Ace (Band of Brothers #1) Read online

  I placed my aviators over my eyes and looked up at the blue sky and the wisps of clouds. That color reminded me of summer and being a kid. A smile touched my lips. Summer was always my favorite time of year. Sleeping late and swimming and riding my bike around the neighborhood like a little terror during the day and piano and vocal lessons in the afternoon. I knew when I was eight years old that I wanted to be a professional musician. I'm proof that dreams do come true if you work hard and never give up.

  When we got into the van, Nik spoke. "That was nice of you, Ace. I always knew you had a soft side behind that hard shell."

  "Fuck you," I said and stared out the window.

  Everyone constantly acted like I was heartless and that shit was starting to piss me off. I didn't do things for recognition. I didn't need it. I would have rather he not say a word about it.

  4

  Elizabeth

  California was hot, but Atlanta, oh my God, it was scorching. I was almost certain that my skin would peel off my body as soon as the heat hit my face. Humidity—I had not missed it since I moved from Texas. My shirt stuck to my skin and beads of sweat dripped down my face and chest. Being outside was miserable. After I grabbed my luggage and strapped my soft guitar case over my back, I stopped at a little place to eat in the airport before I met the driver that would take me to Aaron's Amphitheater at Lakewood.

  The whole way to the venue I thought about how I'd be a part of the actual touring crew and stay on a tour bus. Not sure how Jules pulled that one off, but then again that woman had connections I only dreamed of having. One day I'd get there, as long as I didn't fuck this up and get myself blacklisted from every prominent magazine in the world.

  The driver stood in a suit with my name on a piece of paper. I felt a little special. He grabbed my bags¸ but I kept my guitar and we headed to the Cadillac that would be my ride. Wow, I thought. Phase had done something right.

  When I arrived at the venue, I became a little overwhelmed by the amount of people who were already waiting outside for the show. Though Band of Brothers didn't start for another 4 hours, the line wrapped around the building. As we drove around the back of the parking lot, I saw the arena had a whole Pantheon vibe to it with the large cement pillars holding the roof from the stage. My nerves were already shot, and by the time the driver stopped in the back by the line of buses, I was tempted to ask him to bring me back to the airport. But I swallowed, grabbed my suitcase, camera, laptop, and guitar, then tipped him.

  I looked down at my phone and saw it was 2:45 pm and I needed to check in with a woman named Miley, the tour manager, so I could get my passes and bus assignments before 3:00 pm. Jules had written a note on the itinerary: DO NOT be late. She will eat your ass for breakfast. Great.

  If I quit now, then I wouldn't have the disappointment of being a failure. There were too many personalities, too many people, which confirmed this wasn't my type of thing. My stomach was tied into tight, double knots; ones that would not be undone any time soon. I hoped I didn't get a stomach ulcer from all the stress.

  I wheeled my suitcase to the sidewalk and left it there. If someone wanted to steal my clothes, have at it. My camera and laptop were strapped to my back and I carried my guitar. Those were the important things anyway.

  I walked across the hot asphalt toward the back of the venue where technicians were scrambling around. In the distance, I saw a woman who looked a little older than me wearing blue jeans that were torn at the bottom, a pair of converse, and an old t-shirt. The closer she got, the more I realized the heat wasn't only kicking my ass, but everyone else's too, because sweat covered her body and her hair was stuck to her forehead.

  "Excuse me, do you know where I can—"

  "I'm her. Miley." She held out her hand and gave me a firm handshake. I could always tell the type of individual a person was by their handshake and thankfully she passed my test. When someone gave me a weak one, I always questioned their integrity. Odd, but it never failed. If there was one thing I learned in college, it was to be confident in your shake even if you're not confident in anything else. People will always remember if you give them the dead fish hand.

  She looked over in the distance at a man who was wheeling my suitcase toward me.

  "Can you take the suitcase and all of this stuff to my bus?"

  I handed over my guitar and laptop but kept my camera. "Thank you."

  "Do you want to walk and talk?" Miley asked as the man walked away.

  She delivered the words to me as a question but it was never intended as one because as soon as she finished her sentence we were walking behind the stage. A radio was secured to her hip and every few minutes she would pick it up and speak into it with direct orders.

  "Here is the backstage area. You are allowed over here behind the tape. Make sure to stay out of everyone's way. We're glad you’re here, but you're not to be a distraction. Understood?"

  I nodded.

  "There is a pit over on stage right if you want to get front shots." She pulled two passes from her back pocket with a lanyard that had Band of Brothers and their names written in different fonts along with Summer Tour. One said Journalist and the other said Photographer. I felt like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory when he was given a golden ticket. These passes were my golden tickets, but unfortunately it wouldn't lead to a day full of fun, more like weeks of nightmares.

  "I don't have your bus number yet. We're still figuring out the details and waiting for a few more people to arrive tonight. As soon as I figure it out, I'll let you know. Do you want your guitar with your suitcase?"

  I nodded and handed it to her. She turned her head, and in the distance I saw a set of four tall men walking toward the backstage area. I knew exactly who they were before their faces were in sight. This would be the first time that I laid eyes on Band of Brothers.

