Night Shifts Black (10 page)

He nods, and finally
pushes himself up from the couch.

Will he even remember
he made the offer later? I try to guess how drunk he is, but it’s almost
impossible to tell with him.

“I’m having some
people over tonight,” he continues as if he hadn’t just dropped the bombshell
that’s left me reeling.

“Ok,” I say, somewhat
disappointed. “When do you need me out of here?”

He glances over at me
in surprise. “You’re not staying?”

It’s my turn to be
surprised. “You want me to stay?”

He looks at me like
I’m stupid and shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I? You think I’d offer you a room
in my suite and then kick you out for a party?”

I swallow. Offer me a
room. But somehow I sense that this “giving me a drawer” thing doesn’t mean the
same thing for the two of us as it does for most people. I have no idea what it
means, only that I’m not about to refuse it.

“Well, I know I’m not
really part of your other world.”

He lets out a bitter
laugh and removes the lid from the decanter. “My world.” He spits the words
like it’s some cruel joke. “No one is part of that world, sweetheart,” he
mutters, taking a swig. “It’s not even real.”

He must sense me
staring at him, waiting for more, but instead only waves his hand with a
dismissive laugh this time. “I’m drunk,” he explains in the most obvious
statement of all time.

It’s my turn to laugh.
“Yeah. You are. You sure you’re up for having people over?” I ask, concerned. I
study him closely. Today was a hard day. I would have questioned his intention
to fill the void with his old life even if he hadn’t spent most of it drinking
and acting like a crazy person.

He glares at me, and I
know I’ve pushed the overprotectiveness too far.

“How about you just
get ready? You may want to change into something less…Sheltertown.”

“Shelteron,” I
correct, matching his annoyed eye roll.

“Whatever.”

“And what’s that
supposed to mean, anyway?”

He shrugs. “I don’t
know. Nothing. Wear what you want.” But I hate the way his eyes scan me this
time. It’s the first time I’ve seen him evaluate me as anything except his
friend Callie.

“You know what, I
should probably just go back to my place. Maybe we could use some time apart. I
wouldn’t want to embarrass you with my Shelteron-ness,” I mutter, rising from
the couch.

“Callie…”

I ignore him and make
my way toward the guest room and my clothes.

“Callie, wait!”

I hear him call after
me, but there’s no point in answering. He’s right. I have no business with his
“people” and their “less Shelteron” attire.

I’ve already slipped
on my underwear beneath the robe when the door opens after a brief knock. I
spin around with indignation at the invasion of privacy, but my protest freezes
on my tongue at the look on his face.

“Callie, I’m sorry.
You know I didn’t mean anything by that. You’re my only friend right now. My
only real one, I just…” he stops, and I can tell he’s sincerely trying to
explain. “I’m not worried about me, but about you. I want you here tonight, but
I know these people, and I don’t want you to feel underdressed. I don’t want
you to be uncomfortable and want to leave. That’s all I meant. Really.”

“And you think I’d
feel underdressed in your bathrobe?”

He seems startled at
first, then grins when I do. “Maybe less so than the dirty jeans and hoodie you
had on when you rescued me this morning.”

I sigh. “I know, Luke,
but that’s what I’m trying to explain to you. A nice dress isn’t going to
change the fact that your people are not my people. I’m not going to be
comfortable no matter what I wear.”

He looks away, and I
know I’ve hurt him somehow but I don’t understand how.

“Ok, sure, yeah,” he
says finally with a weak smile.

Then, I get it. He’s
still torn between two worlds, the one where he belongs and the one where he
wants to be. His past and his present. I’ve been so consumed by my role in his
present that I’d given very little thought to what it must be like to have such
a powerful past constantly pulling you back.

“Here,” he says,
pulling out his wallet. “There are shops on the second floor, by the spa. Go
get yourself something. You won’t even have to go all the way back to your
place.”

I almost laugh at the
absurd thought, but manage to hold it in. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s
not trying to offend me. Money means nothing to him. The ridiculous offer was
just a simple solution to a current problem. I’m actually touched that he cares
so much.

“Thanks, but I’ll just
go home and change. It’s a ten minute cab ride, not a big deal.”

“You sure? You don’t
have to go.”

I almost change my
mind when I suddenly realize it’s not about me at all. He doesn’t want me to
go. He doesn’t want me to leave him alone with today. With his poor choices,
his guilt, his thoughts about reality. His upcoming battle to survive a night
with “his people.”

