Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (34 page)

“I’ve thought a lot about my life. More than I have ever. I’m not that guy. I’ve never been truly happy with the way things are, with everything that comes with the band. I’m not that guy. And I can’t wait until I don’t have to be any more.”

She moved in for the desperate hug. With all her heart, she knew that by this time next year, they would both be who they wanted to be–together.

THEY WERE TWENTY-THOUSAND
feet up when she sent him the text.

Tristan was playing on his guitar, and Jack was texting with his manager. They were on their way to intercept the tour. After watching him sigh because every time he would put his phone away, the texts would begin anew, she formulated the plan. The next time he clipped his phone, she hit send.

Happy late birthday.

Sent 9:55 am

Attachment

Jack’s birthday had come and gone during their fight, therefore, until now, she had never surprised him with the pictures she had made for him.

When he ignored the beep, his eyes straying instead to Tristan’s chords, she prompted, “I think you got another text.”

“Screw another text.”

“It might be important.”

“And it might not.” Curving a rebellious grin, he nonetheless reached for his phone, and she watched as his face changed. His forefinger scrolled pictures. It was several seconds before his attention left the phone and landed on her.

Within minutes, to Tristan’s delight, Jack had him buckled in the fold out chair of the cockpit, and she protested, “Is that safe?”

“Perfectly,” he promised.

What he actually wasn’t saying is what part of a small plane such as this one was safe in an emergency.

“Jack, what? Are you mad?” Had Olivia been correct in her premonition that Jack would go ballistic at the thought of a photographer seeing her in her undies? “Let me explain about those pictures—”

“They are beautiful Mariss. I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you, pics or no pics.” He pulled her down with him to the sofa seating. “So that’s what the pictures were? A birthday present?”

Nodding, she studied his face wondering at the wording. It seemed odd, that he referred to the attachments in the past tense when she had only just sent them. Then again, they were both tired.

When his hands began to roam beneath her shirt, she was dumbfounded while assessing his heated expression.

“I had my birthday all planned out and it included your first time…”

“What…” But she knew what. Had he really just convinced Tristan to view their flight from up front so that they could get their mile high kicks? But she knew the answer.

“Not what—where, Mariss. Here? That chair?”

Steeling her bodies response, she retorted, “I want it anywhere where there is not a four year old behind the door.”

“Point taken.” Conceding, he continued to play with her, but leisurely.

“I love my birthday present. I’m sorry I was a jack-ass and we were apart.”

She kissed him, because she honestly could not get enough confirmation that they were together again, a couple determined to weather the storms that came.

♪♫¨♫♪

They met up with the show at a stadium in Toledo. The rest of the band had been holed up for the last two days enjoying much needed rest and relaxation.

After checking into the hotel, they went directly to the venue of that night’s show. Tristan j
umped around excited to see the array of food, which included pizza. Liz and the rest of the band seemed exited to see Jack walk in with her and Tristan. They came in mass, greeting them, then lingered, and came back singularly as they all ate at the banquette style tables. Dozens of new introductions were made, too many names to remember at once.

Something was in the air. She felt in glances that sometimes quickly skittered away. However, she convinced herself the feeling persisted because she was not used to being here, and they were not used to her being here.

However, the feeling exacerbated when Reed left the table long enough to throw his trash away. Across the room, he and Liz seemed to have an altercation. He turned back to their table with a purpose and was followed by Liz who sat directly across from him shooting warning stares.

After eating, Jack migrated the three of them down a hall as a man wearing a staff shirt pointed out the various rooms that had been set up to band rider specifications.

Jack thanked him and entered the dressing room. As he unlatched a touring case on wheels and began to pull clothing out, she curiously looked around. The room with adobe type walls had the feel of a gym locker room that was tastefully decorated with Ikea furnishings. Tristan flopped on the couch and began to play on his tablet, and she followed Jack to the bathroom, touching up her makeup as he took a shower.

“So both before and after the show, I will go with you guys into the hospitality room for a few minutes. Then, I have to do my thing for a half hour or so.” Steam began to fill the room, and she abandoned her primping. “Sometimes, the phones don’t work in these places. You can send any of the staff to get me or keep trying to call until it goes through. I will always answer, Mariss. Don’t worry about bothering me or anything, because you won’t be.”

Through the glass, she could see he was washing his hair. She was standing where she could see Tristan also, and her attention bounced between the two of them, but lustfully lingered more so on Jack when he stepped out and began to dry.

“Usually the hospitality rooms have a bathroom attached, but if not, and you have to go down the hall, let me know okay? Just shoot a text or something? Because if I don’t find you in that hospitality room, I’m going to worry crazy.”

As the minutes drew nearer to the show, the back area began filling up with staff, family and friends of the band, hundreds of people milling around. Before now, she had no idea that behind each show was a small show in itself.

“Keep your orange pass with you.” Jack advised of the VIP tag that would ensure she was allowed anywhere she needed to go. Then, he stooped to Tristan and indicated the identification tag on his tiny wrist. “And you T.J., buddy, do not take this off for any reason. Promise?”

Jack pointed to his own wrist to remind Tristan that he wore one also. Jack wore his in solidarity, but Tristan’s was to insure that in the event he got lost, someone would know where he belonged. The little boy’s head bobbed, and the daddy worship was clear in his eyes. If Jack wore the bracelet then it was cool.

The hum of a large crowd sounded as Jack walked with them to the mentioned hospitality room. Before entering, he paused to insure the burly man wearing a staff tee shirt who stood guard outside the door knew who they were.