  "Okay, well, it's warm-up time. I've got some more shit to take care of. If you need anything else, holler."

  I gave her a smile and she jogged toward the brothers with my guitar in hand. I could tell by the way her head was bobbing that she was giving detailed instruction. Not wanting to be seen, I took a few steps back into the wing and pulled my camera from my sling, hoping for a shot.

  They entered the stage laughing, then started stretching and doing vocal warm-ups. Guitars were being tuned and drum heads hit to test the microphones on each one. Being there, hearing them get ready for tonight made this real.

  I couldn't help but watch their every move. They were tall and lean with muscles in all the right places. All of them had the perfect amount of sun-kissed skin, scruff, messy hair, and chiseled faces. Looks that good should be illegal. I had seen countless photo sessions and spreads of them, but seeing them in person was different. I didn't realize how hot they were. And that thought scared the crap out of me and made me even more nervous. They weren't supposed to be attractive. Why couldn't they be dirty, grungy, no-shower-taking dudes with greasy hair? Yep, I was officially doomed.

  I leaned against the wall and noticed I was being watched as well. Ace found me hiding in the wings and glanced over at me a few times. I had heard he was the biggest douche of them all, and having him aware of me made me edgy. I didn't want attention. I didn't want his attention. I needed to blend in, not be seen, and continue to be the introvert that I had been my entire life. But each time he glanced over at me, I felt like I was being dragged under a microscope for him to examine and I could only take so much before I walked away.

  In the distance, I could hear them finishing their warm-up. The vocals bounced around the cement area and the echoes played Ping-Pong with one another. I glanced down at my phone. The gates would open in exactly one hour and the crowd that had been baking in the hot Georgia sun would soon be rushing in. I rubbed my face, realizing I was tired from traveling and my day had only begun.

  I ran into Miley at the back of the stage. "Is there anywhere I can take a quick nap while I wait for the show?"

  She finished listening to the r
adio, then gave me a quick little smile. "You can sleep in my bed. It's the purple and gold bus. Back room. Sheets are clean."

  She started talking on the radio again and I mouthed thank you to her as I walked toward the long line of buses.

  There was no backing out of it now.

  I was officially on tour with Band of Brothers.

  5

  Ace

  "Who was that?" I asked Nik once we were finished warming up.

  "Who?"

  "The girl. Didn't you see her? She was close."

  I couldn't have been dreaming.

  He turned and looked where I was staring and shrugged his shoulders at me as he removed his bass.

  "Don't know what you're talking about."

  "Yeah, the girl that stood right there. She had blonde hair a little past her shoulders and blue eyes. She was wearing jeans and a blue tank top."

  "Did Prince Charming see his Cinderella? Maybe you should see if she left a shoe behind?"

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed a bottle of water before I walked off stage. Sometimes my brothers said the stupidest things, but I couldn’t help but wonder about the mysterious blonde who tried to blend in with the wall. She acted like she didn’t want to be seen or that she didn’t care about Band of Brothers. By quickly observing her body language and the way she held the camera tightly in her grasp like she would crush it with her bare hands, I found it extremely odd. Most photographers were quick to cozy up to us, and the journalists… don’t even get me started with them. When they asked my brothers questions, every word was subjected to being printed somewhere. Many times I had to watch what I said in passing and make sure they weren’t brought back to my bus. All I needed was an article to add to the playboy reputation the media had spun.

  I watched her rush behind stage and walk with quick steps like my eyes were burning holes into her skin. I couldn’t believe no one else noticed. She wasn’t a figment of my imagination, I was sure of it. Usually when I fantasized about a woman, she wasn’t blonde, meek, and didn’t run away like I had given her a disease with one look.

  The four of us waited around the back until the gates were opened. People flooded in by the herds. It was crazy to see them sprint for the pit area before anyone else. I remembered being that excited kid when watching my favorite bands. Many shows I was pressed up against that gate with no room to move while other people's sweat covered my body. It was the best.

  I passed Miley on the way to the bus, then turned around and walked back toward her.

  “Miles,” I said.

  She stopped allowing me to fall in line with her step, but gave a little motion with her hand signaling for me to hurry.

  “Who was that girl backstage? When did you start carrying around guitars?”

  She glanced over to the stage, which had nothing but techies running around giving last-minute touches.

  “What girl?”

  I knew I had exactly 30 more seconds of her time before she walked away. Patience, she had none. She had that look in her eyes that said she was on a mission.

  “The blonde girl. Tank top. Awkward. Shy," I said.

  “Oh yeah. That’s Elizabeth Riley. And this is her guitar. She’s touring with us during the summer. Works for some little magazine that I can’t even remember the name of. Photographer-slash-journalist. Anyway, Ace, is that it?”

  I smiled, showing her all of my whites. “Yes, your highness.”

  “Glad one of you can bow down to me. Chat soon.” Then she walked away.

  I met back up with my brothers who were taking their time strolling across the parking lot. They were talking about the states they couldn’t wait to visit again as sweat rolled down their faces.

