Outsider (42 page)

“Amazing,”
Jack said as the final notes of the song faded to silence. “Is that a tear in
your eye, Reagan?”

She
pressed the back of her hand against one leaky eye. “Yeah. What can I say? I
was moved.”

Reagan
continued to feel like a fifth wheel for the entire segment. Everyone else was
having a great time, and she laughed when someone made a joke or offered a
witty comment when called upon, but she never felt a part of what was going on
around her. She felt more like an observer than a true participant, so it was a
relief when Baroquen entered the studio and took over for the last ten minutes
of the segment. She didn’t stick around to hear the newcomers, but instead
headed to the ladies room. She couldn’t get her phone out of her pocket fast
enough.

She
dialed Ethan and sucked in a shaky breath when he answered. “You did great,” he
said. “Did you even make it out of the booth before you called me?”

“You
were listening?”

“Of
course I was.”

“Ethan,
I feel so . . . lost? Alone? I don’t know. I feel . . . off.”

“Where’s
Trey? Isn’t he there with you?”

“I’m
in the ladies room.” Why had she gone there to call Ethan instead of seeking
out Trey? Trey was always super supportive and would be more than happy to give
her more advice than she needed. But she didn’t want advice just then. She just
wanted someone to listen, and Ethan was the best listener she’d ever met.
Mostly because he was unlikely to share what he was thinking.

“I
didn’t play once during that entire segment,” Reagan said. “No one even told me
we were playing the songs acoustic until a guitar was shoved into my hand.”

“Someone
screwed that up,” he said.

“But
that’s not why I feel this way. Not really. I feel this way because I know I’m
not a part of this, Ethan. I’ll never be a part of it.”

“So
you find something else that you can be a part of.”

“Like
what?” Her own attempts at forming bands had been laughable at best and total
disasters at their worst.

“I
don’t know. Maybe Trey has some suggestions.”

“I’m
asking you.”

“I’ll
think on it,” he said. “Stop being so restless and live in the moment.”

Reagan
grinned through her tears. “You’re starting to sound a lot like Trey.”

“Can’t
be helped. He’s pretty amazing.”

“He
is.”

“Tell
him hello for me. I’ll see you both tomorrow night.”

“Can’t
wait.”

Trey
was waiting for her in the hallway when she came out of the restroom. “You
always go to him first,” he said. Yet he didn’t look angry or upset.

“How
did you know?”

“He
sent me a text.” Trey lifted his phone. “And a dick pic.”

Reagan
pouted. “He didn’t send me—” Her phone buzzed in her hand as Ethan’s dick pic
landed on her phone.

“I
really miss him,” Trey said as they compared pictures and discovered they
weren’t identical.

“You
miss him or his dick?” Reagan asked.

“Him,”
Trey said. “But I wouldn’t tell him to keep this to himself.” Trey ran a finger
down the length of Ethan’s cock on his screen.

“I
got another text too,” Trey said with a huge grin and flicked to a different
picture. “From Brian.”

Expecting
to get an eyeful of Brian’s dick for some reason, it took Reagan a moment to
absorb what she was seeing. It was a screenshot of the current top album sales
on iTunes. Sitting securely in the number one spot was Sinners’ latest release.

“Oh
my God! You’re number one,” she said, linking both arms around Trey and jumping
up and down. “I’m so excited for you guys!”

Dare
came up beside them and took the phone out of Trey’s hand. “Is that the current
metal chart on iTunes?”

“That’s
the overall music chart.” Trey pecked Reagan on the lips several times. “Every
genre.”

Dare
pulled the screen to his face for a closer look. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Oh
yeah, we rock.” Trey shifted Reagan to his side, never allowing her to slip
from his embrace, and exchanged a knuckle bump with Dare.

“That
you do, little brother.”

“In
the car!” Butch yelled down the corridor. “We have to get to Atlanta sometime
today.”

Overwhelmed
with pride, Reagan squeezed Trey’s hand and leaned into his arm. He should be
with his band celebrating the smashing success of their new album, but she was
glad he was with her and grateful to have good news to dwell upon for a change.
Good
news? Hell, this news was monumental. Metal albums rarely reached
the top of a general music sales chart. Even the members of Exodus End were
chattering excitedly about Sinners’ well-deserved accomplishment as they took a
limo to the city’s outskirts to rendezvous with the bus. By the time everyone
had shoved their belongings in the storage compartment and boarded, Steve was
already in the back lounge. Nothing unusual about that, but when he called for
Reagan and Toni to join him, Reagan’s suspicions rose.

“They’re
both taken,” Logan pointed out. “No threesome for you, Aimes.”

“I
don’t know,” Reagan said. “I only had one partner in bed this morning. Maybe
I’d feel more at ease if I did partake in this threesome of Steve’s. What do
you say, Toni?”

