Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (4 page)

“Luke, hey!”

I turn toward the
voice and catch my breath a bit at Holland’s entrance. She looks incredible in
this light with her stage clothes and makeup. I force a smile.

“Hey. Came to check
out your show,” I explain casually.

“Wow, I’m honored.
Thank you,” she replies, and her return smile seems sincere. I’m not sure what
else to say, but am spared the need when the rest of her band appears and
distracts her.

Callie and I back away
to make room as Limelight finishes their set and exits the stage, the crew
immediately jumping into action to set up for Tracing Holland. Holland and her
band are deep in conversation, most likely reviewing some last minute details
before they go out, and I use that opportunity to grab Jesse as he passes.

“Looked good,” I observe,
and I love the pleased shock that flashes across his face before he can hide
it. I remember being in his shoes. Wanting to play it cool, but totally in awe
of the moment, the legends
who
suddenly become peers.

“Really? You watched?”

“Caught the end.”

He grins and nods.
“Thanks, man. I still can’t believe we’re playing a stadium. We just fucking
played a stadium!”

I laugh. “Yeah, you
did.
And
fucking killed it,” I echo,
almost laughing again when I catch Callie’s disapproving look at my choice of
language.

“You were awesome,
Jesse.
Really, really good.
I love your sound,” she
says.

“Thanks, Callie. That
means a lot.”

“Jess! Get over here!
Are you coming or what?” Parker calls from the stage door.

Jesse gives us an
apologetic look. “Sorry, guys. Later?”

We smile. “Sure, no
problem. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Oh, no way. I’ll be
back in a minute. You guys fucking blew this place apart last night. I’m not
missing that.”

I shake my head with a
smile as he darts off, and Callie gently slaps my arm.

“Hear that? Blew this
place apart. You’re such a rock star.”

I chuckle. “Yeah,
whatever.”

It’s another few
minutes before Tracing Holland takes the stage, and Holland gives me a “here we
go” look as she passes to make her entrance. I return an encouraging smile and
move to a better vantage point once they’re loaded.

The lights flash in
sync with the first few drum hits of their opener, and the crowd ignites. When
Holland’s strong, haunting lead flows as a lonely melody into the vast space
around us, I’m completely mesmerized right along with every breathless soul in
the audience. Chills spread through me as the drum hits continue; just her
voice, the echo of percussion, and that restless anticipation that something
spectacular is about to explode on us.

“
I won’t be your momma’s girl.

I’m not your daddy’s pride.

So if you want me alone, don’t expect to take
me home, I’m just not that kind.

There’s no mercy for the fallen, no apologies
for my prison.

Brave boy, sure you’re ready for this?

Last chance, are you ready for this?”

The lights go out and
a dramatic silence descends over the darkness.

“
Yeah, that’s what I thought
!” she cries into the void. “
But you’ll take it anyway.
…Here we go!”

∞∞∞

I’m not sure I move the entire time I watch
Holland’s set. The way she commands the stage, her confidence, her authenticity,
her incredible music, Callie was right, it’s magnetic. I’m disappointed when I
have to leave to take care of some last minute preparations before my own show.
Well, part of me is disappointed. Another part is grateful. That would be the
part that recognizes the emergence of these sudden crackling emotions but has
no interest in solving, let alone engaging, them.

There’s no denying
I’ve been touched by what I just saw, I just don’t have a handle on what that
means or what to do with it. Holland Drake is a special talent. It’s etched
into her very presence that makes you stop and take notice. She deserves every
bit of her success and recent accolades, and I almost find it funny that she’d
been so amazed and honored by my attention to her work when I’m standing here
brimming with questions for insight into her own.

Still, I don’t know
that I’m ready for a new friend or, more specifically, the effort it would take
to cultivate another relationship when I’m really only good at screwing them
up. The fact that watching Holland has stirred something deep, something that
scares the crap out of me, is all I need to decide it’s better to leave that
whole thing well enough alone.

