Everything You Are (Jukebox Heroes 3) Page 12

  “Merry Christmas, Beth,” he replied.

  Minutes later, I was fast asleep, not waking until my alarm blared the next morning.

  As I shut off my phone alarm, I realized I had slept through Chris getting up, getting dressed, and leaving for church. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I would have liked to have told him ‘bye’, especially since I wasn’t likely to see him again until for a couple of weeks.

  I stumbled into the bathroom still rubbing my eyes and found an envelope with my name on it taped to the mirror. After I’d taken care of more urgent business, I opened the envelope. Inside, there was a key and a note that just said, ‘Lock up when you leave.’ The level of trust that implied made my heart do a cartwheel.

  I stood staring at the key for a long moment, then I dragged on last night’s clothes, grabbed my phone and purse, and headed outside. I locked the deadbolt on Chris’s front door, and then I pulled out my keychain to add the key to it. There was a scrap of paper stuck to the keychain, and I batted at it, but it didn’t move. On closer inspection, I noticed that the paper was a tiny self-adhesive tag with a barcode on it. I frowned, puzzled, but I didn’t have time to wonder just then. I had to get to work.

  I opened my car door and paused to move a sheet of paper out of my seat before climbing inside. I was forever cluttering my car with random stuff, but I’d just cleaned it out the day before and was as puzzled by the sheet of paper as I had been by the tag on the keychain.

  And then it clicked.

  I looked at the paper more closely, and sure enough it was a receipt and warranty for four new tires. I sank down into the driver’s seat of my crappy old car, the receipt pressed against my chest, and cried. Chris and at least one of my other friends had found a way to circumvent my stubbornness and pride and give me what I most needed – tires for my car, yes, but also a reminder that I had true friends and didn’t have to do everything on my own. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve such amazing people in my life, but I took a minute then and there to thank God for each and every one of them and for my very own Christmas miracle.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After work, my Christmas day was filled with a flurry of phone calls to and from Alex, Aunt Jean, and my closest friends. The next day, Alex and Blas came up for dinner and to exchange gifts. They were impressed with the Christmas miracle that Chris had worked for me. They also thought it was cute how Chris refused to take credit for the tires, insisting Santa must have brought them while we were sleeping.

  I spent the next few days in a frenzy of work and packing and making plans. I checked off each day on a calendar before I went to bed, and as the red ink accumulated, leaving fewer white boxes showing, my anticipation and nervousness grew. I had the same doubts and fears I’d had before the trip to Nashville, only more so. The unstable state of my relationship with London had intensified those fears. By the time I boarded the plane for Los Angeles, I was a nervous wreck.

  The flight to LA was long, at least by my standards. It was four hours of hell: fidgeting, wishing I could get comfortable, having my reading interrupted by talkative passengers, being terrified by turbulence, and using my iPod to drown out the crying of a fussy toddler.

  LAX wasn’t much of an improvement. It was, as most airports are, crowded and confusing and way too damned big. I managed to drag myself and my carry-on bags through the terminal and down to the passenger pick-up area, anxious to get outside and away from the throng of people.

  I was about two feet from the big glass doors leading to the outside world when I heard a familiar voice call my name – a familiar voice with a not-quite-Australian accent. I took a deep breath and turned around, trying to keep my panic squished down in dark corner of my mind.

  I set my bags aside just as Brian and Dylan caught up to me. They both hugged me hard.

  “God, I’ve missed you!”

  I hugged Dylan again. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Before you ask, London’s....”

  “Right there,” I said, cutting her off mid-sentence.

  Part of me wanted to run to him and throw myself into his arms, but the rest of me was too stunned to move. London had dropped a few pounds he couldn’t afford to lose, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted. Or sick. I was surprised the tabloids hadn’t noticed and blamed it all on drugs.

  When London caught sight of me, his face transformed. His tired eyes lit up as he beamed at me. His long legs covered the distance between us in a few strides, and then he was hugging me, lifting me off the ground and spinning us around.

