No Chance Page 8

  And now it’s all gone.

  I sigh and sit down in the chair beside Brett as I look over the breakfast spread. I can’t help when my eyes light up at the danishes, and then I wrinkle my nose at the carafe of coffee.

  “Not a coffee drinker?” he surmises.

  I shake my head. “To be honest, I’ve never tried it.”

  “How have you never tried coffee? It’s the nectar of the gods.”

  I raise a brow. “The nectar of the gods?”

  He shrugs. “Let’s just say it has cured a lot of hangovers in my day.”

  “Never had one of those, either,” I muse.

  This time his jaw drops down. “You’ve never had a hangover?”

  I shrug. “I’ve only been able to drink legally for a year, and it’s just not something I was ever interested in.” I leave out the fact that we didn’t have enough money to afford the luxury of liquor.

  “Well you’re with me now. I’ll get you good and drunk and then I’ll take care of your hangover with some coffee and greasy bacon.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I murmur.

  “Help yourself,” he says, indicating the food.

  I reach for a cheese danish.

  “Good call. Those are the best,” he says.

  I set it back down and opt for the strawberry one.

  His brows crinkle. “Why’d you put it back?”

  “I don’t want to take it if it’s your favorite.”

  He looks confused, like he can’t quite understand why I’d sacrifice it if I want it. “Take it,” he says. “Please.”

  “Thank you.” I take a bite, and it reminds me of my childhood. It’s actually the perfect breakfast for today, and he didn’t even know.

  I don’t remember the danish from my childhood, but it was one of the memories of our parents Brie kept very much alive. Our dad would go to the store every Saturday morning and bring home the cream cheese danish. Sometimes he’d bring home other flavors, too, but always the cheese. So when budget allowed, Brie would surprise me with one. Just a few weeks ago when Brie turned twenty-eight, I used my tips from the night before to bring her one, too.

  And since today is a day to celebrate her life, it feels right to have this for breakfast.

  As the delicious pastry moves past my lips and onto my tongue, I can’t help but feel the emotions hitting me from every angle.

  Brett pours a cup of coffee. He doctors it up with cream and sugar, and then he pushes it across the table toward me.

  I wrinkle my nose again.

  “Just try it,” he goads. “One little sip.”

  I twist my lips, and then I pick up the cup. I give it the sniff test, and it smells disgusting. I shake my head, and then I think to myself that this is a whole new start to my life. May as well try new things while I’m on this new journey. I tip the cup to my mouth and take a sip.

  I let the liquid sit on my tongue for a beat, and it tastes sort of exactly how it smells. It’s a little bitter, but the cream seems to mask that bitterness. I don’t hate it, but I’m not sure I get the obsession people have with it.

  “Well?” he asks as I set the cup down.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Okay?” he practically growls at me.

  I shrug. “Bitter. Tastes sort of how I expected it to.”

  He purses his lips. “I’ll convert you yet. Trust me. Coffee is a staple of life on the road. Late nights, early mornings, a different city every few days. It’s the one constant that I cling to.”

  I can’t help the tiny smile. It’s the first one in a few days, and it feels odd on my face after days of sadness...but a little glimmer of hope lights in my chest that there will be more.

  Once the baby is up, it’s nearly time to leave for the funeral home. I get him dressed and ready, and Brett calls a car for us. He’s going with me, and I can’t help but feel appreciative that I don’t have to do this alone.

  “Can you hold him while I grab the carrier?” I ask before we head down to the car.

  His eyes meet mine, and his are full of fear.

  I guess we both have things we’re scared of...and we’re both trying things that are new for us. “It’ll be fine,” I assure him.

  He nods once, his eyes wide, and I hand Chance over to his father for the very first time. Brett holds him at an odd angle, and it’s clear he has never held a child before.

  I stare for a beat as I look at this guy who is so very clearly a rock star—ripped black jeans in the Phoenix heat, a black shirt with a small hole near the shoulder, a wristband and a few bracelets with a watch on his left wrist, tattoos crawling up his arm—as he attempts to hold his baby boy. They stare at each other, and I wonder what’s going through little Chance’s mind. I wonder if he feels some sort of connection. I wonder if Brett does, too.

  Chance immediately starts to whimper. He’s being held by a stranger, and that stranger doesn’t know how to hold him or comfort him.

  But I suspect in the upcoming days...he’ll learn.

  I grab the carrier and take Chance from his dad before he starts crying. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” I ask gently.

  Brett shrugs.

  I glance up with another tiny smile. “I was actually talking to Chance,” I tease.

  He laughs, and the sound brightens the room.

  When we arrive at the funeral home, I’m shocked to find Danielle there along with Karl, the manager I met yesterday, three men I don’t yet know, and a woman I haven’t met. Introductions are made, and the entire Capital Kingsmen family turned out for my sister’s funeral.

  The devastating irony is that this is an event she would’ve died to attend. Her favorite band gathered here to celebrate her.

  I burst into tears when I spot these people, and it doesn’t get any easier as I say my goodbyes. She’ll forever be a part of my heart, and she’ll forever be Chance’s mother regardless of what happens over the course of the next few months. But a physical goodbye is still a tragedy.