But I have limits,
too.

“It’s fine. Really.
I’ll go home and change and be back in a couple hours, ok?”

He forces a quick
smile, awkward almost, and shakes his head. “Yeah, of course. Yeah. Sorry. See
you later, then.” He backs toward the door.

“Luke, hey,” I call
after him, grabbing his arm. He stops, and I squeeze. “I’ll be back soon, ok?”

He laughs, but there’s
no humor in his eyes. “Yeah, of course. I have some things to take care of
anyway.”

He pulls away and
moves in the direction of his own room. I sigh and finish pulling on my
clothes.

∞∞∞

For some reason, I don’t want to rush back.
I’m not sure what to make of the awkward end to our day. I pull out my best
cocktail dress, sexy, but not slutty, and spend more time than I ever have
before on hair and makeup. My goal is to completely disguise myself from Lobby
Queen Mara Jacobson. Not because I care what she thinks, but because I’m amused
by the challenge.

I slip on a pair of
earrings and devastating heels, and stare at my reflection in the floor-length
mirror on my closet door. I stare for a long time, scrunching my nose, surprised,
maybe slightly disappointed, at what I see. It’s still me.

Sure, it’s a
glamorized, polished version of me, but my eyes are the same color, my face the
same shape. I’m taller and thinner from the heels, and my curves are more
pronounced, but it’s definitely me. A girl from Shelteron pretending to be a
girl from Hollywood. I’m almost angry with myself, embarrassed as it occurs to
me that I’d actually thought I could somehow be one of “them” just because I
tried to be. That deep down I had liked the idea of proving it was just fancy
clothing and makeup that separated us. That I could fit into Luke’s world if I
wanted to, I was just too good for that. I didn’t fit because I didn’t care,
not because I couldn’t. But as I sense the unexpected disappointment creeping
in, I realize my disdain isn’t for them, like I’d thought. Maybe for one night
I actually did want to be one of them. Maybe there is something more complex
separating his world from mine, something I didn’t understand as well as I’d
thought.

Maybe he’d been right
to ask me to go home and change into something less…Shelteron.

I glance at the clock
and realize it’s later than I’d thought. I don’t know what time an event called
“having some people over” starts, but I plan to be the first. I want access to
Luke before anyone else, and yes, that includes having his undivided attention
as he observes the startling truth that even girls from Shelteron, Pennsylvania
own makeup and killer shoes. Then, my eyes fall on my laptop.

As the days have
passed, it’s been getting harder and harder to resist the urge to open it. To
search on the vast stores of truth and lies out there about the man I’ve come
to care about deeply. Luke fills me with so many questions, and I know some of
the answers could be at my fingertips, but I’ve been terrified of letting what
we have be tainted by other people’s interpretations of his past. I care about
him too much to let my opinion of who he is be corrupted by who he was. Casey
had only cemented my fear that day at Jemma’s, warning me about a Luke I didn’t
know and can’t imagine. The Luke that everyone knows but me.

I swallow as I realize
that if I go tonight, if I truly enter his world, I might meet that Luke. I
might meet the man I’ve been afraid of, and I shouldn’t do it blindly. I sigh
and drop to my bed, pulling the laptop off the nightstand and firing it up,
even as every ember of my conscience screams against it. Still, it’s time. I’m
not going to be naïve, and it’s not like I’m going to learn anything everyone
else doesn’t already know. He can’t expect me to remain completely ignorant in
a world that’s left him totally exposed.

It turns out to be a
simple search. So simple. He’s everywhere. Pictures, articles, websites,
everything I could possibly want to know about Luke Craven of Night Shifts
Black is right in front of me. Well, everything except what I actually know. And
yes, maybe everything that’s actually important.

I close my eyes, my
fingers hovering, stuck between temptation and loyalty. He had asked me once,
practically begged me, not to let these pages impact who I thought he was. I’d
held out for so long, but I can’t do it anymore. Why should I have to? I shut
off my conscience. I can’t deal with that right now.

Opening my eyes, I
jump in.

I start with the
images. There are hundreds. No, maybe thousands. I don’t know how you can even
tell, but I skim through them, stopping longer at the ones that catch my
attention. Luke’s face and body is all over my screen. Many of the photos are
clearly professional. Staged shots for album covers, magazine shoots,
promotional materials for the band and sponsors. He’s rarely fully-clothed in
these images, and I’m not surprised as I study them intently, trying to
convince myself it’s only research. It’s only because I care. But the truth is plastered
all over my screen, bare and visceral. If I were his manager, and my client
could market sex the way he does, I’d never let him wear clothes in front of a
camera. Never.