“Sounds
interesting,” she said. Logan gaped at her, but instead of prolonging his
torture, she caved immediately. “Just teasing.”

“I
know you’re teasing,” he said, though his facial expression made Reagan believe
otherwise. “But why do you always have to tease
me
?”

“Payback,”
Toni said. She entered the lounge and plopped down on the white sectional next
to Steve. “What did you find out about Bianca and Susan?”

Reagan
had completely forgotten that they’d asked Steve to figure out what was going
on with his ex-wife, Bianca, and Tamara Brennan, who Toni still called Susan.

“I
put Butch in charge of finding out more about this tabloid,” Steve said,
picking up a copy of the
American Inquirer
and shaking it at Butch,
who’d entered the lounge behind Reagan. She had never seen Butch in the lounge,
though he spent half his life on the bus. She’d suspected there was an invisible
fence under the floor that shocked him if he tried to cross the threshold.

“You
were supposed to find out,” Reagan said to Steve. “Not put Butch on it.”

“What’s
the point of having a lackey if you don’t boss him around?”

“I
heard that,” Butch said, writing on his clipboard. “No supper for Steve,” he
said under his breath.

“So
what did you find out, Butch?” Toni asked.

“Not
much.
American Inquirer
has only been on stands for a few months, which
I guess is good for us, because its circulation is relatively low for a
tabloid.”

“That
is good news,” Toni said, nodding eagerly at Butch and then again at Reagan.
Reagan knew Toni felt responsible for the stories being published in the first
place. She didn’t want them circulating any more than Reagan did.

“With
some digging, I found out
American Inquirer
is actually owned by a business
conglomerate. Tradespar West.” Butch lifted his eyebrows at Steve, who
unexpectedly slammed his fist on the table.

“You’ve
got to be shitting me,” Steve said.

Butch
shook his head. “I wish I were.”

“Max!”
Steve yelled. “Get your record-label-ass-kissing self in here.”

“What’s
going on?” Reagan asked, her confused gaze darting from Steve to Butch to Toni.
The two men were in various stages of outrage. Toni looked as lost as Reagan
felt.

“Yeah,
I don’t get it,” Toni said. “What’s Tradespar West?”

Steve
snorted. “They’re a vast network of entrepreneurs who own all sorts of
companies, most of them in the entertainment industry. Movie studios, a
publisher or two, agents, production companies, advertising giants, a modeling
agency, I guess a tabloid now, and most importantly, our record label. Max!” he
called again.

“Do
you have to be so noisy?” Max asked, massaging one temple with his fingertips.

“You
know that tabloid that published all those bullshit stories about us last
week?” Steve asked.

“And
this week,” Reagan said, eyeing the latest copy, which was demanding she read
it, even though she knew it would upset her.

“Not
really,” Max said.

“Guess
who owns them?” Steve asked.

“You?”

“Tradespar
West.”

Max
crossed his arms and shrugged. “So?”

“
So
?”
Steve shot to his feet, crushing a page of the tabloid in his fist and
thrusting it in Max’s direction. “Don’t you see what this is?”

Max’s
uninterested gaze shifted to the crumpled paper. “A page from a tabloid.”

“A
publicity stunt. I bet you every article in these pages is about stars
connected with Tradespar in some way.”

“
Every
star is connected to Tradespar in some way,” Max said. “Directly or indirectly.”

“But
if that’s true, then why have they been so focused on Exodus End?” Toni asked.

“Because,”
Steve said, “our record sales have leveled off over the years, and they’re
looking for ways to increase sales.”

“And
making our temporary rhythm guitarist out to be a whore sells albums,” Max
said. “Is that what you think?”

Reagan
forced herself not to cringe at the word
temporary
, especially since the
man she was replacing was the one who’d said it. Was he ready to start playing guitar
again? She noticed he wasn’t wearing his wrist brace, and her heart plummeted.
Was her moment in the spotlight about to end? Because even though she hated the
publicity, she was in no way prepared to give up the stage.

“There’s
something suspicious about all this,” Steve said. “Don’t you think?”

“I
think you’re paranoid,” Max said.

“Reagan
saw Bianca at Phil’s visitation,” Steve said.

When
Max looked at Reagan, she nodded.

“That’s
strange,” Max said, “but I’m not sure it’s suspicious.”

“She
was acting like a reporter,” Reagan told him, “but she snuck inside the
mausoleum. She left as soon as Steve and the rest of you guys arrived.”

Toni
spoke up. “And her sister, Susan—”

“Tamara,”
Steve corrected.

“Her
sister
Tamara
is the one who stole my data. She’d been working for my mom
for a couple of months before I was given this job. She was actually hired to
write the interactive biography, but I talked my mom into letting me take her
place.”

