Everything You Are (Jukebox Heroes 3) Read online

How could I argue with that?

  The cab waited while we hugged goodbye. Neither of us wanted to let go. I made myself be the responsible one and took a step back.

  “Call me when you get home,” London said.

  “I will,” I promised. I reached for the handle of my rolling case, but London’s next words stunned me to stillness.

  “I love you.”

  It was the first time he’d said those words aloud. The first time either of us had spoken them. I looked up at him, and he touched my cheek. I was struck by how calm he seemed, how he didn’t seem concerned that he’d told me he loved me or that I hadn’t said a word in response. I knew he knew I cared about him. He’d known it for a long time. He’s an empath, after all. It’s kind of hard for people to hide their feelings from him. Unless, like me, you have a shield amulet that keeps him from being able to read your emotions.

  I reached up to touch the cheap pendant hanging around my neck and then turned to press a kiss to London’s palm.

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  Chapter Five

  The high of that perfect weekend with London stayed with me through the flight and the cab ride back to my apartment, but the trip had already begun to take on that did-I-dream-it quality by the time that London called that night to tell me he missed me. The brief call was bittersweet, proving that the amazing trip had happened but also reminding me that I didn’t know when I’d see London again. I fell asleep replaying the weekend in mind, trying to hold on to the joy it had brought me.

  Returning the next day to my reality of work and loneliness was almost too much to bear. I found myself texting London the second I got off work, asking him to call when he got a chance. Much later, I got a text back telling me that he’d been super busy but he’d call the next night.

  After work the next day, I curled up with my e-reader and a mug of hot chocolate and waited for London’s call. The next thing I knew, my alarm was going off, telling me that it was time to get ready and go to work. I checked my phone, but there were no missed calls.

  Somehow I made it through the morning without going crazy. On my lunch break, I tried calling London, but got no answer. I scrolled through my contact list, realizing that I didn’t have the cell numbers for any of his band mates – at least not the ones who were out on tour with him. I ended up calling Dylan, hoping she and Brian had heard something out of London or one of the other boys.

  “I’m probably being paranoid,” I told her, “But I can’t help worrying.”

  “We’ve all been kind of paranoid since the whole Julia thing,” Dylan reminded me.

  They hadn’t heard from London, but while I was on the phone with Dylan, Brian called Adrian.

  “They’re fine,” Dylan told me. “Ashe showed up yesterday, though, so I’m betting London just forgot to call you.”

  I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or relieved.

  “If London knew he was meeting Ashe, why did he say he’d call me?”

  “He’s a guy, hon. Who knows what goes on in their minds?” There was a brief pause and then she added, “He’s had a lot on his mind. He probably just forgot or got the dates confused or something.”

  I blew out a breath. “You’re right. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  We changed the subject then and spent a short while talking. A lot of times our phone calls go on for hours while we chat about everything and nothing. This time I cut the call short so I could scarf down a sandwich before I had to go back to work.

  Over the next few days, I sent London a couple of text messages and tried to call him again. He called me back on Sunday just as I was leaving for work for a rare night shift, so we only got to talk for a minute or two. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing at all.

  Two more days of silence from London, and I was ready to pitch a good old-fashioned Southern conniption fit.

  I’d been trying hard to not worry about the strange lack of communication from London. And I’d been trying hard to not let anyone else know what was going on. I must not have been doing a very good job of keeping my worry and frustration under wraps, though, because my brother showed up at my apartment unannounced on Wednesday night with two pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

  The second I let him in the door, he handed me a pint – Karamel Sutra – and a plastic spoon.

  “To what do I owe the dubious honor of your visit?” I asked, taking the ice cream and plopping down at the dining table.

  “Something’s been buggin’ you for a week. Since you won’t talk about it over the phone, Dylan suggested I bribe you with ice cream.”

  I grinned and took a bite of caramel-y goodness. “She has good plans.”

  Alex opened his own pint of ice cream – Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough – as he sat down in the chair across from me.

  “So spill it,” he said.

  “It’s just the doldrums I always get after something awesome.”

  “I know what that looks like,” Alex reminded me. “Or sounds like, or whatever. And so does Dylan. And this ain’t it.”

  I took another bite of my ice cream and wondered how much I wanted to tell my brother. With his protective streak, I didn’t want to paint London in a bad light.

  “I just really miss London,” I said. “And he hasn’t had a lot of time lately. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a let-down after Nashville.”

  Alex gave me a look that said he thought it was a big deal. He didn’t press the issue, though, or at least not in typical head-on, balls-to-the-wall Alex fashion. Instead we sat there together, eating ice cream.

  “You know Lydia’s boyfriend’s in a band, right?” he asked out of nowhere.

  I wondered where his train of thought was headed but knew better than to try to figure it out. My brother’s head is a scary, convoluted place.

  “Yeah, I know about Dave’s band. Lydia showed me their stuff online. They’re pretty good.”

  “Yeah, they are. And the lead singer is fucking hot.”

  “Best not let Blas hear you say that,” I teased.

  “You’re kidding right? If Matt wasn’t straight, Blas would have talked him into a threesome by now.”

  “TMI.”