It’s already been a
heavy day for me, and a brutal opening to our tour in general. I hope I’m
strong enough to survive the next three months, but it’s hard to be optimistic
when two days has felt like two weeks. At this rate, there is no chance in hell
I make it to November. I’ll be lucky to make it to New Orleans.

New Orleans, Louisiana

September
14

According
to Kenneth’s bulleted, outlined, and color-coded schedule for the day, a
continental breakfast will be available in catering until 11:00am. It had been
a long night of performance, teardown, loading, and driving, so I’m not
surprised when I’m one of the few who dares to venture from the bus before
lunch. I’m not even hungry, just in desperate need of a change of scenery for a
bit. I slip off the bus as quietly as possible and make my way toward the
designated food hangout of our latest venue, an arena in New Orleans.

I never did tell Casey and Callie about my trip to visit
Elena’s grave. It was an important, but difficult, milestone on my journey, and
I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Besides, if I know them at all, they’ll
feel guilty, or something ridiculous
like
that, for
letting me go alone, even though that’s exactly what I needed. At some point
they’re going to have to let me spread my wings and attempt this “life” thing
on my own.

I hear voices as I approach the open door and hesitate when I
recognize Holland’s.

“I’m so sorry to hear all of that, Steven. You take all the
time you need, ok?” Her tone is gentle, and I can sense the compassion even
from this distance.

“Thank you so much. I hate to leave you right at the
beginning, though!” the other voice replies.
Young, male.

“I know. But your family comes first. We’ll be fine. Don’t
worry about us. I’m sure the NSB crew can help us until we get someone else in
here.”

“Ok. Well, tell them to call me as soon as they can. They
need to make sure they do everything right.”

Holland chuckles. “Of course. We’ll make sure everything is
perfect. Oh, wait, here’s my cell number just in case. Let me know if there’s
anything you need. I told Darlene to cover your ticket home, so stop in and
connect with her next.”

“What? No, Holland! That’s not…”

“Stop! It’s not a big deal. Just take care of your family,
ok?”

“Thank you. I…” I can hear the emotion in his voice.

“It’s nothing. Thanks for all you do. Take as much time as
you need and we’ll see you when you get back.”

“Thank you. Thank you!”

I wait until “Steven” exits the room and shuffles past
before making my own entrance. When I do, I also see Jesse, Parker, and Reece
from Limelight, along with a few crewmembers, seated around various tables. We
exchange some polite greetings and I continue toward Holland who’s scanning the
table of assorted bagels, pastries, and fruit.

“Morning,” I say, grabbing a plate.

“Morning,” she replies. Her smile is genuine today, and I
relax a little.

“Losing Steven?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Yeah, so sad. His grandmother
just passed. I sent him home to be with his family. Poor kid.”

“Wow, that’s awful. I’m sorry to hear that.” I pause. “Just
tell me what you need. I’ll talk to Tess and make sure you’re covered.”

She seems surprised when she glances over, and I’m
uncomfortable at the evidence of her low expectations of me.

“Oh, wow. Ok, thanks. Yeah, we’ll need a backline tech. At
least for tonight.”

I nod. “Done. Gary’s great. He’ll help you out.”

She still seems like she’s confused by my generosity, and I look
away.

“Great show last night,” I continue before it gets more
awkward.

“Thank you for checking it out! I’m so honored. It was like
having Beethoven sit in on your piano recital,” she laughs, following me to the
drink table.

I smirk. “Um…yeah right. More like Beethoven grabbing coffee
with Hayden. Anyway, I didn’t really have a choice. Callie said I’d regret it
if I didn’t.”

Holland laughs. “Callie is awesome. I
freakin
’
love her.”

I grin. We finally agree on something. “She’s the best.” I
fill my coffee cup and move so she has access. “I wanted to tell you, I love
how you transition from ‘Perfect Storm’ to ‘Answers.’ It’s genius.”

