Page 21 of Hero on the Road
And rang.
Then it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s Barry. You know what to do.”
Connor’s eyes met mine and narrowed slightly. “Hey Barry, it’s Connor. You seem to have gone somewhere with our bus, and we’re through with the show, so we need it back. Can you call me and let me know where you are?”
He hung up and called again, and it went straight to voicemail. When he redialed, the same thing happened.
When he looked up again, his eyes were torn between furious and shocked. “Olivia, I think we’ve just been deserted,” he said simply.
My knees gave out and I dropped down on the curb, too surprised to keep standing.
And yet not surprised at all.
Because I’d remembered where I recognized Barry from. He’d been a roadie on a show that Dean had been playing on his own. He and Dean had become friends and Barry had thought Dean could walk on water. I’d thought it was ridiculous, but when I’d said something Dean had told me to mind my own business.
I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to remember who he was.
But I could absolutely believe that Barry had recognized me, remembered whatever Dean had said, and decided to teach me a lesson. Hell, maybe he’d been sent by Dean himself, just to screw with me.
None of that would do Connor any good, though, and I wasn’t going to tell him.
“I guess we should have seen that coming,” I said. “I mean look at how this tour has been going so far.” This tour was a mess. Of course the one roadie we got would turn out to be a crook.
Connor sat next to me and shook his head. “My clothes were on that bus.”
That made me laugh, though there was no joy in it. “Mine, too. Though I guess at least we have our guitars.”
Connor huffed. “True. This thing cost more than all the clothes in that suitcase. Still...”
Still. What the hell were we supposed to do now? We had two guitars and the one small amp we’d managed to get into our luggage in Nashville. That wasn’t enough to play any show bigger than the one we’d just done, unless the venue itself had equipment we could use. But how would we even get to other shows? We lacked that most basic ingredient for a tour: transportation.
I yanked my phone out of my pocket and called the one person who might be able to solve this.
“Parker?” I breathed when she picked up. “I need you.” I went quickly through what had happened—some of which she already knew, as my manager. She’d known that the tour was a mess and that Atomic had restricted anyone else from coming with us. Hell, she’d pitched in for the bus because Atomic hadn’t provided one.
“He just left you?” I could hear the anger building in her voice and smiled grimly. Parker was a businesswoman through and through, and she did not take kindly to someone not doing their job.
Barry was going to have hell to pay when she got a hold of him.
“And he took the bus. Which means he has our clothes.”
“That no-good piece of dirt,” she breathed. “I’m going to skin him alive.”
“It gets worse. Since he was the roadie, we put him in charge of the budget. He has the credit cards the label sent with us. And most of my cash was on that bus.”
The silence told me exactly how stupid we’d been to trust Barry with the money. But this was our first time on tour. We hadn’t known that it would be a problem. That was the guy Avery and Parker had sent us!
“Right,” she finally said. “Sit tight. I’ll call Atomic and get this worked out.”
I glanced down at my watch. “Park, it’s 9 at night. In Montana.”
“I don’t care. They’ll answer my call or I’ll send someone to their front door to bug them in person. Sit tight.”
I hung up and stared at my phone, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. If anyone could get things done it was Parker. But I wasn’t sure how much the record label was going to budge on that one.
“What did she say?” Connor asked.
“That if the execs from Atomic won’t take her call she’ll send someone to their front door to bug them in person.”
