Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

28

I’m mauledby paparazzi the moment I exit the airport.

What should take ten seconds to walk from the automatic doors to my waiting car takes almost two minutes because Red and two more security guys have to pull me through the unruly swarm of camera wielding leeches.

Apparently, they’ve been starved for me this last month. Sav Loveless’s return to L.A. is big news, especially since I was photographed in North Carolina last week out in public without my emerald. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was flipping off the lone reporter who asked me why I wasn’t wearing said emerald and suggested I was cheating on my “fiancé” with Paul Northwood. Mistake number three was ignoring Ham’s calls so I couldn’t properly ream his ass when he decided to schedule a surprise show to kick off the Music Choice Awards this weekend.

You’re messing with the label’s narrative, Savannah,he’d said, scolding me like I was a child. To make up for it, you need to make an appearance with the band. If you don’t, your replacement will. And wear the fucking ring.

Once Red shoves me in the car and shuts the door, I roll my window down and flip everyone off with my left hand.

“Can’t you just behave?” Red asks from the front seat, and I shrug, rolling the window back up and throwing myself against the soft seat cushion. I hear the click of the child window lock and snort. Too late, old man.

“Ham said make sure they see the ring. I just gave them a great photo op.”

“They stalk you because of all those photo ops you so freely give them.”

I meet his eyes in the rearview and smile sweetly. “You mean it’s not my pretty face?”

He’s unamused, and he stresses that when he turns on a country music station and cranks it. Asshole. I’m definitely body checking him at the next opportunity.

The drive to my house also takes longer than usual. Or maybe it just feels like it because I’ve been conditioned to small town North Carolina and its lack of traffic. Hammond tried to demand that I go straight to the studio and meet with him, but I told him hell no and then hung up on him. No way I’m meeting with anyone until I’ve showered the plane off me. I need a hot shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a fifteen-minute nap in my own bed before I can be expected to be even halfway civil with Hammond right now.

I’m so keyed up. So nervous and anxious and fucking pissed at always being told what to do. What I want is a drink. Or something stronger. Thank god I had Red hire someone to sweep my house for drugs and booze before we got here. Part of me doesn’t trust myself not to take something if it were right in front of me.

But then wouldn’t that just be letting them dictate my life for me? Wouldn’t that still be letting others decide my fate? The label would probably love if I started using again. I’m more pliable that way. Who cares if my insides are rotting so long as they get their last two tours and albums.

Fuck.

If I’m going to succeed with this sobriety thing, it will be because I’m stubborn more than anything else. Do I want to be healthy? Yes. Do I want to live? Yes. Do I want to avoid becoming a member of the 27 Club? Yes.

But do I want to say fuck you to my label more? Hell yes.

What does that say about me?

Pulling up to my house, there are cars and cameras already staked out on the street. There are always a few stragglers hanging out when I’m home, but this is fucking ridiculous.

“How long have they been camped out here?” I ask Red as he punches the code into the gate and pulls into my driveway.

“Since they announced you’d be performing at the award show.”

“Jesus,” I grumble. “That was almost two days ago.”

Red huffs in response and pulls the car into my garage. He parks between my Porsche that I never drive and my Harley that I never ride, and we climb out of his car at the same time. He walks to the trunk and pulls out my luggage, then trails me into the house.

I miss my mutt. Since this trip is such a quick turnaround, we had to board her in North Carolina. She’s living her best doggy life in a damn puppy suite with a couch and a basket of new toys she’s no doubt going to rip to shreds, but I’m selfish and want her with me. Rude, mannerless dog. I’ve been in L.A. a matter of hours and I’m already pouting.

When I round into the kitchen, I let out a startled scream, which makes Mabel scream and causes Red to rush forward and shove me behind him with one hand on the gun that I always forget he’s carrying.

“What the hell! Why are you screaming at me?” Mabel shouts, then points her finger at Red. “Don’t shoot me, for fucks sake!”

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” I shout back, panting with my hand pressed over my chest where my heart is threatening to burst out of my rib cage. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I got here like two hours ago. I texted you.”

Mabel barely gets the last words out before she starts to laugh, which starts me laughing. Red grumbles something unintelligible and leaves the room.

“My phone is on airplane mode,” I explain through giggles. “Jesus, you ‘bout took ten years off my life.”

“Yeah, well Red ‘bout took my whole life off my life, blazing in here with his hand on the metal. I thought I was a goner.”

