Stay Until We Break (10 page)

“It was lobster,” Travis says. “The luckiest lobster ever. Except for the being boiled alive part.”

“Great, now I’m hungry,” I say, as Emmy’s snore turns into a broken chainsaw buzzing in the room.

“Yeah, you should eat something and take some Advil,” Cole says. “I’ll get the peanut butter and bread out of the van.”

“Well it’s not lobster, but I guess that’ll work,” I say.

Cole gets up and goes out to the van to fetch some snacks. I’m still buzzed by every standard available, so I just smile after him, thinking about what an awesome boyfriend he’d make. Or so I think. I’ve never had an actual, technical boyfriend in my life because I have terrible instincts and worse luck with guys, and Hank Hanley doesn’t count. Apparently, months of flirtation and then losing your virginity to someone in their band van doesn’t make them your boyfriend. Hank definitely taught me that.

Travis pauses before heading into the bathroom.

“Sunny, would you rather share a bed with Cole or Emmy?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say, not sure how I should answer. “What do you want to do?”

“Whatever you want,” he says. “It’s cool either way.”

“What do you think Cole wants?”

“I’m sure he’s fine either way.”

“You guys, why doesn’t Cole have a girlfriend?” I ask, before my brain has the opportunity to think better of it. “I mean, he hooks up with so many girls but never gets serious with any of them. Why is that?”

“Um, well . . .” Travis says. “Did you ask him?”

“No way,” I say. “I would never ask him that.”

“You know, Tina burned him pretty bad,” Joey said. “He’s just cautious, that’s all.”

“Tina DiColleti? That stuck-up Summit Barbie doll with the giant boobs he used to go out with?”

“Yeah,” Travis says. “They were pretty serious.”

“Yeah, well he was, anyway,” Joey says. “She cheated on him and then told him she was never serious about him. She said she could never get serious with someone like him.”

“Someone like him?” I ask. “What’s that supposed to mean? Someone awesome and sweet and gorgeous, too?”

“Oh my, Sunshine,” Joey says. “You got it bad, huh?”

“Come on,” I say. “What was her problem?”

“It was because he wasn’t in college,” Joey says. “Tina told him she needed someone with a real future. She cheated on him with a finance major. It was a really low blow.”

“He has a real future!” I say, feeling angry and offended for Cole. “He’s going to be a fucking star, just like the rest of you guys!”

“I love the way you think, Sunny,” Joey says.

“Yeah, that’d be so nice,” Travis says. “At least the money part.”

“Well, isn’t that why you’re all out here?”

“Sure, of course,” Travis says. “So you’ll share the bed with Cole, then?”

“Do you think that’ll make me seem too eager or desperate or something?”

“You?” Travis asks, surprised. “Seriously?”

“He doesn’t think you’re desperate, Sunny,” Joey says. “Trust me.”

“Well, what does he think? Has he said anything to you guys about, you know, me?”

The doorknob jiggles and then the door swings open. Cole walks back in the room holding half of a loaf of bread, a jar of Skippy, and two Cokes fresh from the vending machine. He plops himself down on the bed next to me and pulls out his pocketknife and is about to dip it into the Skippy jar when I put my hand on his arm.

“Did you wash that?”

He pauses, looks at me. “Even drunk, you make a solid den mother, you know that?” Then he gets up and goes into the bathroom and I hear the water run.

“What do you think?” Travis says. “You think Cole makes peanut butter sandwiches for me at four a.m. on a Monday night?”

“He probably would,” I say.

“If he asked nicely,” Cole says as he walks out of the bathroom, and I make a face.

“Hey, Cole, can you make me one, too?” Joey asks.

“Sure,” Cole says. “Do you really want one, Trap?”

“Yeah, now that you ask.”

