Moment(s)

  Moment(s)

  By Lisa Terry

  Copyright 2015 Lisa Terry

  Acknowledgements

  I’ll be forever grateful to my amazing critique partners and beta readers Caitlin Sinead, Ashley Chegwyn, Kate L. Mary, Karlie Hart, Macy Skandalis and my best friend Michelle Hazell.

  My family also deserves a pat on the back for putting up with my writerly neurosis, not rolling their eyes every time a Scottish phrase sneaks into my vocabulary, as well as being the best support system a writer could have.

  There are many more who have helped me with Moment(s) in one way or another. I love you for loving my characters as much as I do. Thank you.

  Chapter 1

  The crowd is so wild I can hardly hear myself sing. Och, I’m going to mess up the timing of the bridge. I wiggle the side of my face, trying to shift my in-ear speaker.

  “Baby, please don’t look away,” I come in at just the right time and nail it. The bright lights make it hard, but my eyes manage to lock on the girls in front of me when I hit the last line. “I have to know there’ll be another day.”

  The girl in the middle cries; she’s holding a slip of paper with a charcoal-drawn face on it. Cool. It’s the picture I did earlier. A bit of a preshow thing—one of the guards usually goes out and snaps a few shots of the early arrivers, and I pick a face to draw.

  This girl gets even more frantic when I smile at her. The two on each side scream like mad. I wave at them when Kasen hits the final drumbeat.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me of the time.

  10:50 p.m.

  The stage is littered with women’s underthings and one particularly tricky water bottle in front of Kasen’s drum kit, but I make it to him without falling and give my bestmate a one-armed hug. My other two mates set their guitars in stands and hit gymnast mode again. The brothers tumble across our outfitted stage—front hand springs, double and single pikes, and a back layout—meeting in the middle with a massive in-air high five. Acting as if it’s nothing, Luke and Parker make their way to us. My legs and arms burn with my own wish to tumble. But no time for that now.

  I wait five beats and run to the ramp at the back of the stage.

  The security minders meet me before I make it down to the curtained semicircle, the tuck-away. “Wait for the others, Julian.”

  “But I can’t. I’ve an interview.” If it goes over the ten-minutes I agreed to, then I’ll…it won’t go over ten minutes. The minders move with me as I get a look at the typical people in the tuck-away. But there’s only one without a headset or clipboard. “There she is—see her lanyard and badge. The radio contest winner, you know.”

  At those words, she jerks her ginger head around. Her face goes from calm and questioning to red and tearful. The screams are quick to follow.

  Aw, don’t do that.

  While a security minder tells her the rules, I pull my mobile.

  10:53 p.m.

  And then I’m being barreled over. What the hell?

  Laughs and jeers from the brothers follow, and I fight back my own laughing. “Shut it.”

  Parker flicks his brown mop and drapes an arm around Luke’s shoulders.

  Kasen’s black eyes meet mine, and he nods with his whole upper body. “Let’s bolt.”

  The security guard gives a curt nod to the girl, and she takes a tentative step toward me.

  “Hello.” I reach for her hand, and she pants like she’s the one to have just performed instead of I. “So you won the radio contest, yeah?”

  “Oh, my God. Julian McLane is really talking to me.”

  “Aye.” This hen is hella excited. Well, I’m glad she won the radio thing then. Her hand almost slips out of mine when I give it a tug. So sweaty!

  The security team hustles us through the double doors and we spill into the passageway as one. Herding. Three years I’ve done this, but I still feel like a blasted farm animal. The tour team, management team and technical team are the busy turkeys, us lads are the cows.

  And the prodding security minders are the cowboys.

  10:55 p.m.

  The girl cries quietly while we walk through the blinding white passageway.

  “It’s all right, babe.” I give her hand a wee squeeze. “Keep your head.”

  She sniffles and clears her throat. “Will you follow me on Twitter now that we’ve met? You guys are so funny and talented. I wish I could’ve chosen all of you for tonight…but your voice, Julian. You’ve always been my f-favorite. I just love you so much.”