  We move to the cemetery next, where the casket is lowered into the ground as a preacher says some words as I cling to Chance. He cries, and I cry, and Brett attempts to comfort me with an arm slung loosely around my shoulder. Danielle squeezes my hand.

  They’re all I have now.

  And just like that, it’s over.

  A whole life, twenty-eight years, gone too soon.

  And now my only choice is to pick up the pieces she left behind.

  CHAPTER 15: HANNAH

  We head toward the bus lot, where our home on wheels waits to take us to Salt Lake City, the next stop on Capital Kingsmen’s tour. My tears have started to dry, but the scars remain. My heart is battered and broken as I leave behind the only city I’ve ever known.

  Tommy stalks onto the bus ahead of us while Brett introduces me to our driver, Lou, a middle-aged man with glasses, a graying beard, and a round belly.

  The bus rumbles to life, and I don’t think I’ve ever really been in a vehicle where I could move about freely while we close the miles between here and our destination. It’s a strange feeling, one that I think will take some getting used to.

  I don’t know where Tommy disappeared to as I pull Chance out of his carrier, but I assume he went to his bedroom. Brett takes the carrier to the bedroom in the back, and we still haven’t addressed the elephant in the room...namely where we’ll both be sleeping when it comes time for that.

  “How long’s the drive to Salt Lake?” I ask once the bus is moving. I hold Chance on my lap, but he’s already starting to wiggle. He likes to crawl around and explore, but I don’t know how clean the floor of the bus is.

  “Direct it’s about ten hours, but we’ll stop somewhere for a driver break in the middle.”

  I glance up at the fridge and the kitchenette. It looks to be safe enough for little hands. “Will we eat on the bus?”

  He nods. “We have meals in the fridge that we just heat up, or we can grab something during break.”

 
“Whatever’s in the fridge is fine,” I say. I look doubtfully at the floor. “Is it okay to set him down? Is it clean?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, it’s fine. And it’s clean. We have this place professionally cleaned every few cities, and we’ve only been on it a few days. It still has that new bus smell.”

  I try to imagine what this bus might’ve been like if it was just Tommy and Brett on it. Probably a lot different than it is now. I picture a lot of alcohol, maybe some drugs, maybe some half-naked women prancing around. Probably not a baby. “What happened in those few days?” I can’t help my curiosity as I set Chance down to explore.

  He shrugs. “We always spend the first night on the bus on tour. It’s a tradition. And then we spent the next couple nights at a hotel, so apart from having a home base with all our shit on it, nothing exciting.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “At least not until you came along.”

  Did he just...did he just flirt with me?

  No.

  That’s impossible.

  He had to have meant finding out about Chance.

  But my cheeks flame anyway.

  “What usually happens on a tour bus?” I ask as I watch the baby crawl around. He stops by one of the drawers. He tries to open it, but it has a latch on it—not a child safety one, but one to keep everything secure during travel that serves the same purpose.

  He clears his throat. “It used to be the four of us all on one, and then those other two fuckers went and got women and had kids and shit.”

  I glance up at Brett as he lets his language fly. I’m sort of used to filtering myself in front of the baby. But, I remind myself, it’s his kid. He can say what he wants in front of him.

  “When it was the four of you, was it basically one big party all the time?”

  He laughs. “Hardly. Bus life isn’t the easiest, and the more people on the bus, the harder it gets. Space is limited, you know? But we’d have video game tournaments and play drinking games and write music. It was...” He trails off as he searches for the right words, and when he says them, his tone is wistful. “It was a hell of a good time.”

  And now everything’s different because those other fuckers got their women and kids...and then, out of nowhere, Brett has a kid, too.

  I glance up at the televisions. “Is that why you have three TVs in here?”

  He nods. “That and so if we put on a movie, we can see it no matter where we’re sitting.”

  “Smart,” I say, tapping my temple. “You got any kids movies?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing downloaded, but we have WiFi and just about every subscription you can think of, so if you have something in mind, say the word.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Chance likes Sesame Street. He wiggles around when the song comes on.”

  Brett stands and walks to a tablet mounted to the wall. He taps around, and then the televisions come to life a few beats later with the puppets singing about sunny days.

  It’s a cheerful tune on this sad day, and maybe I needed a little Sesame Street in my life, too.

  Brett moves around the front of the bus, and Chance watches him carefully, his eyes wide. He stops and pokes Chance gently in the stomach. He makes a little popping sound with his mouth, and Chance’s eyes light up as a smile forms on his lips.

  He opens his mouth to attempt to imitate the sound, and Brett laughs as he does it again.

  It’s the first bonding experience, and despite the dreariness of today, my heart warms just a little.

  “Is that the Street?” Tommy calls from the next section of the bus, and he appears in the doorway a beat later. He does a little jig to the theme song, and Chance laughs.

  He basically ignores the child as he walks by him and opens one of the upper cabinets in the kitchenette. An entire shelf in the cabinet is stocked full of little golden bags. Tommy grabs one down, and I read Haribo Gold-Bears across the front.

