Long Way Home by Carolyn Gray

LONG WAY HOME

Carolyn Gray

www.loose-id.com

Long Way Home

Copyright © October 2011 by Carolyn Gray

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No

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eISBN 978-1-61118-566-9

Editor: Raven McKnight

Cover Artist: April Martinez

Published in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 809

San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or

existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the

author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered

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Dedication

For my Nick, who always believed in my ability to soar.

And also a special and very heartfelt thank-you to my editor, Raven McKnight, for all her

hard work and encouragement. I could not have made this book shine without you.

Chapter One

“Fifteen minutes!” Marisa barked out as she rushed backstage, clipboard in hand and a

harried look on her face. For a split second, everyone paused in their preshow preparations. She

stopped cold, turned, and glared. “Get cracking, guys!
Now
!” Everyone sprang into action—

doing exactly what they’d been doing before she interrupted.

Lee sat with his bass in the corner and watched. Technicians, their mics squawking in their

ears, rushed about seemingly disorganized, though he knew they were anything but. Excitement

etched their faces, their movements frantic as props were arranged, lights checked, and techno

kits placed in readiness. Tommy’s various guitars were brought in by his assistant; a piano was

rolled into its waiting spot for those numbers that would require it.

Siobhan, the opening act’s lead singer, jumped up and down on her toes, stretching in

preparation to go on. She glanced over at Lee and smiled, lifting her hand and waving. All was

nearly ready and would be on time, as it had been for every show so far and would be until the

last one went live.

Everyone who was a part of Dream—whether lifers like him or new kids like Travis,

who’d taken Brandon’s place on guitar after Brandon moved to writing exclusively—knew

exactly what they were doing. The preshow madness amused him in a way, but it had never

included him, despite his being with Dream longer than anyone other than Nick, the singer

himself.

All Lee needed was his bass, and he was all set.

This was the final week of their first six-month tour since all hell had broken loose the year

before. Tonight’s show, then the last city only a plane ride away, and the tour would finally be

over. He loved his job—it was his life, really—but he was more than ready to relax and let go of

this constant, edgy unease that always seemed to nag at him when they were away from

Durango.

The routine of life on the road, the music, the adrenaline-packed hum of the audiences, did

much to alleviate that worry, as did Nick’s cheerful insistence that all would be fine, they’d been

through the worst, and their quota for bad times had been filled. But try as best he could, the

need to be careful and keep watch over his friends never left Lee. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing,

though. Dream’s popularity had skyrocketed over the course of the tour; sellout crowds were

now the norm. The intensity had heightened, and with that came the possibility of some crazy fan

going too far.

He would never let that happen again.

Tommy’s return had helped, at least. Everyone’s end-of-tour tiredness had disappeared

when their lead guitarist, almost fully recovered from the last of the surgeries he’d had to have

after the explosion that had nearly killed him, finally took his proper place onstage. Dream was

almost whole again.

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As Lee fiddled with his bass’s tuning, he watched as Sam and Tommy talked with flailing

hands about the crowd outside. Sam darted over to the edge of the stage, behind the curtain, and

gestured to Tommy. Sam’s drumsticks stuck out of his back pocket—the one back pocket he still

had. The other had been ripped off. That boy needed to go shopping.

“Come here,” Sam half shouted to him. “You gotta see this crowd. It’s fucking unreal!”

Lee waved him away. When the lights went down, it didn’t matter how big or small the

crowd was, just that people came. Tommy joined Sam, but when he did, a surge of excitement

burst from the crowd—they’d been spotted. Laughing, the two idiots scampered back. Not

surprisingly, Sam stuck his head out again, waving to the audience.

“Cut it out,” Lee called out to him. “Want to start a riot?”

“For him?” Tommy said. “That’ll be the day. On the other hand—” He stuck his head

through the curtains and was immediately rewarded with hoots, clapping, and a ringing chorus of

“We love you, Tommy.” Sam yanked the beaming guitarist back. “For me, though? Yeah.”

Lee didn’t doubt it.

His glee evident, Sam headed toward Lee. “Just getting them warmed up, that’s all,” Sam

said.

“Nervous as usual, Lee?” Tommy teased.

“No,” Lee said, but Tommy was distracted. “Second-to-last stop. Hard to believe. Wish

there were more.” His voice was wistful.