  “I love you too,” I say and squash my eyes shut. That always feels odd—I’m obviously not in love with her—but I do love my fans.

  Parker and Luke are in stitches behind me while we walk. Parker is the loudest as usual, and I turn to see if they’re cutting up about me. Ha, they’re tugging at a hat someone threw on the stage. It has eyeballs painted on the back.

  Ahead of me, Kasen pulls his mobile from his trousers. “Braless for Parker is trending,” he says and howls like a wolf.

  Parker lets his mad-house laugh fly.

  “I knew it,” Luke says, laughing as well. “Mate, you gotta do something. Some of these girls make me feel like a creep. That first bird was way too young.”

  “Aye.” I make sure the girl still has her phone put away like Doug told her—no recordings unless we’re all complicit.

  Parker wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Then don’t look.”

  “Ye-ah.” Kasen shakes his dark head. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

  An apology for the rude boys would probably be nice, but if I unlocked my jaws, I’d crack up.

  “If you retweet that!” Luke shouts out just as Parker darts away and turns a corner. “Kasen, get him.”

  The minders follow Parker through the passageway at a trot, and we catch up just as Kasen gets Parker against the wall and pulls an open-mouthed smile.

  “I wasn’t going to retweet it.” Parker laughs and tries to blow his brown mop out of his face. His eyes dart around Kasen’s much darker arm.

  The contest girl giggles beside me and tucks her ginger hair behind her ear. At least she’s no longer crying.

  At least the lads’ antics have gotten us further along.

  10:58 p.m.

  “This could go on and on,” I say with a grin and give Kasen’s arm a tug. We continue onward to the dressing rooms, stopping at my door while security does a quick inspection.

  “See you in ten minutes,” I say when the bulky minder comes out.

  Kasen’s eyes lock on mine: be careful.

  I’m about to tell him we won’t be alone and that this girl is eighteen—not jailbait—so no threat to me. But the radio people show up.

  “Let’s do this.” The DJ, a tall and skinny man with a crooked nose, comes over and shakes my hand. A smiling intern follows us into the room with a little hand-held. Someone has turned on every available light.

  11:00 p.m.

  My chest burns, feeling like a thousand fuses have been lit. Come on!

  “So…” I point to the intern’s camera. “You’re recording this, are you? We should get started.” Because I’m not staying here more than ten minutes.

  “Sure,” the DJ says.

  I drop to my turnabout chair in front of the mirrors. But instead of relaxing back like usual, I sit forward, prepared to answer the girl’s questions like a rapid-fire Q&A:

  “Aye, my family is still in Scotland, probably always will be. I miss them very much.”

  “Our band name sort of came from our hair stylist.”

  “We met at the Pan American Games three years ago. Kasen and I were put together as roommates. Yes, we were junior gymnasts and not happy to wait to compete in the senior-level Olympics. We had instruments with us, so we played together every night. The b
rothers—Luke and Parker—they heard us down the hall and played with us too. They knew someone in the music business, and the rest is history.”

  11:08 p.m.

  “Sorry,” I say, and I really am, “but there’s only time for one more question. Maybe two.”

  She opens her mouth and fires away: “Blondes, brunettes or redheads?”

  “I like girls with brown hair, but mostly it doesn’t matter much.”

  At my last answer, the girl’s shoulders drop. Probably because up until a year ago my standard answer had been I was keen on reds. But ever since I spied wishgirl at the—

  “I’ll just have to dye mine.” She giggles. “Last question. If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?”

  “My eyes.” They’re blue and green with yellow specks—a mixed-up color everyone calls hazel. Plus my eyesight is rubbish, and contacts aren’t always great for sleeping on the road.

  My rubbish eyes stray to my mobile resting on the counter.

  11:10 p.m.

  I pop up from my chair, it goes spinning, and I grip her hand. “It was very nice meeting you. Thank you so much.”