“Okay,
so a couple of women from Steve’s past are on a mission to destroy the band and
they focus on her.” Max flipped a hand in Reagan’s direction. “Why Reagan?”

“Maybe
they want me to leave,” Reagan said. Was that it? Was that why they’d
completely trashed her reputation? So she’d step aside?

“Doesn’t
matter what they want,” Steve said. “You’re under contract for a year. You
can’t go anywhere.”

A
muscle in Max’s jaw flexed. “What if I’m ready to play again before her time is
up?”

Reagan’s
stomach churned, and she stared down at her hands. They looked so small and
incapable. So unlike Max’s.

“The
contract says she plays, the contract says she stays. Sam will never let us
breach that contract. You know he won’t.”

Max
nodded slightly. “So what do you want me to do about this tabloid situation?”

“Ask
Sam what he’s up to,” Steve said. “Ten bucks says he’s behind this entire
thing.”

“I’ll
ask him,” Max said. “Not sure why you think he’ll admit to anything.”

“Because
he likes you,” Steve said. “He thinks the rest of us are a bunch of idiots, but
you’re his best pal. He trusts you.”

“What
are you guys talking about back here?” Logan asked from the doorway.

“Steve’s
continued search for a reason to cut loose from our record label,” Max said. He
brushed past Logan to leave the room.

“We
don’t need a reason!” Steve called after him. “But we have millions of them,”
he said under his breath.

The
bus rumbled as they headed south. Reagan already had a hard time figuring out
her place in the band, but if Max wanted her gone, she didn’t have a place at
all.

“I
think I should talk to Max,” she said. Everything going on outside the band was
enough to drive her insane; she wasn’t sure she could stand causing tension
within it as well. She loved these guys. Loved their music. Had been a devoted
fan since she’d first heard them on the radio. She refused to be their downfall,
either internally or externally. If she had to give them up to save them, she’d
make that sacrifice. But first she needed to know what was going on inside
Max’s head. She was no stranger to dealing with emotionally closed off
men—Ethan and her father both kept their feelings securely locked inside. But
she managed to reach them on occasion. And though she wasn’t sure if she’d ever
be on speaking terms with her father again, she knew he cared. Knew even though
he rarely showed it.

Dare
and Trey were sitting toward the front of the bus, laughing.

“Mom
said the only way she’ll forgive you is if you have the wedding at her house,”
Dare said.

“She’s
already forgiven me. I talked to her last night after she talked to you. Reagan
and I are getting married in Vegas.”

“Just
like Brian,” Dare said. “How original.”

Reagan
tugged her attention from the happiness near the front of the bus and settled
it on Max, who was sitting at the dining table staring at his hands.

“Can
I join you?” Reagan asked.

He
started and glanced up, his eyes clouded with worry. “Join me for what? I’m
just sitting here.”

“I
would have said, ‘we need to talk,’ but I didn’t want to scare you.” Those four
little words struck fear into the hearts of most men.

“I
don’t scare easily,” he said, but he slid closer to the wall, as if distance
from her was a suitable shield.

“Good
to know,” she said, sitting across the booth from him.

She
could hear Dare and Trey discussing Sinners’ new album and would definitely
rather be a part of that conversation than the one she was about to have.

“How’s
your wrist?” Reagan asked. “I noticed you aren’t wearing your brace.”

Max
flexed his hand. “Healing,” he said.

“Enough
to play?”

“Soon,”
he said.

How
soon?
She licked her
lips and rubbed her engagement ring, looking for the strength to ask questions
she didn’t really want answered. “If you’re ready to—”

“I’m
sorry,” he said, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. “I didn’t
realize . . .”

“Why
are you sorry?” What didn’t he realize?

“Right
before the tour started, I told Sam I wanted to get back to playing as soon as
I could, that having you here as my crutch on the tour would slow down my
recovery. A year is a long time to rely on someone to do your job.”

It
didn’t feel very long to her.

“Sam
said he’d take care of it. That’s all he said.
I’ll take care of it
. I
thought he’d renegotiate your contract for a shorter duration or . . .”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t much care what he did
as long as you were out of the way when I was ready to play again.”

Reagan
was so stunned she didn’t know what to say. She’d thought Max had supported the
arrangement. She’d had no idea that she was stepping on his toes. She’d been so
focused on herself and how she was adapting to being a member of the band and
how the world was out to get her that she’d never considered how Max felt when
he watched her stand in his spotlight and assume part of his identity. To a
musician, an instrument was part of who they were. Playing was an extension of
the music inside their heart, their mind, their soul. She knew that as well as
anyone.

No
wonder the guy was always so subdued.

“I
didn’t know he’d try anything in his power to get you to break the contract,”
Max said.

“What?”
Reagan asked, her head snapping up. “
Me
break the contract? Why would I
break it?” Especially if it was the only thing keeping her there.