“Really? You think so? Thank you,” she replies, almost shy. I’m
not sure how to respond, so I just watch her as she makes her own drink
selection. Callie’s ruined me forever when it comes to observing people and
their food choices. The term “fruit cup” still makes me smile.

Holland goes for coffee, two creamers.

“We played around with a few different ideas,” she
continues, and I love her sudden animation when she talks music. The same thing
happens to Casey. It used to happen to me also. Maybe it will again one day. “There’s
a key change, so Wes wanted to just modulate up like normal, but then I
thought, why not tie in the ‘Acrobat’ hook instead. Then we can finish with the
full version of ‘Acrobat’ at the end of the set.”

“I love it. It works really well. I couldn’t catch all of
the end, but I totally see that coming together.”

She gives me another smile and moves away from the table.
I’m about to find my own when she calls me back with, “you
wanna
sit?”

Shocked, I pause for a moment before following her. I take
the seat across from her at a table away from the others.

“I’m sorry again about yesterday. On the bus,” she begins,
almost embarrassed. “That was so awkward and totally my fault. You were being
nice, so thank you for that. How was your movie? Were you able to get any
rest?”

I force a weak smile. “I ended up not watching one. Went for
a walk instead.” It’s not entirely a lie.

She takes a sip of her coffee. “Oh, ok. Well, that must have
been nice. Get some fresh air and stretch a bit.”

I swallow, unable to look at her. “Yeah. Um…so how’s your
writing going?” I ask as quickly as possible. I used all my tears yesterday. I have
no interest in going there again.

She sighs. “Fine, if you count the fact that I have a chorus
I love and two verses I despise.”

I laugh. “You know it took me a month and a half to come up
with a decent verse for ‘Forget Me.’”

Her eyes widen. “Over a month? Are you serious? I love
‘Forget Me!’”

I grin. “Well, you wouldn’t have before, believe me. I could
not get the word ‘forever’ out of my head. I
kept wanting
to rhyme it with ‘never’ but it just wasn’t working and completely blocked any
other possibility. Casey was pissed because the music was so good, but I could not
get the lyrics to work.”

It’s her turn to laugh and shake her head. “Oh man, I
totally hear you. I once got stuck on ‘cross-stitch.’”

I can’t hold in my snort and actually have to set my drink
down. “Wait, what? Cross-stitch? How was that even in the running in the first
place?”

She grins and covers her face. “I know! I have no idea. I
was trying to explore this idea of two souls weaving themselves into a fabric,
and after ending the previous line with ‘chase it,’ my brain insisted on using
the word ‘cross-stitch’ for whatever reason!”

I laugh again and return to my coffee. “I mean, it kind of
works then, I guess,” I offer with another smile. “Guess we’re both shitty songwriters.”

She returns my grin, her blue eyes making a direct
connection with mine. I suck in my breath at the sudden, volatile reaction of
my body. Racing pulse, blood rushing to places it hasn’t in a long time. Shit.
What is happening?

I wonder if she feels it too when she quickly looks away.
There’s a tangible distance again, and I swallow.

“Is it true you have a ’43 J45?” she blurts before things
get too uncomfortable. I’m stunned by the random question, but grateful at the
same time. We still have food on our plates, and she hasn’t given up. I would
have.

“How’d you know about that?” I ask in amusement.

She shrugs. “Not sure, actually. Just remember reading it
somewhere.”

I shake my head with a grin. “Yeah. I’ve had it for a couple
years. She’s my angel.”

Holland sighs. “I would seriously climb over dead bodies
just to touch it.”

I laugh. “Uh, how about I just let you play it later.”

Her eyes ignite as her jaw nearly hits the table. “Wait, are
you serious? You have it here?”

I grin, loving the light in her expression and the fact that
my words put it there. “Yeah. It’s on my bus.”

“I…seriously?”

I shake my head, still laughing. “Seriously. We’ll meet up
later. Wait until you hear this thing. It’ll blow your mind.”

