Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (36 page)

Instead of debating that blatant but sweet lie, she let the love swirl in her soul and asked, “Emma did this, right?”

“She swears she didn’t.”

“She did. Who else would?”

“The dude that took them?”

“Why do you assume it was a dude?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

Now she was the one to ground out a frustrated scream and concurrently shove to her feet. Swiveling around at the tiny doorway, she lambasted, “I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me!” Then turning to the hallway of bunks on either side, she kept her voice raised. “Why no one told me! You are a Jack-ass! You are all Jack-asses!”

“Momma?”

The tiny voice made her want to scream again. This time, in guilt. Instead, she took a second to assure her son all was okay and even climbed into his bunk with him. When Jack’s face peered in the curtains, she reached an arm up to whip them closed. She heard him move off from the sleeping area, then the clink of a bottle from the fridge.

♪♫¨♫♪

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Liz dropped to sit across the table from her sometime the next ‘morning.’ Whatever time it was, Tristan was eating cereal, and Marissa was glumly watching him as she poured coffee down her throat. “You had run away from
all this BS once, and he had just convinced you to come back. Hell, none of us wanted to tell you. The new publicist had contained it once, and we thought he would be able to make them all disappear again.”

Jack’s soft snores coming from the bunk area were steady. Liz leaned back enough so that Tristan could crawl over her lap in his exit of the booth.

Marissa eyed the other woman and hotly retorted, “That is where you are wrong. I did not run away from anything that happened. I took a break,” here she stressed the word break, “because of having things hidden from me.”

The paternity test continued to rile her, even though Meg had recently called to apologize, and to let Tristan’s cousins Skype him.

“I’m not the four year old on this tour. I can handle stuff. And this whole thing with this picture leak. It made me feel left out.” Sliding out, she began to clean up Tristan’s mess, embarrassed to have begun this with Liz.

“I am sorry Marissa. It was actually me that convinced the rest of them to say nothing. So Jack didn’t know until a couple of nights ago. And you’re not left out. We just don’t want to screw things up for Jack. You and Tristan are his world.”

Flinging the paper towel in the trash, Marissa admitted, “He is my world too. Damn Jack-ass.”

TRISTAN LOVED THE
bus bunks. She gave up trying to uphold an image of staying in separate bunks on the bus since the three of them seemed to play musical beds anyway.

A typical routine was Jack and her falling asleep together and then a few uncomfortable hours later, she climbed down into her own bunk. Only to wake up the next morning and find Tristan in Jack’s bunk.

“Jack?”

On this particular night, they had a three hundred mile stretch to the next town. Tristan had gone out fast while watching t.v. in the bunk with them, and they had climbed up to the next bunk to keep from waking him as they talked.

“Mmh?” His fingertips lightly brushed at her collarbone as they watched a movie.

Reed had hopped this bus tonight, and he, Chris, and Liz were playing a video game in the back.

“Whatever happened to Emmajesty?”

“She’s still with the label. She’s just not with Jackal anymore.” One of his feet hooked with hers. “Why?”

“I think I saw her tonight. At the show.” Marissa turned, propping on her elbow to look him in the face. “I wasn’t close enough to be sure, but it looked like her.”

“I don’t know, honey. What I do know is that she better stay the hell away from us.”

Although Jack had been tolerant of Emma’s ways when she had been Jackal’s publicist, his attitude had dissipated upon hearing the woman admit and then defend her reasons for causing their life to be paparazzi hell. “What are you doing?” she whispered a little later into the movie. His fingers were breaching beyond innocent areas.

“I was just thinking about how cool it was that here we are where it all began, and the result of that is sleeping in the bunk below with Tiggy and Bandit...”

“You don’t feel like you are only thinking...”

“I got turned on...remembering...”

Her hand moved from his chest down to his wrist in a feeble attempt to halt what he was doing. Yet at the same time, the night’s show flooded her brain, his fingers shredding the guitar. Jack persisted with his own memories and with a roll was half on her.

“Mariss? When did you first know? That first day, when did you know you wanted to...?”

This trip down memory lane suddenly sounded fun, and her thoughts drifted to the Hang Fest. To a fateful dog on a leash. To the dog’s suspicious owner.

“The second I saw you, I guess. You threw open the door so freaking mad. And I never needed anyone more.” Her fibrillating heart slowly fell back to a normal rhythm. “What about you?”

“When I saw you of course, but that was a given with any hot girl back then.” His smirk was shadowy in the light of the t.v. “It was when you took that first sip. Of your beer. You tilted your head back, and your lips were on the bottle, and you swallowed...I knew I had to see that in a different perspective.”

This whispered confession was amusing as much as arousing, and she returned breathlessly, “And yet you turned it down, the going down.”

“Uh, not that I recall...I got it twice...”

“I just meant, I would’ve done it free...”

“And what is the fun in that?”

“A lot?”

“Not if I was never going to see you again. I wanted it all. To see everything, touch everything...”

“And you did.” She was no longer fighting those talented fingers and bit her lip against a groan. “I remember I was so surprised that you went down...”

“Why so?”

“Because, I figured it was beneath a rock star...”

“It was...until it wasn’t...”

His smug words and the naughtier memories of that fateful time, of dozens of different positions made her flush even now.

“You know what I mean...”

“It’s not like it was habit. You are right. I was much more used to getting than giving. But with you, Mariss my honey, I wanted it all...”

