Amplifier dark tide 2, p.12
Amplifier (Dark Tide #2), page 12
I push my chair out and stand. “Nope.” Other than walking aimlessly while I chain-smoke half a pack, there isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.
She leads the way out of the diner, all bubbly color against my black. I love the pink jacket on her. She looks like some cute anime character with the pale blue shade of her hair. I fall into step beside her, super aware that her head barely makes my shoulder. I like the difference though; the feeling I tower over her as though to guard her.
“You said you went to therapy.” Henley glances across as we walk. “Why did you stop?”
I’m not sure. “I guess I felt I didn’t need to go anymore.”
“Has that changed?”
I shrug. “Maybe.” In retrospect, I suppose I thought I’d found a happy medium. Deep down, awareness rests within me that I could do better, but after so long in this… limbo, I suppose, I grew complacent. Comfortable.
Getting to know Henley shows me otherwise. This daily grind with the guys? The never-ending stress and drama? Functioning in this way isn’t healthy. Not at this level, anyway.
I need to find balance. But fucked if I know how if I don’t even know what that is. She does, though.
“Why do you meditate?” I bury my hands in my pockets; backpack slung over my shoulder.
Henley sighs. “That time you saw me doing it? It was the first time in a while I’ve done it. I sort of let the habit go.”
“Why start up now then?”
“I felt I needed to.” She gives a half-hearted smile. “After the blowup with Rey, I wanted to calm my nerves.”
“Does it work?”
She lifts an eyebrow and looks up at me. “Do I look wound up now?”
I guess not. She’s unhurried in her steps, yet not dragging her feet. Just content, I guess, walking along with me. I don’t feel as though there’s something on her mind, some unspoken grievance with her like I feel when I’m with the guys.
She’s just… happy.
“Can you teach me how to do it?”
Henley smacks the crosswalk button and then turns to face me with a smile. “Are you serious?”
I nod. I’ve seen the peace meditation brings her. If I can achieve even a tenth of that, then I want to learn.
“When?” Her brow furrows as the signal sounds. “Would you like to squeeze in sessions pre-show?”
“No. I want more time than that.” I chew the inside of my bottom lip and take a step off the curb. “How about tomorrow? When we hit the next stop?”
She appears to think the idea over. I light a smoke while we walk, purely to keep my hands occupied and off hers.
“Where?”
“At the hotel. Where I stay.” Fuck doing it where there are noises and interruptions aplenty. I want her to myself, Henley’s focus on nobody but me.
Her lush lips twist briefly. “I don’t know. This feels the same as what you asked me two days ago, Kris.”
“Please?”
Henley glances over before studying the pavement under her feet. “You know how I feel about giving mixed signals on the nature of our relationship.”
If it were up to me, there’d be no fucking confusion whatsoever. “So I make it clear I’ve asked for you to work more intensively with me. Nobody has to know that what we’re doing has got nothing to do with guitars.” I huff out a rushed breath. “You wouldn’t be there overnight or anything.”
“Kris….”
“Fuck, Henley.” I tip my head back and puff out a long line of smoke as we reach the next intersection. “What do you want me to do? Beg?”
“I want you to stop being all vague about what it is you want.” She frowns, arms folded, and damn if her anger isn’t adorable.
“I want you to teach me how to shut the shit in my head up,” I snap, frustrated with myself more than her. “What’s vague about that?”
“Anybody could teach you how to do it,” she points out. “So why me?”
“Because I get along with you.” I snort a bitter laugh. “Fuck. I talk to you more than I have anyone in years.”
Silence stretches between us, the absence of any response from her highlighting how poignant that revelation was.
“And then what?” she finally whispers. Henley walks with her chin held high, a fierce look of determination on her face as she eyes the pavement ahead. “What happens after? Is that all you want from me? Lessons on how to be present in your life?”
“You want me to tell you what else I want from you?” I clarify, nodding before taking another drag of my smoke.
“Please.”
“Okay, then.” Easy as pie, Kris. You can do this. I turn away when we pause at the next signal; she waits at my side. “All I’ve ever wanted is somebody who gets why music is all I can ever do with my life. What I want is somebody who doesn’t need to fucking fix me. I want someone who wants me exactly as I am.”
“You wonder if I could be that person?” she whispers.
I shrug, turning back to face her. “Could it?”
“You don’t understand, do you?” Her hair slides across her cheek as she shakes her head. “As much as I’d love to help, I can’t be some experiment. I can’t risk failure—with you or my career.”
“I’d still like to learn how to meditate.” The more tools I have in my arsenal, the better.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The lines are too blurred already.”
I contemplate lighting another smoke already to occupy my itchy fingers. All I want to do is touch her. I want to play with her angel hair and run my fingertip across her lips to see what perfection feels like.
“Before the show then?” I’m on the losing end of this negotiation, but I couldn’t give a fuck anymore.
Henley rolls her eyes upward as though to seek an answer from the sky. She blinks slowly, reopening her eyes to fix me with a level stare. “A few days ago, you were hell-bent on proving I was some gold-digging groupie, and now….” She sighs. “Now you just won’t take no for an answer.” Her lips curl with a soft laugh. “You confuse the heck out of me, Kris.”