  When she doesn’t say anything, only stares, I start to feel low for the rush. I reach over the counter in front of the mirrors and grab a brown teddy someone threw at me this morning. After scribbling my name on the bear’s shirt, I hand it to her. Yet she still looks crestfallen. Och, what’s left? What does this girl want from—Twitter. I scoop up my phone and ask for her Twitter handle.

  It’s only after I’ve followed her that she pulls a massive smile. “Thank you.”

  After kissing her cheek, I take off running out of there, leaving the radio people in the dressing room.

  Kasen would disapprove. I tense my jaw, trying but failing not to worry about what people think of me. He’s our only American member and worries that everyone here thinks we’re impolite. But Parker and Luke Moore never offend anyone. They’re the more posh set—from South England.

  Someone with equipment is coming through the passageway, and I stop running long enough to stand to the side. See, I’m polite; just sometimes people don’t understand me.

  Like Kasen’s dad. Actually, he hates me. Mr. Monreecy says it’s against his Asian heritage for Kasen to be in a rock band. I guess he blames me for leading his son into the evil music industry. Kasen’s mum makes up for her husband. “Mumreecy” loves me. She’s black, really tall, and happy all the time. Opposites attract I guess. But they managed to produce a damn good athlete and musician.

  The door bangs against the metal rail when I fling it open. A puff of white breath floats in front of me while I look around for her.

  What if she’s not here? For an entire year I could’ve had it all completely wrong.

  Chapter 2

  11 November, 11:11 p.m.

  In less than a second I spot the fountain down below that looks more like a kiddie pool with a massive pineapple in the middle. And the girl standing there in the same red wool coat she wore last year.

  She stares up at me, her dark hair covering half her face. I knew she’d be here again.

  The energy that’s been building up in my chest spirals away in a thousand different directions. My breath comes out like I’ve run a hundred meters instead of the four. The metal staircase creaks while I stand there gathering myself. Calm down, Jules.

  She backs away from the fountain, her hand covering her mouth. Oh, don’t scream. You’ll ruin it.

  A brand new panic locks me up. What if she’s nothing like I’ve imagined?

  This past year I’ve built up this girl to be something extraordinary. If she screams, it all comes crumbling down.

  She only stands there, though, her hand still across her mouth, her eyes staring up at me.

  “Don’t do that.” The stairs creak with each step I take, the sound amplified by the brick walls that make up the wide alley. Once at the bottom, I hold out my hand. “Please don’t. I’m just a person. Nothing to scream over.”

  She lets her arm relax back to her side. “Y-you scared me. There’s a serial killer….” Her eyes narrow. “Hold on just a minute. You’re Julian McLane.”

  Ha! I’m the prat who thought you were fangirling over him.

  “Yeah.” I drop from the last step and stand there, afraid to move closer lest I scare her more.

  They’d told us about the spate of killings going on around here. The security team even wanted us to cancel tonight’s concert because of the new curfew…except for Doug. I’m glad I’m not the only one who pushes for Washington D.C. I’ve no idea why he likes it so much here, but for a year, every time I’ve thought about this date, this location, my stomach would tumble around.

  And it all comes down to this girl in front of me. Talk about putting all your goodies in one pail.

  “Obviously,” she says, and drops her gaze to the blacktop. “You just had a concert.”

  Her face is halfway covered by hair and shadows, but from what I can see, she’s beautiful. Apart from her really pale skin, everything else is dark—dark hair, dark eyes, dark lips.

  Quit staring!

  I look away—at the murky water in the fountain.

  “Pretty disgusting, right?” Her eyes dart around—from the fountain, to the abandoned strip mall, to her bent arm…which doesn’t have a concert bracelet on it. “This mall used to be a big hang-out when my dad was younger. Then they built this huge arena basically in its parking lot.”

  Hopefully the stores went out of business before the arena was built and not after.

  “Yeah?” Can I say anything else to this girl? My face heats up. “Erm…you didn’t go to the concert, did you?”

