CHAPTER NINE
TRAVIS

“What’s up with you and the reporter?” Adair asks, as he checks himself in the mirror beside me.

“Nothing.” That’s silly. “Why would you think there was something going on? Did she say something?” Oh…

He just scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re hopeless.”

Easy for him to say. He’s married and has a kid on the way. I should check on Carly after the show. Even if she doesn’t know I’m the one who figured it out for Adair, at least I can let her know I’m here if she needs someone to complain about him with. I’ve got years’ worth of material for that conversation.

“Are you guys almost done?” Nash asks from the doorway of our dressing area. “It sounds like the crowd is primed and ready to go.”

I nod as I check myself in the mirror—one more time.

“You never give two shits about what you look like on stage. Why are you so worried about it tonight?” Adair asks.

“How can you say that? I always care,” I say with an extra dose of confidence in my voice.

Nash snorts from where he’s still holding up the doorway. “No. You don’t.”

“What?” I hold my arms out wide in a come-at-me-bro kind of way. “I go on stage with a stained shirt one time—”

Carly walks up behind Adair and wraps her arms around his waist. “It was more like ten times.”

“In the last ten shows,” Adair adds.

“Whatever.”

“And it wasn’t just any stain, it was like mustard and ketchup from a cheeseburger you had three days before,” Nash says, barely able to contain his laughter.

This is why touring with family is a terrible idea.

Griffin appears from his side of our dressing area and pats me on the back. “I don’t think anyone is judging you here. If you like her and you’re moving on from the portrait girl…”

Nash interrupts by clearing his throat L-O-U-D-L-Y. “It might be time to let that one go. It was a gimmick.”

“Then how do you explain him drawing London for Griffin?” I ask, with more than a little frustration clear in my tone.

He shrugs. “News. Their faces were everywhere.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m sure Master Wang, who spends his days drawing people’s soul mates after meeting with them, has time to stay up to date on all the entertainment news and gossip rags.”

Adair chews on his lip ring for a few seconds. “I used to think that guy was full of shit, but he drew Carly for me and that was an uphill battle I don’t think anyone who knew us could have seen coming.”

Carly nods, resting her head on Adair’s shoulder. “There were several times where I didn’t think we would make it.”

Nash looks over his shoulder to the area just behind the stage where Ainsley was sitting just before I came in here. “He did draw Ainsley as my soul mate. He definitely got that one right.”

“So, you’re a believer now? The last thirty seconds changed your mind?”

“I was skeptical. I admit it, but maybe there’s something to it. Who knows? But don’t let yourself miss out on living your life because you’re trying to find this girl when you don’t even know what she looks like.”

Of course, he drew my soul mate with her back to me and all I know is that she’s wearing her hair in a twisty updo. “I’m not missing out on anything. I’m going to find the portrait girl and that’s all there is to it.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t like the reporter?” Adair asks, with that smug look on his face that makes me want to punch him every damn time. My fist balls up at my side as I grind my teeth together.

“I’m saying that it doesn’t matter because it’s not like that. She’s here to do her job.” I shove my way past them and make my way to the side stage, where I can wait for my cue to take my position in peace.

“Come on, Amaryllis,” Nash’s voice calls from behind me. “Circle up.”

I don’t have the patience to deal with any of them right now and I don’t want to screw up the positive energy in the circle tonight. I just need to be alone for a minute.

Mira steps out of the circle and walks over so she’s standing beside me. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks.

“Uh-huh,” I grunt.

“I think I found another lead.” She hands me a picture of a woman dressed very different from the woman in the portrait, but it’s her. “Where did you find this?”

“It was floating around on the internet. She’s an investigative reporter.”

Groan. “No way.”

She nods and flicks the screen on her phone. “There are no pictures of her face, anywhere. It’s like it’s intentional, so she can stay anonymous because she only covers stories that are larger than life.”

“Anonymous? But you said she’s a reporter. Isn’t there a byline or something?”

“Yeah,” she drawls. “It’s a pseudonym. There are no records for the real her anywhere.”

“Other than the back of her head?”

“Exactly.”

I look at the picture again. It’s her. “What’s the name she writes under?”

“Mischa Garcia.”

Mischa Garcia, I repeat the name to myself a few times, locking it into my memory as I put the picture in my back pocket. “Can you send me the link to the original?”

“Sure,” she says as my phone dings from my pocket. “Sent.”