  Alex just grinned at me around a mouthful of cookie dough ice cream.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “Dave’s band is playing Friday night. You’re coming with us.”

  I shrugged and stood up. “Let me check my calendar.”

  I had an early shift on Friday and the weekend off, so I agreed to go out with Alex and company. He seemed puzzled by my easy acceptance.

  “Do you think I want to sit around and be depressed?” I asked him. “Because I really, really don’t.”

  Chapter Six

  By the time that Friday rolled around – just two days later, though it felt like weeks – I was in desperate need of some good music and a drink or five. Dylan and Alex had known what I needed even before I did, and I found myself looking forward to my night out with my brother and his boyfriend.

  By some strange twist of fate, Dave’s band was playing in the one and only bar I’d visited since moving to Austin. When I followed Alex into Haven, I was disappointed to see that the purple-haired girl wasn’t working the door. A second look told me that I was wrong – the same girl was there, but she’d changed her hair from purple to aqua.

  “That color is awesome on you,” I told her. She beamed at me as she stamped my hand and welcomed me to the club.

  We made our way inside. Lydia must have been watching the door pretty closely, because she was waving us up to her table before the door closed behind us. As I took a seat, I realized that it was the same seat at the same table where I’d sat with Michael and Chris a couple of weeks before. I found myself looking around the club, but I saw no sign of either of them. The cute bartender was working again, though. I excused myself and went to talk to him, hoping that I’d be able to get another of those amazing cocktails he’d introduced me to.

  “Hey,
sweetie,” he said as I leaned against the bar. “What can I get for you?”

  I explained what I wanted, and he produced a cup full of heaven for me.

  “You’re Chris’s friend, right?” he asked. “Emily, maybe? I’m horrible with names.”

  “Elizabeth,” I said, offering him my hand. “And not really his friend. I only met him last time I was here.”

  “Joseph,” he replied with a firm shake. “And very pleased to meet you.”

  “You, too, Joseph.”

  I made a little small talk with him, asking how long he’d been working at Haven (almost two years) and what was the worst drink he’d ever had to make for someone (Crown Royal and Dr. Pepper – gag me). He asked me what I did for a living, and I explained to him that I’d just moved to Austin for an internship in one of the big hotels.

  “Service industry solidarity,” he said, holding out his fist to me.

  I laughed and bumped my fist to his, earning a wide smile. Then I told him I better get back to my friends and that I’d talk to him later.

  “You better,” he said.

  I rejoined my little group, and we – me, Alex, Blas, Lydia, and Dave – sat around sipping drinks and talking about music, the music scene, and life in general as the club slowly filled up. By the time the band took the stage, the place was pretty packed. Dave gave a lot of the credit to Haven, which he said had a reputation for only booking good and great bands for their live music weekends. Lydia pointed out the band had a good following, too. I figured that the combination added up to the overcrowded condition of the club.

  Despite that fact that Dave’s band was named Cute and Fuzzy Ninjas, the music was neither cute nor fuzzy nor ridiculous. Melodic hard rock would be an apt description of their sound. To my surprise, their music, lyrics, and stage presence were all far above average. I figured if they would quit spending all their money at Hot Topic they could cut a record, or at least an EP, and get a lot of notice on the internet. The horrible name might even work in their favor, and the lead singer’s killer smile wouldn’t hurt them any, either.

  A couple of times during the show I found myself looking around to see if Chris might have shown up, but I never saw him anywhere. I considered asking Joseph about him, but decided against it. I didn’t come to talk, after all; I came to see a rock show.

  When the show ended, I headed back to the bar to talk to Joseph. Blas and Alex followed along, and I introduced them. I could tell they were all checking each other out, and I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Boys.

  Then again, I couldn’t blame any of them. They were all good-looking guys: Joseph, with his quick smile, dark curls, and bright blue eyes; Alex, who’d gotten our mom’s blond hair and sea green eyes; and Blas with his natural tan and hard-earned muscles. No, I couldn’t blame them for being interested.

  We sat chatting with Joseph while we waited for the band to pack up. Dave and Lydia were going to go with us to find food, so we were stuck waiting for them. I didn’t mind. I liked talking to Joseph and spending time with my brother and Blas – and I wasn’t in any hurry to go back to my empty apartment.

  Another hour and a half of good company, and I couldn’t avoid going home any longer. Blas and Alex had to get home, and to do that they had to take me home since I’d ridden to the show with them. A couple of hugs and a promise to call me when they got back to San Antonio, and I was alone again.

  I checked my phone, but all I found was a text from Dylan sharing a tidbit of humor with me. Disappointed but not surprised, I plugged in the phone and got ready for bed. I curled up with Benny, my archaic teddy bear, and tried to sleep, but I lay awake for a long time, wondering and worrying and wishing that the reprieve I’d gotten thanks to the concert tonight could have lasted just a little longer.

  Chapter Seven

  Having a weekend off when you live in a town where you know no one is kind of pointless. Having a weekend off when you’re alone and trying not to worry yourself sick is torture.