  “You’re here,” he said. A master of the obvious – that’s my London.

  Eventually, we let go of each other and headed for the car.

  My first impression of LA was that the powers-that-be there needed a better understanding of roadways. The traffic was the worst I’d ever encountered, and I’d been a lot of places and lived in my share of large urban sprawls. I was where I wanted to be though, with Dylan and Brian and London, so the traffic didn’t bother me much. It would have bothered me less if I hadn’t been half-starved.

  Dylan reminded my why we were soul-sisters by not only suggesting we grab food, but also introducing me to what would become my new favorite restaurant. She drove into the heart of Hollywood, navigating the crowded streets with an ease that surprised me. She’d hated driving in Dallas and Houston.

  As she turned down one road and then another, I stared around me, trying to take everything in. The buildings, the people, the billboards, and even the street signs fascinated me. I was in LA. Hollywood. And, according to the sign for the street we were turning onto, on Sunset Boulevard.

  “Is that?” I asked.

  I could see Dylan’s grin in the rearview mirror. “Oh, yeah. I’ll show you after we eat.”

  I leaned my forehead against the glass and looked as far down the street as I could. Sunset Strip. I couldn’t really believe that little ol’ me was hanging out in Hollywood.

  Dylan found a parking spot and fed the meter and then led us toward whatever destination she had in mind. London and I walked hand-in-hand, and I marveled as I always did that he was able to match his long strides to mine. Dylan, being relatively close to Brian in height, was lucky enough to be able to walk with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  We crossed a couple of streets and ducked into a sort of alley near the opposite end of the block. The alleyway was lined with businesses, and Dylan led us to one called Umami Burger.

  “This is the place you told me about,” I said.

  She had, too. In vivid detail. According to Dylan, the place had the best burgers she’d ever eaten, her favorite being a burger topped with Stilton cheese and port sauce. She had told me that she’d thought of me the first time she went there, that she knew I’d love it as much as she did.

  She was right.

  We talked while we ate, the way groups of friends do, and when we’d finished our gourmet burgers and Mexican Cokes, we meandered back to the car, passing some interesting characters on the way. As promised, Dylan pointed the car toward the Strip, and we inched down the boulevard and back again.

  If the boys were amused by my touristy reaction to the sights – the Whisky A Go Go, the Viper Room, the Rainbow Bar – they didn’t say anything. Dylan and I talked about the songs and stories we knew about the various places, and the guys threw in some stories of their own, including tales of playing in the various legendary bars.

  Once we’d concluded our driving tour of the strip, Dylan drove us to London’s apartment. As soon as I saw the complex, I knew that ‘apartment’ wasn’t quite the right word for where London lived. In fact, he had a two-bedroom condo in a smallish complex. The buildings weren’t high-rises, like many of the others in area, but there was still an elevator to take us up to the second floor where London lived.

  The condo itself made me kind of jealous. The living and dining areas and kitchen were an open floor-plan, much like mine, but with a wood
-burning fireplace in the living area and tons of counter space in the kitchen. The bedrooms both had built-in window seats, and the master bath had a Jacuzzi tub. My bedroom could have fit inside of London’s closet. My entire apartment could have fit in his living room.

  For the first time, it really sunk in that my boyfriend was on the poor side of rich.

  Dylan and Brian didn’t stay long. They made excuses, but I knew they just wanted to give London and me some time alone. I didn’t argue, because we needed it.

  Almost before the door closed behind them, I was in London’s arms and he was kissing me for all he was worth. We somehow made it to the bedroom before things went very far, but we lost our clothes somewhere between the front door and the bed.

  We lay together afterward, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. We shifted and tossed and turned, as people do when they lie in bed for too long, and at one point London ended up with his back to me. I trailed my fingertips across his shoulder-blade, tracing the outline of a tattoo there. It was an ambigram, but between the awkward angle and the low light in the room, I couldn’t tell what it said.

  “You got new ink.”

