JACKS

It's six in the morning and the city is surprisingly quiet. There's only the low hum of traffic in the distance and the swish of palm trees in the morning air.

The roadies have loaded most of my stuff onto my tour bus and have started on Roman's. We have another two buses in the lot ready for the crew.

My bodyguard, Bruce, stands outside my bus in a black t-shirt, slacks, and reflective sunglasses. His face is expressionless as usual.

"Hey, Big Man!" I say. "My bus is all loaded. If you want to grab a coffee or something I'm sure I'll be good till we get on the road."

"Mister Ford," he replies with a low, almost scolding tone.

Bruce takes his job seriously, sometimes too seriously. Our relationship mostly consists of me trying to get him to lighten up and him—begrudgingly—rebuffing my attempts.

A clattering sound pulls my attention and I follow it to the one person I've been dying to see this morning—Skye.

She's wearing a black leather jacket over a striped shirt and dark grey skinny jeans. The cord of her headphones just peaks out from behind her jacket and she seems to be swaying along to music. Her chunky-heeled boots thump against the pavement as she struggles to roll two suitcases without running them into each other. One is a large, hard-shelled black suitcase and the other is smaller and purple.

"Hey!" I shout and wave her way.

She reaches a hand up to wave but seems to have forgotten her luggage, because the handle falls forward and catches her leg, sending both her and her bags toppling onto the ground.

I run over to help, but she waves me off when I reach her. Her cheeks are bright red and she dusts off her jeans as she stands up.

"I'm such a klutz," she says with a laugh, pulling out her earbuds. "This is why I don't get up early. My coordination doesn't kick in till 11."

"Well no worries there," I say. "After today, it's late nights and late mornings. You'll be on tour time."

"That's good to know." She fiddles with her luggage, standing it upright again before looking back at me. "So, what should I do with my stuff?"

"Here, I'll show you the busses," I say, grabbing her bigger black bag. It takes a lot more strength than I expected to lift this thing. I'm a little worried I won't be able to lift it onto the bus.

That'd pretty much ruin the whole macho thing I'm trying to pull off here.

As I reach the door to her bus, a roadie steps in and offers to grab it from me.

Thank fuck.

"So this is the bus you'll be staying in when we're not at a hotel. This is luggage storage," I say pointing to the closet that her luggage has just been put in. "There's more underneath too, but the tour manager had them reserve this spot for your equipment so you can access everything."

"Oh, thank you."

We walk into the front lounge area. It's a pretty standard tour bus with lots of open seating and a kitchenette up front. It's lined with mahogany panels and there are a few black leather couches and tables.

I step further into the sleeping area with double bunks on each side, each with its own privacy curtain.

"These are the beds. Some people like to pick one, others just sleep in whatever's free. You can talk it over with the rest of the crew. Back here is another lounge, but those couches can convert to beds too if needed."

"Wow," she says with wide eyes, looking around. "This is really incredible! Who else is on my bus?"

That's a good question. I probably should have double-checked that.

"I'm not sure," I say. "Maybe some of the band, maybe crew. I-"

"Get your damn ass over here, Ford!" a familiar voice with a hint of Southern accent calls from the front of the bus.

I look and see Sticks, my good friend and tour drummer for the last few years. His name is actually Wyatt, but everyone knows him by the nickname Sticks. He's wearing a loose white tank top and ripped jeans with a red bandanna tied around his forehead, his dirty-blond hair spilling over the edges.

"Hey, Sticks! How ya been?"

"Been awesome. How the fucking hell have you been?"

"I'm doing well, thanks. Um..." I turn to Skye. "Sticks, this is our tour photographer, Skye. Skye, this is Sticks, my drummer."

"Well fucking shit," he says with a wide grin. "You're a goddamn smoke show. Nice to meet ya, darlin'."

He's laying the accent on extra thick. He reaches out his hand to shake hers and she giggles.

"Sticks can't form a proper sentence without at least one curse word. I'm pretty sure it's in his contract with us."

"Can too, dickhead—ah shit! Arrhhh... Fuck off." He lets out an exasperated sigh and sits down on the couch.

I hear a soft jingling in the back and look to see where it's coming from. A slightly-overweight pug with an underbite rounds the corner with a scowl on his face.

