He opened his mouth, chewed up donut and all. “Talking about me?”
“And my ribs.” Jace nodded.
“Ba
d?” Travis tugged up Jace’s faded grey shirt. “Shit. That looks bad.”
“Feels pretty damn bad, too.”
“Y’all get a move on.” Hank King waved them on. “We’ve got six hours and not a lot of leeway. I’ve got some news about ACMF we need to talk about. And a tour extension.”
“Does that mean we get to ride on the fancy bus?” Travis asked, following his father. Travis’s bus was low-frills and he made sure his father knew how much it irritated him every chance he got. “With its custom leather, high-tech audio-video security system, big-screen televisions, damn near gourmet kitchen—”
“Just get on.” Hank rolled his eyes and pointed at the girls’ bus—the “fancy bus,” as Travis called it. “You too, Jace. Got a song I want to play for you.”
“I got a quick phone call,” Jace said. “I’ll be right there.” He dialed quickly. “Luke. I need you to do something for me. I need daisies and the biggest box of Red Vines you can find delivered to the San Francisco venue tonight.” He paused. “Krystal’s dressing room.” He talked over Luke’s protests. “Can you do it, yes or no?”
“I can do it.” Luke sighed. “But you’re playing with fire.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Chapter 11
“Looks like ACMF isn’t going to work out.” Her father leaned against the bus wall, slowly spinning his hat in his hands.
“What happened?” Travis stopped mid-chew, midway through the box of donuts he’d brought with him. “I thought we were emceeing? Now we’re not even going?”
“Nothing happened.” He shook his head. “We got an invite to Australia. Figured you might want to go?”
Something had happened. ACMF was one of her father’s favorite events—he credited the festival with him getting his start. To miss it? He was keeping something from them. “And?” Krystal pulled the box away from Travis. “Some of us haven’t had one.”
“Some of you might want to rethink having one.” Travis stared at her rear.
“Rude.” She pinched him, hard. “Daddy?”
Hank smacked his hat against his thigh, shooting a glance at Jace.
She was doing her best not to look at Jace. Not to say she wasn’t aware of his every move. She was. Or the fact that his faded grey T-shirt hugged the incredibly sculpted chest that she’d enjoyed a little too much the night before.
But her Daddy’s expression set her nerves on edge and flooded her stomach with ice. Whatever Daddy wasn’t saying, he wasn’t sure he wanted to share it in front of Jace.
“Spill.” Travis pushed. “I’m not buying it.”
“Tig Whitman is getting an industry award.” His blue-green gaze met hers. “Doesn’t sit well with me.”
She handed the box back to Travis. Her daddy was doing this for her.
“Australia, here we come.” Emmy Lou was all smiles. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Okay.” Travis stared into the pastry box, frowning.
She had no idea what her siblings knew. She’d been packed off to the Wellness Ranch for six weeks on intense therapy and counseling—to break her “destructive habit of lying” and “learn why she needed extra attention” and why she “wanted to hurt her parents.” In time, she realized she was there to learn to lie better. Uncle Tig had never touched her, never hurt her. No, she’d said those things because she was overshadowed by her sister’s success. At least, that’s what she picked up as her expected response—and no one thought to question her.
Once she’d returned from her Wellness Ranch visit, no one mentioned Uncle Tig, what he did or did not do to her, or the sudden severing of his and her father’s relationship. Something had happened: Uncle Tig was a regular in the King household; then he wasn’t.
Travis had brought Tig up once, unleashing sobs and a full-blown panic attack. After that, neither of her siblings brought him up again.
But this was one of those things they couldn’t pass up. Them. Not her. “I can skip it,” she offered, sitting cross-legged on the kitchenette bench and pulling Clementine into her lap. “It’s not a big deal.”