The lights go out overhead. “That’s my cue.” I take the steps two at a time while trying to redirect the racing thoughts in my mind back onto the show. Veronica is in front of the stage standing with the guards, so she can get quality shots to include in her piece. Her smile greets me, cutting through the darkness enveloping the stage. Why do I feel guilty for keeping portrait girl’s picture in my pocket? A loud click echoes as the light over my head comes on. Why do I care what Veronica would think if she knew?

This sucks.

Adair follows my lead and takes his spot just to my left. He works the crowd as he lets the last note of his bassline echo through the PA system. A fan waves their sign frantically from the front of the pit. He leans down to give them a high-five and gets left with his hand hanging in the air as the fan screams and uses the sign to fan herself as the light flicks on over Nash. He’s taking his spot at the other end of the stage. “Ha! Loser,” I yell at Adair from behind my set. They haven’t turned our microphones on yet, so no one could hear that but us and a few members of the crew.

He turns around and glares at me. “I’m going to punch you in the nuts,” he mouths while waving his fist in the air with his back to the crowd.

Whatever. I make it a point to launch into the first song with extra power, to kick Adair’s ass in front of this enormous audience. I enjoy watching the muscles in his neck strain as he tries to keep up and not let himself get knocked out of the pocket. Nash and Griffin have no problem turning it up and holding their own. My eyes focus on the screen at the back of the auditorium. Our crew set that one up to help security monitor everything going on that might otherwise get lost in the sea of bodies, but I use it for a different reason. I watch how the fans are reacting to the show in real time, it helps me adapt so we keep the energy in the room as high as possible. The camera scans the crowd and pauses with Veronica caught in the lower left corner of the screen. She’s working to find the right angles for her shots. There’s something about the passion she has for her career that makes me feel like I want to know more about her.

She’s the reporter. She’s supposed to be asking the questions, but I’m full of questions of my own. Like why she’s still working at a local paper when she’s clearly got a work ethic that could take her so much farther in her career. I get the feeling there are a lot of secrets buried beneath those dark eyes and I want to know every single one of them.

Was Nash, right?

Am I giving up on the woman in the portrait?

---

“Great show, tonight,” someone in a backward ball cap yells out to be heard above the rest of the noise in the backstage hall. I give him a high-five. We’re each supposed to find someone in the crowd to either sign something for or just listen to for a few seconds. The fans gave us the chance to be back on that stage after we started our own label and we’re more than happy to give them our time and attention. The press, on the other hand…

“Hi, Jimmy Jenkins with Entertainment4You. We’d love to give you a platform to discuss your new label with the world,” he offers while extending his hand. Something about the guy just rubs me the wrong way. Veronica’s right beside me, hiding her face from view by burying it in my shoulder. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy the feeling of her skin against mine, but I hate knowing the crowd is making her this uncomfortable. I’m sure the guy was talking to Griffin, but since we’re all smooshed in here, I decide to go ahead and answer so we can move on.

“No thanks, bro. We’ve got that bit covered,” I grab Veronica’s hand to help pull her through the maze as Devon’s team works extra hard to keep the fans from breaking through the ropes. Those ropes are the only things separating us from the crowd as we make our way into the VIP meet and greet room. I lead with my shoulder, nudging my brothers along. “Move!” I growl.

“What?” Adair grunts and tries to reach around Nash to get to me. Nash shoves him back and keeps this dysfunctional after-party marching forward.

“Here’s the deal.” Nash waves his hands over his head to get their attention as we pause at the VIP door. “Devon will invite those of you with VIP passes to come in after we get settled in. We just need a few minutes to recover after busting our asses on stage. The rest of you,” he waves his finger around in the air, “you’re not getting in here. We have revoked all of the press passes, except for one.” He nods toward Veronica, who is refusing to step forward and keeping her face away from the crowd.

“This was part of the deal,” I whisper as I’m trying to nudge her out from behind me.

She shakes her head and ducks back behind me swiping at her phone’s screen.

I shrug and look at Nash. “She must not like the spotlight.”

He groans and rolls his eyes. “We’ve given the only press pass available for this tour out already. She’ll let you all know who she is when she’s ready, I guess.” He shrugs and ducks his head under the doorframe as he leads us into the VIP room. Devon throws up a peace sign as he lets the door slam in the faces of two reporters trying to force their way in.