The four of us polish off the last of the bread and the Skippy, all the while Emmy snores away. We talk for a while about the coming shows this week as I grow more and more sober. And I never do answer Travis about where I’d like to sleep tonight, not in words, but I suppose he takes the hint as I curl up next to Cole on the bed, and hey, I’m short and Cole is on the tall side, so really, he’ll be more comfortable sleeping with me than Travis. I pass out like that before we can have much of a conversation about it anyway. When Cole gently shakes me awake, it’s to make sure I drink another glass of water and take two ibuprofen before I’m out for the night. Travis and Joey are fast asleep along with Emmy by now. I get up and head into the bathroom to splash my face and change into my tank top and sleeping shorts. When I come back out into the room, I find Cole sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his shoes.

“Where are you going?” I ask, confused.

“I’ll sleep with the gear tonight.”

“Is it likely to get stolen here?”

“No,” he says. “It’s not that.”

“Then sleep in the bed,” I say. “Can’t we just share?”

I climb into bed and pull the covers down and pat the empty space next to me. “I promise to keep my hands to myself, even if you did promise me the best hotel sex of my life.”

Cole laughs and gives me a smile that melts all the tension between us. “You sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” I say. “No big deal, right?”

“I just don’t want you to wake up in the morning and feel . . . something different,” he says, his voice rough and quiet as he finishes the sentence.

“I won’t,” I whisper back. “Will you?”

“No way.”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about.”

He nods, okay. He looks unsure, though. But he takes off his shoes and then goes into the bathroom. When he comes out a few minutes later I try not to stare at him but I really can’t help it. As good looking as Joey and Travis are—and trust me, they are—Cole is a whole other level of perfection. To me, anyway. He’s wearing these black gym shorts he brought for sleeping—and nothing else. I watch the light play off his face, so tentative as he approaches. I stare at his shoulders, strong like a wrestler’s, and I’d like to take some time to just stare at the contours of his chest and everything between it and the top of those shorts, which I’d like to shred with my teeth so I can see what lies underneath. He slides into bed next to me, and oh God he smells good. He smells so good it’s all I can do not to just lean over and inhale him. He lies down on his side, studying my face.

“I’m not really drunk anymore, you know?” I say. “It’s mostly worn off now.”

“That’s good. Maybe your hangover won’t be too brutal this time.”

“I need to learn to pace myself,” I say, sheepishly. “I’ll have no liver by Maxwell’s at this rate.”

He laughs and I can smell his toothpaste, feel his breath on me. I want to reach for him, but I don’t because I don’t want to make him feel weird. “Sunny,” he whispers, our eyes locked.

“Yeah?” I whisper back, hardly able to breathe.

He lets out a big sigh. “Maybe you should roll over and face the other way.”

My face falls with disappointment, but I roll over, onto my side, facing the wall. I don’t know how much space there is between us, but it feels like miles and miles. Miles of unasked, unanswered questions and all the stupid ideas I still carry around about myself and every guy I’ve ever liked. Of course it’s awkward. Of course I’m putting him in some kind of bind, because he doesn’t want to be here—he’d rather sleep in the van on a ninety-degree night than have to sleep in the same bed as me. But I’ve made him feel like he’ll be offending me if he does what he wants—which is not this.

I feel his weight shift on the mattress and curl myself into a little ball. Cole rolls over and curves his long body around mine, all warm and sweet as he drapes his arm over me and pulls me close to him. I’m almost in shock when he does it, too. And I feel like I’m screaming inside, like I’m about to float up, over my body and look down so I can see with my own eyes that Cole McCormack, the biggest crush of my entire life, is spooning me in a hotel room in Kentucky. I feel his nose against my neck as he breathes in, and I wish I’d taken a shower because I’m sure it smells like the stupid club and the bazillion cigarettes Anton smoked while I was hanging out with him, but the way Cole sighs, maybe not. Cole holds me tighter and now I’m a lightning bolt trying to stay in one place—nothing but a charge waiting to strike. I breathe faster and squeeze my eyes closed.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

“Um, yeah,” I say, as my heart pounds so hard I feel like the sound of it might wake everyone up.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s definitely okay. I promise.”

I nestle into him, take his hand, and bring it to my mouth, laying my lips to his palm, kissing it and then his wrist as he quietly groans into my hair and grips me tighter around the waist, pulling me so I can feel how hard he is against my ass. I am trying so, so hard to be quiet but I can’t help it, a whimper escapes me when I feel his other hand in my hair, brushing it away from my neck, and then he growls in my ear, “Don’t turn around.”

