Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (35 page)

In this area, on one of the bus days, she was reading on the iPad while Tristan’s attention was on his game. Liz was awake in the front of the bus, but the rest slept.

Jack hopped from his bunk to the floor, and after padding to the bathroom, came to flop down beside her. Gradually, as he checked his phone, he lay with his head in her lap. He was receiving text after text, which probably played a part in waking him.

“What’s going on?” she wondered, letting her fingers slid through his hair.

“Radio show in the morning.” His thumbs continued their swipes at the screen. Slowing his motions, he tilted his face to the blackout window panels that she had not bothered to open. “Wait, why is Tristan up? Is it morning?”

“Um, it is two. In the afternoon.”

Sheepishly, he continued to stare vaguely at his phone without acknowledging the next text.

Gently, she explained, “It is Wednesday. No show tonight. And we should be about an hour from the hotel.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He shot off another text then tossed aside his phone. When the next thought struck, guilty dark eyes ran over her face. “I’ve been asleep ten hours?”

With a smile, she touched her lips to his. “Mmh Hmm. Feel better?”

“Much.” Bouncing up, he took one of the controllers, and she began to read again as he and Tristan played.

Their arrival at the hotel was low key. Their accommodations were normally on the club level floor, and this time was no exception. Marissa never failed to be over-whelmed by the suites being larger than her home in Mississippi. Jack always took it all in stride, and always, immediately upon entering an empty hotel room, flipped on a television. She often wondered if the television had been to fill the silence when he was on tour on his own.

In this particular hotel, their suite had a child’s room with a kid sized table and chairs, a shelf of books, and an assortment of electronic toys as well as puzzles and board games.

Jack lingered with Tristan in this room exclaiming over each discovery, and she could hear them laughing as she fell over the bed glad to be in unmoving quarters. The second their luggage was delivered, she pilfered through it for fresh clothing eager to shower away the miles on the road. Jack offered to shower Tristan, and he must have taken a quick one as well because they all emerged with wet heads around the same time.

Dressed and blow dried, they entered the floor lounge and were shown to a table overlooking the city. Club floor restaurants, shops, and bars always ensured guests with special privacy needs were accommodated accordingly. Aside from the band, and some of the band crew, there were occasional other elite guests in these exclusive areas.

“Do they have pizza here?”

“I imagine,” Jack drawled, exchanging an amused look over the menu with her. Even places that did not have pizza on the menu managed a single serving one for Tristan, son of Jack Storm. Tristan, thankfully, still did not grasp that his every wish could be a command.

“What looks good to you, Mariss?”

Her stomach had been filled with nothing but fast food and junk food for twenty four hours. Intent on the selections of real food, she did not notice the trio of young men approaching their table. Startled, she almost dropped the menu and then pasted on a smile prepared to politely watch as Jack autographed some something.

“Hi, Jack Storm, right?” The leader of the well-dressed guys spoke, and Jack curved a smile courteously putting out his hand. They exchanged greetings, but things took an unusual turn when no pictures or autographs were immediately requested. Three pairs of eyes swiveled to her. “So that means you must be Marissa.”

Four pair of eyes if she were to count Jack’s in the total. Tristan was staring at the guys themselves.

Their looks were respectful, however definitely more awed by her presence then she would expect from fans of Jack.

“Would you mind…I mean, we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind a picture?” The leader turned back to Jack as he indicated Marissa. “I won’t touch her at all, man, I promise.” Edgy laughs came from him and his friends. “Just stand behind her?” Another look to Marissa. “If it is not a bother?” And while she gaped, Jack also did. This was a new request.

“Of me?” she finally asked, and reached for her goblet of water to wet her croaky throat.

“If it is not a bother?” One of them hopefully repeated, and another explained, “We are fans. Of Jackal. And you.”

“Of me?” Certain that she was being set up, she looked beyond the trio to Liz and Reed, but they were immersed in conversation at their own table, paying no mind to this side of the room. Helplessly, she looked to Jack, and he spoke.

“I’m sorry guys. I do mind. My family is my family, you know?”

“Of course. No problem. Enjoy your evening.”

After nervously draining her water level down, she risked a glance at Tristan who was absorbed with the various crackers and bread in the entrée basket, before whispering, “What do you think that was all about?”

Jack lifted a shoulder, but their waiter moved in questioning their order and interrupting the speculation.

She mentally shrugged it off as random, but it was a prelude to what was to come only a couple of nights later after a show. They exited the stadium, and on that particular night, around two dozen fans had been allowed into the private bus area. These folks were generally winners of radio contests or acquainted with someone well known enough to make it to the meet and greet and then the private exit.

The screams had just settled from Chris and Reed’s exit, and began anew when she and Jack with Tristan stepped out and made their way to the bus. Tristan’s latest getup was sunglasses and a hoodie that they pulled low on his forehead until he was safely behind the walls of the bus or vehicle they were leaving in.

“Jack!” The yells became more fervent with each step, and her steps faltered when she heard her own name. “Marissa!” A male voice, another, and another. “Marissa! I love you! Marissa!”

Holding Tristan’s hands, she lifted him the first step into the bus, and felt Jack’s hands on her hips behind her as he aided her steps.

Tristan went directly for the fridge, and despite the half a dozen juices he had downed before, during, and after the show, he held a juice box up for her approval. Preoccupied, she nodded as she peered out the window at the small crowd while still trying to fathom what had just happened.

Sometimes it was a weird phenomenon, watching people who could not watch back due to the privacy glass.

Coming to stand beside her, Liz popped the cap on a beer and offered a grin as she spoke of the male fans. “So I guess I’m sharing with you now.”

