Rock Me Deep (2 page)

They'd mostly stopped flirting after that.

Mostly.

Shutting the van doors, I felt some relief in knowing that we wouldn't need to unpack everything for another two days. The driving time to the next location, the gorgeous mountains of Colorado, would be my time to relax.

I should go make sure Sean doesn't need anything else from me before we get on the road.
Walking along the asphalt, past the cars, the buses, I tried to catch a glimpse of any of the other bands.

If I was honest with myself, I wasn't acting much better than the groupies I mocked. There was a chance I'd spot a member from one of the bigger bands, like the Silver Sideways, Backwater Till Sunday, or maybe even Four and a Half Headstones.

That had me excited.

Especially
Four and a Half Headstones.

The news about the fight last night had spread through the caravan of vehicles. Websites were exploding with rumors about it all, making claims that famous singer Drezden Halifax had beaten Johnny Muse to a bloody pulp.

I'd heard things ranging from him being charged with manslaughter to Drezden being the one who had actually gotten beaten up. There'd been no solid proof about any of it—which sucked, because who knew what it meant for the rest of the bands.

Four and a Half Headstones were headlining everything. If they had a fallout and had to cancel... it could be disastrous.
Will my brother's band have to pull out?
It was an awful possibility. Barbed Fire had been ecstatic to be invited on the tour. Sean had scared me with the phone call, he kept screaming without making sense—I'd thought he was in trouble.

The memory of his excitement made me smile. It hadn't taken much for convince me to come along. I was eager for my brother to finally get the big break he deserved.

Who knows. Maybe I'll meet an agent or someone who'll get me started in the right direction while I'm here.
I wasn't as good as my brother when it came to playing guitar, but that was fine; everyone had to start somewhere. It could happen.
Anything
could happen.

I spotted Barbed Fire's tour bus ahead on the side of the road. The paint job was a shoddy red that had gone mostly brown, a hastily painted swirl of orange fire peeling on one side. It was nowhere near as fancy as the other buses, barely big enough to fit the members, which was why we needed the shoddy van to cart the equipment around.

Rapping my knuckles on the door, I tugged it open and peeked up the steps. “Hey, Sean! You in here?”

He was hunched in one of the seats, surrounded by the rest of the band. I'd known he was inside—of course he'd be here—it was just the most casual way for me to ask if it was alright if I came in. I was awful at being direct.

Sean lifted his head, his pierced eyebrow crawling high. Everyone said we had the same blue eyes, except I always felt like my brother just had
something
in his stare that I didn't. A kind of razor steel that could cut you into pieces.

I rarely saw him look at me that way, luckily.

“Lola," he said, "I was just about to go look for you.”

“Yeah?” Shutting the door, enjoying the air-conditioning, I put my hands on two seats and swung my legs forward. I landed in front of the group with a big smile. “I was coming to see if you wanted me to do anything else before we got on the road.”

My older brother cast a look at the rest of the band, their silence suddenly uncomfortable. I wondered what I had walked in on. He said, “Did you hear about what happened last night, about the singer from Headstones and his guitarist?”

“Yeah, of course I did,” I laughed. “People won't shut up about it, but no one has anything real to say. I'm starting to think it's a big joke.” No one else was smiling; my lips quickly drifted into a thin line. “Okay, I get the feeling you're about to tell me something important. Something bad.”
Shit, were the rumors true, did someone get beaten to death?

Sean pushed his thick bangs from his eyes, slumping back into the seat. “It's actually potentially good news.”

It was hard for me to pull my gaze from my brother's face. “Tell me what's going on.”

He waved at me to sit, so I dropped down on the edge of the leathery cushion diagonal from him. “Lola, Drezden kicked out Johnny Muse.”

“Kicked him out,” I repeated in disbelief. “Kicked him out
of the band?
” The idea blew my mind. I was glad I was already sitting. “Why would he—that's insane!”

The heavy-set drummer, Shark, flashed me a wide grin. In spite of his name, his teeth were actually nice and straight. “Right? It's crazy! I was in the place, though, I saw the whole thing! Dude went nuts, just pummeled Johnny to the ground.”