His lips graze the skin behind my ear and then down the back of my neck, and it’s impossible to stay quiet now. I take his hand, press it against my mouth to muffle the sounds I can’t help making as he works his lips over the achy, quivering skin along the top of my shoulder. He puts his other hand on my stomach, under my tank top. I writhe against him, so desperate to feel his hand between my legs again. His lips rest against my shoulder now, and then he nips it as I grind into him, feeling him hard against my back. I take his hand and slide it up my tank top so he’s touching my breast, and he starts to just gently stroke the side of it with the tips of his fingers, which is not enough of what I need from him right now. Not nearly enough. I try to turn around to face him, but he stops me, gripping me tighter.

“Wait,” he whispers, but groans quietly as I reach behind me and put my hand on him, so hard already, but he grows even harder when I touch him.

“I . . . I’m taking a shower,” he says. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“Are we . . . I mean, should I bring my toiletries?”

“They have complimentary shampoo here,” he says. “So . . .”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Cole gets out of the bed and smirks at me. I see him stoop over Travis and Emmy, checking to see if they’re awake, but they’re fast asleep. He steps carefully over Joey as he makes his way to the bathroom and ducks inside. I hear the water turn on and freeze for a moment. I mean, it’s bright in that bathroom—I was just in there. Am I ready for a full-frontal with Cole in the harsh halogen light? Well, I’m definitely ready for his full-frontal. I gather up my nerve, get up, and grab my yellow bag and head into the bathroom. But I forget to be stealthy and let the super heavy bathroom door slam shut behind me, making a loud, startling “WHAM!” sound that probably woke up the entire floor. Cole yelps, “Ahhh!” because he wasn’t expecting that.

“Oh God,” I say, dropping my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry!”

“Holy shit, Sunny,” he says, poking his head out from behind the white plastic shower curtain. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Do you think we woke anyone up?”

Then we hear Emmy, all confused and groggy out in the other room. Then I hear Joey cry out, “Shit! Watch where you’re walking—those are my nuts you just stepped on!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Emmy says. “It’s dark and I didn’t see you down there.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Emmy says, “Sunny, are you in there? I gotta pee really bad. Can you let me in?”

“What do I do?” I ask Cole.

“Let her in?” he says.

“But . . . ?”

“But what?”

“But you’re naked!”

“She won’t see anything.”

“She’ll know you’re in here, though.”

“I already know he’s in there,” she says from the other side of the door. “But I’m gonna wet my pants if I can’t use a toilet in the next ten seconds. I’m begging you guys, I promise I won’t peek!”

I open the door and she flies past me, drops her underwear, and barely lands on the toilet in time.

“Oh thank fucking God,” she says, dropping her head to her lap she’s so relieved. She looks up. “Wait, you’re not having shower sex in here yet?”

“Not yet,” Cole says from behind the shower curtain. “Obviously.”

“Oh, well then,” she says. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be getting out of your way . . .”

I turn away so she can finish her business. She washes her hands quickly, but then goes so far as to brush her teeth, giving me the eyebrow waggle in the mirror.

“Good night, Emmylou,” I say.

“Good night, Sunshine,” she says. “This time, you better pull that trigger. Do it for the band.”

“Emmy!” Cole says, sticking his wet head out.

“What?” she asks, blinking innocently.

“Get out!” he says.

Cole

No, Sonia did not “pull that trigger,” as Emmy so delicately put it. I wanted her to pull my trigger, believe me. But while she played it all cool when Emmy teased her about shower sex, as soon as Emmy was out of the bathroom, poor Sunny turned bright pink from head to toe. She was way too self-conscious after that with everyone outside in the next room. So the moment was gone, unfortunately.

