Chapter 2: Rock Stars Have Regrets

Trace

Playing the Fox for the first time is something an artist never forgets. It's a small venue compared to the stadiums we've been filling on this tour, but Atlanta is home to me, and to Leed and Mac. Bodie and Adam are from Athens, just down the road, so we all jumped at the chance to play this famous venue.

Normally, we'd hang and do press at the hotel, roll into the venue for sound check much later in the day, but this is the kind of place you want to soak up, so what little press we scheduled has been done here in the cramped backstage area. In between interviews, Adam and I have been roaming the maze of hallways, checking out the murals that represent all the Broadway shows that have performed here. The rest of the guys have been hanging with the stage manager, whose sharing stories about the history.

I'm too amped to sit for long stories right now, though. I can't stop thinking about Kat.

Is she coming tonight? God, I wish I knew.

I had my assistant Riley write that card so it looked like a casual courtesy pack of tickets for an old friend. I wrote six notes myself, and tore them all up. What can I possibly say to her, after all this time, and everything that happened? There are things I want to say, and there are definitely things I need to say, but none of them are things she should have to hear. She just graduated from high school. She has her whole life in front of her. She should put the past behind her, though I never will be able to.

Yeah, I'm a selfish ass for inviting her tonight. I've been telling myself for two and half years to keep my distance, to let her live a normal teenage life. There was no way we could date--because of the age thing, and because we were going to be living in two very different worlds. High school and Hollywood are galaxies apart.

No, we couldn't date. There was not much hope of going back to being just friends, either. Not after that New Year's Kiss.

Before the kiss, Kat and I had been coming on slow. But when I pulled her to me and she met me, with more than just her lips...fuck, I have never felt a kiss like that. Even with my eyes closed, I could see so clearly what I hadn't seen before. Kat was my best friend, and she was rapidly becoming the woman of my dreams.

And then, that very same night, I trashed her life, like I was already a rock star, and I just walked away. I know hurt her, but Kat is one of the most self-resilient people I know. As a kid, she never said "I can't." She always tried everything, and kept trying until she succeeded. She's probably succeeded in forgetting all about me.

I haven't forgotten her.

I can't.

"Look at this," Adam calls, I stroll over to see the mural of Movin' Out. "That's the Billy Joel musical. Think they'll make a Broadway show of our music one day?"

"I think that was off-Broadway," I observe.

"Nobody likes a know-it-all, fucker," Adam says good-naturedly.

Our touring manager, Dawes Eddison, rushes past, then jogs back, gripping us both by the shoulders. "They need you onstage. Space is tight, tech needs a little extra sound-check for the feedback amps."

Adam and I file up the dingy stair-case and find Mac already at her keyboards, her hair covered in aluminum foil for some last minute array of multi-color highlights that her stylist has coordinated with tonight's costume.

Adam gives her shit, calling her Tin Head and Foil Flake and other juvenile names. She ignores him, except for flipping him off with one hand as she warms up the other on her keys. Bodie sits down at his drum kit and starts a pattern.  Leed sips another cup of tea. Touring is hell on the vocalist.

We spend half an hour making adjustments with the technicians, with Leed doing as little singing as possible to get the sound right.  Adam plays bass, and I play guitar, and we both do the back-up vocals, but this is early in the tour. My hands and my voice are fine so far.

With the sound check over, I call Riley. He's somewhere in the building, but this place is like a maze.

"Yeah, boss?" he answers.

"You've got my old phone?"

"Charged and at the ready," Riley is chipper and British.

It's weird that I'm his boss and he's five years older than me, but he's awesome at his job, and he's one of those people that will be forever young. Asking about my old phone has been a daily ritual since Riley started working for me eighteen months ago. He insisted I needed to give it up for a secure inner circle phone. I can't give it up, because I haven't given Kat the new numbers. I have never once asked for the old phone back; I've only asked that he scan the calls and texts daily and let me know if she reaches out.

"The limo?" I ask.

"Should be there in twenty," he says.

"Great. Will you let me know when they get here?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, man."

I stand there in silence with Adam.

"She's not coming," I murmur to myself, but Adam hears me. Adam has always been my closest friend in the band. He met Kat, back when we were students at UGA, and he came home with me a few times. Over the years, I've told him about Kat, about our history, in the form of drunken, post-show rambles. Adam and I don't always party like rock stars. Sometimes we sit and drink morosely and think about the girls we can't have, but we can't shake.

He doesn't assure me that she's coming. We both know it's not likely.

"Come on," Adam claps me on the back. "You need a drink."