“They’re relentless,” he complains as he drags his hands down his face. “I need a drink.” He flings the door to the mini-fridge open and grabs a bottled water, downing it in one gulp. “Guess this will have to do.”

Veronica is chewing on the inside of her cheek and standing in one of the far corners of the room. Maybe this is all a bit much. I just let her get thrown into the fire with no real warning of what to expect. Feeling guilty, I grab two bottles of water from the mini-fridge and make my way over to her. “Are you okay?” I ask, offering her one of the bottles.

She nods. “I’m sorry, I froze on you.”

“It’s okay, this is a lot for anyone to digest.”

Her head shakes back and forth. “It’s not that. I’m fine with the chaos, it kind of comes with the job.”

“You sure are dedicated to a job you seem to hate.”

“I don’t hate the job. It’s just that I know a few of those people out there and I’d rather they not know I’m here.”

“Because getting inside access would have been a bad thing…?”

“Remember when I talked to you the other day and told you my editor threw my assignment to my rival?”

“Uh-huh.”

She nods toward the door. “That’s him.”

“That Jenkins guy?”

Her eyes widen and she swallows her gulp of water very slowly. I guess that means I’m right.

I shrug. “He was creepy as hell when he tried to get Griffin’s attention, but why is your rival seeing you win by having the only press pass a bad thing?”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“You don’t have to.” This is one of those secrets I want to learn more about, but I don’t want her to feel like she needs to defend or explain herself to me.

She lets herself sink down into a chair perched against the wall. “He is a wild card, and I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“You’re not responsible for whatever bullshit he pulls.”

Her cheeks poof out as she lets out a huff of air. “He’s known for trying to angle pieces to make sure they will go viral, instead of writing about what’s true. If he’s here, then you can bet there will be an ugly headline tomorrow.”

“And that’s the type of person we don’t want lurking around.”

“Listen,” she starts to speak, but gets cut off by Devon opening the door and letting the first wave of VIP guests inside.

I lean down to make sure only she can hear me. “I’m sorry. I have to do this and then we can talk. We’ll figure something out, okay?” She nods and gives me a delicate, barely-there smile. It tugs at my heart because I know there’s pain lurking just beneath the surface, and I want to make it go away for her. I can’t though, so I take my spot at the end of the table and prepare myself to take the onslaught of questions headed our way.

“Who’s up first?” Griffin asks Mira, she’s the one Carly assigned to keep the fan engagements orderly and on schedule.

She checks her tablet. “Michael, you’re up first,” she says, looking up and scanning the crowd.

A man probably in his mid-thirties stands up, so we can see him. He’s wearing one of our first band tees. This guy must have been following us since the early days. “What venue have you never played, but hope to play in the future?”

“Oh, man…” Griffin leans forward and looks for back up from us. “I think The Cain’s is at the top of that list for me. What about you guys?”

“Definitely,” Nash agrees. “That’s a spot of music history I would love to leave our fingerprints on at some point.”

Michael seems happy with that answer.

“Come on up here, Michael,” I say, motioning for him to come to the table. “Let’s get your pictures. Do you have anything you want us to sign?”

He pulls out a picture he must have taken during one of our very first live gigs ever. “I’ve been a fan for a long time. Can you sign this for me?”

“You got it, dude.” I scribble my name on it and a peace sign then slide it over to Nash, who then sends it to Adair and then Griffin puts his signature on it. He shakes his hand while London signs it.

While we’re waiting for Michael to take his seat again, Mira checks her records to call the next fan. “Sandy, you’re next,” she says.

A blonde-haired woman in the back row jumps up and claps her hands together. She’s giggling so much I can’t tell if she’s trying to ask her question, or just hyperventilating.

“Are you okay?”

She fans herself with her hand and takes a few deep breaths. “Griffin, I can’t believe I’m getting to meet you. You’re my soulmate.”

Adair snorts and leans back in his chair, no doubt trying to see if London is about to lose her shit or not. She raises her hand and waves it in front of her. “Hi… I’m actually his wife, so…”

“I’m sorry,” Sandy says. “It was in my horoscope this morning. It said I would meet my soulmate today, and he’s sitting right here. Oh my god, I can’t believe it.”

Devon’s biting his lips with his eyes, about to pop out of his head. He’s going to give Griffin shit later, and it is going be amazing.