“Only because you just got your lazy ass back here,” Sam said. “I for one am seriously

ready for a break. I’m sick of planes, trains, buses, donkeys…”

“You guys rode donkeys?”

“Yup.” Lee idly played his fingers over the strings of his bass. “Mules, actually. Buenos

Aires.”

“Damn, I missed all the fun.” Tommy ran one hand through his hair until it stood on end.

Sam ruffled Tommy’s hair—or tried to. Tommy was too quick for him. “Yeah, you did,”

Sam said. “That’s what you get for getting yourself blown up.”

“Hey, got here as fast as I could.”

“Fast as your wife let you, you mean.”

Tommy stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Um. Yeah.” He laughed. “And I can’t wait to get

back.”

“Whipped,” Sam said, leaning into Tommy’s ear.

“Jealous,” Tommy said, pushing him away.

“True,” Sam said. “Life of a lonely bachelor sucks, doesn’t it, Lee?”

Lee shrugged. “Not so lonely.” He was used to it, after all.

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “Lee, old man, something you’re trying to tell us?

Don’t tell me you and Maya got back together?”

“Dude,” Sam said to Tommy. “They’re not—”

“It’s all right, Sam. No,” Lee said to Tommy, stomping on that idea.

Tommy winced. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to step in that one.”

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3

“No problem.” The subject of Maya was carefully avoided, though he didn’t mind talking

about her. They were still friends, after all. More or less.

Sam nodded over toward Siobhan. “You and Siobhan, I’ve seen you together when no one

was looking.”

Lee tensed. He forced himself to relax, then smiled. “Sorry, guys, no woman in my life.

Siobhan and I are friends.”

Tommy scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, there’s a lot we don’t know about you.”

“Not much to tell,” Lee said, trying for nonchalance and thankfully succeeding. Neither

looked suspicious.

Sam pulled his drumsticks out of his back pocket and tapped out a quick rhythm on a box.

“That’s our Lee, man of mystery.”

Lee reached out with a foot and shoved at Sam, who yelped as Marisa emerged from the

dressing-room hallway, still toting her clipboard. She scowled in their direction, making Sam

cringe guiltily. “She didn’t see that was me, did she?”

“Marking your name down on her clipboard even as we speak,” Lee said. “You’d best

escape while you can.”

“You’re not bothered.”

“Nope.” Lee fingered some chords. Marisa grabbed a beleaguered-looking technician and

shoved her clipboard at him, stabbing it with one finger. Lee admired how quickly he escaped.

Everyone feared Marisa when she had that thing with her—except Lee. He and Marisa had come

to an understanding long before. They were both there for the guys, in different ways. He

watched over them; she ranted at them. Both kept the band going when they were on the road,

though it was, technically, Marisa’s job. She’d learned quickly to make him her ally.

Marisa headed their way. “Watch out. Here she comes,” Lee said.

Sam whipped around, ducked behind Tommy, and peered over the guitarist’s shoulder.

“Oh, God, she does look pissed.”

“What you do this time?” Tommy said, moving away.

“Nothing, I swear! I, uh, better go change. Can’t wear these holey things onstage.” He

showed his backside. Plaid showed through where his pocket had been ripped off.

Tommy smacked him on the rear. “What’d you do, get too close to a fan?”

Sam grimaced. “Actually, yeah.” He shuddered. “Kinda creepy, some strange woman

sleeping with my pocket.”

“Sam, Lee, I need to talk to you both,” Marisa called out. Sam yelped and bolted between

two technicians.

“What does it matter? You sit down the whole time anyway,” Tommy yelled after Sam,

then followed him with a huff. “I’m the one out in front of everyone…”

Someone else stopped Marisa. Could take her another five minutes to get across to him.

Lee settled back to watch, searching the faces, the uneasy feeling gone again. There wasn’t a

thing wrong except his imagination. Just because things had gone so bad once before for them all

didn’t mean it would ever happen again.

Lee was glad the tour would end after the coming weekend, so he could get away for a

while, sort his head out. He couldn’t help it. Maybe he would never be convinced nothing bad

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would ever happen again. Twice in his life, he’d lost someone he cared deeply about; only one

had ever returned—Nick. Things came in threes. Everyone knew that.

And he was headed for the city where he’d lost the other one permanently. That could be

it, he realized. The closer they got to Dallas, the more restless he became.