Trouble Rising (New Adult Rock Star Romance): Tyler and Katie's Story #3 (4 page)

We laid there for a while, just like that, connected, feeling whole and content. We probably would have fallen back asleep eventually, but then my mother knocked on the door.

“Katie?”

“Just a minute, Mom!” I called, trying find the covers—but we were on them.

“Just wondered if you two wanted to go out for breakfast?”

I met Tyler’s eyes and shrugged, telling him silently that it was up to him.

“Sure!” Tyler agreed. “Give us a minute to get ready.”

We hadn’t gone anywhere out in public since we got here—I think both of us had agreed, without talking about it, that holing up would keep the rest of the world away. There was no paparazzi up here—but if we went out in public, someone could recognize Tyler—even in the Midwest, everyone knew Trouble—and before long, everyone would know where we were.

“When she says breakfast, she means the local
Greasy Spoon
,” I said as he climbed off me and reached for his boxers.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he told me, yanking on his jeans. “I love
Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives
. Everyone needs a little greasy spoon in their lives.”

“No, I mean literally—the local diner is called
The Greasy Spoon
.”

He stopped in mid-button. “You’re kidding.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” I grinned back at him. “Which is what you’ll have if you eat there.”

“You know me. I love to live dangerously.” He laughed. “Besides, it will make your mom happy.”

“Okay, let’s go eat junk food.” I relented. “But not too much. I need these talented hands functional, mister.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * * *

“Rob and Sabrina’s babies are getting so big,” my mother remarked over bacon and eggs. “They sent me a Christmas card. Beautiful family.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler agreed, sopping up his eggs with toast. I was sure the eggs weren’t organic, and I didn’t even want to think about what was in the toast—and the fructose-filled jelly he’d slathered on it—but we were splurging.

“Tyler, you can call me ‘Mom’,” she admonished, for like the millionth time that weekend.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, then realized what he’d said and quickly corrected himself. “Uhhh—Mom.”

“Better.” She laughed. “So… when are you two going to have one?”

I knew this subject was going to come up eventually. I was surprised she’d waited this long. I caught Tyler’s eye and he shrugged.

“Twelfth of never.” I gave her a dark look over the rim of my coffee cup.

“Well, that’s probably best,” she said, stirring sugar into her coffee. Oh, the snark.
Gee, thanks, Mom,
I thought but didn’t say. Then she looked up and saw the expression on my face. “I just mean, you know, you have so much going on, between Trouble’s tour and the series.”

Right.
What I saw on her face was, “You can barely take care of yourself, let alone a child.”

But she wouldn’t say that, at least, not in front of Tyler. She’d probably say it later, just to me. She couldn’t hold it back forever—I knew that much. She’d let it slip, one way or another. Luckily, the waitress came over and interrupted the track this conversation was on.

“If I can get you anything else…” The waitress put the bill down on the table. “Just let me know…”

“Thanks.” My mother smiled up at her.

The waitress turned to go, but then she stopped, turning back to look at Tyler.

“I’m sorry, but… are you…” The waitress glanced across the restaurant, then looked back at Tyler. I knew what was coming. “It’s just… the girls over there at that table were wondering… aren’t you Tyler Cook?”

My stomach sank when I looked over at the table full of teens, whispering behind their hands and giggling. I met Tyler’s eyes and saw that little edge was back, a slight stiffness in his shoulders, and cursed my mother’s idea to go to breakfast.

“What would Tyler Cook be doing here?” I asked the waitress, holding out my half-full coffee mug. “Think you can get me some more coffee? This is cold.”

“Sure.” The waitress—her name tag said Elaine—gave me a nod, a look of confusion on her face.

She knew it was Tyler—probably knew who I was, too. Our wedding had been a day of mourning among Trouble and Tyler Cook fans everywhere. But it was hard to contradict someone politely when they said they weren’t who you thought they were. At least, outside of Hollywood. In Hollywood, you couldn’t pretend, like I was now. The spotlights—and the odds—were too good there.

“It’s not getting any warmer,” I prompted, and Elaine flushed and turned toward the kitchen. The girls looked up at her expectantly as she approached the table, shaking her head, and there was a little outburst of disbelief and more glances our way as she delivered her news.

“You didn’t have to be rude, Katie,” my mother said, keeping her voice low. “I have to live here. Besides, everyone knows already.”

“I’m sure they do.” I sighed, seeing the way Tyler’s spine straightened. Waiting for fans to approach was like putting on armor. “I was just buying us a little time. Do you want to go?”

