JACKS

Touring is exhausting.

It's not the nightly shows that really wear me out, but the constant time spent on the road traveling from city to city. Watching signposts go by as you hop from time zone to time zone gets old fast. If you've gotta do it, a luxury tour bus is certainly the way to go, but there's only so much you can do to entertain yourself before all you want to do is be anywhere without goddamn wheels.

Luckily for me, tonight we have hotel rooms. After the show, Kaylani had the hotel managers open the pool after hours just for us. As much as I'm desperate for a nap on solid land, I rarely get the chance to swim in a hotel pool. Usually they're packed with people and I get bombarded by fans. But tonight, we got a special keycard and it's just us.

Kay, Dré, and our bassist are sitting in one corner of the pool chatting as I walk up and knock on the glass doors. Kay gets up and walks over to let me inside.

"Hey, Jacks!" she says, giving me a hug before returning to her spot.

I pull off my t-shirt and throw my stuff on a nearby lounge chair before joining them in the shallow end.

"Those are some intense shorts!" Sticks says, emerging from the changing rooms. "Do you ever do anything subtle, Ford?"

I laugh as I look down at my hot-pink swim trunks.

"You know subtle's not really my thing."

He lets out a high-pitched giggle.

"Wyatt!" Kaylani calls to him. It's usually not a good sign when she uses your real name. "Did you sneak to the changing rooms to smoke a joint? What did I say about not smoking in here?"

"You said don't smoke in here."

She lets out a frustrated huff and rolls her eyes.

"No rock star shenanigans tonight! You hear me? If we have to pay a single extra fee, I will personally whoop all your asses."

Sticks is saved by a tap at the glass and he walks past the pool to let in a few more people from the tour. One of them is Roman, wearing slate-gray shorts and a white shirt. He walks up to me at the edge of the pool and kneels down, pulling a rolled-up gossip rag out of his back pocket.

"Found this in the lobby," he says with a bit of a chuckle. "Thought you may want to know."

The headline reads 'Jackson Ford's New Lady?' in big red letters. Beneath it is a photo of me walking hand-in-hand with a female friend of mine. I remember this day, but we weren't actually holding hands, it's just cleverly angled to make us look like we were.

"Ugghh," I sigh. "Dré, you're gonna want to see this."

He swims over to us, then stops for a moment to read the paper in Roman's hands. Dré leans his elbows on the ledge and grabs the paper to read more. Roman walks off to find another white chair.

"'Ford and a mystery brunette were spotted shopping in Beverly Hills earlier this week...'" he reads. "What the hell? You weren't even in California this week."

"I know."

"Who is she?"

"She's a friend. I met her at yoga and we were walking to our cars."

He bites his lip.

"Okay, shouldn't need any handling but I'll give the team a heads up. You should give the girl a call too, if she doesn't already know."

"I don't even have her number."

I hear a few more people walking in behind us, the crowd making the volume level of the room slowly rise.

"Who's the latest conquest, Playboy?" Sticks asks, jumping into the water next to us and splashing me a bit.

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Oh you know Jacks," Dré says as he reads through the article. "More of the usual. Fooling around with a new woman every week. This time it's a girl from yoga class."

He chuckles and tosses the paper onto a lounge chair a few feet from the pool. When he looks back at me, his expression is concerned and slightly guilty.

"Way to go, Playboy," Sticks teases.

Dré's eyes widen slightly and he chuckles uncomfortably.

"Hey, Skye!" he says with a smile.

He looks past my shoulder and I turn to see Skye right behind us. She's in a simple black, high-waisted swim set and looking a bit awkward.

"Hi," she says softly.

Oh no. She definitely heard that conversation out of context. I'm going to have to explain that.

Someone swims up next to her and it takes me a moment to realize it's Roman.

"Hey, Skye," he says. "How are you doing?"

"Good thanks."

"Good to hear."

He smiles and softly touches her shoulder.

"What have you guys been up to?" she asks.

"Just enjoying the latest tabloid story about Jackson's new fling," Roman says with a smirk.