My mind conjured up an image of Drezden, of how the muscles in his arms would flex when he was screaming on stage. He looked like the type who could tear a guy's face up with ease. “Jeez,” I whispered.

Sean slid deeper into his seat, kicking Shark in the knee. “Chill, it wasn't as bad as that. I saw Johnny last night, too, before they dragged him off to keep him from throwing more bottles at folks. He was in one piece. Drezden didn't 'pummel' him. He
did
kick him out though, yeah.”

I folded my hands in my lap, crossing my knees. One pink and black sneaker tapped nervously in the air. “That's still insane. If Four and a Half Headstones doesn't have a guitarist, what are they going to do?”

“They're going to need to find a new one, and fast,” my brother said.

“Yeah, fast.” I smoothed my messy dark hair. The humidity had turned it into a wild mane. “Real fast. Where are they going to find a guitarist before the next show?”

No one said anything. Baffled, I raised my eyes, looking from each member to the next. Sean was smiling, it made my stomach twist. “Oh no,” I said, my back going straight as a rod. “I can't, I'm not anywhere
near
good enough to be in their band!”

Sean slid out of his seat, shoving Shark aside as he did so. “Lola, come on. You're the sister of the lead guitarist in Barbed Fire! I taught you everything you know.” He came to stand over me, grasping my shoulders like it'd calm me down.

I wasn't ready to be calm.

“Shit,” I said to no one. “Holy shit.” He wasn't kidding when he said he'd taught me everything I knew. The advantage to being the younger sister of a talented guitarist was you could learn a lot. The downside?

Well, we couldn't
both
be the lead guitarist in the same band.

I'd never get to play with Barbed Fire. The closest I'd ever come was carting their equipment onto the stage at their shows. And now my brother was trying to get me to go and try out for the guitarist in fucking Four and a Half Headstones?

“Shit,” I said again. I was saying it a lot.

Giving me one more squeeze, he patted me so roughly it shook my skull. “The auditions are going on today. I already went and talked to their manager when I heard what was going on. You've got a great chance here, Lola.”

A great chance?
I wiped my clammy palms on my ripped jeans.
He's right, it's an amazing chance. I know all their songs by heart, but... there's no way I'm good enough, there's so much more than being able to repeat back a song. If I audition, I'll look like an asshole.

“—an hour,” he was saying, my brain so fogged I missed the start of his sentence. “I know you brought your guitar, grab it and take it with you.”

“Sorry, what?”

“You've got an hour to get ready, they're doing it before we all drive out to the next pit stop.”

“Sean,” I blurted, climbing to my feet in a hurry. “Listen, wait, I can't do this.”

His eyebrow piercing glinted as he wrinkled his forehead. “What? Why?”

“I just—come on!” I said, giggling uncomfortably. “It's
me
, I'm not a rock star!”

“You've played in bands before,” he said.

“Garage bands, joke bands, nothing serious.”

“And I've seen you listening to Four and a Half Headstones since they launched.”

I couldn't stop shaking my head.

Sean opened his mouth, then halted. Eyeing the other members, he jerked his head at the door. “Give us a minute, guys.”

They trundled out, leaving me alone with my brother. The air in the bus felt sticky.

“Sean—”

“Lola,” he cut me off, burying his hands in his pockets. “Do you not get it? This is a huge opportunity, why are you sabotaging yourself?”

I let my hands fall to my hips. “I'm not, I'm just...”
I'm just scared.
“There's someone else here who'll get the position, someone better.”

“I don't get it,” he muttered, looking everywhere but at me. “I thought you wanted to make music, to become a star. I figured that was the fucking point of all of this.”

“I do want to! Sean, I really do, I'm just not ready for it. Not right now.”

Tightening his jaw, my brother brushed past me. “You're right,” he said, tongue coated in acid. “I guess you're not.” He left me alone on the bus, not once looking back.

For some time, I stared after him. My mind was as messy as my stomach. Gripping the seat, I crushed the slippery material until it squeaked.
Great job,
I told myself.
You wanted him to quit pushing you to do this, and you got your way.
Kicking my heel into the side of the small table between the seats, I grit my molars.