I was talking to Tyler, not my mother.

“It’s okay.” He was watching the table out of the corner of his eye, I could tell. So was I. The girls were whispering and talking and gathering up their courage. It wouldn’t take them long before they decided, and then one of them would approach, since their send-the-waitress plan had failed.

“We just wanted to keep a low profile, remember?” I reminded my mother, who started to protest. “You don’t want a million people swarming the house, do you?”

“There aren’t anywhere near a million people in these parts, Katie.”

“It’s just an expression.” I rolled my eyes.

And then they were coming over. Not one of them, but all four of them.

“Would you sign my napkin?” The tall one, darkly pretty for a Midwestern girl, clearly the confident ringleader, held out a pen and a clean napkin to Tyler.

“Sure.” He didn’t deny her—he never did. I was the one who tried to protect him, when I could, from situations like this. The first couple times you had your meal interrupted by a fan weren’t awful, but eventually, it got exhausting. Still, Tyler was always sweet to fans. Too sweet, in my not-so-humble opinion, as I watched him lean over and smile so each girl could take a selfie with him.

“Thank you so much. You’re the best. You’re bae!” the tall, confident girl gushed, and I gritted my teeth when she quickly stole a kiss from Tyler—on the lips, no less—before running off to join her girlfriends, who were already back, giggling around their table.

“Bae?” My mother blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by the whole scene. “What in the world?”

“It’s a think the kids say,” Tyler told her, smiling over at me. It hadn’t been that long ago that I was one of those “kids,” going to Trouble concerts and screaming myself hoarse. Granted, “bae” wasn’t an expression back then—we called good-looking guys “hotties”—but the sentiment and the silliness was the same.

“It means ‘before anyone else’,” I told her. “At least, that’s how it started. The kids call their boyfriends and girlfriends ‘bae’.”

My mother wrinkled her nose. “But they don’t even know you.”

“They think they do.” Tyler shrugged.

“Girls say it when they see a cute guy,” I explained. “
He’s so bae
. Or
he’s my bae
—even if he’s some celebrity she’s never met.”

“I think we’d better go.” My mother nodded toward the waitress, who was finally coming back to fill my coffee cup. She didn’t look happy.

“Oh, she knew I was lying.” I sighed, pushing the chair back from the table. “Ty will make her happy. Come on, Mom, let’s go pay.”

Of course, Tyler was sweet to the waitress, too, and signed an autograph for her on her pad—and let her take a selfie. I gritted my teeth while I paid the bill and my mother said how kind Tyler was to his fans, and it wasn’t until we were out of the restaurant, headed to the car, that I finally said something.

“Don’t you get it?” I snapped, as she unlocked the car with her key fob. “Those selfies they took in there? Guaranteed they’ve already been posted to those girls’ Facebook pages or put up on Instagram. We’ve got twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight, before the press shows up.”

“Here?” She laughed, but then she saw the serious look on my face. “Surely they wouldn’t come up here…?”

“Well, it was fun while it lasted, eh?” Tyler said, jogging up to join us. “Thanks for the hospitality, Mom. I really loved staying at your place.”

“You don’t have to go?” She looked between the two of us, then back at the restaurant, where we could see the girls around the table, all of them with their phones in their hands. “Just because of that?”

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I sighed.
Already?

“Who is it?” Tyler asked as I pulled it out to check.

We’d told Rob and Sabrina where we were going, and why—they both assured us they’d handle the fallout and the press for a week or two. Rob even said he’d handle Arnie and the label. Maybe we’d taken advantage of their shock, running away while the devastation was still fresh, but I didn’t really care.

I looked at my phone, expecting to see Sabrina’s number, but it wasn’t. It was a desperate text.

I need help. I’m in California. Can I come see you?

“Who is it?” Tyler peered over my shoulder.

“It’s Jay.” I blinked back at him. “She’s in California. Looking for us.”

“Who’s Jay?” my mother asked.

“It’s a long story.” One I wasn’t going to tell her, if I could help it. “We should go home.”

Tyler sighed. “I guess our vacation’s over.”

We couldn’t fly commercial home. Couldn’t even take the little puddle jumper from the local airport back to Detroit Metro. That’s how fast it happened. We managed to get back to my mom’s place and pack our stuff—all the while, my mother dismissed our fast-acting as paranoia—before the first car appeared in the driveway.

“I guess I should get a gate,” my mother muttered, peering out the window. “That’s Ed from our little local paper—does he really think he’s going to get some sort of scoop?”