“Oh..Jack..don’t...please...” In a panic her gaze shot to the curtains that closed in their bunk. Although they were sound muffling panels—unlike the house he was so proud of, they were not soundproof.

“Just a quick taste, Mariss...”

True to his word, he brought that kiss back to her lips before getting too carried away, and she let out another quiet gasp when they came completely together. How had sex in a bus three feet from its other occupants become normal? But she knew. It was the rock star life she had stewed through for months before joining him on this tour.

Soon, her eyes were stinging with the effort to keep them open, and she laid her head down using his chest as a pillow. The rhythmic thrum of the tires on the highway had her dozing in no time. The rhythmic thump of his heart kept her dreams happy.

“
HE WAS RIGHT HERE
!”

Marissa heard the screech from her throat but could not stop anything short of it every time she opened her mouth to speak.

Four pair of eyes unblinkingly stared as the security personnel spoke into the mikes swinging from their earpieces.

Down the hall, the show rocked on, thumping the walls, and she wished that Jack were here with her. In fact, in about thirty more seconds, she would be the one to drag him off that stage, out of the dreams of his fangirls, and into her current nightmare.

“I was in the bathroom for less than five minutes. He was on the couch watching a movie on his tablet. Now he’s not. His tablet is still here.” She didn’t even spare a glance at the movie still playing on the electronic screen. “He’s not in here! So why are we?”

Running to the hospitality door, she flung it open, exited into the hallway, and pondered which way to turn. Momentarily, closing her eyes, she summoned every ounce of mother’s intuition in seeking her son’s whereabouts.

Inspiration flashed, and she dashed toward the stage falling up the stairs in her haste. Elbowing through the spectators in this wing, she squinted her eyes searching out every shadow.

When there were no tiny shadows, she flung her panicked eyes to Jack who was holding the last long note of number eight in the set.

He turned his gaze her way, and understood that something was very wrong. The next song began to kick in, except for Jack, who sprinted toward her, thrusting his guitar at one of the crew.

The crowd parted for him, and when he was near enough, she screamed, “Tristan is gone!”

Behind them, the show carried on without vocals, and she would later find out that at that moment the rest of the band had adlibbed by making a game of soloing their instruments.

She and Jack ran down the hall, and she explained as they went that she had left their son on the couch for five minutes while she was in the bathroom. No one, except for her and Tristan, had been in the room at the time. She had emerged to find the room empty.

Jack practically tore the door latch off the hospitality room when it was locked, and he yelled to one of the black shirts who was frantically pacing at the end of the hall,

“Open this door! Where is everyone?”

“Looking for your son, sir.”

Marissa ripped her pass over her head thrusting it to Jack who used it to open the room open just as the guy joined them.

“Is the place on lock-down?” Jack searched every part of the hospitality room, even the bathroom as he barked questions.

“Yes. Lock-down is in effect.”

“There are cameras.” Jack spoke to no one in particular, but the other man nodded.

“Yes they are checking the cameras now, I’m sure.”

“Give me the keys–”

“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed–”

“Give me the damn keys!” Jack snatched them with one hand and towed Marissa with the other to the hall. Pressing them into her hand, he instructed, “Open every room hon. Search every room, even the ones your pass won’t open, his will. I will be right back.”

Her hands shook so bad, she had trouble swiping the card into the first lock, and the security personnel Jack had stolen them from moved in. Protectively, she turned away from him, but kindly he helped her with the lock and passed the ring of keys and cards back to her.

The dressing room was empty. She searched the shower area, and she even peeked behind the couches. The band members’ security cards and passes were hanging on the wall, and instinctively she noticed all five were there.

“This is a storage area, where the cases are stored until the show ends.” Again, the guy helped her with a door and protectively stood in the corridor as she searched.

“I don’t understand,” she quaked as they traversed the hall to the next door. “Isn’t someone always outside the door? If he got it open, and went in the hall, someone would have seen, right?”

“I don’t know mam. I don’t know who was working this area tonight.”

The next card swiped easily, and when the door opened, the occupants of the room fell quiet in expectation then their demeanor resumed. It seemed to be set up as a managerial room, and when there was nowhere within the room to search, she backed out.

“If he left the room he would have gone to the stage,” she reasoned to herself, and her companion politely nodded.

A numb shock was beginning to pervade her nerves. She was twisting in blind panic as each step took her further from where her son had last been seen, and she stopped. In desperation, she began to make her way back, now ignoring the guy that she had been spilling her guts to.

Some irrational inanity made her check the dressing room and the hospitality room again.

Sitting on the couch, staring at his tablet, as if he had never disappeared, was her son. The room was otherwise empty.

Throwing herself on him, she squeezed, and when she felt his shallow gasp for air, she eased back but kept his neck in the crook of her elbow.

Digging her phone from her jacket pocket, she sent Jack a call, but when she heard voicemail, she knew the call wasn’t going through. The guy spoke into his radio updating the search party, and with a beseeching gaze, she asked, “Jack? Do they know to find Jack and tell him?”

He nodded, and after protectively searching the room assured, “I will be right outside the door.”

“Tristan, where did you go?”

“I watched the show from way up high. We took an elevator.”

“We? Who? Who was with you?”

“The lady. The lady said you were already there, but when you didn’t come, she brought me back.”

“The lady? What lady?”

“The lady who said you couldn’t come on the tour. Remember, momma?”