On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance) by Jade C. Jamison Page A
Authors: Jade C. Jamison
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respect her as our frontwoman, but there was nothing sexually appealing to me as far as she was concerned. I hadn’t said it to hurt Liz’s feelings, but just the fact that she thought I wanted to steal Barbie from her was comical.
She squinted her eyes, almost as if she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth or not. Her lips were pursed, as though she couldn’t trust herself to breathe any words, but she finally nodded her head. “Okay. Just checking.”
“We cool?”
“Yeah.” We started walking back toward the van without even agreeing to do it. “You’d tell me if that changed, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Of course.” But it wasn’t going to happen. I just hoped Liz would let it all go and focus on the music. It was what she was best at.
* * *
Vicki was getting worse, and I was worried enough that I decided maybe I needed to go to Peter—and even threaten to tell her mom…and our parents, if need be. Christmas was just a few short weeks away, and our parents would find out soon enough if we couldn’t contain our shit.
Just watching Vicki do what she was doing to herself made me back off a lot of the drugs I’d been experimenting with. I didn’t want to ruin my life, especially when it had just started. So many of my rock heroes had died from drug overdoses—or had, at least, ruined their lives because of drinking or drugs. I wasn’t going to be another rock star cliché. No fucking way. I was going to stick with cigarettes, pot, and alcohol. Yeah, there’d been rock guys who’d fucked up their lives with alcohol too—the one I thought of off the top of my head was Steve Clark of Def Leppard but yeah…I thought maybe drugs had something to do with it too. It was a chance I just didn’t want to take. If I was going to kill myself, there had to be better ways to go.
So, one afternoon before we headed to our latest venue, I went to Peter’s room. He was unpacking his luggage and Andrew was in the room too but texting or doing something else on his phone. The expression on Peter’s face looked droll as it often did, as though he was trying to communicate to me that he was “not amused.” “Yes, Ms. Summers?”
“We need to talk.”
He raised his eyebrows, and, even though he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to communicate his boredom with me, I could feel it coming off him. “About?”
“Vicki.” I sighed and looked from him to Andrew and back again. I was more than a little pissed that I had to tell him to do his goddamn job. I shouldn’t have had to watch Vicki’s back. Peter and Andrew should have been. “I’m afraid she’s turning into a full-blown addict.”
Peter was silent for a few minutes as if pondering what to say before he finally replied, “Every band has to have one.”
I know my brow furrowed, because his answer—while typical Peter—was nothing like any of the possible responses I had expected. I paused while I tried to figure out where our conversation was going. Finally, I said, “We have to do something. We can’t just let her do that to herself.”
Peter cocked an eyebrow again and said, “And what do you propose we do, Ms. Summers? If you know anything about addicts, then you know that they need to realize they have a problem. Until they do, there is no fixing them. There is no helping them. They will fight every step of the way. Interventions are nice but they’re not lasting if the addict doesn’t want change, doesn’t want the help they’re being offered.”
His voice turned sinister then and that was when I realized he was a salesman. He’d learned each of our weaknesses and knew how to exploit them, twist them, and manipulate us. He knew our hopes and fears and understood exactly what kinds of things to say to us to keep us in line. If someone had told me Peter had a psychology degree and had chosen to use it for evil, I wouldn’t have doubted it for
She squinted her eyes, almost as if she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth or not. Her lips were pursed, as though she couldn’t trust herself to breathe any words, but she finally nodded her head. “Okay. Just checking.”
“We cool?”
“Yeah.” We started walking back toward the van without even agreeing to do it. “You’d tell me if that changed, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Of course.” But it wasn’t going to happen. I just hoped Liz would let it all go and focus on the music. It was what she was best at.
* * *
Vicki was getting worse, and I was worried enough that I decided maybe I needed to go to Peter—and even threaten to tell her mom…and our parents, if need be. Christmas was just a few short weeks away, and our parents would find out soon enough if we couldn’t contain our shit.
Just watching Vicki do what she was doing to herself made me back off a lot of the drugs I’d been experimenting with. I didn’t want to ruin my life, especially when it had just started. So many of my rock heroes had died from drug overdoses—or had, at least, ruined their lives because of drinking or drugs. I wasn’t going to be another rock star cliché. No fucking way. I was going to stick with cigarettes, pot, and alcohol. Yeah, there’d been rock guys who’d fucked up their lives with alcohol too—the one I thought of off the top of my head was Steve Clark of Def Leppard but yeah…I thought maybe drugs had something to do with it too. It was a chance I just didn’t want to take. If I was going to kill myself, there had to be better ways to go.
So, one afternoon before we headed to our latest venue, I went to Peter’s room. He was unpacking his luggage and Andrew was in the room too but texting or doing something else on his phone. The expression on Peter’s face looked droll as it often did, as though he was trying to communicate to me that he was “not amused.” “Yes, Ms. Summers?”
“We need to talk.”
He raised his eyebrows, and, even though he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to communicate his boredom with me, I could feel it coming off him. “About?”
“Vicki.” I sighed and looked from him to Andrew and back again. I was more than a little pissed that I had to tell him to do his goddamn job. I shouldn’t have had to watch Vicki’s back. Peter and Andrew should have been. “I’m afraid she’s turning into a full-blown addict.”
Peter was silent for a few minutes as if pondering what to say before he finally replied, “Every band has to have one.”
I know my brow furrowed, because his answer—while typical Peter—was nothing like any of the possible responses I had expected. I paused while I tried to figure out where our conversation was going. Finally, I said, “We have to do something. We can’t just let her do that to herself.”
Peter cocked an eyebrow again and said, “And what do you propose we do, Ms. Summers? If you know anything about addicts, then you know that they need to realize they have a problem. Until they do, there is no fixing them. There is no helping them. They will fight every step of the way. Interventions are nice but they’re not lasting if the addict doesn’t want change, doesn’t want the help they’re being offered.”
His voice turned sinister then and that was when I realized he was a salesman. He’d learned each of our weaknesses and knew how to exploit them, twist them, and manipulate us. He knew our hopes and fears and understood exactly what kinds of things to say to us to keep us in line. If someone had told me Peter had a psychology degree and had chosen to use it for evil, I wouldn’t have doubted it for
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