  “Yup. A while back. I forgot you hadn’t seen it.”

  I scooted away from London and turned on the bedside lamp, causing him to bury his face in his pillow. I blinked for a bit, until my eyes adjusted, and then twisted my head this way and that until I could make out the ambigram.

  “Music and magic?”

  “You could have just asked,” London said, his reply muffled by the pillow.

  I switched off the lamp and curled up around him, pressing my lips to the new tattoo.

  “Does this mean you’re finally accepting who you really are?”

  London stayed silent for a moment, then turned in my arms to face me. A smirk curled one corner of his mouth.

  “If that were the case, it’d say ‘Elizabeth’s Love Slave’,” he said.

  I grinned back at him, but I knew he was joking around to cover up his real emotions. He’d gotten too good at shielding for me to feel what he was feeling, but I could still read it in his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about magic. He still hadn’t fully accepted it as a part of himself, but he was trying. I leaned in and kissed him, my fingers finding and tracing the tattoo.

  “I love all the different parts of you, you know.” I realized my words could have been taken as a double entendre, but I guess something in my tone stopped London from making any more jokes. “The magic, the music. Your stubbornness. Your compassion. Your loyalty. I love you when you’re an awesome boyfriend, and I love you when you’re a complete pain in the ass. I love you for everything that you are. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I wasn’t even aware that I was crying until London wiped away my tears. He covered my mouth with his, trying to show me without words how he felt. Then, to my surprise, he let his emotions spill through his shield, and I knew without a doubt just what was going on in his heart. He tucked his emotions away again as he began to kiss me in earnest.

  Much, much later, we lay wrapped up in a quilt in front of a crackling fire. I was sated and sleepy and could easily have drifted off in his arms there on the floor. In fact, I was just dozing off when London shifted onto his side and propped up on one arm to look down at me, waking me in the process.

  “What?” I asked him after a minute or two.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “How lucky I am that you haven’t given up on me.”

  All at once, I was wide awake. I stretched up to wrap my arms around London’s neck and shoulders, not caring how awkward and uncomfortable the position was.

  “Not gonna happen,” I told him.

  He eased me back down and moved to lie in the cradle of my legs. For a long time he just looked down at me, his face hidden by the shadow of his hair. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a long, almost chaste kiss.

  Careful to keep his full weight off of me, he shifted to rest his body against mine, his face pressed into the junction of my neck and shoulder.

  “I’m not sure I’d blame you if you did,” he said, his voice soft and a little sad. “I know I haven’t made it easy for you.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I said, stroking his hair, his back. “And I get that things have been pretty crazy. But now that you’re not on the road, I really need more from you, London. Not a lot. Just a little bit more of your time.”

  “I’ll do better, Em. I promise.”

  I knew he meant what he said, and I believed him. Things would get better. We were going to be okay.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  To celebrate New Year’s Eve, London and I were going to meet Brian and Dylan for dinner and then head to a big party at Seth’s. We would stay the night at Brian’s place, since it was far closer than London’s condo. The next day we would all exchange Christmas gifts, and then they were supposed to show me around the city.

  For a while, I wasn’t sure London was going to let me out of bed long enough to shower and dress, much less drive to the eastern side of the LA sprawl for dinner. I was impressed when we made it to the restaurant only fifteen minutes behind schedule.

  The restaurant was the perfect setting for a romantic dinner. Our boys had chosen an amazing little Italian bistro that was classy and intimate without being stuffy or pretentious. I didn’t feel out of place in my jeans, but I also would have been comfortable if I had dressed up a bit more. The menu wasn’t extensive, but the offerings all sounded amazing. We feasted on good food and good company.

  About halfway through the meal, while the guys were discussing sports of all things, Dylan got my attention and said, “I should warn you about Chrystal.”

  “Chrystal?”

  “Seth’s girlfriend.”

  London made a small sound of disgust. “Is that what he’s calling her?”

  “I have no idea,” Dylan said. “Girlfriend, fuck buddy, bff...whatever he calls her, she’s a stuck-up bitch.”

