Don't Read in the Closet volume one (36 page)

Jackson lowered
his gaze to the ground, his cowboy hat shadowing his face. Three years of
bickering with a man he’d never talked to in person. How ridiculous of a thing
was that? And how completely stupid of him, too. He knew he’d gotten suckered
by the press more than once in responding to Ash’s comments. Instead of always
coming back at Ash, he should’ve just replied with a smile and, “No comment.”

But the ego Ash
carried himself with, that man just asked to be challenged. He swore Ash got
enjoyment out of antagonizing him. The only thing he didn’t understand was,
why? It might’ve started out with just a smart-mouthed comment from Ash, but to
keep things going, there was no point to it. That’s why he needed to talk to
him. He wanted it to stop. It wasn’t doing either of them any good.

From the back
of his mind, a quiet voice whispered another reason why he wanted to see Ash in
person. There was no denying for all Ash’s attitude, he was also intriguing. If
for no other reason than what his next hair style would be. He really hoped Ash
had ditched the yellow and red mohawk. He had looked like a damn hotdog stand
with it.

Jackson glanced
up. His strides slowed to a halt. A silver tour bus was parked a little ways
ahead. In front of each bus and trailer, the event organizers had signs placed
with the artists’ names to make it easy to deliver messages to them and also so
everyone could find each other. In front of the silver tour bus, the small
white sign read, From Ashes.

Jackson stared
at the sign. This was it. All he had to do was walk up to the door, knock, and
Ash would be on the other side. Maybe. Just because his band’s bus was here
didn’t mean Ash was. He could be at his hotel, or any other place in the
stadium. Or anywhere in Chicago, for that matter. It was probably pointless to
even try the bus. He should just head back to his trailer and wait to run into
Ash.

He started to
turn, stopping as he heard a loud voice shouting, “That’s fucking bullshit!”

Jackson faced
the bus again. He might never have talked to Ash in person, but he knew his
voice well enough from listening to Ash sing to recognize the bellow came from
him. Curiosity got the better of him and pushed his feet to walk toward the
bus, his ears picking up more voices floating out the open windows as he
stopped near the door. He recognized Ash speaking again.

“Kent, this is
crap and you know it. On the original set list, we were marked in to take the
stage after the openers. Now we’re getting pushed back to the middle of the
goddamn show! That’s bullshit!”

Another male
voice replied, “Ash, just settle down. You’re making a bigger deal out of this
than it is and this shouldn’t be such a surprise. I gave you the new
re-organized list almost two weeks ago. Didn’t you look at it?”

Silence.
Jackson made a mental note that when he talked to Ash, to not bring up he’d
been moved up to From Ashes’s spot in the show.

“Of course you
didn’t,” the other male voice continued. “You never look at any documents I
give you.”

“That’s why
you’re our manager,” Ash said. “To look at that stuff for me. And when you
looked at the new list, you should’ve known I would’ve been pissed at us
getting bumped back!”

“I don’t
understand why. I think you’ve really got the whole idea wrong.”

“Oh I do, do I?
Well with my idea,
us
getting stuck in the middle is
nothing but us getting lost in the crowd. I want us at the front of the show,
or at the end. With a concert this huge and this long, the middle always drags.
That’s when people go off to get something to eat, or drink, or fuck. I’m not
going to be standing on stage playing to a half filled stadium. This is a slap
in the face from the event organizers and promoters!”

“I knew that’s
what you were thinking, and you’re wrong. Yeah, a show like this can drag in
the middle and that’s why From Ashes got moved there. Because they wanted to
put in a heavy hitter guaranteed to keep the crowd’s interest. There are a lot
of great artists playing this gig, but let’s face it. There are some more than
others that people want to see, and From Ashes is one of them. The organizers
and promoters know that, and that’s why they’re moving you to where you are.”

A third male
voice said, “Makes sense to me.”

Ash spoke
again. “Jeremy, don’t side with him.”

“Well it makes
sense to me, too.”

“Chad!” Ash
yelled.

One more male
voice added, “I gotta go with them on this, too. Sorry, man.”

“Thanks, Dev.
Like I didn’t already know you would,” Ash
said,
sarcasm thick in his voice. “Fine. Put us in the middle. It doesn’t matter,
anyway. We’ll still blow everyone away.”

“Awesome. Then
I’m off to talk to the organizers.”

Jackson heard
quick footsteps nearing the door and knew he didn’t have time to duck away. The
best he could do was to take a few steps back to not look like a complete
eavesdropper. At least he learned Ash didn’t throw attitude just at him. Seemed
he did it with everyone. But it also seemed he came down from it pretty quick
and could be reasoned with. That gave him a little burst of hope he could talk
things out with Ash.

The door
opened. Jackson met the gaze of the man standing in the open doorway, who
looked to be in his late thirties and from his sharp
dress,
he guessed the guy was From Ashes’s manager.

The guy blinked
and cleared his throat. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Jackson took a
step forward. “I apologize for showing up out of the blue. But I was hoping to
have a few words with Ash Ivers. Are you his manager?”

“Yeah, I’m Kent
Baumann. And don’t you think you’ve already had a
few words
with Ash?

“Yeah, but they
haven’t been the best of words, and that’s why I wanted to have some more with
him.”

Ash’s voice
sounded from inside, “Kent, who are you talking to?”

Kent turned his
head slightly to call back to him, his gaze staying on Jackson. “Jackson
Abrams. He says he wants to talk to you.”

Silence.

“Should I let
him on?” Kent asked.

