fuck her until she lets go of that angry glare. But none of that would be helpful. That’s not what Lexi needs.
“I’m going to leave this room now and head to sound checks. Let you get ready for tonight’s show. You seem to be looking for a fight, Lexi, and I’m not gonna give it to you. We can talk about this later.” I grip the door handle and twist it open. My eyes never waver from her glare, and even though it guts me, I do what I think is best. “Or not. Up to you.”
I turn, shut the door behind me, and walk away from the woman I love. Not because I want to. Because she needs the space.
But I won’t give her more than a few hours.