Prologue
The crowd chants an abbreviation of our name, over and over again. VeeP…VeeP…VeeP…echoes throughout the venue as Brayden, Carson, and I stand side by side with our arms raised high in the air. We exit stage left with me bringing up the rear of the three-man train, and I stumble into Carson when he pulls up short.
“Let’s go back out there,” he says with a shit-eating grin on his face. I shake my head and bypass him, heading right for my assistant, Aspen.
“Come on, man. One last time,” Carson pleads. I roll my eyes, but Aspen is the only one who can see my face. “Listen to that audience. We sold the fuck out. Let’s give them one more song.”
Aspen has what I need. I can see the little brown bottle filled with white powder resting in the palm of her hand. It beckons me. Calls my name, ready to invade my system. The nose candy that keeps me awake and able to perform is within arm’s reach, and I have to have it.
I extend my arm to Aspen, who drops the vial into my waiting hand. Even holding it gives me a thrill, although the feeling is short-lived when I’m instructed to turn around and get in line.
I turn, ready to give Carson a piece of my mind, but our manager, Rebel Van Zandt, is standing right there, eyeing me. Rebel’s the baddest bitch in show business and you’re risking your life if you dare to disobey her. Given the opportunity, she’d rip me from limb to limb and watch me bleed out slowly just to get her fucking kicks.
Virtuous Paradox was an unlikely group at the beginning, but we’ve taken the world by storm. What started out as a test quickly turned into a phenomenon. Rebel chose me, along with Brayden and Carson, to form this band. One hurdle back then was I’d never performed in public aside from the yearly Christmas party my Hollywood director father and movie star mother threw. Rebel had seen me sing and apparently was sold. I thought it was a joke until she put the three of us up onstage, took our photo, and asked us all what we saw.
To me, it looked like two dudes with amazing talent, plus me. Yeah, I have charisma, sex appeal, and striking blue bedroom eyes. But that’s not talent. When I saw myself standing next to them, I felt like I didn’t belong. Rebel vowed to prove me wrong.
Slowly turning and eyeing the statuesque blonde, my heart stops beating. The smirk is back, or it never left. I step closer so I can see what happened to the mousy brunette I used to know. Her gaze follows mine and I look her over. She’s taller, leaner and, besides the obvious hair color change, looks nothing like she did when she left here. Her teeth are straight and missing the metal that used to clog her mouth. There’s no way this woman is only seventeen years old.
I swallow hard and break eye contact. This ain’t gonna be good. When I thought she was this other girl, I pictured us hanging out. Now that I’m looking at her, the hanging out idea doesn’t seem to be the best thing for me. One thing’s for sure: New York did a number on my Savannah.
“Wow, Savannah.”
She nods, pursing her lips. “It’s Vanna,” she informs me as she stalks past me toward my truck. I follow her and mentally scold myself when my eyes fall on her cotton-covered ass. The mousy-non-Savannah mocks me in disgust. I run my hand over the back of my neck and sigh.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” I say. “Um… do you need a ride?”
She shakes her head and I deduce that I’m better off just leaving her. I’ve already embarrassed her and myself enough to last us a lifetime. I pick up Savannah’s bags and hustle back to the truck. I have a feeling it’s gonna be one long summer and once her Uncle Bobby sees her he’s gonna flip. She’s going to be every man’s wet dream in a forty-mile radius and I just know I’m going to be tasked with taking care of her. Just call me the glorified babysitter of the mousy farm girl turned New York socialite.
I remember the day she left. I thought her momma was joking when she said they were moving, so when they packed their bags and got into the car, I was left standing there, stunned. I was so hurt that I refused to say good-bye. We didn’t promise to write or even call each other. We were too young for those types of commitments. Watching her being driven away from me is my most vivid memory and one that has been replaying in my mind for the past week.
I was fifteen when she left. We’d grown up together, attending the same school, church and having Sunday suppers on her uncle’s wrap-around porch. Our mommas always joked that we’d end up married to each other as soon as she turned eighteen and we’d start spitting out babies. After a while, I just believed them. It seemed like destiny. That was until my teenage hormones kicked in, and when I discovered girls, Savannah wanted nothing to do with me. She caught me a time or two with my hands in places they shouldn’t have been and each time she’d just pretend like nothing was happening.
Even though our mommas wanted us to get married, there is an age difference between us and I matured faster. Savannah was quiet and shy, never really showing any interest in anything but her horse. Living in a small town, people have expectations and there was one on her and me, but it wasn’t like I could take her out on a date or anything. Looking at her now, I wish I could’ve.
I climb into the cab of my truck and pull the door shut. She jumps in and clutches her purse tightly to her body. I let my hand dangle over the steering whe
el thinking about all the things I want to say to her. Right now the only thing forming is the idiotic sentence of “damn, you grew up”, but I have a feeling that will earn me a slap and I’d rather save that for later in the barn. I instantly chide myself for thinking I’ll get her to the barn like that. She just got here and I’m sure she has a rich pretty boy waiting on her back home.
“Hello, Savannah. Long time no see.” She adjusts slightly, turning farther away from me, and stares out her window. Her mood has changed from somewhat friendly to icy cold. I don’t blame her. The warm reception I gave the other woman was probably what she was expecting and didn’t get.