“Yeah…tonight anyway…” Marissa looked around for Jack, but she and Liz had this part of the bus to themselves, and she could hear the guys whooping over a video game in the back.

James boarded the bus at that moment. As well as being a manager, he seemed to be taking on publicist duties as well.

Emmajesty was no longer with Jackal. Jack had confronted the publicist with his suspicions, and Emma had actually been proud of her leaks to the press. This had led to her dismissal in her duties with the band. The scene had gone down during the weeks that she had dodged the tour, and she had heard bits and pieces of it then through Jack.

“Alright losers, listen up!” James raised his voice to be heard in the back as he advanced that direction.

Automatically, Marissa followed, prepared to pull Tristan out of the line of fire if the band was about to be bitched out, or if it went the other way and they bitched at James for whatever was about to come. James put on a good show, but he was nowhere near as abrasive as Emmajesty had been.

“We have a senator’s son, a couple of his friends, and dates outside—”

“Already met them. Signed everything. Took some wicked pics.” Reed and Chris chorused.

“They want to hang out on the bus for a drink.”

“Dude, no way. I’m not drinking tonight. I just want to chill.” The chorus rang out again. Jack and Liz were the only ones remaining silent. Jack seemingly intent on the game he was playing with Tristan, but she knew better. He was tired. Hungry. These days he just wanted to pile up after the shows.

“Five minutes!” James barked, and Marissa had to move to let him by in the narrow confines. “Happy faces!”

Apparently, this bus was not leaving the complex to meet up with the other bus until this thing was done.

“Fubby lucky…” Reed cursed.

Like always, the few times fans came onto the bus, she stayed behind in the back lounge with Tristan, while the others drifted to the front. Greetings and laughter soon commenced, and she smiled to herself thinking of what a good job the band did of making fans feel welcome, even when they were exhausted and in a non-partying mood.

“Marissa,” James called out to her, just before he pulled back the panel. Curious, she looked up and saw Jack approaching also.

“What’s going on,” Jack inquired, just as James made an unusual request.

“Come on up. Someone wants to meet you.”

She looked to Jack, but he appeared as perplexed as she felt, and immediately he went into his family protection mode. “James, what the hell?”

“The senator’s son wants to meet Marissa.”

“No. She does not have to do this.” Jack trained his gaze directly into her eyes. “This has nothing to do with her.”

“She is on the tour, so yes, in a way it does. If someone wants to meet her and she is here, there is no reason why she shouldn’t.”

As they continued the low decibel argument, she whispered to Tristan to stay put, and ended their skirmish by attempting to push past them. Something odd was going on, and she intended to get to the bottom of it before the night was over.

Probably, it would be as simple as later typing her name in an internet search engine. At least, whatever it was seemed to be good. She was being loved and not spit on.

Jack grabbed her arm to stop her, but she had already been seen, and the young man beamed a wide smile.

She went through the introductions, Jack handed her a drink and kept an arm around her waist. The guy faltered through his explanation.

“…was in a football accident…long recovery…if it is not too much to ask, could you write something to him?”

He unrolled a glossy print on the table, and the room became dead silent, quieter than it had been during the sad explanation. All eyes swung to her. Wary looks from the band, a guilty look from Jack, and hopeful looks from the young group of fans.

Pivoting away from all of those expectant gazes, she pulled open the fridge surveying the contents for something to do. Her fingers tightened on the canned drink already in her hand, and she took a sip. Jack’s hand moved to her shoulder and the light squeeze of his fingers was meant to be comforting, and he quietly spoke.

“Mariss, you don’t have—those are your private pictures—our pictures. Just go on back if you want and I will explain to him—”

Pasting a smile on her face, she whipped back around to Jack’s birthday present that was somehow no longer only digital and accepted the proffered marker. “Sure. What is your brother’s name?”

As the marker moved over the print, she skimmed over it—one of her favorites. In this particular pose, her tee shirt lay at her feet, the henna art curving her torso beneath her bra, and stopping just above the lacey briefs exposed by the shorts
she was pushing down.

♪♫¨♫♪

“I think he finally passed out.” Jack came from Tristan’s bunk to sit beside her on the couch.

The two buses had divided, and she didn’t blame everyone that could from leaving ‘Mary.’ Only Liz and Chris remained, and they h
ad gone directly to bed the second the bus began to roll.

“Mariss, honey, could you say something?”

“Did he get a snack?”

With an irritated grunt, Jack let his head fall back against the wall.

“What do you want me to say?” Without looking away from the muted flat screen in front of her, she felt the forlorn quake in her inquiry and the desperation in the following demand. “Everyone knew except me, right? I’m not just imagining it? Those pictures leaked, and no one told me.”

Beside her on the cushion was Tristan’s tablet. A search of her name had pulled up her and Randi’s lingerie shot’s side by side on a dozen different sites.

“They did, but I thought we had it contained. According to Reed, they didn’t show back up again until now. I didn’t even know until the other night.”

“But you already knew of them when I showed you? When I texted them to you in the plane? You had already seen them?” His silence spoke volumes, and she fought the feelings of betrayal. The statement in the plane came back to her. Hadn’t he said something like ‘That is what these pictures were, a birthday present?’ “Oh my—holy fu—” At last, she faced him. “Is that why you were so mad at me? Why you didn’t speak for two weeks?”

“No honey. No.” He reached for and dropped his thumb to her wrist in circular motions. “I guess it was around that time that they leaked, a few days after my idiocy on the phone. “But I would never be mad at you for that. They are beautiful. Now Randi might be mad. They outshine anything she has done.”