“He’s just holding down the fort and waiting for reinforcements,” I told her. “Hopefully, we’ll be long gone by the time that happens.”

“Is this really want your life is like, all the time?” my mother asked, incredulous.

“This is nothing,” Tyler told her with a laugh. “You should see us going to Starbucks on a Wednesday.”

Her eyes got bigger when another car showed up. “Who could possibly care that much about what you do with your life?”

“The whole damned world.”

While Tyler dealt with my mother, who stood by the window like our own internal reporter, telling us what the reporters outside were up to—local channel WKDB news had shown up—I texted with Jay.

When it rained, it poured.

I ran away.

I knew it was only a matter of time before she pulled something like this. Her home life had been deteriorating for years, but it was far worse now than when I’d met her on my first tour with Tyler and Trouble. She’d been just thirteen then, breathtakingly beautiful and naïve, hanging out with girls who were older than her and able to get into a lot more trouble than she would have been capable of on her own.

Including flirting their way onto Trouble’s tour bus, and getting their hands on an 8-ball of heroin. Ah, youth. It had been my first tour with Trouble, and while I was nowhere near as naïve, three underage girls with hard drugs, all three of them ready to spread their legs for payment, had shocked me. I’d given all three of them a good talking-to—reminding myself eerily of my own mother—and then I’d put them on a bus and sent them back to their hometown in the middle of the country.

Except Jess. She was the littlest one—actually just twelve, although she’d lied and told me she was thirteen—and so in love with Rob Burns of Trouble that she was willing to run away from home to meet him. Like any star-struck kid, she was certain that just showing up on Rob’s doorstep would be enough. One look at her, and true love would kick in—he’d whisk her away with him to his castle in the sky. Or in the Hollywood hills. Same difference.

Problem was, Jess had no idea that Rob Burns, recently almost-divorced, was madly in love with my best friend, Sabrina. Who also just happened to be pregnant with his love-child. Because while Jess’s fantasy hadn’t happened to twelve-year-old Jess—it had happened for my twenty-something, elementary school teacher friend, Sabrina.

Sabrina had won the rock star lottery, while Jess was being sent home to parents who loved her, but clearly weren’t paying enough attention to their wayward daughter. And they had their own problems, I would soon find out. Dad was an alcoholic. Mom was oblivious, rather neglectful, and seemed to be the type of woman who picked the worst sorts of guys. The kind of guys who struggled to keep a job, the kind of guys who liked to hit their women—and their teenaged daughters—when they were drunk. Which was almost all the time.

Tyler knew I was talking to Jess—her friends called her Jay, and that’s what I called her, now, too—and thought it was sweet. A few times, I’d been on the verge of asking him if we could just adopt the poor girl—and Tyler had headed that off on each occasion with, “Katie, we can’t keep her. This isn’t a stray puppy.” I knew he was right.

Besides, every time, something had changed, the situation diffused, and Jay had calmed down enough to go back to school and resume her tumultuous life as a teenage girl. She wasn’t the first, and by no means the last, girl who would deal with a horrible home life she longed to escape from. But she was my girl—our girl. I did what I could, from a few thousand miles away, and over the past few years, a sort of bond had developed.

Then, her father had left. At first, I thought it was the best thing that could have happened to Jay and her mother. With her alcoholic father out of the picture, I imagined a single mom and her daughter making their way in the world, sort of an idealized
Gilmore Girls
, without the rich parents. Jay’s mother came from solid, middle-class roots, including a typical broken home and parents who lived on opposite ends of the country. Just like me, really.

What I hadn’t counted on was Jay’s mother, and the hole she felt she needed to fill once the man of the house wasn’t living in it anymore. Jay started complaining about her “new daddy” almost right away. He was big, he had a face tattoo like a Celtic half-moon on the side of his face, he rode a motorcycle, and like Jay’s father before him, he had a love affair with alcohol. Jay didn’t like him, and not only because he had stepped into her father’s shoes. She didn’t like the way he looked at her when her mother wasn’t around—and even though I wasn’t there, I didn’t like it either.

She never said he did anything to her—maybe she knew, I would have called the cops in a heartbeat. But he was always this looming presence in her life. I found myself talking with Tyler about her more and more, as time went on—I think I was getting him ready for this moment, sort of priming the pump, wearing him down with the devastation of her life. Because I knew this was going to happen, eventually.

Once a runaway, always a runaway.

Where are you?

