SKYE

Nine days. I've officially been on tour for nine days. During that time, I've photographed five shows, spent at least a day's worth of time on a bus, and visited four states. And my boyfriend still hasn't called me.

I'm standing outside the bus in a dark parking lot outside the venue in Portland, Oregon. The boys have just wrapped up another show and I'm staring at my phone like a teenage girl.

I sigh and my breath turns to fog in the cold night air.

Screw it.

I open my phone and call Greg. It rings for a moment before he picks up.

"Hey!" he says with a warm voice. "How have you been?"

Well you would know if you would have called me.

"I'm good, how are you?"

"Great! I'm over at Jeff's place. Everybody's been talking about you."

"Good things, I hope?"

"Yeah, I told everyone about your new gig and Dan said this Jackson guy is big-time famous. I had no idea he was such a huge deal. I guess Dan's girlfriend has a big-time crush on him. They were joking that I should be worried about sending my girlfriend off with him."

I giggle awkwardly.

"You should see his fans. These girls are practically rabid and they do not mess around. The amount of bras and panties that end up thrown around is unreal. When he walks off the stage, it looks like the floor of a Victoria's Secret dressing room."

"That's crazy," he says with a laugh. "I wonder what he thinks of all that."

"He says it's a combination of flattering and creepy, which seems about right."

"So you actually have had a chance to talk to him? I figured if he was that famous he wouldn't spend much time around the people who work for him."

"Yeah we actually have been talking and grabbing food after shows. There's not a lot to do on the road so he's invited me to spend time on his bus a few times. Jacks is a really nice guy."

I hear someone shout something on the other line and Greg laughs.

"Cool, cool," he says. "Sorry, the guys were just giving me a hard time."

"About what?"

"Oh, Dan was joking that you're having an affair with Jackson Ford. We all know that's never gonna happen."

"Of course. But why do you say it like that?"

"I know you're too smart to mess around with a guy like that," he says with a huff. "From the sound of it, he goes through women like crazy—starlets, fashion models, socialites."

Jacks doesn't strike me as a player, but then again how well do I really know him?

"I don't know, honestly. I haven't exactly asked him about his dating life, but he did say he was kind of seeing someone."

"Yeah, and—you know—you're hardly his type."

I can't help but be a little bothered by the way he said that.

"Why would I not be his type?"

"No offense babe, but if this guy is dating supermodels, it's not like he'd be interested in a random photographer."

I huff in response and feel my stomach churn with his words. I'm not delusional, I know I'm not a perfect female specimen, but it hurts that he can't even imagine someone else wanting me.

"Thanks, Greg. I know I'm not a model but I'm not an ogre either."

"I didn't mean you're not pretty, you're beautiful. Celebrities are just on a different level, ya know? Guys like him have their pick of anyone."

I can't help interpret that as: 'why would someone choose you when there are better options?'.

I'm trying not to be offended, but my insecurities start creeping in. Greg is the one person who's supposed to love me and think I'm special, and he's laughing at the idea that a famous person would be interested in me.

Because you're nothing special. This is exactly why people leave you.

I shake my head. I know this is just my adopted-kid fear of abandonment talking. Deep down, I've always thought there must be something wrong with me. It didn't help that I had a twin that was perfectly well adjusted, which just made me feel that much more damaged.

Neither of us remembers our birth parents, but from what little I do know, we know childhood was rough. Yet somehow, Ollie got through basically unscathed.

"Babe?" Greg's voice calls through the phone. "You there?"

"Yeah, sorry, I just uh... yeah, you're probably right."

"Did I upset you?"

"Yeah... no... I dunno." I sigh and pause for a minute. "I guess I just haven't talked to you in a while and maybe I'm just missing you and missing home."

It's not entirely true, but the last thing I want to do is tell Greg that I'm feeling insecure and vulnerable.

No thank you.

"Well that's nice. I uh, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that."

You're supposed to say you miss me too, dingus.

"You don't have to say anything."

"It's not like it's been that long," he says. "We've spent longer between seeing each other when you've been in LA. It's not really different, right? Just think of it like that."

A pit starts to form in my stomach. He doesn't miss me one bit.

Does he even like me at all? What does it even mean about me if my own fiancé doesn't even like me?

"Anyway, I've got to go," I say abruptly, desperate to end the conversation.

"Okay, me too. Love ya, babe."

"Bye."

I end the call and lean up against the bus with a frustrated groan.

"Are you alright?" someone asks.

I let out a truly embarrassing squeak at the unexpected presence, but out of the shadows appears a familiar figure—Roman.

"Oh you scared me, um... I'm fine," I say. "Just a rough day."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You wanna chill in my bus 'til we head out? You can tell me what's got you so down."

JACKS

"Where's Skye?" I ask Kay as she walks into the parking lot.

"Last I saw she was putting her gear away in the bus," she says, gesturing to her bus.

I just checked the bus, but she wasn't there.

Could she be in my bus?

As I take a step toward my bus, I hear her voice on my left and I turn to catch her walking out of Roman's tour bus. He gives her a hug as she leaves and walks over in my direction.

"Hey!" she says to me as she makes her way back to her bus.

"Hey," I reply. "You been hanging out with Roman?"

"Oh uh, sort of. I just had a kind of bad day and he invited me in to talk. I'll see you at the next stop."

She walks past me to her bus and I find myself confused and conflicted. Obviously she didn't want to talk to me about whatever was going on with her, but she seemed happy to talk to Roman.

And why is Roman talking to her anyway?

I brush my hair back and make a beeline for Roman's bus. I knock on the door and, after a minute, Roman appears with a smirk on his face.

"I'd ask why you're here," he says, "but it's pretty damn obvious. So, come in, I guess."

"What are you doing with Skye?" I ask, crossing my arms as I walk inside.

"Why is that any of your business?"

"Because I don't want you messing with her or using her as some sort of game."

"I'm not doing either, so you can calm down, Jackson."

He scoffs and sits down on his black leather couch. His entire bus is sleek and spotless, with ashen wood panels on the walls, white marble surfaces, and leather everywhere.

Talk about compensating for something.

"All I'm saying is to stop whatever it is you're doing with her."

"And what if I don't?" he asks with a raised brow.

A fire begins to burn in my chest.

"What's your problem, Roman? Skye is my employee."

"She's not my employee."

I can't tell if he's doing this to get to me or has some other motive in mind, but I've never wanted to punch him in the jaw as much as I do right now. And I've wanted to punch Roman a lot.

"She's engaged, you jackass."

"That sounds like some other guy's problem."

"You've got plenty of groupies. Just leave Skye the hell alone. I mean it."

I start to walk away but, of course, he has to have the last word.

"You really gonna pretend that you have a problem with this because she's your employee? Or because she's engaged? Everyone here knows you don't give a fuck about that."

"Go fuck yourself," I spit.

"Hate to break it to you, Ford, but Skye isn't your girlfriend—she's your photographer. You are nothing to her. If her real boyfriend has a problem with how I talk to her, he can take it up with me."

He's right. Which pisses me off more than anything else. 

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