Fucking dammit.

He claimed I was giving up an opportunity—sabotaging myself. Was he right?
Sean can't really think I'd pass this audition.
But then, why tell me about it if he didn't? My brother knew me deeply and truly. If I ever questioned my skills, he was there to correct me. To boost me.

He believed in me.

So why didn't I?

Being in the bus was too much, the air was thick in my lungs. Clawing at the already torn seats, I tripped out the door and into the air. Gripping my knees, I hung my chin and took a deep breath—then another. I did that until my ribs ached.

Around me, I heard people laughing, talking casually as they prepared for the drive ahead. It was warm, and I was sweaty, but I wasn't thinking about the weather.

I have one hour, he said. One hour to decide if I'm going to take a shot at becoming the guitarist for freaking Four and a Half Headstones.

A band I'd been obsessed with since their first song.

Maybe I do have a chance. This isn't like a world-wide announcement with applicants coming all over to audition. We're in the middle of a tour, slim pickings. I could... I could actually have a chance here!

Wiping my hair from my eyes, I began the trek back towards Barbed Fire's van.

If I was going to do anything...

I would need my guitar.

****

T
hey'd rented out the back room of a nearby gas station. The line of people coming out of the door was like a trail of bread crumbs.

On the one hand,
I thought to myself,
I don't need to go ask Sean for directions to where the audition is happening. But it looks like every single person who can hold a guitar showed up. And some who can't.
Rubbing my neck, I hooked my case over my shoulder, attempting to act casual as I got in line.

Everyone was talking, the vibe excited and hyped. I heard snippets about the fight last night, or comments from people who admitted they were only auditioning so they could meet the band.

With the sun beating down on my shoulders, I started to second guess my decision.
At this rate, I'll pass out before I get inside. There's no way they'll get through all these people!

A movement up ahead at the gas station door drew my eyes. There was a woman, her hair all wild red curls that made her skin ghostly in comparison. Most of her was hidden under a giant sun hat, sunglasses gleaming where they perched on her elegant nose.

She was inching down the line in a pair of ankle-breaking heels, whispering into the ears of the gathered people. Leaning in, she'd either scribble on a clipboard in her arms, or wave the person away.

The murmurs grew as the line shortened. Disgruntled men and women melted to the sidelines as the mystery red-head cut through.

What's happening, what is she saying? Why are people leaving?
The closer she got to me, the tighter my stomach became. The unease was turning my knuckles white, I had to drop my guitar to my hip just to keep a hold on it.

Fuck, don't come here, don't talk to me.
Somehow, I was sure if she spoke to me, she'd tell me to leave.

She'd ruin my chance.

The woman whispered to the guy in front of me, a lanky dude who listened... then whispered back. A single word, I thought, but I didn't catch it.

The woman straightened, nodded, asked him his name and scribbled something down. He remained where he was, and then she set those giant mirrored glasses on me. I could see myself in the reflection, I looked paler than she even did.
Calm down, just chill out.

Her lips, perfect rubies, spread in a tiny smile. I always wondered how some women managed to look so put together during tours in spite of all the traveling and time on the road. Bending low, her heels making her taller than me, I felt her breath tickle my ear. “Hey there,” she whispered, “I need to ask you something. Real quick. 'Kay?”

Swallowing, I gave a sharp nod. “Uh, sure, ask me anything.” I didn't know who she was, but she was obviously working for the band in some capacity. Could she be their manager? I was familiar with the band's music, not their business details.

“Right,” she said, pen tapping her clipboard. “This is just so we can weed down to the people Drezden wants to listen to. Answer honestly, one word if you can. What do
you
think is the most important thing you need to be a good guitarist?”

Oh, shit,
I thought quickly.
Why didn't I eavesdrop on the guy in front of me? Fuck fuck fuck... what's the most important thing you need to be a good guitarist? What kind of question is that?

She was staring at me, no longer smiling. Impatience was written on her soft features, gravel crunching under her fidgeting heels. I needed to say
something
, and I needed to do it soon.