CHAPTER SEVEN
TRAVIS

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the woman Devon pulled out of the crowd last night. There was something familiar about her. Besides the fact she’s the same woman who dropped her keys in our parking lot when the paparazzi ambushed me, and I had to hold up in the cab of my truck. The way her cheeks blushed when she realized she was still wearing her press badge. Just before she tried to hide it by tucking it in her shirt has been on my mind. Everything about her has been on my mind since she left with the paramedic last night.

I wonder how she’s doing…

“Hey!” Adair shrieks as our bus swerves on the road and knocks him right off the top bunk. The jolt makes my stomach roll in waves.

“Barry, dude! Chill.”

“Sorry, guys!” he yells back at us from over his shoulder.

“I’m going to lose my breakfast all over the floor of this bus.”

Adair gags. “No one wants to see whole wheat avocado toast before or after you’ve already eaten it.”

Devon cackles from his seat as he peeks out of the window. “What’d you have to dodge, Barry?”

“Another damn car with a cameraman hanging out the passenger side window.”

I scoff and throw my head back in exaggerated disgust. “They’re never going to get love from us.”

“You’re an idiot, and now I have that damn song stuck in my head.” Adair growls and shoves his way past to me to flop down on the sofa. It’s small, and he’s oversized, so that leaves nowhere for me to sit, except his lap. I throw myself across him like I’ve fainted. “How could you? I’m devastated,” I sigh, resting my arm over my eyes to seal the dramatic acting award for the day.

He shoves me in the side with both hands and rolls me off him. I land on the floor face first. “Damn it,” I grumble, pushing myself up and back to my feet. “At least scoot over. If you’re going to crash our bus, then you have to at least leave me a seat.”

He shifts his hips a fraction of an inch. “There.”

“I hate you.” Something grabs my attention from outside the window. There’s a small silver sports car pulled over on the shoulder with smoke coming from its rear driver’s side wheel. “Should we call someone for them?”

Barry guffaws from his seat behind the steering wheel. “That’s the car I almost hit.”

“No way,” Adair says, with his nose plastered the to the window. He’s giving them the finger, with Devon waving wildly from behind him. “That’s what they get for, almost causing a wreck back there. This industry has lost enough lives that way.”

“You’d think one would’ve been too many,” I admit as I text a message to Griffin.

Me: Dude, Adair won’t let me send help for the car on the side of the road?

Griffin: You’re an adult.

Me: He already hurt me today.

Griffin: You’re still a grown ass adult.

Me: Please.

Griffin: Damn it.

Me: Thank you. By the way, you get Adair at the next stop.

Griffin: He’s your roommate.

Me: WAS. He WAS my roommate.

Griffin: Getting married hasn’t softened him up any?

Me: He’s worse.

Griffin: How’s that possible?

Me: Ask Carly.

Griffin: Maybe London should ask Carly.

Me: Good call.

“Hey.” I poke Adair in the ribs to get his attention. “Call your wife really quick.”

“Wh—What?” he stammers. “Why?”

He’s always weird, but he’s worse than normal. I don’t have the energy to help him pull his head out of his ass, though. “Because she’s your wife and I think it’s time we stop talking about this shit and do something.”

He groans and pulls out his phone. “Fine. She’s been really weird lately, though.”

“Living with you has that effect on people. Maybe you should look at that a little closer.”

Devon nods as he downs a granola bar in one bite.

“Damn.” His hand meets mine in a high-five. “Nice one.”

Adair sighs as he puts the phone up to his ear and waits. Carly’s voice comes through the speaker, but I can’t tell what she’s saying even though I’m leaning in closer, straining to hear. His hand covers my face as he shoves me backwards. Stop it, he mouths. “We can talk about it tonight when we get to the next stop.” She must’ve agreed because he changes subjects. “So, Travis has something he wants to ask you.” He hands me the phone and sinks back into the sofa.

He’s his own worst enemy. “Hey, Carly. So, you know that new thing we’re trying out with the media?”

“Yes,” she deadpans.

“Well, it’s not working. One of them just about ran us off the road.”

“I saw that. Barry saved your asses.”

Truth. “I’m thinking maybe we need to be a little more direct with the approach.”

There’s silence on the other side of the line for at least a full minute. “You’re right. I should’ve thought of that sooner. I’m sorry, I’m just a little off my game lately.”

“Don’t worry about it, Carly. You’ve got…” My eyes drift to focus on Adair sprawled out on the sofa with a small pillow over his face covering his eyes. “You’ve got a lot to deal with right now.”

“You have no idea…” A quick sigh comes from her side of the conversation before her tone changes back to business mode. “I’ll have Mira put together a statement. we can release as soon as possible.”

“That sounds good. I’m going to talk to Griffin when we get to the next stop, but I think we need to make it clear at the next press meeting and just let them all know the new rules for the field.”

“Yep,” she says. “If he’s up for it, then that can be done tonight.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll talk to you when we get there.” I tap the button to end the call and turn around to find Devon posting a picture of the sidelined car to social media.

Here’s the bottom line, when you put career over your fellow humans, you’re going to have a bad time… #DoNotBeLikeThisGuy @AmaryllisBandOnline wants to talk to you, but they’re not going to if you’re doing this shit. #towtruck needed. He even added a location tag, so local services could find the car and help them get back on the road.

“Damn. That’s brilliant.”