I roll my eyes playfully and climb onto one of my chairs at the kitchen island. It’s a little weird how not weird it is to have Mabel in my house. Before everything went to shit, she’d show up unannounced all the time. She knows all my passcodes and everything. But it’s been so long since we’ve actually wanted to be in each other’s space that part of me thinks this should feel more awkward.

“What’s up, Mabes? Why are you here?”

She hops up on the counter across from me and sighs.

“I guess I miss you.”

My jaw drops and my head jerks back, and Mabel barks out a laugh that has me snapping my mouth closed again.

“Don’t act so surprised,” she says wryly. “I’ve spent nearly every day of the last decade with you. When you left to film your movie, it was like losing an appendage.”

“Aww, Mabes. Are you saying I’m your right-hand man?”

“Nah, but maybe like a big toe. Apparently, those are pretty important for balance, so...” She waggles her eyebrows and I laugh as she continues. “Seriously, though, I know Ham is the worst, and the label sucks, and things with you and Torren are weird, and Jonah is, well, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with him, but I’m glad you’re back, even if just for this weekend.”

I study her face and am almost bowled over by the sincerity I see there. A few weeks ago, I was certain she would hate me forever. It was nothing but scathing glances and snarky barbs between us. I hate to admit it, but maybe Ham was right when he said we just needed a vacation from each other. I’ll never tell him he was right, but maybe he was.

“I’ve missed you too, Mabes,” I say finally, then sigh. “I’m going to grab a shower and a nap before the chaos starts.”

Mabel smirks.

“Why, Sav Loveless, don’t you know? You are the chaos.”

“Long time, no see, Los Angeles. How are you all doin’ tonight?”

My voice carries through the outdoor venue, and the few hundred fans who managed to score seats to our last-minute surprise performance cheer back at me. We haven’t played for an audience this small in years. It’s still larger than the dives we played at in the very beginning, but after selling out stadiums on our last world tour, this feels more like an intimate family dinner than a rock concert.

I love it.

My leather skirt, vintage Blondie shirt, and ripped fishnets feel more right on my body than the clothes I’ve been stuffed into for the movie, and my silver hair is free and blowing around in the slight breeze. My lock and chain sit on my collarbone with a weight that I’ve longed for over the last few weeks. And the guitar in my hands, the roughness of the strap over my shoulder and the slide of my callused fingers over the strings, releases a tension in my body that I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying.

I wasn’t lying when I told Hammond that The Hometown Heartless is my band. It’s my story. My legacy. It's me. And right here, with all these people in front of me, needing to hear my songs and sing along? This is as close to home as I think I’ll ever get.

I knew I’d miss it. I just didn’t realize how much until I came back.

It’s like the first injection after a failed rehab stint. The first wave of euphoria after the third shot of whiskey. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not worried it will be the death of me. It feels like it’s giving me life.

“Sounds like you missed us,” I say with a grin, and when the cheers from the crowd grow louder, I feel lighter. Energized. I’m actually excited to play.

I wonder briefly if the rest of the band feels it, too, and as if in response, Mabel pounds out a quick beat on the drums behind me. I send her a wink over my shoulder before turning back to the crowd.

“We’ve got just a few songs for you tonight, but it’s been a while since we’ve played, so you might have to help us out.”

I strum out the opening chord to Just One More, and everyone goes nuts. It was our very first single, and years later, it’s still our most streamed song.

“Sing along if you know it,” I say with a smirk, then launch into the song.

Just one more, baby

Just one more

Whiskey and orange

What are we waiting for?

“That was amazing, right?” Mabel says to us as we hustle off stage.

We’ve got one hour to change and drive to the awards show so we can walk the carpet. I’m salty we have to give yet another show after already performing this one, but Mabel is right. This was amazing.

“I haven’t felt that good in a long time,” Torren chimes in, sidling up next to me and giving me a tentative half smile that I return.

I glance toward Jonah, but his head is down and he’s texting. He hasn’t said much at all to me. A hey. A how’s the movie? And that’s it.

I try my best not to stare at him, not to analyze his every move, but it’s hard. My excitement at playing tonight fills me with guilt because I still think this is bad for him. I still can’t stop seeing him in that hotel room. Just seconds later, and he’d be dead.