Not that I was planning to fuck Sonia in the Motel 6 bathroom last night, because no way. That is not the way I want our first time to happen. That said, I
was
planning to get her naked in the shower and soap up that sexy body of hers from head to toe—especially the parts in between. I was fully prepared to make her come on my hand again. And if I played it right, maybe I could have gotten her off with my mouth, too. Maybe I would have let her give me a hand job this time, although I’m still a little worried the first time I let her touch me like that I’m going to come so hard and so fast it’ll be like a tenth grader’s wet dream.

I got out of the shower with a towel around my waist and Sunny was leaning against the vanity with her arms crossed in front of her chest, so adorably embarrassed I had to keep myself from laughing.

“I’m sorry, Sunshine,” I said, roughing her hair up, trying to lighten the mood. “I promise you, I’ll find a way to get back at Emmylou. I owe her so many at this point.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said, her eyes roaming over my chest, up to my face. “I just wish I wasn’t such a prude sometimes. I’m really sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be,” I said. “I love that you’re a girl with manners. You have class—don’t ever be sorry for that.”

“I guess that’s a nice way of putting it.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” I said. “Look, there’s plenty of tour left, right? I’m sure we’ll find our moment.”

She glanced up at me, a certain look on her face that was some mixture of surprised and something else. A little heartbroken, maybe?

“Can I ask you something personal?” she said, and I was suddenly very aware that we were standing in a Motel 6 bathroom at five a.m., with me totally naked save the thin terrycloth towel wrapped around my waist. I cleared my throat, looked down at myself, and tightened the wrap of my towel.

“Well, of course,” I said. “You can always ask me anything you want to know.”

“With all the girls you hook up with at home, how come you never have a girlfriend?”

I swallowed what felt like a hard-boiled egg caught in my throat.

“Um,” I said. Real smooth. It was a fair question and all, just hadn’t expected it right then. I shifted against the vanity, trying to think of something to say. I suppose it wouldn’t have been a bad time to tell her the truth—that the only girl I even consider girlfriend material, namely
her
, wouldn’t be real hot on the prospect of a relationship with a guy who pumps septic systems for a living, and on top of all that, doesn’t play in a band anymore. Namely
me
. But I didn’t tell her that.

“The timing hasn’t been right, you know?” I said. “It’s hard to make a commitment to someone when the future is uncertain. And anyway, you haven’t had a serious boyfriend since I’ve known you, am I right?”

“I’ve never had an actual boyfriend,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, feeling even more awkward now, because I hadn’t realized that about her. “Really?”

How have I spent all this time around her and not realized she’s never even had a single boyfriend?

She laughed and glanced away, her eyes all glassy. “You know me, Cole. I’m not always the easiest person to get along with.”

I reached for her hand and brought it to my heart, noticing how her hand warmed right up in mine. “Yeah, I do know you, Sonia,” I said. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet—someone who appreciates you, exactly the way you are.”

So I guess that was the wrong thing to say, given the cloud that crossed her face when I said it.

“I haven’t?” she said.

My heart cracked right down the damn middle. And I knew what I was doing, and I know better than to play with Sonia’s heart, but I can’t stand to see even the slightest bit of pain on her face. That’s how I know how deep I’m in this already.

“Well,” I said, reaching my hand to the side of her face, my heart racing as I tried to sound calm and sure. “Maybe you have.”

***

We’re sitting at the Waffle House about half an hour outside of Lexington, drinking coffee, though Emmy opts to stay in the van, curled up on the bench seat in the back with the wastebasket we stole from the hotel next to her face, a stolen washcloth folded around a handful of ice on her head. So much for partying like a rock star.

“I hope she didn’t get food poisoning,” Sonia says, rubbing her temples. As ripped as she was last night, she’s not feeling nearly as bad, but she did pop two Advil right when she woke up and hasn’t taken her sunglasses off since we got inside the restaurant. Joey’s looking a little green around the gills himself.

“Come on, it’s not food poisoning,” I say. “It’s karma. PBR-ma.”

“She just had a rough night,” Travis says. “She’s not the greatest drinker.”

“Oh, I think Emmy puts it away just fine,” I say. “It’s the repercussions I think she has a little trouble with.”

“Don’t we all,” Joey groans, inhaling the steam off his cup of coffee.