Adam snags a bottle from the hospitality station and leads me down to a room marked "Hospital" on the door. Inside, the floor and walls are covered in vintage white tiles. An iron bed and metal cabinets crowd the room.

"What the hell is this?" I ask.

"Some historic shit left from Twenties," Adam shrugged. "But it's a good place to have quiet drink."

We drink in silence. Adam rubs his blond stubble.

"You really wanna go down this road with Kat, man? Especially now? With Ashlynn...being Ashlynn?"

"Ashlynn is the reason I need to see Kat."

"Bullshit," Adam says at once. "Ashlynn is the reason you went dark with Kat. She's always been too young, and that didn't stop you from drunk dialing every Saturday night in our dorm room at UGA. "

I finish off my bourbon in one heavy swallow and hold my plastic cup for more. Adam hesitates. One agreement that we all have—we don't get trashed before shows. We play tight, always. But he sees the look on my face and reluctantly pours another slug.

"Trace—"

"I don't want to talk about it, Adam. I know what I'm doing."

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Adam is right in a way, but he's also wrong. Ashlynn is undeniably...a factor. But the age difference was also a factor. I couldn't expose a barely sixteen year old girl to this lifestyle, especially when I didn't have any clue how to handle myself, let alone look out for somebody else. It was too much for me and the guys to handle at first.  We've all made a shit-ton of stupid decisions, especially the first year.

Bodie got under a serious substance problem, Mac and Adam's flirtation turned into touring fuck-buddies despite our no-frat rule with Mac. That caused major problems because Mac and Leed are siblings. After everything came out about Mac and Adam, Leed became a major douche, trashing hotel rooms, punching paparazzi, fulfilling pretty much every rockstar cliche.  But we're finally starting to get a handle on this lifestyle. Bodie's cut way back, Mac and Adam are friends without benefits now, and Leed—well, Leed is still a douche but at least we've got a publicist that handles his bullshit so I don't have to. All the issues are working themselves out.

Well, except for Ashlynn. Maybe I don't know how to handle the Ashlynn problem, but I do have a handle on my career, my lifestyle, and my fame. Most importantly, Katheryn is an adult now. I can show her how I live, and she can decide if she wants to come along for the ride.

Fuck. What if I'm too late? What if she's headed in a completely different direction?

I raise my cup for more liquid courage when my cell rings. The inner circle one, not the old one. It's Riley.

"Bit of a problem, but I'm working on it," he says brightly. "Where are you?"

"Downstairs in this weird hospital room. What's the problem?"

"I've got the limo driver on the line. Miss Ballard is refusing the ride."

The bourbon churns in my stomach. "She's not coming?"

"Not sure about that part; she just doesn't want the limo."

"What do you mean not sure?" I ask.

"Driver says she and her friends are dressed to go somewhere..."

"Well, find out if she is coming!" I snap, and immediately regret it. Riley puts up with enough bullshit from industry types; I don't need to add my attitude on top.

"Hang on," he chirps, and he clicks off. Adam chuckles. I shoot him a dirty look, but I take a long, fortifying gulp. Then another. Riley is back. "She's coming. Or she was. Boyfriend doesn't seem happy about the limo."

Boyfriend. Of course. How could there not be a boyfriend? But there's no fucking way the boyfriend is driving. They'll be in the VIP area before and after the show. What if he gets trashed and tries to drive her home?  This is exactly why I ordered the limo.

"Tell the limo driver to convince her and her friends to get in the damn car," I say patiently. "Tell him to point out the two bottles of Cristal on ice. Tell him to block the goddamn driveway. I don't care how, just make it happen."

"I told you, I'm working on it," Riley says cheerfully.

I summon patience. "What does that mean, Riley?"

"It means, it's a long fucking way from side stage to the hospital room."

"What?" What the hell is Riley talking about?

The door opens, and Riley strides forward in his maroon hipster pants, his eyes mischievous behind his glasses. He tosses my old cell phone on the bed beside me. "Convince her yourself, mate."

Adam crows. Riley gives him a withering look. "Come on then, Heartley. Gallant needs a bit of privacy, yeah?"

Adam slaps me on the back and then I am alone with my old cell phone, staring at Kat's picture, terrified that she won't take my call.

This is ridiculous. I've traveled the world, my net worth is currently somewhere over twenty-five million, and I've been with dozens and dozens of beautiful women in the past two years. And I'm terrified to call a girl whose splinters I've pulled, a girl I taught to play video games, a girl I shared the best and worst night of my life with. Fuck, I'm pathetic.

I open my throat to the bourbon and then I press send.

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