I give Torren a questioning glance, and he shakes his head once. My heart sinks, and I whip my eyes back to Jonah. What’s happened since I’ve been gone? What’s been going on with the security/babysitter I hired?

Torren reaches down and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze, and I’m grateful for it.

“Hammond set us up in a suite to get ready for the awards show,” Mabel says, cutting into my thoughts. “Since this was so last minute, he’s already had stylists pick out our outfits.” She scowls. “I swear to god if he puts me in another dress I will end him. I will stain the red carpet with his black, putrid blood.”

I flare my eyes at Torren, who is grinning that lopsided grin that the fans are in love with, and even Jonah huffs out a laugh. It feels like before. I didn’t know how badly I needed this.

Fucking Hammond.

We get to the suite, and my irritation with Hammond explodes. I might end him with Mabel.

He’s got me wearing a black patent leather and lace number with a mostly see-through top and a ripped-up tutu-like bottom and shiny black knee-high faux snakeskin boots. It’s not the outfit I’m pissed about, though. This is something I’d pick on my own. It’s the fact that Torren’s outfit fucking matches. Shoes of the same faux snakeskin, suit jacket of black leather and lace. He’s not wearing a shirt under the jacket, and his pants are simple expensive black jeans, but it’s obvious we’ve been dressed as a couple.

My fingers clench with the need to hit something. Someone.

Hammond.

I’m scowling at myself in a full-length mirror, contemplating flushing the ring down the toilet, when Torren appears behind me.

“I’m sorry.”

I flick my eyes to him in the mirror and raise an irritated eyebrow in disbelief.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, Savannah, I am.” He sighs, and the pain on his face makes me ache for a new reason. “This isn’t how I wanted it to be. None of this how I wanted it.”

I spin around and face him.

“And how did you want it, Tor?”

His eyes search mine, and I leave myself open for him. I don’t hide my anger. I don’t hide my guilt. I wish I could make this how he wants it. I do. I wish I could love him. But I can’t, and I don’t, and that’s just how it is.

“I just wanted you, Savvy,” he says finally. “I’ve always just wanted you. But fuck, you’re like trying to bottle lightning.”

I smirk, but it’s sad, and his lips curl up into something similar. He reaches up and runs a strand of my hair through his fingertips, then takes my left hand and runs his thumb over my emerald.

“It really is a beautiful ring, Tor.”

He laughs and brings his eyes back to mine.

“I thought if I’d gotten it perfect...” He trails off, and then shrugs. “I’m sorry the label is making you do this. We all think it’s fucked up. I think even Hammond hates it. It’s just...it’s not cool, and you shouldn’t be forced to play along.”

I scan his face and purse my lips. What happened to, just take the four months? What happened to, think it over, you’ll see?

Torren sighs.

“Don’t look so suspicious, Savvy. I meant it when I said that show was the best I’ve felt in a long time. I miss it. You guys are my family, you know? So, if there’s any chance at all that...well...You can’t bottle lightning, can you?”

The emotions in his tone are enough to break my heart into tiny pieces. Loss, hope, defeat. Even a little self-deprecating humor. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for letting our relationship get so messy. It’s caused us both so much pain.

Torren takes a step back, dropping my hand and fixing his face into a genuine yet subdued smile. I know what he’s saying. This band, whatever magic we might be when we play together, isn’t something just anyone can achieve. It’s rare. It’s worth sacrifice, even if the sacrifice hurts. But can we heal from the damage we’ve already caused?

Immediately, my thoughts go to Levi.

Levi, Brynn, and that little town on the east coast nearly three thousand miles away. Where do I belong? Who do I belong with? Which sacrifice am I willing to make?

“You look gorgeous. Ready to rock the red carpet?”

Torren sticks his arm out for me, so I smile and hook mine in his.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

I follow Torren into the main room of the suite where Mabel and Jonah are already waiting. Mabel’s wearing a pink silk pantsuit with an open suit jacket and a black bra adorned with silver metal spikes, so it looks like Ham has evaded the grave for tonight.

I glance at Jonah. He’s in a white suit with a Black Sabbath band tee under the jacket. He looks good. He looks sober, and it loosens one of the Jonah-related bands of anxiety that stay wrapped around my chest.

“Look at us,” Mabel says, clapping her hands together. “We look like real fucking rockstars.”

