His image was a stone I kept choking on. That asshole. That fucking asshole. He wasn’t here.
“They want to sign us,” he said into my hair.
I unlatched and looked up at him. “What?”
“What?” Nora repeated. Her eyes were glued on Toby.
“They want to sign us,” he said louder, making a circling motion with his finger. “My friend heard him talk to the owner of the Sahara. They may even have us start opening for one of their bigger bands right away.”
“On tour!” Nora screamed. “We’re going on tour!”
“Is he still here?”
Nora and Toby held each other’s hands, hopping in a circle, chanting, “We’re going on tour, we’re going on tour, we’re going on tour.”
I had to laugh.
“Quick, get your phone!” Toby said, ignoring my question, shuffling me toward the greenroom. “He may call right now.”
Not a minute after Toby said it, the phone began to ring. I smacked Toby and Nora on the arms, pointing.
They stood with their arms around each other, looking at me.
“Hello?”
“Cassie?”
That did not sound like Josh van Ritter’s New York voice. It sounded like a Texas voice. A Texas voice, beat down.
“Yeah?” I said, moving away from the eager onlookers.
“It’s Jacob Morrow. Senior. Luke’s dad.”
“Hi,” I said, my blood suspended.
“I have some bad news. Luke’s been arrested.”
That fucking asshole, I thought, and immediately burst into tears.
Luke
The official charge was larceny and fraud. They held me overnight, in a room about the same size as the one I shared with Frankie and Rooster at Camp Leatherneck. A bench with vinyl tacked on for sleeping. A toilet sticking out of the wall. A hallway where officers passed, glancing in my direction under their crew cuts and dress blues on their way to somewhere else.
I fell into a deep sleep, deeper than I’d ever slept, losing track of whether it was morning or evening.
When I woke, I taught myself to tell time, as I’d done at Cassie’s. The rounder, balding officer who brought a circular yellow rubber thing that was supposed to be eggs meant it was around nine in the morning. The dark-skinned officer with glasses who brought me a bologna sandwich with stale corn chips meant it was around noon.
They must have forgotten dinner. No one passed but a jowl-faced officer who was playing on his phone and didn’t notice I was in the cell.
I made up rules for myself for after I got out, whenever that would be. Meetings twice a week. Bachelor’s degree, not associate’s. Finish a book every week. And the last one, the one that would be the hardest, that I would constantly reverse in my head for every selfish reason, but knew I couldn’t break: Leave Cassie alone.
Finally, shortly after the balding, rounder one brought the third yellow rubber thing, they told me that the court-appointed attorney would be arriving later that afternoon.
I was used to the way business was handled in a place like this: I had about three questions max before they lost their patience or felt I was challenging their authority, and after that I had to shut up and operate on their terms.
First, I asked about Cassie. Had they taken her in, too?
“No information is available at this time, Private.”
Second, I asked when the hearing would be.
“I will let you know.”
I knew what the third question should be, but I was hesitant, knowing it might be wasted. It was highly doubtful Dad would drive to Austin just to watch me fuck up again. But if the arraignment was soon, and if no one posted bail, I could be detained up until they moved me to prison. I didn’t know when I would have the chance to speak to him. I wanted to explain. I wanted him to be here.
Cassie
We sat on the covered porch at Mozart’s, waiting to work out the details of a record deal that might be just a myth. I had left The Loyal show in a haze, the details Luke’s dad gave me written on my hand with a Sharpie while lying down backstage at the Sahara. Jake had told me it was best to keep my distance until after the arraignment, unless they called me in. And depending on which way Luke pled, they might do worse than that. Arrest. Last night, I had told Nora and Toby about the arrest. I told them that I didn’t feel well and went home, locking the door and lying in darkness, not sleeping.
Now we’d meet Josh van Ritter of Wolf Records. Two fates: one good, one bad. Two waves poised above my head. I didn’t touch my tea.
Shit was hitting the fan. I didn’t know what lay beyond that. I didn’t know what consequences I would face. I didn’t know how this worked. I didn’t know when, or if, I would be called. Would I be called? Or would they take me, too? Would they yank me away in front of my friends, cuff me, and let them watch as I took everything they’d wished for into the back of a squad car?