He shrugs and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “You’ve got to be real, or people can see through it. Just say what’s up and be done with it.”

Hmm…

Me: @Griffin, did we get the contact info for the journalist our fans trampled last night?

Griffin: Why?

Nash: Let me guess, you think she’s the girl in the portrait?

Me: What? No.

Nash: Right…

Griffin: Why then?

Me: She said she’s with a local paper, so she’s obviously not one of the soul suckers.

Nash: How’d you reach that conclusion?

Me: She stayed local and probably has community values.

Griffin: And your point?

Me: Carly and Mira are preparing our media package to outline the new rules,

but if we leak our headline worthy shit to someone who already plays by those rules, without having to be told to, then it’ll reinforce the message they’re putting together.

Griffin: So, you want me to find out how to contact her?

Me: Yes.

Griffin: And you’re going to be the one to contact her?

Me: Yes.

Nash: I’ve got ten bucks on he thinks she’s the girl in the portrait.

Griffin: Put ten down for me, too.

Nash: @Travis, you’re going to owe us money.

Me: No.

Nash: I don’t make the bet rules. I just play by them, just like you will. Twenty bucks, dude.

Me: I haven’t lost the bet, yet.

Nash: I’ll wait.

Griffin: It won’t take long.

Nash: *Wristwatch emoji*

Me: @Griffin, just get me the phone number. Please and thank you. Also, I hate you both.

Griffin: *Broken heart emoji*

Nash: *Sobbing emoji* Wait… what story are we giving her?

Me: Yours. *middle finger emoji*Nash: Damn it.

---

“Order up!” someone calls from behind an open window between the kitchen and the counter of this diner. Red vinyl upholstered barstools line the full length of the counter and retro music flows through the speakers overhead. That’s why we chose this place to stop at. All our stomachs were rumbling, and we were sick of what Carter calls car-food. Since this place has a fifties theme, it seemed likely the people here might not be up-to-speed on current music, and we could sneak in and out without too much interference.

So far, so good.

It’s busy but our orders are already in the kitchen, and we’ve all had at least one refill on our drinks, without so much as a Hey, don’t I know you?

Adair is sitting next to me, with Carly on the opposite side of him. They’ve been huddled up and whispering back and forth since we got here, stopping only long enough to order, then they went right back to it. I’m no psychic, but I’m guessing he needs to stop being so… Adair-ish, if he’s going to stay married more than a year.

“So, I have this melody that’s been kicking me all day.” Griffin leans back in his seat letting it rock back on two legs. “When we get to Santa Fe, I want to nail it down.”

I nod. “I’ve been itching to get behind my set today. There’s a lot of energy building for some reason.” I tap out a rhythm against the tabletop to amplify my point.

Carter claps his hands. “Daddy’s been working on that melody all day. It sounds great.” He chews on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds then opens his mouth to add, “It would sound better with Travis’s drums and Mama’s piano though.”

Griffin snorts while taking a drink of his soda. “Oh, that burns.”

“Yes!” I lean across the table to give Carter a high-five. “He needs us,” I laugh while nodding toward Griffin, who is still pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting.

London pats Carter on the leg from her seat on the opposite side of him as Griffin. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Sorry about the wait, you all.” A young woman appears at the end of the table carrying six plates of food stacked up and down her arm while on roller skates. She places each plate in front of the right person and rolls on to the next.

I watch in sheer amazement. “How do you do that without falling? I would at the very least drop every single plate.”

She smiles and looks pleased that someone noticed the skill her particular talent must take. “I think I was born on skates. It’s just second nature to me at this point. Learning to balance the plates… that took some time. Poor Mister Marsh lost a few hundred dollars’ worth of dishes while I was training.” She places Carly’s order in front of her before turning back to acknowledge the rest of us still sitting here with our stomachs rumbling. “I’ll be right back with the rest of your orders.”

Carly groans and grabs her stomach. “I’ll be—” She covers her mouth and bolts toward where the Restroom sign is hanging overhead.

Ainsley slides her chair back from the table and kisses Nash on the cheek. “I’m going to check on her.”

He nods and gives her a knowing look.

Oh.

Shit!

“Adair.” I jab him in the ribs with my elbow. “You really are a dumbass.”

“What the hell did I do this time?” he growls. “I’m a jerk because she needs to use the restroom?”

“No,” I groan and lean in, so my nose is almost touching his. “You’re an idiot because your wife is pregnant and has been trying to tell you for days but instead of listening to her, you told her you don’t want kids and crashed on my bus.”

Devon clears his throat, holding up one finger. “Actually, you both crashed my bus.”

“Why would you call me out like that right now?”

“My bad,” Devon snorts, and goes back to his food. “Seriously, though…”

“She’s not—” Adair’s eyes dance around the table as he probably rolls through all his recent conversations with her. “She’s just moody. And has had some weird food requests lately.”

“Like?”

“Chocolate milk every morning instead of coffee.”

“That’s not like her.”

“Not at all,” he admits. His fist hits the table, making all the silverware rattle while our drinks swirl around inside our clear plastic cups from the sudden burst of Adair’s self-hate fueled tantrum. “Damn it. That explains why she’s been so pissed at me.” He pushes himself back from the table and heads toward the restroom.

“I mean,” I snort. “That could just be because you’re a pain in the ass.”

Griffin nods and lets out a deep belly laugh. “Dumbass.”