Chapter One
The last conversationthat changed my life started with the words, “Gaby, we need to talk.”
Exactly four minutes and fifty-five seconds later, I was apparently A) not in a relationship anymore, B) homeless and C) pathetic. Although the whole being “pathetic” part was only known by me… and my best friend… and my parents… and my brothers… and my sister… and my nieces.
Oh hell. Who was I kidding? Everyone knew I was pathetic when my best friend, Laila, told my parents I’d been dumped. She then told everyone else in my family that I had cried my eyes out for a week after my breakup and followed that up by watchingMy Girlevery night for a month straight. The seven pounds and face full of acne I gained from stuffing my face with Spicy Cheetos and glazed donuts didn’t help matters either.
So when Eli, who usually only called me twice a month and was drunk as a skunk each and every single time, called and started our conversation with “Gaby-Gaby” in a sing-song voice, I knew something was up. He never called me by my name unless it had a curse word before it. When he then asked me, “Do you have time to talk?” in a completely sober tone, I was pretty much expecting the apocalypse. Or at the very least, being asked to give up one of my major organs.
I shouldn’t have listened to his offer. I should have known better, but Eli was my weakness in life, and the asshole knew it.
I couldn’t count the number of times he’d wrangled me into doing something for him that I would never, ever do for anyone else. There were the occasions when I had to clean up his puke after he’d drank too much, because if our parents found out they would have flipped. Or when I ate ramen noodles for an entire month because I had to bail him out of jail, and he hadn’t bothered paying me back. Then there was that time when he gave me bronchitis. I’d pretended to have my purse stolen while I was on antibiotics so that I could give him the extra dosage because he didn’t have insurance and was too cheap to go to the doctor. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure that might have been a criminal offense.
I loved my twin brother, even if he was a restless bastard… and the bane of my existence.
“We had to let Zeke go,” Eli explained in that breathless voice so many stupid and oblivious women panted over. “Come on tour with us. Mom said you aren’t doing shit this summer, so I know you don’t have anything better to do—”
Umm… I didn’t have anything better to do, but when someone else said it, it pissed me off.
I was lying down on my childhood bed with my knees to my chest when I rolled my eyes. The ceiling still had the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d glued on them nearly ten years ago; it seemed like they were mocking me, reminding me I wasn’t a kid anymore, and that I needed to get my shit together so that I didn’t have time to stare at them. “I’ve been applying for jobs, thank you very much.”
“Aww, G, you’ve got the rest of your life to work. C’mon. It’ll be fun,” he insisted in that borderline-whiney voice that he used to get me to do his evil bidding.
He had a point; I knew it. I also knew how manipulative Eli was. He was almost as manipulative as he was full of shit, and he was full of a whole bunch of shit.
Go on tour with them, though?
I had a sudden flashback of all the scarring things I’d been through while in their company in the past. If I’d known back in kindergarten what I knew now about these boys, my life might have turned out completely differently. Getting detention at the age of five, right along with Eli, Mason and Gordo should have warned me of what was to come by simply being around them. Because seriously, who got detention in kindergarten? Not surprisingly, they were the three people I’d been with each and every single time I had ever gotten into any sort of trouble.
The problem was that I didn’t like doing things to get into trouble, but it seemed to follow the trio wherever they went.
So yeah, I scoffed, admiring the teal color I’d painted my toenails the day before. “Fun? Hanging out with you on a bus is fun? Are you shitting me?”
Eli made an exasperated noise that got carried away by a gust of air in the background. He’d mentioned they were at a gas station getting fuel. “We’re going to Australia and Europe…” He drew the words out and then paused for a second. “Nothing? You aren’t going to say anything?”
I didn’t say a word and that made him keep going because just saying the names of the two continents wasn’t enough to black out my least favorite memories of going on tour with them years ago.
And he kept going. “Koalas, kangaroos… fish and chips, the Eiffel Tower…”
When I didn’t automatically scream “yes!” he continued on with the bribes.
“Fine. We can pay you 10 percent of our sales plus whatever tips you get, you greedy prostitute,” Eli offered.
Ding, ding, ding.
Ten percent? I could remember how much they made when I’d last sold merch for his band, Ghost Orchid. They had sold fifteen hundred dollars worth of T-shirts and CDs during their concert. Ten percent of the total was one hundred and fifty bucks. One hundred and fifty bucks for six hours of work. Six days a week? And now they were making even more money? The asshole knew that I’d wanted to go to Europe forever, too, but it was the money that had me.
My bank account had taken a crippling hit when I’d quit my job to move back home to Dallas after I graduated.
Taking a look around my childhood bedroom with its robin’s-egg blue walls and band posters plastered all over it, I sighed into the receiver. If I stayed, I ran the risk of looking for a job for who knows how long. I’d have to life with my parents until I found a roommate that didn’t drive me nuts, and I’d have to deal with facing the Spanish Inquisition each time I left the house. On the other hand, if I went with Eli, I knew life would begin to consist of sweaty nights, an uncomfortable bed and dealing with three imbeciles that would sacrifice me to a group of zombies if it meant they would live.
Work.
Home.
Bus.
Travel.