  I looked to Brian for confirmation, and he nodded. I sat back in my seat with a sigh. If Brian thought Chrystal was a stuck-up bitch, then she actually was one.

  “So what about her?” I asked.

  “Well,” Dylan said, “she’s a bitch. And she’s possessive.”

  I frowned. “So she won’t like me hugging Seth.”

  “Or getting within five feet of him, most likely. She was there when we told Seth you were coming in for the weekend. She was not happy.”

  I shrugged. “Not my problem. If she wants to be possessive, that’s her prerogative. And if Seth wants to put up with her, that’s his lookout. I’m not going to let some snotty chick I don’t even know dictate how I live my life.”

  I dug into my pasta with renewed fervor, but glanced up when the table stayed silent. Dylan and Brian were both grinning at me, and London was looking at me with a gleam in his eye that I knew all too well. I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow.

  “Don’t get any ideas. We’re not hooking up here. Or at Seth’s. Behave.”

  “I’ll behave,” London said, but he caught my chin and leaned in for a brief kiss. “For now."

  Brian steered the conversation away from Seth and Chrystal and onto the much safer topic of the band’s upcoming album. All of the guys were excited about getting back into the studio, but no one more than Brian. He’d come a long way since April, and he had a long way to go before his recovery was complete, but he couldn’t wait to start creating music again.

  After dinner, we made the short drive to Seth’s house, though calling his place a ‘house’ was an understatement. ‘Mansion’ wasn’t quite right, either, but it was closer. Regardless of its label, Seth’s place amazed me. As I stood by London’s car at the top of the long, long driveway and stared at the house, I realized for the first time that I wasn’t just visiting a friend but going to a no-holds-barred New Year’s Eve party thrown by the lead singer of the most popular rock band in the country.
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  And then Seth stepped outside dressed in baggy, old jeans and a faded Ohio State sweatshirt, barefoot, his hair wet, and a giant grin stretched from ear to ear.

  “Holy crap. You weren’t lying,” he said.

  He all but ran the few feet from his front porch to where I stood and lifted me in a massive bear hug. When my feet came down to Earth again, so did I. Rock star or not, Seth was Seth, my friend who I had missed more than I’d even realized.

  “I wasn’t expecting you guys this early,” he said as he let go of me to hug Dylan.

  “We were hoping for some Chrystal-free time,” Dylan said. That’s my best friend – subtle as a Mack truck.

  “That is in amazingly short supply,” Seth replied.

  He greeted Brian with a hug, too, then turned toward London. He hesitated for just a second before raising a hand about head high. London grasped it, and they leaned into each other in one of those weird guy-hugs.

  “Good to see you, man,” Seth said.

  “You, too.”

  “Come on inside.”

  Seth hooked an arm around my neck and ushered me toward the front door, leaving everyone else to follow after.

  I tried not to stare around like a country bumpkin as we padded across the marble-floored foyer, past a curved staircase with a wrought-iron railing, and through a set of double-wide French doors into a massive room full of comfortable-looking black leather chairs and couches. The opposite wall of the room consisted of floor to ceiling windows and a glass door leading out onto a deck the size of my apartment.

  “You guys want the dime tour?” Seth asked.

  Before I could answer, we heard the front door open and shut. A frown flashed across Seth’s face before he turned toward the French doors with a blank expression.

  “Hey baby,” a woman’s voice said.

  I turned to look, then, and had to hide a frown of my own. Chrystal, or the woman whom I assumed had to be Chrystal, minced into the room on spiked heels that clacked against the marble and slapped against the soles of her feet. She ignored everyone in the room except Seth, click-clacking her way to him to throw her arms around his neck and plant a big kiss on his lips and then whisper something in his ear. Lifting her arms like that had raised the hem of her teeny tiny dress just high enough to show the bottom curve of her almost non-existent ass. Tacky. Somehow I quashed the urge to roll my eyes.