“Um,” Griffin stammers. “I’m happily married to this woman, right here.” He wraps his arm around London and pulls her in close, kissing her on top of her head. It’s cute and sweet and I wish I had someone to share life with like they have each other. “But if you have something you’d like us to sign, or…”

She lifts her shirt and points to her stomach. “Can you sign right above my Amaryllis tattoo?”

Griffin shakes his head. “We don’t sign skin.”

“Germs,” London says sarcastically, and I am about to die trying to hold back my laughter. My vision is going blurry and little white flashes are floating around in front of me.

“Mira, who’s next?” London asks with absolutely zero expression on her face.

Whew… this is too good.

Veronica is watching from her seat and with her hand covering her mouth, it looks like she’s trying not to lose it too.

“Jim,” Mira calls out. “You’re up next.”

The creep from outside stands up in the middle row and flashes a devilish grin as he cuts his eyes to Veronica who looks like a deer caught in headlights. The effect his presence is having on her is enough to make my blood boil. I let out a guttural growl as I jump up from my seat knocking my chair off its legs. It lands with a thud as it crashes into the wall behind me. “This guy is with the press. Get him out of here, Devon.”

The slimeball holds up a VIP pass. “I’m a fan too and I paid to be here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Douchebag. “Tell them you want a refund when you ask for your parking to be validated at the front desk.”

“Isn’t it funny that the band who got Stone Thompson ousted from the music industry and locked up for years is full of hotheads who can’t control their tempers?” he asks, panning the room with his arms outstretched.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Nash growls, standing up and leaning over the table, letting his weight rest on his balled-up fists. I know the feeling, buddy. Stone Thompson attacked Nash’s wife and got her sister locked up. There’s a score to settle there and our boy Jimmy Jenkins might not want to push the issue any farther.

Right on cue, he holds both hands up as Devon yanks him out of the aisle and escorts him toward the door. He stops just before he steps through the doorway and turns back to lock his eyes with Veronica’s again. She’s giving a go-to-hell look that says it all.

That’s it. I hop over the table and cross the entire room in only two steps. “Listen to me mother—” I reach for his collar just as Devon digs in and shoves the dude through the door.

“Now’s not the time to screw up what you all are building.” He slams the door shut and stands in front of it with his arms crossed, blocking me from getting to that slimeball.

He’s right though. I nod and rest my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“Okay, everyone. One bad seed ruined it for everyone,” Devon says, ushering the fans out of their seats and toward the door. “We’re going to need to clear the room.”

Mira holds the door on the opposite side of the room open for them to exit through and gives them the full customer service experience. “You will all be refunded in full for the VIP passes. Look for it to come via the outlet where you purchased your tickets. It’ll take between seven to ten business days. Have a wonderful night. Here’s a signed gift as an apology and thank you from the band,” she says with a smile plastered on her face as she hands each fan a piece of our pre-signed merch.

“So, I think maybe we should talk,” I say, flopping down in the chair next to Veronica.

“I don’t want to talk about Jenkins.”

“I can understand that, but we kind of have to,” I say through gritted teeth.

She clasps her hands together and drops them onto her lap. “Here’s the deal, my boss has sent him here to bring back a story that smears Amaryllis into the ground. If you give him an inch to work with, he’ll take it and that’ll be all there is to it. The headline will be viral within twenty-four hours. It’s what he does.”

So, her boss wants to destroy us. Great. “Why are you here then?”

“Because I think they’re both the personification of what’s wrong with this industry and I want to write the story before he does.”

“Why do you still work there?”

Her tongue flicks against her teeth. “I’ve met some amazing people who I love dearly there too.”

“That wouldn’t keep you there. You’re too strong willed for that. You’d keep your friends and keep moving forward.”

“You’re right,” she says, leaning back and letting her head rest against the wall. “I think I want to change things, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do it on my own.”

“And that’s why you care so much about cutting them off at the knees on this story?”

“I—” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “I love what I do, but I hate the image that goes with it. You know what I’m talking about. Look at how you all see the reporters and the media affiliates who want to cover your stories.”

Hmph. “Those are a special set of vultures though.”

“Not really,” she says, shaking her head. “They’re just trying to get a payday, but they’re going about it in the wrong way. I need this payday, for more than just myself, but I want to do it the right way—without hurting anyone in the process. If I can do that and still have my story run, then maybe they’ll start thinking about how they’re chasing their next payday instead of just doing whatever it takes.”

“What story do you think you have?”

She pulls out her phone and taps to open her notes. “A thriving community rises amid the ashes of global pandemic, improving economy.”