I blink as my blood
starts to pound, the images doing exactly what I feared they would, exactly
what they’re intended to do, market Luke Craven as a commodity. A commodity my
young, female body desperately wants to possess.

I suck in a deep
breath and force myself to keep going.

There are many other
pictures also. Some are harmless. Red carpet shots, live performance photos,
fan pics, but my gaze starts getting stuck on the less innocent ones. These
come with headlines. Rumors. Drugs. Disturbances. Disputes. Arrests. I skim
some of the articles themselves, but they don’t seem real for some reason. It’s
his name, sure, but the person they’re describing isn’t the man who offered me
a drawer in his guest room. The man who loses sleep over a chair.

It’s time. I’ve
delayed long enough, and I add the name “Elena” to my query.

I slam my laptop shut.

I saw it. It was too
big, on too many links. I couldn’t escape it in time. I knew I shouldn’t have
done this. I close my eyes and clench my fists, wanting to run to him and hide
from him at the same time. I shouldn’t have given in, but I did, and now I’ve
sentenced myself to the truth. One word. One clue that changes everything. And
now it belongs to me, too.

Suicide.

Day
Seventeen: Part II.

I can hear the music blasting from Luke’s
suite as soon as I step off the elevator. Aidan, the elevator boy, and I
exchange a look as he holds the door for me. I know he recognizes me, even if
he’s as surprised as I am that I’ve tried so hard to not look like me.

“You look great,” he
offers, and I can’t tell if he means it or if he’s just fishing for a bigger
tip. I give him the same amount as always, but he doesn’t seem upset. Maybe he actually
meant it.

I don’t bother
knocking on Luke’s door. Luke and I had done away with that formality a while
ago, but I doubt this is the kind of party where anyone would answer a door
anyway. These aren’t people who knock.

I’m not sure what to
expect as I open it, but it’s certainly not what I find. “Some people” means
something very different to Luke Craven than it does to me. Music blares, the
lights are dimmed to an uncomfortably low level, and voices swell around me.
Laughing, talking, shouting, beautiful people pressed together everywhere. And
sex. Lots and lots of sex. Not the shocking kind from Roman orgy documentaries,
but the obscure kind, the subtle kind oozing from every flirtatious interaction
and scantily clad body. The kind I’d just seen saturating every professional
image of Luke. The kind that doesn’t define sex as an act but as a lifestyle.
It’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

I’m about to turn and
leave when I feel a hand on my arm. I spin toward it, expecting Luke, and fear
I don’t cover my disappointment enough when Casey leans close.

“Breakfast club girl!”
he shouts toward my ear.

I force a smile. “Rock
god!” I return, and he laughs. He’s clearly already well on his way to a great
time, and I make the decision right then to stop fearing and resenting Luke’s
world. How can I even start to understand him if I don’t try to understand what
created him?

“Where’s Luke?” I ask,
and Casey points toward the main living area.

“Come on! I’ll get you
a drink.”

I can feel him looking
at me as I pass, and I realize, in yet another self-shaming moment, that I
don’t hate the attention. In fact, it feels good to be admired. To be wanted.
Even if deep down I know I would do anything to have Luke look at me the way Casey
is. I also find it hilarious that he’s trying to guide me through a room in
which I spend more time than my own apartment. It’s a valiant maneuver,
however, so I allow him to show me around.

A tour guide turns out
to be more helpful than I’d thought. I do my best to take in the lights and
sound, but the peaceful oasis in which Luke and I have spent hours in escape has
been transformed into a club-like atmosphere I barely recognize. Women who must
be famous for being beautiful sway and move to the music, cocktails in hand,
smiles suggesting they’re waiting for something. I’m not sure what, so I
quickly move on, still concerned that I don’t see Luke.

“Here!” a voice
interrupts behind me, and I turn to meet Casey again. He hands me an empty
champagne glass and holds up a sealed bottle with a mischievous glint.

“I can tell you’re
cautious. You don’t trust us wild rockers!” he calls, opening the seal on the
bottle. He pops the cork and fills my glass. He’s not wrong, and I smile
in-spite of myself. I would not have accepted a drink from him, or anyone. Not
unless I’d watched him pour it himself. I’m actually kind of impressed that he
thought of it, but then can’t help but wonder why he’d thought of it. Some
answers are more flattering than others, but there’s something about him that’s
always seemed genuine, so I go with the flattering ones.