She answered me with one word—
California
—and I couldn’t help but shake my head at the irony. We’d roughly changed places. She’d run to California for help, and here we were, stuck in the Midwest with the press camped outside our door.

So while Tyler called Rob, and Rob figured out how to get us home, with the help of Celeste—his personal assistant and the woman who singlehandedly ran the details of all our lives, when necessary—I dealt with the Jay situation.

She’d hitchhiked her way across country. She was dirty, hungry, broke, and standing on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. I told her to walk down to Capitol Records and wait. Someone would be there to pick her up.

Then, I called Sabrina. We’d been best friends since we were Jay’s age, and we’d been inseparable ever since. Our lives had moved forward on this strangely parallel track, like some sort of mirrored image of light and dark.

Sabrina was the good girl—who didn’t come from a broken family, who finished school and got a good job, who was sensible and responsible and smart. And I was her dark foil—the bad girl, the one who got herself in trouble more often than not, and dragged Sabrina with me.

Somehow, we’d both ended up with a fairy tale, married to rock star brothers—but our journeys couldn’t have been more different. Hers involved babies and marriage and her own career as a singer. Mine involved jumping on a bus to go on tour with the band, a dizzying spiral into drug addiction, from pain-killers to heroin, and a long road of relapse and recovery until it ended with me married to Tyler, the two of us battered and bruised, but so much in love it hurt.

Funny, I wouldn’t trade places with Sabrina, not for all the money in the world. Not that either of us needed money—not anymore.

I was still talking to Sabrina, giving her the details about Jay—it was something I’d never shared with my best friend before, so it was all news to her—telling her where to pick her up, when Tyler told me our car had arrived.

“Is she… I mean, is she dangerous?” Sabrina asked me, sounding doubtful.

“She’s just fifteen-years-old,” I told her, rolling my eyes and nodding to Tyler, holding up one finger in a
wait-a-second
gesture. “How dangerous could she be?”

“I just mean… you know, is she going to steal us blind?” Sabrina sounded reluctant to even say it, but sensible as she was, she couldn’t help herself. “Should I put her up in a hotel somewhere instead?”

“No.” I scoffed. “She just needs a safe place to stay. Keep her with you until we get home. Then I’ll take her off your hands, I promise.”

“Okay…” Sabrina still sounded reluctant, but because it was me, I knew she would do what I asked. “Come straight here.”

“We will,” I promised.

“There will be press at the airport. It’s already all over the internet,” she told me. “Everyone knows where you are.”

“We won’t be here long. Car’s here now,” I said. “I’ll see you when we get home. Thanks for this, Sabrina.”

“Anything for you, Katie. See you soon.”

In spite of the fact that we were on a private jet this time, the flight home was nowhere near as fun or adventurous as the commercial flight we’d taken from California to Michigan. Tyler and I sat alone in the giant cabin, side by side, holding hands but lost in our own thoughts.

I knew he was thinking about what waited for us at home—a barrage of questions from hundreds of paparazzi, and a bevy of screaming, crying teenaged girls desperate to hear that it wasn’t true, rock god Tyler Cook couldn’t be leaving their favorite band.

It was time to turn rumor into fact. He was going to have to disappoint them all.

I was worried about teen girls, too—one in particular. Sabrina texted me just as we were boarding the plane that Jay was safe and sound at their place, already having fun playing with the babies. That was a relief, at least.

Now I just had to convince Tyler that we needed to keep this particular stray puppy—at least for a little while.

“Katie…” He sighed when I told him my plan. “This is the worst timing ever. Can you imagine the spin on this when the press gets hold of it?”

“No one else needs to know,” I assured him.

He shook his head. “We might be able to fly under the radar sometimes, but the spotlight is going to be on us for the next couple weeks at least—we won’t be able to take a piss without some reporter following us.”

“Someone will do something stupid and the spotlight will shift again,” I told him. “We’ve been through this before.”

“In the meantime, you want a fifteen-year-old runaway to move in with us?”

I sighed. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“She could go home.”

“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “She can’t.”

“Listen to me.” He turned my face toward him. “For a minute. Just try to look at this rationally.”

“Rationally?” I cried, knowing I was going to have to tell him something to move him in the right direction. “There’s nothing rational about a fifteen-year-old girl being abused by her stepfather. We can’t send her back there, Tyler. We can’t.”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “Okay, I agree with you.”

I relaxed a little.

“But we can’t keep her, either,” he said, and I tensed again. “We have plenty of resources at our disposal. We can get her help. Good, professional help—that doesn’t involve her squatting in our living room.”