  Nik waited for me. “Find your Cinderella?”

  “Not yet. But the girl I saw backstage is a journalist and photographer. Another person to add to my dodge list,” I said.

  “When are you going to give it up and give people those interviews they're dying to hear from your mouth?”

  I glowered at him. “Never. I’ve got to keep some things private, plus you all blab it all anyway. What else is there to know? You leave no room for the imagination.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at me. “Lots.”

  Nik and I walked on to the bus and already there were women waiting.

  What the fuck?

  Rex had two scandalously dressed women sitting on either side of him with his arms wrapped around their shoulders. I shot daggers at Rex and he shrugged.

  Before shows I liked peace and quiet. Too many distractions agitated the shit out of me. People were paying good money to see us and I wanted to make sure I was giving them every penny worth. I sang at each show like it was my last because in this business one never knew when they’d be tossed aside like a used up condom. Once the label whored us out to the masses, we'd be pushed aside, at least that's what kept me focused. If it happened, we'd continue to play, but I'd hope we'd continue to be successful like U2. I wanted to sing and play guitar until my voice couldn't be heard and my fingers wouldn't move.

  It was a hard truth to accept. There would always be the next best thing, that new and upcoming band that the label threw money at—one that would be the greatest of the new generation. Bands have come and gone like the tides at sea. For every one of us that made our dream come true there were thousands who were still starving artists. I knew what it was like, and I never wanted to go back there again which was why I took all shows seriously. If only all the Hathways did.

  Out of all of us, I should be the irresponsible one because of my age. I always saved my rendezvous for after the show. Thinking about it pissed me off even more. I shook my head. There were too many unprofessional people in this business, and I would never have that check by my name.

  One girl pulled a joint from her purse and lit it. I took one look at Nik and walked off the bus. Rock and Roll and drugs went together, I got it. I understood, but this wasn't my type of pre-show.

  Jex followed behind me calling my name. “Ace, hold up.”

  I stopped walking and turned and glared at him. “You need to loosen up, man. You don’t have to be like that.”

  “Be like what?”

  He gave me a look like I was being ridiculous and maybe I was. I was frustrated in so many different ways.

  “You’re being an uptight douche.”

  “I’d rather party after the show. Thousands of people paid to see us. The least we can do is give them the show they paid for.”

  He squeezed my shoulder and laughed. “Since when did you become more uptight than me? You’re making me proud, but you gotta stop worrying about the small stuff, especially in this business. You need to loosen up little bro or you’re going to be bald by thirty and single for life.”

  “I think I need to be alone. I’ll meet back up with you all before we go on.”

  “Fair enough,” Jex said and we parted ways.

  I walked across the scorching parking lot to Miley’s bus. I knew everyone would be out and about and I needed quiet. I opened the door and walked on. The bus was completely dark, but I knew by glancing around it was spotless. Figured considering who the bus captain was. I plopped down on the couch and stretched my legs, then texted Miley that I was on her bus. I didn’t get a response, but didn’t expect one since she was so wrapped up in pre-show business.

  I closed my eyes and all I could think about was the blonde with the piercing blue eyes. It was odd that I was even slightly curious, but not often did people act like we carried the plague when we were around. But then again, why would any magazine, regardless of size, send her here if she wouldn't be able to fulfill her task? Could she be here to write a terrible article about us? It has happened before so it seemed plausible. Bottom line was I wanted to know why she was so quick to get away, but more importantly I wanted to hear her story. Could the tables have possibly turned? Maybe this time I’d do the questioning.

  I didn’t know her, but she was already haunting me.

&
nbsp; 6

  Elizabeth

  Miley’s bed felt like clouds. For a moment, I thought about skipping the show and sleeping the night away. The flight was long and tiring and connecting in Houston sucked. I'm surprised I made it one piece. I wasn't getting paid to skip shows, and I would need as many photos as I could get from each night so I would have a variety of shots. Plus, Jack required me to upload my photos within 48 hours of each show. So, I had deadlines. I clenched my jaw and forced myself awake, then texted Jules to wish me luck. Of course her response was full of heart emoticons.

  I stood and stretched then slipped on my flats. I pulled my suitcase from the floor and laid it on the bed then pulled out a thin, scooped-neck shirt. The humidity was still high regardless if it was night or not. I walked into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. My ponytail was messy from sleeping in it so I combed my fingers through the middle and put it in a top bun. After staring at myself in the mirror and having an internal pep talk, I was ready.

  As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, I turned the lights on in the dark bus. The last thing I needed was to trip and fall. I heard rustling on the couch and peeked around the corner—black t-shirt, dark messy hair, and long legs that stretched to the end of the leather couch. My heart began to pound in my chest. I hurried back to Miley's room, placed my things in my suitcase and stacked it back against the wall where she left it. Quietly as I could, I strapped my camera bag across my chest and tried to sneak out on tiptoes.

  "Miles," the deep voice said. His back was to me and he was lying on his side. I didn't know which brother it was, but I knew it was definitely a band member. They all looked the same from behind.