“This is why smoking weed is so much better,” Sonia says. Unfortunately, she says it just as two cops walk by our booth—a short, pot-bellied guy with gray hair and sideburns, and a tall, beefy young guy, not as big as Joey but he’s got a couple of inches on me and Travis. He can’t be much older than we are, if at all. I really don’t like the look on his face as he sizes us up. I know that look—that twitch to his jaw. I’m sure he heard Sonia, because he pauses next to our table. It’s pretty clear we’re not on any church youth group outing. Trap’s wearing his Codeine band T-shirt, and his blond shaggy hair isn’t what you could call conservative. Joey is in a Gang of Four T-shirt and a pair of ripped army pants, and the ink on Sonia’s arm is a dead giveaway that she’s no nursery school teacher. I’m the only one that could even try to come off as your everyday Joe, but the only shirt I could find this morning that didn’t have something spilled on it or wasn’t crumpled at the bottom of my bag was my Dead Kennedys tee. There’s no way we don’t look like a band—an easy target for a rookie cop looking to prove something. Sitting fucking ducks.

I sit motionless, staring straight ahead as I feel his eyes on me. Wish I wasn’t remembering the nasty beating I took from a cop just like him when I got arrested for selling weed in high school. Right in front of Claire, too, and fuck, I can still hear her at twelve years old, screaming. My stomach churns with acid when the cop tells the hostess they’ll take the booth directly across from us and he glares in our direction.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “Awesome.”

“What?” Sonia asks, looking at me over the top of her glasses, because I guess she wasn’t paying attention.

“Nothing,” I say. Then Sonia looks over to the booth across from us and registers that there are two cops sitting there.

“Oh, no big deal,” she says, lowering her voice. “It’s not like we have anything on us.”

“Sunny,” Joey says, shooting her a look as I notice the younger guy lean in like he’s trying to listen to whatever we’re saying. She doesn’t seem to get it, though. She just pulls the last issue of
CMJ
out of her bag and starts to look over the charts from July.

“Hey, I wanted to let you guys know which radio stations I want to call before we hit the road. I refilled my calling card and there’s a pay phone in the lobby, so . . .”

“Let’s talk about that later,” Travis cuts her off. “What are you guys ordering?”

“What? Why?” she asks, and I know it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know any better—she’s never been harassed by cops the way Joey and I have, I’m sure. She doesn’t quite appreciate how cops don’t love bands any more than motel managers love them.

“Where are you kids from?” the young cop asks, and I almost expect the cream in my coffee to curdle at the sour sound of his voice.

“We’re on our way to Murfreesboro,” Travis says, gesturing for the waitress to come take our order.

“I asked where you’re from, son,” the cop said. “Not where you’re headed.”

What a dick.

“Omaha,” Travis says.

“You’re all from Omaha?”

“The kid says they’re from Omaha, Jerry,” the older guy says. “Here, have some coffee.”

“I asked him a question,” Justice League Jerry, the dickhead cop, says, and I feel every single muscle in my body tense. “It’d be polite for him to answer, that’s all.”

“I’m from Omaha,” Travis says, now turning to speak directly to them. “My friends are from New Jersey. We’re Rutgers students.”

“Oh, yeah?” the cop says. “So that’s your vehicle out there, the one with the Nebraska tags on it?”

“Yeah,” Travis says. “It is.”

“I trust it’s registered, insured, and the inspection is up to date?”

“Of course,” Travis says, and does a pretty good job of not letting this guy get to him. But then, that’s why we call him the Steel Trap.

“And your license, too?”

“Sure,” Travis says.

“Then you won’t mind me taking a look at it, would you?”

“Right now?” Travis asks.

“What the hell for?” Sonia jumps in. “He’s having breakfast, not running a red light.”

I restrain myself from kicking her under the table, but I glare at her as hard as I can.

“How old is the girl?” the cop says to Travis—doesn’t even talk to Sonia directly. See? Fucking dick. “Do you have her parents’ permission to be transporting her across state lines?”