Another pause
came before Ash answered, “If he feels he can handle walking into this den of
sin, then by all means, step aside and let him in.”

Jackson clamped
his teeth together. This might’ve been a bad idea.

Kent stepped
out from the bus and stood to the side of the door, motioning the way in for
Jackson with a sweep of his arm. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,”
Jackson grumbled. He let out a heavy breath and climbed up the first step,
doing his best to call up a pleasant expression before he reached the top of
the stairs. He turned inside the bus. The first thing to hit his vision, Ash,
reclined on a black leather couch running along one side of the bus.

The mohawk was
gone, his hair much shorter, but still with enough length on top where Ash had
it styled to be artfully tousled. The yellow and red color was gone too, it now
being a very dark brown. The darker color accented Ash’s blue eyes, making them
seem crystalline, but what really made them stand out was the black eyeliner
framing them. It looked like he hadn’t shaved that
morning,
stubble shadowed his jaw and lower cheeks, giving his soft facial features a
rugged edge.

With him fully
stretched out on the couch, Jackson took in Ash’s long, lean body, from the
black leather pants to the tight black spandex shirt covered in gray skulls. With
how the shirt conformed to him, each wiry muscle in his torso was visible.
Jackson also made out the circular shape of rings in Ash’s nipples. The short
sleeves showed Ash’s sinewy arms inked in tattoos. A grinning skull resting in
a bed of red flames adorned his right forearm, the word “From” written above
the skull, “Ashes” written below the flames. On his left forearm, a tribal
dragon curved up to his elbow. Black flames in the same tribal style came from
the dragon’s mouth, small near Ash’s elbow, then spreading out across his
bicep. He had thick black leather cuffs studded in steal spikes on his wrists.
Each earlobe was decorated with two black diamond studs.

There was no
mistaking Ash for anything other than the rock star he was, and there was also
no denying he looked better than Jackson had ever seen him. He knew Ash was a
good looking man, but sometimes the styles Ash did with his hair and clothes
distracted from it. Seeing him now, his hair and clothes simpler but trendy,
Jackson couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Ash tipped his
head to the side in a contemplating look. “Well, Kent was right. Of all the
people I’d expect to knock on my door, you wouldn’t even come close to making
the list.”

“Yeah, I can
understand that, Mr. Ivers. We haven’t exactly had much in the way of friendly
conversation.”

Ash let out a
soft laugh. “Dude, don’t call me mister.”

The other band
members joined in with his snickering.

Jackson glanced
at them. He knew all their names. How could he not with the way Ash kept himself
in his line of sight. Sitting at a table was the drummer, Devin Hayes, his
thick arms folded across his barrel chest, his eyes dark brown, his hair
nothing more than black fuzz with how he had it buzzed close to his head.

The bass
player, Chad Anders, leaned back on a counter, and even though he was
snickering with the others, he had a friendly look to him. Of course, that
could be because with his small build, blond hair, blue eyes, and young looking
face, he had an innocent appearance to him. But Jackson also knew appearances
could be deceiving.

Guitarist,
Jeremy Shimoda, sat at the table with Devin, and was twisted around to look at
him. He had half his black hair pulled up in a ponytail, the other half fell to
the tops of his shoulders. Jackson knew from Jeremy’s last name and from
reading about him he was half Japanese, and his features blended the beauty of
both his Caucasian and Asian ethnicities. He was also the only one not
snickering. Instead, Jeremy looked at him with interest.

Jackson brought
his attention back to Ash. “Sorry. I’m not much of one for being called mister
either, but I thought I’d try to be polite.”

Louder laughter
came from Ash. “Trying to be polite? Since when the hell have you ever wanted
to be polite to me?”

Jackson
suppressed a growl in his throat before it slipped out. He forced his voice to
be calm and steady. “I’ve always tried to be polite every time I’ve had to
respond to one of your temper tantrum comments.”

Ash snapped
himself upright, bracing both hands on the couch as if he was about to launch
himself off it. “Just because I say it like it is doesn’t mean I’m having a
temper
tantrum
.”

“Maybe not, but
you’re having a damn good one right now.”

Ash’s mouth
dropped open with a stuttering breath slipping out. He snapped it closed, his
lips set in a hard line. As he spoke again, half the words came from between
clenched teeth. “You can say I’m having temper tantrums or whatever the hell
else you want, but at least people know what they’re getting with me. I am who
I am, and I don’t a give a shit who likes it and who doesn’t. Not like you, who
throws out insults behind your good boy smile.”

Jackson took a
step toward him, pointing down at him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,
so don’t talk like you do. I’m not as much of a good boy as everyone thinks.”

Ash stood up.
“Really? How so? No, wait, I bet I know. You’re kinkaholic in the bedroom,
aren’t you? You’ve probably even…” he sucked in a sharp gasp, “fucked with the
lights on. You rebel!”

Jackson glared
at him, not bothering to hold back his growl as he spoke in a low voice. “I
didn’t come here to be talked to like this.”

Ash folded his
arms across his chest. “Then you shouldn’t have come here at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve
figured that much out. I thought maybe we could talk things out like men and
clear the air between us, put an end to all this ridiculous fighting with the
press acting as ringleaders to both of us, but it looks like I was wrong. Maybe
when you’re ready to man-up, you can come find me and we’ll try talking again.”

“Man-up! You
did
not
just say that to me!”

Ash walked two
quick steps toward Jackson, but was forced to a short stop as Jeremy hopped up
and stood between them.

“I think you
both need to cool it,” Jeremy said, and turned to look at Jackson. “And with
how this is going, it might be better if you leave.”