She’s already drooling which only cements my offer. “I still
don’t believe you. Nope, you’re lying. You’re just trying to torture me.”

I snicker. “Even I’m not that cruel. I’m serious. Whenever
you want.”

“Yes! Let’s go!” she cries, throwing down her fork, and I laugh
again.

“Well, you can finish your food first. We’re not on for a
while,” I remind her. She sighs and picks it back up.

“Ok, fine. I’m not kidding, though, Luke. If you’re messing
with me, I will gut you.”

I grin and hold up my hands. “Whoa, take it easy. I swear.
She’s all yours for as long as you want her.”

Her hard gaze continues to bore into me until she finally
seems satisfied with my promise. I’m still grinning as she settles back into
her seat.

“Have you played The Mercer Center before?” I ask, resuming
the conversation.

She shakes her head and pokes her fork at a slice of
pineapple. “No, I haven’t. What about you?”

I nod. “A couple times. I love arena concerts. The energy is
phenomenal.”

“Yeah? Sweet. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You may want to keep both ears in the whole time, though.
The echo there can be…”

“Can I sit?”

Holland turns around at the new voice, and I glance up at the
intruder. I’d seen him coming but was hoping to delay the interruption as long
as possible. I’ve only spoken to him once so far and it wasn’t exactly a
brotherly moment.

“Oh, hey, Wes! Yeah, have a seat. Just chatting about The
Mercer Center. Luke says it’s a killer venue.”

“Hey, man. Morning,” Wes says, and I return his forced greeting.

“We played it on our last tour. It was pretty sick,” I
explain.

Wes glances at me. “Really? You weren’t on the last tour
though, right?”

I freeze.

“Wes…” Holland hisses, and I swallow hard.

“No, I guess I meant the one before that then,” I manage, my
heart pounding.

Wes shrugs, and I swear there’s something dark in his
expression. “Oh ok. Hey, you know what? Touring gets old. I totally got it when
you left.”

I stifle my glare and start to gather my trash. “Sure.
Thanks,” I mutter. “I should get going.”

“Hey, man, sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you. I just… you know…
We all need a break every so often. No big deal.”

This time, I don’t even bother with polite pretense. He’s
certainly not as he meets my gaze with a clear challenge.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” I spit, rising from the table.

“Luke!” Holland calls after me as I move toward the waste
bin. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t need to see her face. I don’t need to
know she agrees her lead guitar player is acting like an ass, but has to stay
loyal to him anyway. I definitely don’t need to see his smug expression. I saw
the obvious smirk before I was able to escape. They all love how far I fell.
Watching me shatter for public consumption. I know it, I’m not an idiot, but it
doesn’t mean I have to let them see how weak I still am.

I’m in the hall when footsteps clap toward me. I don’t want
to turn around but have no choice when a hand grabs my arm and tugs me to a
stop.

“Luke, I’m sorry.” It’s Holland looking up at me with a
sincerity that touches something deep, something forgotten. “I don’t know why
Wes said that stuff. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No? I’m pretty sure he meant a lot by it.” Her face falls,
and I sigh. “Look, Holland, I get it. I’m not saying I don’t deserve that shit,
but I also don’t need to sit around listening to it. Besides, I have to go see
Gary about a problem with my pedal board anyway. We can do the ’43 another
time.”

“Luke, wait! Just…”

I pause and give her the floor, but suddenly she doesn’t
seem to know what to do with it anymore. There’s that look again. Like she’s
fighting herself more than anything. After a few more awkward seconds, I force
a polite smile. I know she means well and deserves that at least.

“Seriously, thanks for the chat. I needed to laugh for a
bit. Good luck tonight,” I answer.

She still looks like she wants to say something but doesn’t.
Or can’t. Or won’t. I don’t know, but it’s not my problem.

“Thanks, you too,” she returns finally, and we exchange another
awkward smile before going back to being unnatural strangers.