“No, it’s none of these guys,” I said with a hundred percent certainty.
“What about him?” Rob pulled a photo over from the side. It was out of focus and blurred, but I could clearly see that this man didn’t have any of Cyrus’s features.
“No, that’s not him either.”
“Do you think you could give the authorities a detailed sketch of the guy?” Hampton asked me.
“Can you remember him that well?” Harrison interrupted before I could respond.
“Yeah, I’m usually the designated driver,” I smiled. “If you know what I mean?”
Woodley nodded at me then turned to Harlow and said, “Thanks, Rob, for your time.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” Rob said regretfully as he went to leave.
“Umm, Rob?” I spoke up while unexpectedly feeling a wave of nervousness since I was talking to the man Riley admired so much.
“Yes?” He swung his sandy hair out of his eyes to look over at me.
“I know that this is seriously not the appropriate time for this, but my friend is a huge fan of yours.”
Rob smiled at me for the first time and said, “It’s okay.”
Grabbing my ticket out of my back pocket, I started searching the table for a pen when Lizzie announced, “Because you know, we just love the gays.”
Rob wasn’t smiling anymore. My eyes expanded as I looked at Lizzie.
“I’m so sorry.” I fumbled with my words when Rob turned for the door and left without giving me his autograph.
“I cannot believe you!” I yelled at her and it seemed to echo off the walls long after I was done.
“Ladies,” Woodley interrupted. “Umm, can we focus?”
Completely dumbfounded, I looked back over at Woodley.
“Can I leave or what?” Lizzie asked. “It’s not like I remember the guy or anything.”
“Yes, you can go,” he answered.
Her glossy lips pulled up into a triumphant smile before she passed by me. I was not used to seeing this side of her. That was probably because I never had anything that she wanted this badly before. Though I was pretty sure I didn’t actually
have
what she wanted in the first place.
“Do you mind waiting?” Woodley asked me.
“No, it’s okay,” I assured him while crossing my arms.
We waited there for over an hour for the authorities, but somehow there was a miscommunication about needing a sketch artist. Woodley was fuming about who dropped the ball, the police or one of his own?
“How could you forget to tell them we needed a sketch artist?! He said that a tour bus was next!” Woodley grumbled to Harrison and Hampton who were huddled to the side by one of the hairdressers’ chairs in front of the mirrors.
“How did he even get backstage?” Harrison asked with exasperation.
“And why do the venue surveillance cameras have no record of him walking in the hallways?” Woodley asked gruffly. “That’s what I want to know.”
“Someone had to have clearance to let him in,” Harrison added.
“I agree.” Hampton looked over his shoulder at me and suddenly lowered his voice so that I couldn’t listen in anymore.
The guys broke up their heated discussion when a few officers entered into the room. Although there wasn’t a sketch artist with them, I did provide the police with a description of Cyrus. Though how many tall, white, built, bald men with a tattoo did I know? Just looking at the crew alone, I could have rattled off a few.
After another long hour with the authorities, Woodley escorted me out of the room. I knew that Lizzie was long gone to some unknown location with Hawkins. Wondering how I was going to get back to the van, my eyes slowly adjusted from the bright light of the room to the dimly lit walkways of the backstage. Woodley continued to usher me down the hallway when I recognized a familiar, tall silhouette leaning against a nearby wall. Hawkins wasn’t anywhere with Lizzie I realized. Hawkins was standing right there waiting for me.
“She was very helpful,” Woodley said to Hawkins when we approached him.
“I’m just glad that
someone
could be.” Hawkins made a clear jab at Lizzie. “Thanks.”
The bodyguard backpedaled a few steps and replied, “No problem.” He then turned around to leave us alone. Hawkins continued to watch the bodyguard exit down the hallway. It gave me a minute to discreetly look him up and down. He was wearing a short-sleeve red t-shirt that had “Brooklyn” printed on it that showed off his large biceps and slightly baggy jeans which looked hot on him. The leather cuff he wore from time to time was around his wrist. I looked up and met his gaze while he stared down at me. Those blue eyes didn’t seem surprised, or condescending for that matter.