  He rips the top of the bag open and pops a bear into his mouth. He closes his eyes like he’s enjoying the most delicious treat known to man, and then he takes his bag and disappears back into his bedroom without any further conversation.

  “Gummy bears?” I ask.

  Brett shrugs. “His obsession. The one thing you can do to wrong Tommy Stevenson is take from his secret gummy bear stash.”

  I raise both brows. “Noted.”

  “You know he likes you when he offers to share. Until that time, consider his trust on the fence.”

  I nearly laugh at that, and the feeling of almost-laughter is nice after the whirlwind of the last few days.

  I play with Chance while Sesame Street plays. Brett disappears for a bit into his bedroom, and he returns with a laptop a short while later. He sits at the kitchen table and clicks around on it. He looks to be working, but I don’t know on what. What, exactly, do rock stars do all day when they’re traveling on a bus? Or even when they’re stationed somewhere? I guess I’ll find out.

  I feed Chance lunch, and then my plan is to get him down for a slightly later than usual morning nap. I’m hoping he’ll adjust to the different sleeping environments and that the rumble of the bus will help rock him to sleep.

  I carry him through Tommy’s room, where Tommy is sprawled on his bed with headphones as he stares at the television across from his bed with some action movie playing. When I get to Brett’s bedroom, I gasp at the transformation.

  It looks similar to how it looked the last time I was in here with the queen bed and the dresser, but the furniture has shifted to accommodate a crib and, in the corner, a rocker recliner. There’s also a changing pad on top of the dresser to make changing diapers easier along with a tall, skinny chest of drawers to fit Chance’s belongings as well as mine. On top of the chest of drawers I spot a baby monitor, and hanging in the corner by the crib I see a little camera.

  It’s our little space...that we’re sharing with a stranger.

  I rock the baby in the recliner chair and sing “Goodnight Moon” before I set him down sleepy but still awake in the crib. I close the blinds to make it a little darker in here, and that’s when I spot nightlights along the floor. I sit in the rocker while I wait for him to fall asleep, which is less than three minutes today. I grab the monitor from the top of the chest and take it through Tommy’s room and back out to the front section of the bus. The TV is off now, and Brett’s still tapping away on his laptop as I plop onto the couch, not really sure what to do with myself.

  He shuts his laptop lid just as I’m about to ask if there’s anything I can do and he looks up at me. I can’t tell exactly what’s in his eyes, but there’s definitely a question there.

  I tilt my head as if to tell him it’s okay to ask.

  He squints at me a little, and then he finally breaks the silence. “Are you okay?”

  I lift a shoulder. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” he says, and he’s said that to me before.

  “I’m trying to hold it together for Chance,” I admit.

  “Chance is napping,” he says softly. He abandons his laptop and sits on the couch across from me. “Tell me about your sister.”

  “I don’t really want to talk about her.” Somehow it feels wrong, like I’m suddenly living the life she only dreamed of.

  “I only knew her for one night. There was something special about her. She was different from the girls I normally...” he stops short, like he doesn’t quite want to finish that thought aloud. He clears his throat. “Well, you know.”

  I give him a wry nod as I twist my lips, and he sighs like he doesn’t know what else to say and he isn’t sure how to get me to talk it out.

  “She was special,” I finally say. “She was kind and generous and giving. We had nothing, but she still gave to others. Maybe not physical things, but time and attention and love. She loved music and she was always humming or singing a song, usually something by your band.”

  He grins, and somehow it feels good to be talking about her, like I’m keeping he
r memory alive by telling him these little details.

  “This morning when I saw what you’d ordered for breakfast, I could hardly believe there was cheese danish,” I admit.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Brie always told me how before our parents passed away, our dad would bring us a cheese danish every Saturday morning. She kept the tradition alive once we were reunited, but not every Saturday, just for special occasions.”

  His face turns a little sympathetic. “What happened to your parents?”

  My eyes move to the floor. “Car accident.”

  “Oh, Jesus. And then your sister, too. I’m so sorry, Hannah.”

  “A drunk driver hit them. A texter hit my sister. Equally senseless.” Tears threaten behind my eyes.

  “Equally tragic,” he murmurs.

  A beat of quiet passes between us, and then I clear my throat as I try to change the subject before he starts asking what my life was like in foster care. It wasn’t horrible, not like you read about, but it certainly wasn’t all sunshine and roses, either.

  “She was obsessed with all things Capital Kingsmen, and she teased me by playing the songs all the time.”

  “How was that teasing you?” he asks cautiously.

  I clear my throat awkwardly. This is his livelihood. I should probably not admit to him that I’m not a fan. “Oh, uh...” This is awkward.

  “Do you not like my music?” he presses, and, to my extreme relief, I detect just a hint of teasing in his tone.

  “It’s fine. It’s good.” I clear my throat. “It’s just, um, a little loud for my usual tastes.”

  “Loud as in volume? Because that can be adjusted. But if it’s loud as in the drums are too much for you, well, that might pose a problem.” He taps out a song on his legs with his hands, and I watch in a little bit of awe as I actually recognize the song he plays.