"Salty!" I say.

"Oh my god, where'd you come from?" Skye asks as he trudges in. She sits down and pats the couch beside her.

"This is Salty, he's the tour manager's dog. He won't bite, but he's a bit of a curmudgeon. Don't take it personally."

"Hello, Salty boy!" she coos. Salty throws himself clumsily onto the couch like a sausage roll from a catapult, then waddles onto Skye's lap and begins licking her face.

Salty usually hates new people, but he's taken with her right away.

Me too, buddy. Me too.

"Where is Kay, anyway?" Sticks asks.

Skye gives us both a confused look.

"The tour manager who got you set up, Kaylani, she usually goes by Kay," I explain. "This is her first time managing the whole tour. She's worked behind the scenes on our last few. She wanted a shot at running the show this time, so I gave it to her."

"Of course you did, Mister Goddamn Bleeding Heart over here." Sticks ruffles my hair with his hand before I shrug him off.

Skye looks at me with inquisitive eyes but says nothing.

"Are you high already?" I ask him.

"Sadly no," he says with a shake of his head and a laugh.

"You boys getting settled in?" a woman's voice asks from the front of the bus. I turn to see Kaylani walking toward us. Her hair is in dozens of thin, immaculate braids and she's wearing a sleeveless tee with black jeans.

"Hey!" I say, pulling her in for a hug as she reaches us.

"Bout time you were in charge, girl!" Sticks says, giving her a hug as well.

"You must be our new photographer!" she says, turning to Skye with outstretched arms. "Nice to finally meet you in person. I'm Kaylani."

She pulls her in for a tight hug. Kaylani releases her but then gives her a once-over.

Oh boy, here we go.

"I feel like I know you already," she says. "Do you know anything about your past lives? I'm wondering if we were friends."

"Um..." Skye mumbles, looking to me with wide eyes. "No, I don't think so."

"I'm just kind of a spiritual person, you know? I have a bit of a sixth sense, if you will. Maybe we're just meant to be friends, you know? Like... what's your sign? Wait, no... don't tell me. I'm good at this..."

She scans her eyes across Skye's frame, squinting slightly and tapping her chin with her finger. Skye gives me a pleading look and I chuckle slightly. Kaylani is harmless, just a bit eccentric at times.

"Virgo?" she asks, and Skye's brows furrow. "No, Aries?"

Skye's eyes widen slightly and she looks between Kaylani and me.

"Y... yeah. How'd you guess that?" Skye asks.

"I have a gift."

Kaylani's so-called gift happens to be wrong at least four out of five times, but I'm not about to call her out on it.

"Wow! Well I'm impressed."

"I just have a sense for it. But if you're an Aries, that makes total sense, because I'm a Cancer. You and I are meant to be friends. Plus we're like, two of four women on this tour, so we've gotta stick together. Too much testosterone up in these buses."

"Okay then," Skye says with a laugh. "Sounds good to me."

Kaylani looks at Skye then back over to me and gives me a knowing look, like she's seeing right into my soul.

"You know... Aries and Leo... that's quite the combination too."

"Roman here yet?" I ask in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

"Haven't seen him so far, but you know him, he'd just be sitting in his own bus the whole time anyway."

"Roman?" Skye asks. "As in Roman Dewan?"

"Yeah," I say, furrowing my brows slightly. "Are you a fan?"

"I uh... I mean, not really, no–, I mean... not not a fan I just–, I didn't know he was on this tour."

Fate has a really cruel sense of humor.

She's a fan of Roman's?

Not mine. Roman's.

I want to hit my head against the wall.

*****

I hear the crowd screaming for Roman as he walks off stage. He tips his chin up as he passes me. I know he can't stand that I'm closing out the show when he thinks he should be the headliner.

Through a slit in the curtain, I can see Skye standing just in front of the barriers with her camera in hand and backstage pass around her neck.

I've never been so nervous to perform before.

What if she's not impressed?

I shake out my limbs to calm my nerves.

The crowd begins to repeat my name in a soothing rhythm.

"Jackson! Jackson! Jackson!"

I hear my cue, step onto the stage, and the room erupts in screams.

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