I snort a laugh. Fuck: she should try being me most days. “So we strike a deal. Until this tour is out, we remain colleagues. Friends.”
“And after?” She lifts an eyebrow.
“That’s up to you.” Although at the going rate, I don’t expect much.
Henley’s crisp blue eyes study my face; her lips pursed while she thinks. “You really know how to make this hard on me.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” I suck back the last of the cigarette and then toss the butt aside. “I just don’t know how to fucking talk to women.” A bitter laugh falls from my lips as I back away a step. “Fuck. I don’t know how to talk to people, period. So I fuck it up. Obviously.”
This, right here, is why it’s easier not to try.
Henley steps forward to close the gap between us and sets her small hands either side of my face. “Look at me.”
I do as I’m damn told.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You hear me? This is my issue, not yours.” Her thumbs stroke my cheeks once. “You’re sweet, Kris. Misunderstood, and totally undervalued. Any girl would be lucky to have a chance with you.”
“But not you, right?” Fuck. Why do I always fall for the wrong ones?
“Not right now.”
I don’t even know if she feels the same. Maybe that’s what this is? Is she too damn nice to say she doesn’t like me that way?
I take hold of her wrists, meeting her anxious gaze with my own. “Do what I suggested. Be a friend until the tour is over. Get to know me. All of me.” I chuckle. “Trust me when I say that once you do, then you’ll probably realize you’ve done the right thing by turning me down.”
Her chest heaves, her gaze on the street behind me as she pulls away. “Let me think about it, okay? I’ll give you my answer after the show tonight.”
All I can do is nod. If I open my mouth again, I’m likely to beg again. Once was humiliating enough.
“Thank you. For today.” Her fingers fidget with a wayward lock of hair. “I appreciate you sharing what you did. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
Nothing with me ever is. “Thanks for listening.”
“I… I better go.”
My boots stay rooted to the spot while Henley turns and walks away. Her luminescent hair catches the morning light; her hands tucked in her jacket pockets while she looks around at the street as she walks, appearing to take in the details of the world around her.
This girl: she’s my opposite in every way.
I guess that’s why we attract.
TWENTY-ONE
Henley
“Breathe Into Me” - Red
“Smurfette.”
Strings, pliers, tape. I run my usual pre-show check ensuring everything is in order.
“Hey. Smurfette.”
I jerk away from the backhand to my upper arm. “Whoa.”
“Sorry.” An amused Emery grins at my obvious distress. “You weren’t paying attention.”
“I didn’t realize you needed me.” Smurfette. Gah. “Especially since you weren’t using my actual name.”
He fixes me with a cheeky smirk I’m sure is one from the arsenal he uses to get laid every night. “Sorry. I have a shit memory.”
A side effect of one too many highs, I imagine. Such a waste. He really is a good-looking guy.
“Smurfette, though?” I slide the top drawer of the workbox closed and check the time until front-of-house opens. Thirty minutes.
“Blue hair.” He shrugs. “It fits.”
“Smurfette had blonde hair.” I fold my arms and turn to face him. “And my name is Henley.”
“Well, Henley,” he positively purrs. “I need help with something.” His gaze darts over my head toward the other crewmembers in the vicinity.
“What should I bring with me?” I reach for my box; sure his tech must be short a spare string or the like, yet his hand falls over mine. As smooth as silk, he glides his fingers around to my palm and guides my hand to my side before letting go.
“You won’t need anything out of that. Follow me.”
I hesitate as he turns away and heads for the rear of the stage. This is finally it: initiation. I’ve heard crazy stories about the pranks stars play on their crew, but I hoped it would never happen to me. But, as I hustle to catch up to Emery’s long strides, I can’t figure any other reason he’d need me and not my tools.
He jogs down the steps to the corridor beneath the stage two at a time; his unlaced boots a damn trip hazard if I ever saw one. Somehow he manages to avoid tangling in the loose ties and takes off again at speed down the hall toward the dressing rooms. I take two steps to his one, finally catching up to him as we head past the security guys who keep strays away from the band.
We’re far from alone; people go about their work without a second thought. Still, I feel so damn vulnerable and isolated while I scour the area for signs of a set-up.
“You good there, Smurfette?”
I frown at the ridiculously handsome asshole. “Trying to work out what the game is.”
He seems like a nice enough guy, but then again, people found Ted Bundy to be a real charmer too.
Emery slows, effectively drawing my attention from where we’re headed, to him. “You think I’m playing with you?” The guy looks genuinely confused.
“I’m skeptical.”
“Cynical,” he teases. “Nothing to fret about, baby girl. You’re needed for a moment, is all.”
I stop walking and glare at him.
He turns and ambles backwards once he realizes I no longer follow. “Relax.” Hands up, he lopes back until he reaches their private room. “It’s nothing sexual.”
I sigh and start walking again. I’m too wound up. Too on edge. Chill, Henley.
“Unless you want it to be.” The jerk waggles his eyebrows before spinning to push through a door.
I’m totally about to be pranked.