The drive to the venue is short, and the red-carpet walk is too long for my liking but still not as long as it usually is because Ham told everyone that we’re not answering any questions. Photographs, yes. Interviews, no. Apparently, the label doesn’t think they can trust me to not say something to make them look like assholes.

They’re right.

When we reach the end of the carpet and step into the building, away from the larger crowd, I catch a rare moment where Red is distracted with his guard down, and I strike. In two practiced moves, I have him on his back in the middle of our group, and I don’t bother trying to tame my triumphant smile. I really am getting faster with my sobriety. I fling my finger at him with a laugh as I loom above him.

“That’s for the country music serenade, you assho—”

I shriek as he swipes my legs out from under me, and grunt when I hit the ground. Fast as ever. I didn’t even see it coming. Damn it. I should have stepped back out of reach. Rookie fucking move.

“Ouch, fuck.”

I reach out blindly and jab Red in the gut as he chuckles, tuning out the laughter coming from my band and the gasps from the few people milling about inside.

“What the hell are you doing? That is Givenchy,” I hear Hammond seethe, quiet enough not to make any more of a scene, but loud enough that I can tell he is livid right now. “Jesus Christ, Savannah, if you ripped that dress I swear to god—”

“Oh, can it, Ham.” I groan.

“Here,” Torren says softly, and I open my squinted eyes to find him grinning down at me with an outstretched hand.

I slap both of mine in his and he tugs me to my feet. We’re both laughing as he fixes my dress and tries to smooth my hair. No one is going to care if I look like a rumpled disaster. Usually, I’m high as fuck at these things. Sober and sporting some wrinkles on the Givenchy is a much better option, if I do say so myself.

“Stupid mistake,” Red says over my shoulder, and I roll my eyes.

“I still got you.”

“Doesn’t matter if we’re both down.”

I glance at him with a smirk.

“Agree to disagree.”

The awards show is a decent time, surprisingly. I actually enjoy the performances, and one of the artists who opened for us on our last tour took home an award and thanked us in her speech, which is just really fucking cool. We don’t win Video of the Year, but we snag the award for Best Rock Album, which is great. We usually dominate the genre categories. When we win Performers of the Year, though, I about pee my pants.

“Oh, my fucking god.” I look at Mabel, whose jaw is dropped. “Oh, my fucking god, that just happened.”

She looks at me, a smile taking over her entire face.

“That just fucking happened!”

I grab her hand and Torren’s hand, with Jonah holding on to Mabel’s other hand, and we walk to the stage in a long, centipede-type line. When we get to the mic, instead of taking turns like we usually do, Torren gives my back a nudge.

“This one is you, Sav,” he whispers in my ear.

I couldn’t tame my smile even to save my damn soul. I step up to the mic, the award heavy in my hand, and take a deep breath before speaking.

“I can’t believe this just happened,” I say excitedly. “Seriously, I thought I was going to pee myself; I was so shocked.”

The audience laughs and claps, my bandmates behind joining in as well. I hear Mabel snort something like, “smooth, bitch,” and I flash her a grin before continuing.

“Seriously, though, this is amazing. This is an honor we didn’t expect, but we’re so fucking grateful. Sorry for cussing. But, um, this couldn’t have been possible without our fans. You all have shown up for us time and time and time again, and we owe all of this to you.”

The audience claps again. I hear some whistles and cheers. I can’t see much in the audience because of the harsh stage lights, but when the noise dies down, I find a camera and point at it, making sure whatever tech is calling the shots backstage knows to cut to this one for the live feed. Then, I look right into the lens for my next statement.

“I want to say a very special thank you to a very special fan. Boss, here’s your word for today. Illuminate. Verb. To brighten with light. To make shine. You’ve illuminated my days, my hopes, my love for music. Thank you so much. This one is for you.”

I hold up the award and blow a kiss to the camera, and then I practically float off stage and back to our seats. Another camera pans past us, and Torren takes my hand in his and leans in close.

“Who’s Boss,” he whispers, and I smile.

“A really badass seven-and-three-quarters year old I’ve met in North Carolina.”

That’s all I tell him. For some reason, I don’t want to tell him anymore, and within seconds, the subject is changed.

We all finish the show, attend an after party, and crash at my house, and no one else brings up Boss or my cryptic acceptance speech. Before I leave for the airport the next morning, I run an idea past the band, and when I finally buckle into my seat for a long ass cross-country flight, I’m actually more excited than anxious.

I can’t remember the last time that happened.