“To Luke,” he says,
holding up his own glass.

I stare at the bubbly
liquid and nod. Fair enough.

“To Luke.”

I take a tentative sip
and am afraid I don’t cover my reaction fast enough. Casey laughs at my
expression.

“Princess of Tanzania,
my ass!” he cries. “You’ve never even had good champagne before!”

I shrug with a grin
and empty the glass. “A girl could get used to this,” I agree. He refills my
glass, then his own, before placing the bottle on a table and pulling me toward
the music.

“Where are we going?”
I cry.

“To dance!” he
returns.

“What? No way!”

He rolls his eyes and
clearly has no intention of accepting a refusal. It’s my turn to laugh, and I
let him lead me to the tight pack of swaying bodies.

“Hey, darling!” a
gorgeous brunette purrs as we work our way through the crowd.

Casey accepts her
embrace and kiss on the cheek, but I don’t miss the brief shadow that washes
across his face. Her arm remains tightly around his neck as they exchange more
words, and I find myself getting slightly jealous. Ridiculous, since I barely
even know Casey, let alone care who touches him. It’s probably just my insane
fear that if he abandons me for this woman, I will have no idea what to do with
myself next.

The interaction
doesn’t last long, and the other woman eyes me with a mix of suspicion and
disdain as he pulls away. She gives him another kiss, this one less polite and
more determined, but he only smiles and ducks away with a very satisfying
awkwardness.

“Sorry about that,” he
says to me when I finally get him back. “Ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex? Does she know that?”
I ask, and he shrugs with a smile.

“Sometimes the lines
get blurred,” he explains. “Ok, enough stalling. Let’s dance!”

I manage to forget all
about my discomfort, and even Luke, as Casey pulls me close. I know this means
nothing to him, that this is yet another night in the life of a rock star, that
I’m yet another decent-looking girl in a tight dress he can impress for a bit, but
for me, every sound, smell, second, is like a dream I’m trying to absorb before
reality dumps me back in my one-bedroom aimless existence.

Casey reminds me a lot
of Luke, at least, according to the champagne, and as it works its way through
my system, I start to find him extremely attractive. His hair is darker than
Luke’s, almost black, and his eyes hold a constant amusement that’s the
opposite of Luke’s saturated depth. I suspect that Casey would make me laugh if
I let him. Humor without the constant eggshells. Right now, that’s exactly what
I need, someone I can’t break, and when he pulls me against him, I suddenly
remember the photos I’d just seen of him as well. Apparently, not wearing
clothing is a popular pose for rock stars, drummers included, even though at
the time I had skimmed over Casey’s images in search of Luke. Now, I wish I
hadn’t. I suck in my breath at the annoying thought, knowing it’s not real,
this sudden attraction. Casey isn’t Luke, and part of me is just grateful to
him for taking me under his wing and showing me a good time. But as the moment pounds
on, I find it harder and harder to care what my brain thinks.

Our bodies are close
now, moving together with the music, pulsating in the sensual wave of light and
heat surrounding us. Couples on all sides are touching each other, lips coming
together, exploring, laughing, drinking. I glance up at Casey and am startled
to meet his expression, very different than what I’d expected, what it was just
a moment ago. I almost feel hurt as his constant smile fades and he puts some
distance between us. He gives me a quick, almost apologetic, twist of the lips.

“I’m thirsty. Let’s go
get a drink,” he shouts, taking my hand and leading me away from the group.

Surprised, and yes,
disappointed, I nod and follow him toward the kitchen island which has been
transformed into a full-service bar. Instead of more champagne, however, he asks
for water, and the bartender pours a glass for each of us. Then Casey pulls out
a stool for me, and drops to the one beside it.

“Whew. It’s hot in
here, huh?” he says, holding the glass up to his forehead. I know he’s just
trying to explain away the sudden retreat, but I’m not buying it.

“Is everything ok? Is
it your ex-girlfriend?” I ask.

He looks confused,
then laughs. “Jana? No.”

“Oh, I see. So it’s
me. I’m just a terrible dancer.”

He grins again. “Yes,
that’s it.” Then grows serious when I refuse to let him off the hook.

“You don’t want to
sleep with me, Callie,” he states bluntly.