"No no. She's not a fling," I protest.

"Oh, so it's serious then?"

I should have expected that. Roman is excellent at twisting my words.

"No, she's just a friend."

"Oh my god!" a girl screams from behind us. I turn around and see two young women standing outside the glass door waving at us. "Jackson Ford!"

Shit.

"Roman!" the other girl screams. "I love you! We saw your show!"

Roman looks over at me. I know what he's asking without having to hear it out loud—should we humor these ones or ask them to leave?

Before I can think it through, Kaylani is at the door giving them a speech about us being a private party. After a minute of arguing they both walk away, cursing under their breath.

That escalated quickly.

*****

After opening a few beers that we were definitely not allowed to have in the pool, Dré, Sticks, Skye, and I ended up sitting on a few lounge chairs shooting the shit.

"Who's up for a chicken fight?" someone calls from the pool.

"I'm down if I'm not partnered with Dré!" I say.

Dré gives him me glare and smacks me in the back of the head.

"I don't get it," Skye says. "What's a chicken fight and why don't you want to do it with André?"

All three of us burst into laughter, Sticks in particular almost choking on his beer.

"Chicken fighting is when you get on your friends' shoulders in the pool and try to push the other person off."

"How is that a chicken thing? Do chickens even swim?"

I shrug, unsure of the answer myself.

"Let's just say last time he played, Dré let his rooster get out of control," Sticks says with a snicker.

"Damn it, Ford! You told Sticks?" he says with a scoff.

"I didn't tell anyone anything. You had too much tequila on the last tour and told everyone on the bus."

He groans and buries his head in his hands.

"Uggh. Can you just forget you ever heard that?"

"Shit, my bad," Sticks says with a smirk. "I bet that's a hard memory to relive."

Dré jumps up and gets Sticks into a headlock and they wrestle on the chair for a moment. Skye jumps out of their way and moves next to me.

"I'm sorry I asked," she says.

"You wanna play, Skye?" Roman asks, appearing behind us.

"Oh uh, I dunno." She stands up and sweeps her wet hair over one shoulder. "I was actually thinking about calling it a night."

"Aww, come on," he says, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Can't end the party yet. We hardly got to hang out."

Hands to yourself, Roman.

"Mmmm..." she hums in contemplation.

"I'll take that as a yes!" he proclaims, grabbing her around her torso and jumping into the pool.

She lets out a small screech as the two hit the water with an impressive splash.

"What did I say about rock star antics?!" Kay shouts as Roman surfaces and combs his hair back. "If you got one drop of water on my hair you're a dead man, Roman Dewan!"

I see a shivering Skye emerge from the water and begin swimming toward the edge of the pool.

"Sorry Skye, had to," Roman says.

She says nothing in response and grabs ahold of the ladder to climb out of the pool.

"You okay?" I ask, walking up to her.

She steps out of the pool and I can see that she's breathing hard, her chest heaving up and down rapidly. Her skin has paled and her shoulders are collapsed inward. She looks really upset. She flinches when I reach out to her so I pull my hand back in.

"Skye? Are you alright?" I ask again.

She shakes her head but doesn't make eye contact with me. Without a word, she grabs a towel and wraps it around herself, then walks toward the exit. At this point, several of us have called out to her but she's not saying a word.

"Skye," I say, following her toward the door. She stops but doesn't look back at me.

"Stop," she says. "I'm fine. Going to my room."

She slips out the door and darts for the elevator. I try to decide if it's the best plan to follow Skye out into the hallway in just my shorts, but my concern for her overpowers any potential embarrassment I may incur.

I open the door and make my way down the hall, just ten feet behind her.

"That's him!" a woman squeals.

The two fans from earlier appear in front of me, blocking my path as they ramble and giggle.

"You're like, totally my favorite," one of them says.

I consider pushing past them, but I see Skye in the elevator holding her arms around herself and rocking on her heels as the doors close in front of her.

A dozen thoughts are running through my head, but one surfaces above the noise.

Fuck. 

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