“I’m not a child,” Sonia says, indignant as can be. I’d probably admire her if I wasn’t convinced I’m about to end up in a Kentucky county lockup after having an ounce of cocaine planted on me by an eager rookie.

Before we can even so much as order breakfast, the dickhead cop makes us go out to the parking lot, where we find Emmy retching into a stolen garbage pail. She’s horrified to see us turn up with the cops but manages to pull off a fairly convincing food poisoning cover story, not that the guy believes it. Sonia goes into the van to dig her license out of the glove compartment because now she has to prove she’s over the age of sixteen, and holy hell is she pissed off. Don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so mad. But now that Justice League Jerry has glimpsed the contents of the van and has confirmed that we are indeed a band, he decides he wants to search the van. Of course he does.

Joey and Travis and I unload the cabinets out of the back of the van. I’m pulling Emmy’s amp out when Sonia comes back around and sees what we’re up to and flips.

“Wait, what the hell are you guys doing?” she asks, looking at the cabinets we’ve unloaded in the parking lot.

“Unloading the gear,” I say. “So we can get this over with and get back on the road.”

“No, no way,” she says, and then looks at Justice League Jerry. “Do you have a warrant?”

“Oh, I can get a warrant,” the cop says, that sadistic power-tripping shit sack. “It’ll probably only take me about four hours to get it from the courthouse. You don’t mind waiting, right? Not in a hurry, are you?”

“We’ll wait,” Travis says, crossing his arms, now a defiant look on his face, too. No more Mr. Nice Trap. Great. We’ll see how he feels when we’re all cooling it in a holding cell in a few hours waiting to make our one phone call.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Emmy asks.

“We have rights, you guys,” Sonia says.

“I’ll be right back,” Jerry the cop says. “I need to make a call downtown.”

I try not to shit myself as he walks back to the police car, where the older cop is gnawing on a pastry, drinking coffee out of a paper cup.

“Downtown?” Joey says. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it sure doesn’t,” I say, dropping onto one of the cabinets as Emmy retches into the garbage pail again. “Wonder what Kentucky jails are like.”

“Nobody is going to jail,” Sonia says. “I’m going to call my father right now. He’ll be in the office.”

“Sunny, I know your father is a law professor and all, but seriously, what can he do from Jersey?” Emmy says.

“My father is a former attorney general for the state of New Jersey. Trust me—he’ll know exactly what to do.”

“Holy shit,” I say. “He . . . he is?”

“Yeah,” she says, her face determined and serious. “And he’ll be pissed about this, believe me. If calls have to be made to get us out of this, he can make them.”

Well Jesus Christ, I knew her dad was a law professor, but I didn’t know he was that powerful of a guy. Sonia goes back inside the Waffle House to make the call to her father when Justice League Jerry walks back from the cop car looking determined to ruin our day. Or lives, maybe. But just then, we hear the cranking of a large engine and turn to see a big, black bus parking right next to us, taking up what’s left of the parking lot.

“Oh shit,” Joey says. “No way.”

“Oh God, it’s the fucking Pumps,” Emmylou mutters, and then sure enough, the doors swing open and the parade of hipster assholes climbs down the bus steps.

“Hey, ho! It’s Stars on the Road! Or, on the lam, maybe?” Jason Foley, my least favorite singer from my least favorite band, croons as he hops off the last step, followed by three other shaggy dudes with cautiously, meticulously planned bedhead.

“You can’t park that thing here,” the cop says.

Jason looks over his shoulder at the bus and shrugs. “Maury,” he says to the bass player. “Tell Fred he’s got to move the bus.”

Maury gets back on the bus, and Jason turns back to us, amused as he takes in our situation. “Whoa, what happened? You guys got busted?”

“No, of course not!” Emmy says, scowling, her face still tinged green. “There’s nothing to bust us for.”

“Well don’t ask us for bail money,” Jason says, laughing. “Our royalty checks have been slow as shit coming from Geffen this quarter. I almost miss being an indie—no, wait, no I don’t.”

“We’re not going to need any damned bail money,” I say, gritting my teeth, praying it’s true. “Now, do you mind? We’re a little busy.”