I almost choke on my
water. “What?”

He shrugs. “Am I
wrong? Is that where you wanted that to go?”

“We can’t dance
without sleeping together?”

He shrugs. “You tell
me. Would you have let me kiss you out there?”

I look away, starting
to understand. “Probably.”

“You would have. And
you would have loved it,” he adds with a glint that somehow makes the boast sweet
instead of obnoxious. His smile fades as he shakes his head. “Anyway, this
isn’t your scene. I’m trying to remember that. The normal rules don’t apply.”

I swallow and look
away. There it is. I’m filled with some strange mix of embarrassment, anger,
gratitude, and admiration. I certainly hadn’t expected Casey Barrett of Night
Shifts Black to play the gentleman, and I don’t know how to thank him without
admitting he’s right, I don’t belong here. I certainly don’t belong with him.

Then, my eyes catch a
glimpse of Luke, and I forget all about the awkward moment. Casey senses my
shift and follows my gaze across the room. Distracted, I miss his reaction as
my stomach turns at the sight of Luke surrounded by three women, all clearly
from a magazine cover. Their hands run over his body as they move in sync with
the music. Even in the dim light, I can see that he’s wasted. The women may be
dancing, but he’s just trying to stay upright. I notice they’re practically
supporting him, his other hand braced against the wall. One of the models pulls
his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, and he laughs for a second before
her mouth covers his. They all move in, shoving him into the wall. I can barely
see him anymore.

Tears burn my eyes as
I stare in shocked horror. I don’t know what to do. He’s so out of it, he can’t
possibly be making this choice. And yet, I know somehow he made this choice the
second he decided to “have some people over.” This is his world. Like he said.
This is what he meant. This is what he wanted. This is today’s escape from the
emotional scars. My efforts aren’t enough anymore.

“He doesn’t care about
them,” Casey says gently. “I doubt he even knows them.”

I nod, completely
numb. That doesn’t make me feel any better as I’m torn between running over to either
rescue him or smack him.

“He’s completely
wasted. He can barely stand.”

Casey nods. “Yeah.
Believe me, they wouldn’t have a shot otherwise. He doesn’t fool around like
that anymore.”

My gaze shoots to him
in alarm. “Wait, what are you saying?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t
seem nearly as distressed as I am. “Huh? I’m not saying anything.”

“Shouldn’t we do
something?” I cry.

Now, he’s totally
confused. “Do what?”

I glance back at the
small circle and observe with concern that it’s moving away from the crowd. I
can’t breathe. They’re going back to his room.

“Casey! This isn’t
him! We can’t just let him do this!”

“Do what? What are you
so upset about?” Casey is clearly annoyed.

“That! They’re taking
him back to his room!”

“Taking him? You act
like he doesn’t want to be alone with three models. He’s a big boy, Callie. He
can handle himself.”

Casey pops another
bottle of champagne as if to prove how ridiculous I’m being. “Here, have
another drink.”

I shake my head in
disbelief. “No, this isn’t like him. Something’s wrong!”

Casey laughs, and I
glare at him. “This is exactly like him, sweetheart. That’s what I tried to
tell you at breakfast. You don’t actually know him. The guy you know is very
different than the real Luke Craven.”

He softens when he
sees my expression and sighs. “Look, you’re a very sweet girl. I totally understand
why Luke wants you in his life, and I’m sure you’re really good for him, but
he’s not good for you.”

“What’s that supposed
to mean?”

He shrugs. “Luke is a
force. He’s my brother and I love him, but you’re lying to yourself if you
think you’re going to fix him before he destroys you.”

I stare at him in
shock, in anger. “You really think so little of your ‘brother?’” I mock.

He raises his eyebrows
before letting out an irritated laugh. “Whatever, hon. Good luck with that,” he
smirks, grabbing his bottle and leaving me to my craziness.

I glare after him,
annoyed with myself more than anyone for not hating Casey as he retreats. He’s
not a bad guy, I can see that, he’s just not used to fighting hard battles he
doesn’t have to. In his own way, he was just trying to help me, and I hurt his
ego by refusing to let him.

I glance back down the
hallway toward the bedrooms, but Luke and his models are long gone. Then,
suddenly, I don’t care anymore. I don’t need to fit in here. I don’t have to
impress Casey Barrett, or that man with the fake glasses by the door, or the
woman with the thousand dollar shoes. I’m not here for them.