Insider (Exodus End #1)(115)
Author: Olivia Cunning

He kissed her, his heart panging unpleasantly, as if he were saying goodbye to her forever instead of for a few hours. He much too attached to her, he decided. Much, much, much too attached.

“You be careful around all that heavy equipment,” he said, kissing her again.

“I will. Don’t worry about me.”

How could he not worry about her? She collected more bruises by walking across an empty room than he did wiping out on his dirt bike.

“Don’t be too charming on television,” she said. “I don’t want the whole world to covet what’s mine.”

He stumbled out of the car, her words tumbling around in his head like socks in a dryer. To covet what was hers? Did she really think he was hers? He’d have to set her straight when he had time. Still, even if she was mistaken, he wasn’t sure why her show of possessiveness made him happy. Such things weren’t supposed to make him happy. They were supposed to scare him away.

The limo drove off and he made sure it made it safely into the flow of traffic before jogging to catch up with the guys.

“I hope Kirk runs you all through the ringer after this,” Butch grumbled. “Fucking whiny little bitches.”

Ugh, they had to go to the gym today? After a trip to the store, Logan had hoped he could climb into his bunk and sleep until noon. Well, if he couldn’t find time to go to the store himself, he knew someone who could.

“Hey, Butch?” Logan touched Butch’s arm as he caught up with him.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Am I allowed to say no?”

It seemed his bandmates weren’t the only ones being fucking whiny little bitches this morning. “Toni keeps a diary and she needs a new one,” Logan said. “Do you think you could send someone out to buy her one?”

“It’s for Toni?”

Logan nodded.

Butch sighed and lifted his pen to write a note on his clipboard. “What kind?”

May 10

Dear New Journal,

Welcome to my world. You were a gift from Logan, so even though I’d decided I wasn’t going to bother keeping a diary anymore, I pretty much have to fill your pages, don’t I? He says the reason I lost my previous journal was because it wasn’t blue to match his eyes. So because you’re blue and will always remind me of him, he insists I’ll never lose you. The ego on that guy!

But he always makes me laugh. And I do love him. More than he’ll ever know. But maybe I shouldn’t write that here. He might read it.

I watched the stage being set up today, and everyone in the crew volunteered to wear Logan’s head camera to capture a first-person view of their job, so we sent some poor lackey out to buy five more. I haven’t had a chance to review that footage yet—I hope it turned out. I also set up my big video camera to record the stage being set up from the center of the arena. It’s really cool when watched on fast forward. It should definitely make it into the book.

I promised myself I wouldn’t write anything scandalous in this diary, in case I misplaced it, but holy hairy balls, Batman, this morning on the way to their television interview, the band was talking about going indie. While Max seemed completely against it, the rest of them didn’t think it was a bad idea. This kind of decision would change everything for them. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, but I have faith that whatever they decide, they’ll be successful.

And Steve’s words got me wondering about my personal definition of success. The more I think about it, the more I keep changing my mind. So maybe success is an ever-moving target. Does that make sense? Once you’ve found success, then what? You find new success, right? A different kind of success or a higher level of success. I don’t know. I haven’t found success yet. I’ll let you know when I do.

Logan is making come-to-bed noises, so I have to go now. I hope my ramblings don’t bore you to tears.

Toni

May 11

Dear Journal,

It’s really late. Logan somehow talked me into going to the after-party with him tonight. I had more fun than I thought I would, mostly because Reagan wouldn’t let me sit down. And after she’d poured a few drinks down my throat, she got me dancing and I couldn’t stop. I’m sure I looked like an awkward fool, but it was fun. Until I got sick.

She held my hair while I threw up in the bathroom—what a great friend—and now my head hurts so bad I can’t sleep.

Would I do it again?

Sure!

The band had a mall appearance today. It was in a novelty shop, so they spent most of their time signing T-shirts. Apparently signing T-shirts is an art. Or a science. I’m not sure which. You’d think it would be easier to sign a shirt when it’s stretched out on a hard surface, but nope, it’s easier to sign them when they’re wadded up in a soft ball. Who knew?

The things I learn on this job.

Ugh, I swear this bus is riding on a roller coaster track tonight.

We’re on our way to New Orleans now, and we’ll be staying there on our day off. Reagan wants to go clothes shopping. I’d rather eat beignets and listen to jazz. Logan says he’ll bring me back during Mardi Gras. With tits like mine, I’ll be buried in beads.

And while that’s what he said, I bet he’d freak out if I actually flashed them. He has a fascination with my boobs. I’m not sure it’s healthy.

Tomorrow we’re going to work on the exclusive song for the book. Or at least they’re going to try to come up with something. Sam said it isn’t a contract breach, so yay! I’m really excited about it.

Ugh, being excited makes my stomach queasy.

Why is the floor spinning?

I’m never drinking again.

T

Twenty-Eight

Logan took a seat beside Steve’s bare feet on the sectional and waited for Toni to finish hooking up every piece of equipment she’d brought with her and even a few she’d borrowed. He knew she was tremendously excited to capture the band creating a song, but he knew from past experience that these things never, ever went well. He was positive she was going to end up disappointed. The only good thing about that was that she’d probably need him to console her. But he’d rather this session go well because he knew it meant a lot to her. He was determined to be on his best behavior.

“I think that’s everything,” she said and turned to look at them expectantly.

Was she expecting genius to flow from them all on cue and converge into a perfect melody? Yeah, right.