Page 11 of When We Fell Again
“Thanks for your faith in me.”
She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “You’ve got this.”
I hoped to God I did.
Later that evening, when I should have been sleeping, I stood in front of my wardrobe, trying to work out what the hell to pack. When I’d been scheduled to go on the road with Lissy, I’d had visions of floaty dresses, expensive knitwear, and heels. If I wore anything like that on a uni tour with Idol Rev, my dry-cleaning bill would be more than my fee for the tour. Deciding to be sensible, I started pulling out jeans, plain tops in a variety of colours, and a couple of fitted blazers. In terms of footwear, Converse and low-heeled boots would have to do, not least for the comfort factor. On a whim, I added a long, daisy-printed maxi skirt and an old favourite black jumper. If an opportunity to go somewhere did arise, at least I wouldn’t look like a business woman on an evening out after work. Pleased with my choices, particularly because they fitted into the one suitcase I planned to take, I got the basics of my makeup kit and toiletries together, ready to put in before I left in the morning.
I peeled off my clothes, pulled on my t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and got into bed.
As always the night before going out on a tour, I ended up being wide awake. Snuggling under the duvet, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table.
Before I knew what I was doing, I started stalking Idol Rev’s socials. There were a lot of posts bigging up the tour and showcasing the support acts. In a clever bit of planning, they had arranged for a band from each uni to perform in the support slot, thus cementing a decent audience from the outset. There were a few candid shots of the band, practicing in a studio, some which had Jordan wearing a sling. I’d completely forgotten about the shoulder problem that had threatened to postpone the tour. Pinching one of the photos to expand the picture, I found myself lost in his chocolate brown eyes again. The intensity in them while performing hadn’t dimmed, even if this was just rehearsal. The fire was still there—a fire I remembered only too well.
Up until a few days ago, I hadn’t given Jordan Bowie a second thought.
Now, there I was, stalking his social media with a morbid fascination, trying to find clues.
Did he have a girlfriend? Would she be on tour?
Why the fuck should I care?
I had no interest in the guy. We’d been a university romance; that kind of first love you think will be forever until reality steps in and tells you otherwise.
I had to treat this like a job, exactly the same as all the others I’d done.
But pretending there hadn’t beensomethingbetween us all those years ago would be difficult. Plus, I had no idea how the rest of the band would react. We’d all been friends back then too. Each of them had sent me courtesy messages after I’d emailed them the day schedules. Nothing too personal, only a simple thank you.
At least they’d acknowledged me.
Unlike Jordan.
Without thinking, I opened up my messaging app, staring at the message I’d sent the other night. Going into the thread, I deleted the three-word message that had seemingly fallen on deaf ears.
Jordan Bowie was another client. That was the only way to think about him.
Because thinking about him in any other way took me down a path I didn’t know how to handle.
CHAPTER5
Jordan
Almost seven hourson the fucking motorway crammed into the back of a mini bus was not the one. We had a couple of guys, Angus and Eric, we tended to chuck a few hundred quid at to help us schlep equipment and set up. The minibus and van convoy from London to Leeds hadn’t been the smoothest, what with slow-moving traffic, unscheduled stops at the services, and getting lost in the centre of the city.
By the time we arrived at the university campus, my shoulder throbbed and the urge to knock back several painkillers with a bottle of whiskey grew stronger by the moment. The original plan had been to go to the hotel first and check in, but we’d be cutting it too fine. We still had to soundcheck and make nice with the support band.
Right then, I wasn’t in the mood for either.
The student union didn’t look much different from any other. A stage at one end of the room, a bar at the other, and a mass of space in between. Later, it would be packed, hopefully with people enjoying themselves, but at that minute, an eerie silence filled the space.
While the guys unloaded everything, I hung around waiting for it to be set up so we could check sound levels and do all the dull techie stuff I should have been more interested in. Blowing out a breath, I headed towards the bar, wondering if anyone was serving yet.
As I approached, I recognised our publicist, Claudia Carson, chatting with one of the university staff. At around five feet three, with masses of curly blonde hair, she was a total pocket dynamo and woe betide anyone who messed with her—me included.
“Well, well. Look who finally showed up.” She approached me, a grin on her face. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up, although it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Once upon a long time ago, we’d almost had a one-night stand, right at the start of her looking after us. Circumstances conspired against us to throw obstacles in the way of our date, but it had actually turned out for the best and we’d ended up friends. In this business, you needed all the friends you could get, particularly if you were me and had a tendency to fuck up.
Air kissing me on both cheeks, she held me at arm’s length. “Jesus, you look like shit.”