“It’s Vanna.”
I want to laugh at how straight-laced she sounds but hold back. Something tells me she’s turned into a spitfire and that would be the spark to set her off. I’ve already pissed her off enough for one day. Her uncle said something about her getting into trouble one too many times at school and that her momma is too busy with her job to keep her under control. Apparently the answer was to send her back to where she got her start, even if she’s not going to fit in around these parts anymore.
“Savannah,” I reply purposely. There’s no way in hell I’m calling her Vanna after that middle-aged letter turner that my grandma watches nightly.
She huffs, but doesn’t say anything. I get the impression that she’s used to getting her way, especially with men. Sadly for her, life doesn’t work like that in these parts.
“How far ‘til my uncle’s house?”
I look out the windshield, pretending I need to gauge the distance. I shrug. “Twenty minutes or so.”
“Well, shouldn’t we get moving?”
I shake my head and mentally kick my own ass for how this day has started. I’d like a redo, please. Hell yeah I’d jump out of this truck and scoop her up in my arms if I knew what she had grown into, but I was remembering my reserved Savannah, not the model sitting next to me.
Cranking my key to start the engine, I’m happy for the loud roar to drown out my thoughts about her and us… in the barn. It’s never gonna happen so I just need to stop thinking about it. I need to remember mud pie, cow tippin’ and catching lightnin’ bugs.
“Hang on tight, sweetheart.” I press down on the gas as I throw my truck into drive. She slams back against the seat, her door barely closed. I’m trying not to laugh but her high-pitched squeal is cracking me up. She’s turned into such a girly girl that someone is going to have to break her out of it and it ain’t gonna be me.
Savannah
My hair is blowing in all kinds of directions as the deathtrap I’m stuck in barrels down the road. I don’t see the automatic window lever and I refuse to acknowledge or even look at Tyler. He forgot who I was! How does that happen? I haven’t changed that much and you would think that when I’m smiling at him like a freaking buffoon he would know it’s me. Who forgets their supposed best friend? The moron beside me does, that’s who.
I look over at Tyler to find him smiling. With the way my luck has been going this past month, he’s probably remembering some horribly disgusting moment in my pre-teen life that he’s all too happy to drudge up at the most inopportune time. Like when I’m hitting on my uncle’s ranch-hand. I overheard my mom asking my uncle Bobby about his ranch-hand, leading me to believe she doesn’t want me near him. She took me out of school, refusing to let me finish out my senior year because her parenting skills blow, so I’m going to do what I can to entertain myself. I need some excitement in my life and if that comes in the form of a guy I’ll never see again, so be it.
His left arm hangs out the window while the other rests on top of the steering wheel. At some point in my attempt to ignore him, he’s put on a hat and aviators cover his eyes. Chicks dig aviators. Who knew someone like him could actually wear something fashionable? I look away, not willing to get caught staring. I don’t want him to think I’m interested, because I’m not. I don’t care if he’s good looking with his tanned arms and defined muscles. So what if his shirt stretches across his chest and I can see the outline of his pectoral muscles? He made me look like a crazed fool standing there at the bus while he doted on that other girl.
My head falls against the door as I take in the passing scenery. I don’t want to be here. I’ve made my thoughts on the idea of spending my summer here loud and clear. No one was listening, least of all my mother who has it in her head that I’m some type of juvenile delinquent. One incident and I’m slapped with a label. She’s not exactly a good example of a perfect parent. Once I started high school, I was left to figure shit out on my own. I suppose when you’re one of the most sought after divorce attorneys in New York City, you put your job before your family and forget that it’s dinner time or your daughter’s dance recital. Truth be told, if my mom knew half the shit I’ve done, she would’ve sent me out here a long time ago. Getting caught was never in the plans. Who knew she’d finally decide to come home early?
My mom is being unreasonable though. Every kid experiments; it’s a part of life. My punishment shouldn’t be finishing out my senior year and spending my summer in a Podunk town away from my friends, shopping and any vice I need to numb my wandering thoughts on the miserable life I have.
We turn down another dirt road and my uncle’s ranch comes into view. My mom said I loved it here when I was a kid, always running around barefoot and catching frogs down at the pond. The thought makes me shudder as I look at my freshly manicured toes. I do believe my mother laughed when I asked about manicure and pedicure services and said something on how I’m nothing but a spoiled brat who needs a lesson in life. Of course my eyes rolled. She raised me, so if I’m spoiled it’s because of her childrearing abilities, not because of me.
The truck comes to a stop and idles in the driveway. By the way Tyler looks right now, with his cheek pulled in, he’s not getting out. That also means he’s not going to help with me with my luggage so I’m going to have to do it myself. I sigh heavily and lift the handle to get out. The door doesn’t budge. I try again, and nothing. Tyler, the asshole, starts to laugh before reaching across my legs and pushing the door open. The tingling I feel when his arm brushes across my leg leaves a burning sensation, as if glowing embers are resting on my skin. I look at him quickly, but he’s focused on the house, not me. Everything in me is telling me that I need to say thank you, but I can’t. The words aren’t forming on my lips. I’ve never felt… tongue-tied?