I heard Pixie and Bear talking. Someone was in the bathroom—likely Rick, who liked to shower before everyone. Terry and his smoker’s cough were awake. I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep. I had plenty I didn’t want to think about when I was conscious—and I did a pretty good job of avoiding it too. But my subconscious didn’t play by the rules.
I woke up from a dream, screaming.
In the dream, the stepbeast had found me. He’d kidnapped me, duct taping my hands together, feet too. At first I was in the trunk of a car. Then he took me out and I could breathe. It felt so good to suck in the night air, even if the piece of duct tape he tore off my mouth hurt like hell. In the dream, I was crying, begging him. He didn’t say anything. He just kicked me and I fell. Like Alice down a hole, I fell and fell and then THUD, I hit the ground. Then he was filling the hole with dirt. He was burying me alive. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.
When I woke up in the enclosed space of our little bed, I screamed. For a minute I couldn’t tell what was dream and what was reality. And everyone came running. Pixie got there first, yanking my curtain aside, her dark eyes wide. I grabbed the blanket, pulling it up to my chin. I didn’t usually sleep naked, but last night, after sex, I hadn’t put my t-shirt back on. I hadn’t wanted to disturb Dale.
“Are you okay?” Pixie asked.
“Someone being murdered in here?” Chelsea. “Who was that?”
“Sara,” Bear told her.
“Bad dream,” I whispered, swallowing hard as more people appeared. Chelsea and Bear, frowning and looking in at me. Rick, his hair wet, appearing on the other side. Then Terry with his morning cigarette, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. The gang was all there. Except Dale—and he was the one I wanted.
“Just a bad dream.” My voice was stronger now. The dream was fading. “Sorry guys.”
That was our excitement for the morning.
I went to take a shower. I’d seen the inside of Dark Wing’s tour bus and it was far more luxurious than ours—but for a bus, I couldn’t complain. Our shower door was glass and there was a massaging showerhead. I washed my hair, massaging my scalp like I could scrub the dream out of my head. It mostly worked. By the time I was out, dried off and dressed, most of the dream had dissipated, leaving only a lingering feeling of dread.
The crew meeting assembled outside. The busses parked together, configuring a large square in the middle, leaving only a narrow space in or out—Bear had to squeeze—guarded by security. Sure, a fan could slip underneath one of the busses, but we were in a segregated parking lot on venue property. They’d have a hard time finding us in the first place. They stayed that way until we had to leave and we could go hang in the square—we called it the square—whenever we felt like some down time outside without any danger of being swarmed by a mass of fans. It was quite ingenious really, the busses all snuggled up like that. It gave us all a sense or feeling of safety, and I think Chelsea knew it.
She was one smart cookie.
Dale squeezed in just as the meeting was starting. We made a big circle, either standing or sitting, while Chelsea went over the day’s schedule and plan. Dark Wing didn’t have to attend morning meetings. Technically, the opening band didn’t either, but we spent so much more time with the crew, we kind of felt like one big family, so we went.
I spotted Dale sneaking around the circle, making his way toward me. He wrapped his arms around me from behind. I could smell him, that musky scent of sweat, and it reminded me of the night before. His shirt was damp and I could hear Nirvana still playing over his headphones. They were down around his neck.
“Some day we’re going to be in the big bus,” he whispered. “We’ll have our own private jet. We won’t have to listen to Bear getting laid.”
I giggled at that, then sobered quickly when Chelsea glanced my way.
“We won’t have to attend meetings.”
I shrugged, whispering back, “I kind of like the meetings.”
“Weirdo.” He pulled my hair aside, nuzzling the back of my neck. “I heard you had a bad dream.”
I stiffened. News traveled fast!
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t want to tell me?”
I shook my head, shushing him.
“Why don’t you tell all of us?” Chelsea snapped. I loved Chelsea, but when she got mad, she took you down. There was no warning and no wiggle room.
“I’m good.” I flushed, elbowing Dale in the gut, hearing him go “oof!” I waved at her. “Go on, go on.”
“Thank you.” She eyed me for a minute then shook her head, looking back at her notes.
Dale was laughing. I couldn’t hear but I could feel it. I went to elbow him again and he grabbed my arm. I tried to jerk it away but he had too good of a hold. And before I knew it, he’d leaned in and hefted me over his shoulders.
“Dale!” I hissed, still being quiet, like the whole damned crew—not to mention the band—wasn’t watching and cracking up.
“Going somewhere?” Chelsea had reading glasses on and they made her look older. She pulled them down to look over at them at Dale carrying me around the outside of the circle.
“I’m going to take her back to the bus and fuck her brains out. Okay with you?”
Oh he was going to get it. I beat on his back with my fists but he acted like it was nothing. The entire crew was laughing and they started making remarks, giving Dale advice on how to get the job done right.
“Whatever floats your boat.” Chelsea shook her head, but she was smiling as she went back to her notes. Dale carried me through the narrow way—barely squeezing through.
“I am going to kill you when you put me down,” I informed him through clenched teeth as he headed toward our bus.
“Guess I better never put you down then,” he made an about-face, heading the other way.
“No!” I cried. “Where are you going?”