I bob my head side-to-side. “The headline needs some work,” I tease. She smacks me on my shoulder.

“Travis Miller, you’re going to be the death of me. First draft. Okay?”

“I like it. I think there’s more that you should know though if you’re going to hit the mark.”

She taps the record button on the side of her phone. “I’m recording this because I’m too tired to take notes.”

“Fine,” I sigh into the speaker to make sure she hears it on playback. “We have completely locked the media out of our other business ventures because we want to keep them private. Protected.”

“But you’re willing to tell me about them? Why?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Because I think the only way to protect them is to be transparent. That way there’s nothing left for them to dig into, and because I kind of like talking to you.” As soon as I let myself admit that to her, I see a glimmer in her eyes that makes my heart beat faster in my chest. She tries to hide the fact that she’s blushing by pulling her hair from behind her ear and letting it fall across her face. Her vulnerability in this moment pulls me in even more. It’s endearing and she’s breathtaking. And just like that, the picture I’m carrying in my back pocket seems to take on a life of its own while yelling at me. I’m supposed to be finding my soulmate, not flirting with a reporter in the VIP room after a concert.

“And what are these other ventures?” she asks with her eyebrows pointing straight down. Somehow, she’s even more attractive when she’s scowling at me. I enjoy knowing I can get under her skin the way she’s gotten under mine, but that just makes me feel guilty all over again.

“Not yet,” I say, deciding I should talk to my brothers before giving up their information. “They’ll want to see an outline of what you plan on presenting to your editor before they’ll let me trust you with all of our dirty little secrets.” I keep a straight face, so she can’t tell if I’m teasing or serious. It looks like my plan is working as her expression transforms from interest to shock then to confusion, all in less than three seconds. “But I will give you, my headline.”

“Before the outline?” she asks, with one eyebrow raised. “Does this have anything to do with the conversation you were having with Mira, earlier?”

Eff my life. I nod.

“Oh…” She sits up and scoots closer to the edge of her seat while rubbing her hands together. “I knew that was important.”

I pull up an image of the portrait on my phone. “My headline isn’t exactly about the business.”

Her face twists in confusion. “Then what is it about?”

“This…” I turn my phone around to show her the picture while tugging the one Mira printed off from the internet search from my back pocket.

“I…” She shakes her head as she stammers. “I… Uh… I don’t understand.”

Who could blame her? This is weird shit that could only happen to me. “Just before Griffin and London got married, we stopped off in Vegas.”

“I remember that.”

“You were there?”

She nods. “I was just trying to get a headline I could run to congratulate them while the rest of the press was there to try and make it look like they were doomed.”

Why didn’t I notice her? “They always wanted them to fail, but…” I nod to where they’re snuggled up at the end of the table, still waiting for the venue to clear out enough they can get back to the bus. “While we were there, I saw this street performer who claimed to be able to draw anyone’s soul mate. For Griffin, he drew London. Adair got Carly. Nash got Ainsley. And I got—”

“Her?” she asks, gesturing toward the picture I’m still holding in my hand as her eyes glance back and forth between it and the sketch displayed on my phone.

I nod. “Yes.”

“So…” she says through a nervous chuckle. “Do you know who she is?”

I shake my head no.

A soft sigh escapes her lips and my heart jumps in my chest. Does she feel the connection between us too? Was she hoping I hadn’t met the portrait girl, yet?

She steeples her hands underneath her chin and rests her elbows on her knees. “Let me get this straight.”

Here we go… crazy rock star vibes incoming.

“This is the headline you want me to run for you?”

I nod.

“Because you don’t know who this woman is, and you want to find her?”

“Yes,” I admit. Why was that so hard to say to her?

She sighs. “And you believe this woman is your soul mate?”

I nod, again.

She lets out a heavy sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Her mouth curves into a smile, but her normally  bright eyes are weighed down and dull. “I’ll run the story for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, reaching out to touch her hand.

She pulls back and sits straight up in her seat with both hands flying up in front of her. “There’s nothing to thank me for. It’s a great story. I really should be getting back to my hotel room, now.” Her half-hearted smile fades as I watch her gather her things.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She nods and makes her way to the exit.As the door closes behind her, I fight my way through a dense fog of mixed emotions. I should be ecstatic. This might be the best chance I have of finding the woman Master Wang drew for me, but I can’t shake the pain I felt from seeing the weight in her eyes when she agreed to run the story.