You'd Be Mine(20)

Having my early suspicions from her birthday performance confirmed doesn’t change anything. She’s still too talented to stay home. She deserves this place on the tour. I wasn’t bullshitting tonight when I argued with Trina. Annie’s proven her worth. I haven’t forgotten how much I need her here, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe she needs me.

Which is some first-class tomfoolery, but nonetheless rings true. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s putting on a performance. If Annie Mathers is going to survive this tour, she’s gonna need to put the performance first and forget the rest.

I hear footsteps and voices outside my bus and peek out the blinds. It’s that Jason kid. I surge to my feet and throw open the door. “Hey, man, where you headed?”

He stops, raising his brows, confused. “Uh, I’m hungry. Fitz and I were gonna get some pancakes. Wanna come?”

I shake my head. “How’s Mathers?”

He shifts on his feet. “Okay. She locked herself in her room to write.”

I hop down and stumble a little as I do.

“You’re not going over there.” He’s suddenly right in front of me. “Especially not drunk.”

I crack a grin. “Easy, Diaz, it’s just water.” Now it is, anyway. I spin, and with deliberate care, I place the bottle behind me on the step. I don’t know why I have to antagonize this kid, but I do. “What’s your deal? Afraid she mightn’t be able to resist me?”

Jason’s eyes glint in the parking lot light. “The last thing she needs right now is to be connected to you. You saw her tonight. She’s not some hookup.”

I rub a hand down my face. I’ve aged ten years since yesterday. “Look, if I were interested in a hookup, I wouldn’t be out here talking to you, and I definitely wouldn’t be knocking on Annie’s door. She’s a mess.”

“Then what do you want with her?”

“I only wanted to check on her. I’m not a complete dick. I feel somewhat responsible since it was our photo shoot and my tour manager that threw her for a spin.” I lean back against the bus, crossing my arms. “You don’t know me, but I swear only half the things they say about me are true. I happen to think you guys are pretty good. I wanted to offer some—”

Jason’s grin is shit-eating. “Some what? Advice? Yeah, you’re clearly one to talk.”

I’m annoyed. More annoyed than the situation probably warrants, and that makes it worse. “Know what? Forget it.” I shove off the bus and stagger back to the steps, swiping a grab at my bottle. “You’re right. What the hell do I know?”

Fitz comes around the corner with the little fiddler, Kacey, in tow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I answer before Jason can. “Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. I was just about to finish my water alone because I’m an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone. Right, Jason?”

The kid looks uncomfortable but doesn’t disagree.

“Right. Enjoy your pancakes.” I let the door slam behind me and lock it. Fitz can find somewhere else to sleep tonight.



* * *



I wake up to banging on the door.

“We need to leave, Clay! Open the door and let me in!”

I swing it open, relishing the burst of fresh air it brings. The bus smells of staleness and sweat. I don’t say anything, just work my way down the windows, sliding them open.

“I slept in the Willows’ bus, in case you were wondering. Thanks for that.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure that must’ve been terrible for you. Did your fiddler friend lend you some pajamas or offer to take off hers instead?”

Fitz presses his lips together, and for a second, I think he might be mad. “I heard what Jason said to you. It was uncalled for. You weren’t doing anything wrong. They’re just super-protective of Annie.”

I shrug and open the minifridge, pulling out the orange juice. I take a long sip right from the carton, and it sloshes in my stomach. “Whatever.”

Fitz sits down on a bench, and I hand him the OJ and a glass. “Not ‘whatever,’” he says as he pours his glass. “You aren’t a dick, Clay.”

Fitz never calls me by my real first name. Never has. He tried to call me Jeff after Danny died, and it never took. In the same way, I never call him Jacoby. It’s this unspoken pact we have—a refusal to overstep. Still, when he says it now, it feels like a lie because Clay actually is a dick sometimes.

“I was drunk. The kid was right.”

“That kid is the same age as you. He doesn’t know you.”

“Knows enough.” I look at my hands, picking at my callous.

Fitz sighs, cradling his glass. “Why did you want to see Annie?”

“Honestly? I don’t even remember.” A lie.

Fitz can tell. He raises a dubious brow.

“Fine. I felt bad for the girl. She looked really shaken up. She’s had a bad deal with her parents, and I sort of get it, but she shouldn’t quit.”

Fitz narrows his eyes. “I don’t think she’s going to quit.”

“Good.”

A telling pause.

“You’re such a pain in my ass.”

He smiles, and I can feel the corners of my lips twitch to match.