“Are you wearing another one of our shirts?” He tugged at it from the bottom to straighten it out over my chest.
“Yes,” I gently slapped his hand away, “but it’s not why you think.”
“Ah, huh,” he said, not sounding totally convinced with a wicked grin on his face. “So how do you feel about tour buses?”
“You have got to be kidding me.” I rolled my eyes. He wrapped an arm around me to guide me down the hallway. Although I didn’t want to go on his bus, I did like his arm around my shoulder.
“What? You have a problem with tour buses or something?” He looked like nothing could please him more. We walked down the boardwalk-like hallway. Lights were lined intermittently up above, casting off just enough light for us to see the ground below.
“Yeah, I do.” Tilting my head against his shoulder to look up at him, I realized how close our faces were to each other now. His warm breath trickled down my neck and the smell of fresh aftershave filled my nose. The heat and smell momentarily disoriented me until a small knowing smile crossed his lips. Snapping my head forward, I lied on a whim. “Now, that I know The Grimm Reaper is planning to target one of them.”
Hawkins just threw his head back with laughter. “Ohh, I got it now,” he said sarcastically while tightening his grip around my shoulder as we pushed through the doorway. The wooden planks beneath us changed to bits of gravel in the parking lot. Across from us was a line of tour buses.
“So that’s what
really
terrifies you?” He seemed humored by the question. He released his firm grasp on me when we reached his tour bus.
“Of course,” I emphasized in a valiant effort to sound sensible.
“So this isn’t about your rules, then?” he asked knowingly. If only Lizzie would have kept her trap shut, I thought grudgingly.
“No,” I said, surer than I felt.
“Good.” He propped open the door and waved. “Get in.”
“The Grimm Reaper,” I reminded him in a soft, hushed voice.
“I had security thoroughly check the bus,” he explained. “You have nothing to worry about.” It wasn’t like I had kept my displeasure of being on a tour bus from him. We both knew that this “visit” wasn’t by chance.
“Right,” I murmured, but hesitated at the opening of the tour bus.
“It’s completely harmless,” he said while nearly close to laughter. I rolled my eyes. Damn you, Hawkins! I had already broken several rules. What’s one more? So I turned and walked up the steps.
The tour bus felt oddly intimate and private, like I had walked into Hawkins’ home for the first time. Of course, it was stunning and filled with all the bachelor’s pad necessities. I gazed down at the leather seating on either side of the aisle in the front. The kitchen area was behind the couches: gray slick countertops, stainless steel fridge, and a lavish half circular booth for sitting. Further down the aisle were bunk beds on both sides. Hawkins passed by me to turn on the lights to the rest of the bus. He quickly collected some items of clothing and clutter in an effort to pick up the place. Hawkins tossed the stuff into a darkened room in the back, which I assumed was his bedroom, shut the door and turned off the light in the back.
But it was the little things that made the bus personal: little mementos and photos covering the fridge, an iPod with ear phones was stashed in the corner of the couch, a bag of left over fast food was on the counter, and empty, green beer bottles were still in their cup holders along the table. Hawkins met me halfway back down the aisle. He gazed around the bus before he tilted his head back down to look at me.
“Pretty fancy.” I nodded while glancing around at the kitchen area.
“Hey, it’s better than all of us being crammed into one van,” he emphasized, thinking that I was being sarcastic.
“Amen to that,” I said under my breath.
“Now, where were we?” he asked while rummaging through his fridge. “Coke?”
“Sure.”
He grabbed up two bottles of coke and placed them on the table before he sat down. He motioned for me to sit across from him. The dim light above the table gave off a flattering glow, and the ebb of darkness around the small booth made it feel suddenly intimate.
“What do you want to know about me?” he asked. “So you can ridicule me later?” He arched his eyebrow as he took another sip of his coke.
“What makes you think that I haven’t already figured you out?” I glared at him.