Like hell, I’ll run, though. If they think they can scare me off with a stupid—
Huh? I frown as I step into the makeshift lounge area. There aren’t any cameras pointed at me, no group of people laughing as I’m doused with some disgusting bodily fluid. Only Kris seated on one of the bench seats that run the length of the wall, and Emery with his head now buried in a compact fridge.
“Have you seen my Muscle Milk, dude?”
Kris doesn’t lift his head or even pause in the perusal of his phone. Hood pulled over his face, and legs propped up on the low table before him, he slumps further into the seat and mumbles, “Nope.”
One word and I’m hopelessly aflutter again. It took me a solid hour to come down from our time alone earlier. He’s so… ugh. Captivating. And yet he does nothing to be that way.
Girls like a mystery. Yeah, we do, and he’s the epitome of one. Was the epitome of one.
My heart clenches at the memory of his backstory, at the reason for his pain.
“Never mind.” Emery pops up from the fridge, small bottle clutched in his fist. “Found it.”
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. He wanted me for a favor. What the hell does Emery want? For me to drip feed his protein drink to him?
“You want anything, Smurfette?” Smug bastard nudges me in the arm with his elbow.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Kris’s head jerks up when he realizes Emery wasn’t the only one who entered the room. His eyes narrow, a frown marring his gorgeous face as my heart rate immediately doubles. “Good. You’re here.”
Yeah, I am. Why does he seem so pissed off by it, though?
“Thanks, Em.”
The cheeky asshole smiles. “Y’all have fun now, you hear?” He gives a playful nudge on his way out the door with an added wink just for me.
Kris eyes Emery silently; tracking his movements until he seems sure we’re out of earshot. His frown softens, and those broad shoulders of his visibly drop as he leans forward.
“I told him I needed to talk to you before the show because you fucked up a changeover last night.”
I cross the room and take a seat beside him. “Is that so?”
Kris’s lips curl up in the softest of smiles. “Seemed legit.” He frowns before scrubbing a hand roughly through his jet-black hair. His hood falls away revealing the true extent of his unrest. “I would have come and got you myself, but….” He sighs, wincing. “I just couldn’t.”
“What’s up?” I turn slightly to face him.
His leg jiggles, heel bouncing quick time on the floor. “Can you start teaching me tonight?”
“You think it would help?” My pulse quickens, each beat a noticeable throb throughout my whole body. I’ve never seen him like this.
“I fuckin’ hope so.” A forced laugh huffs out his nose. “My music won’t work today for some reason.” He scowls at the discarded headphones beside him as though they’re solely to blame for his predicament. “I, um, I… Fuck.”
“It’s okay.” I set my hand on his bouncing knee. “You don’t need to explain.”
The struggle in his pained gaze is damn near my undoing when he stills and meets me eye-to-eye. “I have to. I can’t hide this forever.”
“Hide what?” Does he have an addiction too?
“I have anxiety,” he whispers, looking away. “Bad. Like, worse than most people.” Kris shifts his knee so that my hand falls away. “Only the guys know.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Okay.” No big deal, right?
Kris’s kohl darkened eyes search mine. “Okay?”
I shrug, lifting my eyebrows. “What else did you expect me to say?”
“Not so much say,” he answers, picking up the headphones to fidget with. “Do. I thought you might look at me like I dunno, like some fucking pussy or something.”
My chest rises with a deep breath, and I smile. “You thought I’d judge you for it?”
He nods, unable to look at me as he stretches out and then releases the band on the headphones.
Meditation won’t help right now. Sure, it’s a great thing to practice to calm him and find a moment of peace and quiet from the world. But now? He needs to talk. He needs to dig to the root of this.
“What’s worrying you?”
“Everything.” Kris sets the headphones down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to hold his head in both hands.
“Does this happen before every show?”
He stands, taking me by surprise. “Can we not talk about it?”
“Ignoring it won’t make it go away either,” I point out.
“I know that.” His words are like a whip between us. “Just… Can you keep me company for a while?”
Is it warm in this room, or what? I can’t deny the effect his intense need has on me. I get a sudden urge to reach out and hold him. To sit with him forever and a day if that’s what it would take.
But compassion won’t fix the problem. Entertaining his fear only rationalizes it in his mind.
“You know I can’t. I have things I need to do before you go on tonight.”
He toys with the ring in his lip before saying slowly and purposefully, “Please, Henley.”
We have a week and a half until the end of the tour. Ten days to be exact. The relationships on stage have reached such a volatile state that the internal betting pool shifted focus from who discovers what’s in Kris’s bag, to whether or not the final performance goes ahead.
Seated in this dressing room, right now, I can only assume one thing.
That the tour has a higher chance of reaching completion than I do of surviving another ten days working with this man.
It doesn’t matter how much the thought of abandoning him to his demons right now makes me want to cry out in frustration. I can’t do it. I can’t give us reason to be any closer than we already are.
God—it’s so damn unfair. Ugh.
“Professional,” I manage to whisper before clearing my throat. “We keep things professional, remember?”
The hurt in his eyes is near palpable before he shifts focus to his hands. “Yeah. Of course.”
“We agreed I’d have until after the show to make my decision about meditation.” I suck back the unbidden sting of regret. “What you ask me to do, right now, that’s something else.”