Like the dressing room, this room had a generous snack spread and comfortable furnishings. So far, they were the only ones in it. Bending, Jack kissed her whispering, “I love you. See you soon.”

Tristan began to load up on cookies, and she didn’t have the heart to stop him since this was his first show experience.

Once the band went on, she and Tristan would watch when they wanted from the stage wings. Jack had already promised to keep the lyrics cleaned up when he saw them there. They had laughed one night as he ‘growled’ the alternate words to her. Words never clearly heard anyway, so the audience would not know the difference.

The one song that was explicit and clear was number eight on the set-list, and she knew to have Tristan out of hearing range by then.

“When these were written, I never thought I would have to worry about my child hearing them.” One night, prior to the tour, he had become reflective as they talked in bed.

“Well, you will be changing names. Chances are he won’t remember Jackal until he’s old enough for you to tell him.” she had comforted. Even so, his look had seemed to stay conscious ridden.

Although Jack had amazing song writing capabilities, she had been surprised when he mentioned that almost half of Jackal’s songs were from a publishing catalog. “It’s just how it is done,” he had shrugged.

Chris’s wife entered the room breaking up the meditative thoughts. They talked for a few minutes, then all pushed in sound reducing ear plugs before ascending the steps to the stage.

Jack had said there would be a stool for Tristan marked with an X, and sure enough, it was waiting with two pieces of tape forming the letter.

Jack was immersed in his music, and every muscle in her body froze acutely attuned to his performance.

Perspiration was just beginning to sheen his face and arms. She knew the wristbands were to protect his fingers from getting slick with sweat and slipping on the strings. Her eyes moved from the leather bands to his fingers caressing and commanding the sounds he wanted from his instrument.

He had the same perceptive prickle for her as she did when he came near, and he looked her way. The smile of greeting he bestowed was intimate even in this stadium of tens of thousands.

When his gaze drifted back to the thousands before him, she ripped her eyes away long enough to check on Tristan and found herself awed by his response.

When confronted with something unusual, Tristan’s dark eyes normally widened into saucers. At this moment, they were plates and his mouth was gaping open. Chris’ wife was also entertained more by Tristan’s reaction then by the show, and their giggles became lost in the decibel of the music.

Jack growled, howled, and screamed his verses into the microphone, and since she was in on the secret she heard a few of the lyric substitutions.

A set list lay taped to the floor, and since she had listened to the new Jackal album many times since the day he had left on tour she was able to pick out the song they were on and follow.

On the seventh song, she turned to leave and found the area now filled with a dozen other spectators. Waving to Chris’ wife, she cautiously held Tristan’s hand as they descended the stairs. A photographer had her on red alert, but he never deviated his camera from the performance, and she relaxed in relief realizing there were no paparazzi in this area.

Jack came directly from the last encore, and she happily endured his sweaty embrace. Tristan hung back, mutely accessing his father, and only when Jack spoke to him did he nod or speak back. Jack flicked worried eyes to her, and she wanted to explain, but they were interrupted by the room filling.

Her guess was that Tristan was experiencing the same type of awe she, herself, had felt when seeing Jack doing what he did best. Seeing it was like seeing a person she had come to know possessed by body snatchers.

In deference to the shower he needed, instead of hugging Tristan, Jack ruffled his son’s hair instead. With another quick kiss to her, he was off to do his after show meet and greets.

She tried not to imagine the boobs and commando skirt wearers seeking pictures, autographs, and mostly—the bang by a certain rock star that they would not get.

When Jack returned, over an hour later, he was carrying a shirt and wearing none.

“I know what you are thinking,” he defended himself against whatever expression she wore. “But I just took the shirt I had on, off two seconds ago, and you will soon see why.”

The shirt rustled over his head settling over his torso, and the word ‘SECURITY’ across the back and front had her smiling.

“You never told me this secret,” she accused as he stuffed his hair in a cap and put on the plastic shades.

“Because this is the first time I’ve ever done it. Chris came up with the idea.”

When he finished, he blended with the event staff members she had seen roaming the halls, and with a look in a mirror, he was satisfied as well. “Let’s blow this joint!”

The disguise worked well venue after venue. Evening after evening, she watched his performance, practically as starstruck as his fans, and she wondered why she had been leery of touring with him.

She rarely had to see him near another woman, and the idea of him meeting and mingling with fans, before and after the show, became no more than a niggling thought.

THE DAYS AND NIGHTS
became a blur of the bus, once in a while a plane, arenas, stadiums, and hotels.

Sometimes after the show they slept in a hotel. Sometimes, if they had to be on the road right away, they slept in the bus and then checked into the hotel in the next city in time to clean up and make it to the next show.

She had worried over Tristan in vain. Jack had thought of every detail accordingly adjusting the band rider. It now included significant requirements such as the contact info of a pediatrician on twenty-four seven call in each city down to the minor requests like the boy’s favorite juices stocked in the hotel fridges.

The tiny boy easily took to life on the bus, playing games with whoever was awake on the game system, watching t.v., or playing on his tablet. He happily ate the junk food of the road, and spent hours watching out the window. He was the darling of the bus, and she was surprised at how easily the rest of them adjusted to him when it came to language and other considerations. The habitual cursers of the crew had even made up alternate curse words.

Their bus normally housed Liz, and Chris when his wife was around, and the random manager or two. The rolling home had been dubbed ‘Mary’ because any partying stayed with the other bus.

The very back of the bus was a lounge area where the couches formed a U with two flat screens on the wall.