Not Another Line

10.Rolling Along

Meeting The Master // Greta Van Fleet

I haven't even rolled out of bed before grabbing my phone and sending a text to Colleen. Lying on my back, my head pressed against the pillow, I send a simple greeting.

Me: Morning. Hope your day is full of surprises.

I smile to myself, picturing Colleen seeing my text and shaking her head. I probably wouldn't be texting her if she hadn't thrown down the challenge. Telling me I can't do something is my catnip, an invitation to prove you wrong. I threw out the idea of a good morning text without fully meaning it. But Colleen's dismissive shake of her head flipped the switch. Now I'm all in with this plan.

Colleen: not much surprises me anymore except for the fact you now text me every morning.

I laugh at her reply, letting her know I'll call her later. I have the evening open for the first time in a few days.

I slide out of bed—the stupid bunk on the bus that hardly contains my 6'5" length—and stretch in the aisle. I dropped Colleen and Katie at the airport yesterday afternoon then headed directly to the tour buses to board and prep for the next segment of venue stops, none for more than a night over the upcoming weeks. Part of me thinks Brianna is pushing herself too hard trying to make up for the last tour. She'd pulled back some dates due to her stalker issues then sporadically made them up once we'd settled all of that. So, when Char started scheduling out this tour, Brianna made it clear she wanted to push through, not making fans wait as long as they had last time.

I admire her determination but it's making my job even more difficult.

Pulling a t-shirt over my head though not bothering to change out of my pajama pants yet, I head into the galley of the bus for coffee. As head of security, I ride on Brianna's bus. Thank fuck for that because if I had to ride either of the other buses it would end with someone on my shit list. The C1 guys are basically frustrated college dropouts, partying every chance they get. Of course, their version of partying is tame compared to most rock bands, but it would still irritate the fuck out of me. Plus, they're pigs. Their bus looks like a stye and smells even worse by the end of the tour.

The roadie bus, on the other hand, is a fucking hierarchy of assholes. I've got my eye on half of them because they're already acting like fools. Randy, the leader of the boneheads, has a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. The fact that Zack encouraged his best friend, Jacob, to work as a roadie while also forcing him to ride that bus blows my mind. I wouldn't touch those guys with a ten-foot pole. And not because I think less of them. It's because I know them too well. My time overseas, living in barracks, taught me more than I need to know about the way a group like that operates. The difference is, I trusted my battalion with my life. These roadies? Not so much.

I finish pouring my coffee as my phone buzzes with a text. Smiling before I even check Colleen's text, I gulp down a mouthful and reach for my phone. However, I'm not smiling when I see the message sent from my brother, Frank, not Colleen.

Frank: He's on the move. Call me when you get a chance.

I haven't heard much from my brother since I visited him before the tour left. I'd asked him to keep tabs on Colleen's ex-boyfriend, Ross. Hearing that he's moving locations is one thing. But the fact that Frank wants me to call has my blood rushing. It can't be good.

Not wanting to broadcast whatever the situation is with this piece of shit, I grab my clothes, dress quickly and move up to the front of the still moving bus. I wish we were stopped so I could take a walk, but our bus driver with an NDA will have to do. Alan is a good guy. He'll keep his mouth shut if he gets wind of anything I'm saying.