“Oh, wow.” He tilted his head. “Umm,” he said mockingly, like he was trying to really think about it. “Could it be all the wrong assumptions you’ve already made about my life? Or could it be because you haven’t figured yourself out yet,” he said under his breath as he rested his elbow on the table and dangled the bottle in front of him before taking another sip.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really,” he insisted while locking eyes with mine. All of the attention was a little daunting, but I forced myself to keep eye contact.
“Like what haven’t I figured out?” I asked him mockingly.
“Why are you following us around?” he asked innocently enough.
It felt like a time to be honest. What did it matter now, anyway?
“My dad died recently,” I shrugged. “He didn’t make much of his life and now my mom is pestering me because she’s afraid I’ll turn out like him.”
“So you’re avoiding her?” he said, sounding slightly disappointed.
“I’m preserving what sanity I still have left.”
“How’s she pestering you?” He looked at me curiously as he took another sip of his drink.
“College is in the fall,” I muttered. “She’s hell bent on me succeeding at something.” I looked away from his daunting gaze to the fridge across the aisle.
“So, what have you chosen?” he asked. “I mean, if you know yourself so well and all.” A crooked little smile played across his face while his eyebrows peaked, prompting me to answer.
“I’ve discovered that I am a damn good writer.” I smirked as I said it.
“That’s what you think.” He laughed.
“Good enough to get hired by your record company.”
“Like it’s really hard to trash a person.” He sat up and met my smirk with his own. Crap, was he intimidating! Crossing my arms, I pinched my face like, you don’t know anything.
“Where does your mom really think that you are now?” He arched his eyebrow knowingly as he took another sip of his coke.
Pondering whether I should continue with the truth, Hawkins tilted his head and looked up at me with those crystal clear blue eyes.
“She thinks that I’m working for Senator Johnson’s campaign,” I said flatly.
He suddenly sprayed the soda in laughter.
Wonderful
“That was, umm,” he wiped a hand across his mouth, “unexpected.”
“You’re such a jerk.” I shook my head while grinning.
“What is it that you do exactly for Senator Johnson’s campaign?” His expression looked unfathomable as though he couldn’t picture it.
Suddenly I was regretting my confession. It only seemed to make him happier. “Writing for his website,” I admitted with all seriousness.
“Wow, that couldn’t have been very good for his campaign,” he wagered. “Senator Johnson’s speech
jolted my bones
,” he quoted my review while laughing.
“Really, since we’re sharing tonight, why do you want to quit the band?” I shot back while glaring across the table at him.
The smile suddenly left his face. “Who told you that?”
“It’s just what I’ve heard.” I wondered how accurate Riley was in his assumptions now that I was openly saying them to Hawkins.
“Heard or assumed?” he questioned. “Because with you, I have to ask.”
“Heard,” I said, like my source was as legit as they come and not the offhand discussion I had with a friend. “So?”
“The fame is really hard to deal with,” he said sarcastically when I realized that Riley had been right.
“Yes, to have everyone there at your beck and call. Making millions of dollars doing something you love.” I rolled my eyes at him.
“Well, not the beck and call part…aside from you,” he added jokingly before saying, “I used to love it.”
“What happened?”
“Actually,” he said gravely. “I lost someone, too.” The sarcasm suddenly disappeared from his tone. He looked distractedly over my shoulder like his thoughts suddenly took him a hundred miles away.
“My brother.” He exhaled heavily with the confession. “He died in a car crash not that long ago.”
“Oh.”
“Please don’t say that you’re sorry.” He held up a hand to stop me. His twisted expression made the shadows on his face contort under the lighting.
“Why do people use that expression anyway?” he asked with annoyance.
“It’s because they don’t know what to say.” I assumed, which was strange since I had wondered the same thing when my dad passed.
“So you wanted to quit because of your brother?” I tried to make sense of it.
“Okay, first of all,” Hawkins pushed his drink to the side, “there was no
quitting
,” he set me straight. His upper lip curled in disgust from the insinuation.
“No?”
“No.”
“So he died and?” I prompted him, but he hesitated while leaning back in his seat again.
“No, bullshit,” I reminded him.