  I slept as late as my internal clock would let me – just past noon – and started looking for ways to keep my mind occupied. I made and ate breakfast, rinsed the dishes I used and stuck them in the dishwasher, and wiped down the stove. A quick check of the time told me it was still too early to call Dylan, what with the time difference and all. I tried to watch TV, but I couldn’t find anything worth watching. I popped a movie in the DVD player but gave up on it fifteen minutes in because I couldn’t keep my mind on it.

  With a sigh, I found shoes and my iPod. Months ago, I had taken the time to make a ‘London-free’ playlist – one that didn’t include any of DPS’s songs or any songs about long-distance relationships; it had come in handy more than once. I selected the playlist and gathered up my dirty clothes and washing essentials to take over to the laundry room. I popped in three loads of clothes, plugged in quarters, poured in detergent. I took a walk around my complex while the washing machines did their thing. My heart wasn’t in any of it. In fact, if the empty feeling in my chest was any indication, my heart was up in New England somewhere sound-checking for a show.

  I transferred my clothes to the dryer, and while they tumbled around I took out my trash and cleaned my bathroom. Once the clothes were dry, I hung up or folded them all. I vacuumed and swept. My apartment hadn’t been so clean since I’d moved in. I guess there is an upside to trying to keep your brain occupied.

  While I was standing in the middle of my living room trying to decide whether to take the mini-blinds down to wash them or just give them a quick wipe with a feather duster, ‘Defenseless’ popped up on my iPod. Until now, the song had always conjured vivid memories of Seth playing the song for me on Halloween night, still dressed in his Harry Dresden costume. This time, it reminded me of Chris – his obvious interest and bossy, well-meaning concern. I shook off the memories and went to take down the blinds.

  Three days later, I found myself standing in front of the now familiar front door of Haven. It was open mic night, and I’d had fun the first time I’d been at Haven for that. I needed more fun in my life. I stepped inside where the dye-happy girl beamed at me.

  “Hi, again!”

  She stepped out from behind her counter, and I almost reached for my ID before I realized she was focused on my shirt. I grinned and held my jacket out of the way so she could get a better look. She squinted and turned her head first one way and then the other.

  “Oh, awesome,” she said at last.

  “Yeah, it is,” I agreed. “I have this weird t-shirt addiction. And a weird ambigram addiction. So, yeah.”

  She grinned. “Better than coke or cigarettes or something.”

  “Too true,” I agreed.

  A couple of women came in behind me, so the girl waved me toward the inner doors and told me to have fun. I made my way inside and headed straight for Joseph’s bar.

  “Don’t you ever have a night off?” I asked him.

  He looked up from the book that lay open on the bar and flashed me a smile.

  “Haven’t you heard? There’s no rest for the wicked.”

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “Your usual, sweetie?”

  “Of course.” While he mixed my drink, I peered across the bar, trying to see what book he was reading. When I realized it wasn’t going to work, I gave up and asked.

  “Re-reading, actually,” he said. “One of Sue Grafton’s books.”

  “I’ve never read any of her stuff, but I’ve heard good things.”

  We spent the next half hour or so talking about the series and books in general, pausing our conversation often while he sold beers and cocktails. As the bar began to fill up, he shooed me away.

  “Go grab a seat now or you won’t find one,” he told me.

  He had a valid point, so I had him pour me a fresh drink and went to find a seat. Like before, I chose to sit at the railing instead of a table. I still had a great view of the stage but ran a lower risk of being bumped into or having a drink spilled on me.

>   Just like last time, Chris introduced the various acts from a table near the stage. Some of the singers and bands were good, some not so much. Then Chris and Michael took the stage, and I finally had to admit to myself that fun wasn’t the only thing I’d been looking for when I’d decided to come to Haven. I’d wanted to see Chris again. He was the first person who’d shown a genuine interest in me since I’d moved to Austin, and I needed all the friends I could get. I missed having a social life, missed having people to hang out with.

  Chris took a moment to banter with the crowd, then he turned and said something to Michael. Michael began picking out a melody on his acoustic guitar, and I felt a chill run up my spine. Then Chris added his smooth, soulful voice to the familiar song, and my senses went on high alert. It was just my crappy luck that he had to choose one of those songs – one about the singer missing someone he loves while he’s out on the road. I reached for my drink with one hand; the other curled into a fist, my nails digging into the heel of my hand. The pain helped me keep my emotions under control, but I could still feel tears pricking my nose and throat and the back of my eyes.

  I sucked down my drink in record time, so my glass was empty by the time I’d had all I could take and bolted for the front doors. I dodged and weaved and hoped like hell I wouldn’t bump into anyone, then I was pushing through the inner door, ignoring the aqua-haired girl in the foyer, and stumbling out into the crisp night air. I spun in a circle, not really aware of what I was doing, blinded by the tears that I could no longer hold back. Somehow I ended up sitting on the sidewalk, back to the bricks of the building, knees up and head down, sucking in cold air in juddering gasps and letting it out in broken sobs.

  I’m not sure how long I sat there huddled in on myself and bawling my eyes out before I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I should have been terrified. It could have been anyone tapping on my shoulder – the police, a serial killer, the guys from the funny farm. But somehow, I knew it wasn’t. Somehow I knew even before I lifted my head and looked up at him, crouching there beside me, that it was Chris.