"This fucker tell you this was his last show? Bastard is quitting so he can—"
"Enough," Caspian snapped in a rare display of anger that left me with raised eyebrows. It seemed to shock the drummer too, who stood there dumbfounded for a moment before he gave Caspian a slap on the back and a nervous chuckle.
"I don't understand. You're quitting?" I asked, feeling personally offended by the idea. I’d only just seen him on stage but I knew it would be a huge loss.
"It's just a sabbatical," Caspian mumbled. The drummer laughed.
“Sabbatical?” I asked in confusion.
"Ava, right? See, I think what this guy really wants is to get in nature for a while.Maybego on a nationwide camping trip," the drummer said suggestively. My eyes slid to Caspian. It felt odd his drummer knew not only who I was, but what I was doing for the next year.
"Cas?" My voice held an edge of discontent. His warm eyes went to mine and he smiled.
"I was going to ask you tonight."
"Ask me what?" I countered. The drummer tugged Caspian into the room suddenly. I stepped in after them to see his other bandmates posted around on sofas, nursing drinks. A guitarist, bassist, and keyboardist--all with smeared black eyeliner, tight pants, and purposely shredded shirts. They eyed me closely with a sharp look of curiosity. I got the feeling they all knew who I was, like the drummer had, and felt suddenly uncomfortable.
"Go ahead then. Let's see what she says," the drummer said. He backed away with a smile, leaving Caspian and me in the center of the room. My eyes moved over the other band members. They didn't look entertained or friendly. It made me realize the drummer's smiles and friendliness were likely sarcasm. That he wasn't happy at all.
"I want to go with you this year," Caspian said and my attention jerked back to him.
"What?" I asked in utter confusion. He looked at me with eyes brimming with excitement. He stepped up into my space and I felt uncomfortable because his charm was making my head swim. Plus, the bodily reaction I was having to him made me feel self-conscious. He grabbed my hands, bringing them up between us.
"Ava,” he started, looking like a hopeful puppy. "I'd really love to go with you this year on your trip." I looked around at his bandmates but no one acted like this was a joke. They looked disgruntled and pissed off.
"Aren't you on tour?" I asked.
"Not anymore," Caspian responded. His bandmates visibly stiffened. The drummer barked out a laugh but said nothing. Caspian distracted me from their reaction by tracing his calloused fingers down the side of my face.
When Caspian looked at me, sometimes it felt like I was the only thing he saw. He was so intense sometimes.
"Please, Ava," his voice sounded vaguely similar to when he had been singing, when he was begging some woman to give in—to fuck him—pleading, near desperation. His eyes held mine and I responded the only way I could to Caspian. He was one of the most important people in my life and if he wanted to come with me then it was an easy answer.
"Of course."
He wrapped me in his arms, his entire body surrounding mine, slick, warm skin clinging to me. I slid my arms up his back.
My eyes moved around the room. His bandmates glared—their hatred was a palatable thing that pressed on the base of my spine.
“We'll never be apart again. I promise, ” Caspian murmured but I was too distracted to comment. Death glares were burning into my face.
2
Aweek later, Caspian and I pulled up to an abandoned colonial revival mansion in Williamsburg, Virginia—about an hour up the road from my family house in Norfolk.
The mansion was dingy brown brick with rows of dark shuttered windows. There were exactly six chimneys and four thick white columns standing sentry at the front. They felt more like a deterrent to visitors than a welcome.
The entire thing screamed an intimidating presence, looming up into the night sky at a staggering height. Instantly, I wanted nothing to do with the place because I knew why my aunt and mom were here.
This place was haunted.
Our car doors snapped shut and I sighed in annoyance as I looked at the tv crew all set up outside, preparing everyone for filming.
“This was a trap,” I complained to Caspian as we walked side by side into the fray of vans, tables, camera gear, lighting poles, and people. Caspian was wearing tight black pants and a black tank top, his defined, tattooed arms on full display. I was far too aware of his clothing choices these days.
“Yep,” he said. “She really doesn’t want you leaving, does she?”
“She can get over it.”