  She cringes. “I heard it was great, though. There were some people leaving, saying something about body paint and black lights. But….”

  Yeah, the glowing body paint was the earlier part; Luke was on the pommel horse, with me on the high bar, and Parker on the parallel bars. Kasen did still rings, the most strenuous, and then he sang a stripped-back version of one of last year’s singles while the rest of us sweated away on the equipment. Thank the heavens for intermissions.

  Hey, wait. There was a but in that.

  “Och!” My ego flops over. “You don’t like us?”

  “No. I mean, I like Jagged Black. Crowds just freak me out. Aren’t you going to get in trouble being out here? Weren’t you just mobbed last week?”

  “Aye. They think I’m still in an interview.” I pull a smile. She knows something about us at least. “So you do follow us.”

  She tilts her head up. The faint light from a far-away streetlamp shines on her neck and a lovely chin. I can’t wait to draw her face, but that chin. It’s so girlish—like little girlish—and innocent. My stomach is weightless for a second. No, I’ll never get that curve just right…the shading will be impossible. And before I begin to truly kick myself over it, she opens her mouth—a lovely red mouth.

  “Yup,” she says and shifts from one boot-clad foot to the other. “You’re eighteen, best friends with Kasen Monreecy, and fans have nicknamed you huggles because you’re the most affectionate of the bandmembers.”

  We still haven’t figured out if that worsens my player reputation, or makes me more lovable. No matter, can’t change opinions like that anyway. “Interesting biography, that is.”

  She bites her lip and looks away.

  I flinch as she clamps down. A rush of air escapes my lips in a whoosh. “Wh-what’s your name?”

  She swivels her head back to me. “You want to know my name.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Emilie.” She looks at me a moment before going on. “This is so weird. I mean, you’re standing here talking to me.”

  Sensing a fangirl moment coming, I search my brain for something to keep it away. “I’m just a person, you know,” I say and reach out.

  She gives my outstretched hand the same look I give the PAs when they give me swag bags: nice, but not needed. “Why do you
keep saying that?” she asks. “I mean you’re taller than me, but it’s not like I’d mistake you for Bigfoot.”

  And that’s the second time she’s put me in my place. My body relaxes when a laugh rumbles through. “I don’t wanna have to take off running from you, do I?”

  She pulls a big smile, and I’m relieved to see there’s no braces. They do that a lot in America.

  “I’ll try my best not to freak out.” Emilie raises her eyebrows…over dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her gazes races down my body and up again, and she grins. “I run every morning, but I’m still no match for a tall athlete like yourself. If you’re scared though….”

  I stand to my full height, tall for a gymnast but it’s all good. “Scots blood.”

  “And what about the Scottish hot temper, fighting, drinking?”

  “Nah.” My awkward laugh bounces between the concrete dykes then dies away. “You smoke cigarettes, do you? Play a banjo?”

  She takes a step back. “How’d you know I’m from Virginia?”

  “Just a good guess.” Because this is the second time I’ve seen you behind this arena right here in Washington D.C. But I can’t say that or else she might flip out. She might not, just tell her.

  She stares at the ground for a second then looks up. “I pawned the banjo years ago, and I’m down to a pack a day.”

  Not this girl—she can’t smoke. I feel my eyes bulge and she laughs. “Julian McLane, that was a joke.”

  She looks over my head, and I turn to see if I’ve been caught. But there’s no one at the top of the stairs. I swivel back, and she points to my head. “And your hair’s very blond. There’s no red that I can see.”

  Confident and a sense of humor. I’m definitely going to get on with this girl. My lips curve, and I say, “There’s almost as many Scottish blonds as gingers.”

  “Really?” She tilts her head.

  “Yeah.” Again with the yeahs. With a sigh, I run my hand over my hair. “No idea where the curls are from.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. Her chin trembles, and for a second I can’t breathe. I’ve never seen anything cuter. A trembling chin. God, I love it. The sound of her chattering teeth reaches me, and I can’t help but have a chuckle. “Emilie, would you come in with me?”