No Chance by Lisa Suzanne

CHAPTER 2: BRETT

I play like shit, but how the fuck am I supposed to concentrate? I scan the crowd watching us as I look for her, the mousy mystery girl, but I don’t see her.

Questions plague me as I play. I could tap out the beats to our songs in my sleep, but I still fuck up more than once as I search each face for her.

Did she come here just to tell me her sister is dying and I have a kid I knew nothing about? How did she even score a ticket? How did she know I was here?

Did Brianna ever try to get in touch with me? Was she one of the paternity claims I ignored? Did she even make it to me, or was she filtered out by Jo, the assistant I split with Tommy?

And, lest anyone think Jo and I have hooked up, I should make it very clear that she’s my cousin. Tommy is constantly trying to get on top of her, but she’s happily married to her high school sweetheart and they share a couple dogs, so that’s not happening.

Beating on my drums for the last ninety minutes took a lot out of me, including the buzz I felt before I took the stool. And now, the feeling that I need to talk to that chick is stronger than ever. I have time now, something I lacked earlier during our interaction. The time is still limited. We kick off our three-month tour tomorrow night here in Phoenix, and then it’s thirty-six more gigs before we land back home in Los Angeles.

But I have the rest of tonight. I have part of tomorrow.

We filter through the crowd after the show, and my ass is grabbed more than once. Some are brave enough to go for my cock. Usually those are the winners because they’re making it clear they’ve got only one thing in mind, but tonight...I need to find the girl. I need to know if my gut is right or if it’s failing me.

I’m not being a good band member. I’m not entertaining our fans. I’m not stopping to sign autographs or take selfies. Tonight’s not the night for that shit, not after what I just heard.

I’ll catch shit for that from the guys, but fuck, they’ll understand.

I search every inch of this place, but she’s gone.

Eventually I run into Karl. “Get me back to the bus,” I say, mostly because I can’t think in here and I want privacy to figure out my next move.

I take a car solo back to the bus lot without bothering to tell the three other members of Capital Kingsmen that I’m leaving. More moves I’ll catch shit for.

I stare at the number I typed into a random note on my phone earlier before I copy it. I open my contacts and figure out how to add a new one, and then I paste in the number. I stare at the spot where I’m supposed to put her name.

What the fuck am I supposed to put for her name?

Mousy Girl?

Brianna’s Sister?

My Son’s Aunt?

What the hell am I doing right now?

It can’t be true.

Can it? Should I be arranging a ride to some hospital here in the greater Phoenix area to say goodbye to someone I only met once but who I clearly left a big impact upon since I allegedly put a baby in her?

None of this computes.

I simply put Mousy Chick into the name field. I’ll come up with something else later.

And then I open up a blank message addressed to Mousy Chick. What the fuck do I say?

I settle on simple.

Me: It’s Brett.

I stare at the screen as I will it to do something. Did she get my message? Is she replying?

Nothing comes through.

I light up another blunt.

I smoke the whole thing, and I still don’t have a reply. Did she fake number me? Why the fuck would she do that when she came all this way just to see me?

It’s not adding up.

Tommy bursts onto the bus a short while after that. Each wall of the bus is lined with a couch, and I’m lying across the one I claimed as mine when we left LA.

“Where the fuck did you go?” he demands.

I look around myself at the bus and hold up my hands. “To these luxurious accommodations.”

He laughs, and I think he’s a little drunk, which is cool since I’m a little high.

“What the hell happened back there?” he asks.

I blow out a breath. “I don’t really know. This girl came up to me and told me her sister’s in the hospital dying and oh by the way she had my kid nine months ago.”

His brows dip as he collapses on the couch across from mine. “Do you remember her?”

“When she first said the name, no.” I stare up at the ceiling of the bus. “I didn’t remember her. But then she gave a few details, and I could tell this chick was like a younger version of someone who vaguely rang a bell.”

“So you have a kid?” he asks.

“Fuck. I don’t know.”

“If you do, that’s three out of four, and fuck if I’m next. That’s not happening.”

I glance over at him. He’s sideways, and looking at him this way makes me a little dizzy. “Don’t jinx yourself.” I shake my head. “I think some people are meant not to have kids. You and me? We fall into that camp.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs in agreement. At least I think it’s agreement. He’s focused on the band. On success. He doesn’t have room in his life for the needs of somebody else. Neither do I. “You get in touch with her?”

“I texted her, but she hasn’t responded.”

“Do you want to get in touch with her?” he asks.

“I want to know what the fuck is going on. She was just...” I trail off and stare up at the ceiling again. “She was different. That’s all.”

“Different how?”

I lift a shoulder but keep my gaze trained up. “I don’t know. I believed her.”

“Then you know what you need to do.”

My brows dip as I turn to look at him again. “I do?”

“Call her.”

I shake my head. “She didn’t answer a text. You think she’s gonna answer the phone?”

“Did you catch her name?” he asks.

“Nope. But she mentioned the sister’s name. Brianna...shit. Brianna something.” I try to rack my brain for the last name, but I’m coming up short. If it comes back to me, I guess I could call around to some local hospitals to try to track her down, but Mousy Chick never said what hospital her sister is located in.

“Then stop worrying about it. Have a drink, have a smoke, and get laid.” He stretches his feet out in front of him. “Did wonders for me.” He gives me that same grin he always gives when he’s talking about sex.

Usually that’s my response, too.

But something’s different this time, and I don’t know if I can just stop worrying about it like Tommy’s telling me to. I think I need some answers first.