Sing For Me: A Ransom Family Novel Page 2

  “Will,” my dad shouts over the noise, crouching in front of me, and I drag my eyes from the sight of my face on the huge TV to look at him. “Put these on.” He hands me a set of the headphones. “You don’t ever get this close to the stage without them again, you understand?”

  I nod quickly. It doesn’t seem like we’re going to get in trouble for this so I’m pretty eager to do whatever he says to keep it that way. He helps me adjust the headphones on my ears and the sound immediately drops, no longer hurting my head.

  My dad grins and holds out the extra guitar. I just stare at it. There’s no way he actually wants me to—

  “You guys can sit in on this song,” he shouts. “One song. And then it’s straight back to the bus and into bed, you hear me?”

  I can’t seem to close my mouth. I’m just standing there in front of all those people, staring at my dad like he’s lost his mind. He laughs and pushes the guitar into my chest. I finally snap out of it and grab the instrument out of his hands before he can change his mind. It’s too big for me, and heavy, but my dad helps me to adjust the strap around my neck, then pulls a pick out of his back pocket.

  “You remember the chords we worked on this week?”

  “Yes!”

  Dad smiles at me. “Have fun, kid.”

  When he turns back to the microphone, I snap my head over to Rose and River. They’re both wearing the big headphones too and Rose doesn’t look as scared of the crowd now. She gives me a huge smile and a thumbs-up, like she’s happy for me. Rose knows all about my plans to be in the band someday.

  “Looking good, kid!” Uncle Reed calls from behind me, and I spin around to see him grinning down from the drum kit.

  This is so cool, I think, turning back to the front of the stage as my uncle counts off the intro behind me. Perfectly in sync, my dad and Uncle Lennon come in on their guitars. Across the stage, Wyatt is standing over the piano, his hands already a blur on the keys. Then Uncle Daltrey starts to sing from a mic at center stage, and I remember that I’m supposed to be playing too.

  For the next four minutes, I do my best to concentrate on playing my chords, trying to keep up with my dad. It’s hard to focus though—I just want to look around at everything.

  Way too soon, the song is over. My dad takes the guitar from me and hands it off to a roadie. “Have fun?”

  I throw my arms around his legs. “So much fun.”

  He laughs, ruffling my hair. “Get back to bed now before your mom comes out here and kills me.”

  I’m too happy to care that I have to go back. My cousins run across the stage to me, Rose grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the wings.

  “That was the coolest thing ever!” I shout. “Did you see me play guitar?”

  “Daddy let me play tambourine!” River is grinning just like me.

  Rose flips her braid. “That was so scary! Did you see all those people? I thought I was going to throw up!”

  “Don’t be a baby, Rose,” River says, and she pushes his shoulder.

  I lead my cousins back to the hallway we came through. The sudden brightness hurts my eyes after the darkness of the stage area. It’s a lot easier to hear now, so we all take off our headphones.

  “I want to do that every single night,” I tell them fervently.

  “Think again, buddy.”

  We all look up to see Aunt Daisy standing in front of us, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Um, hi, Mommy,” Rose says, her voice too high. “We just went for a little walk.”

  Aunt Daisy’s lips twitch. “You can drop the act, Rosie. I know all about it.” She looks between the three of us. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Beds, now.”

  I practically skip all the way to the busses behind the stadium. I’m already thinking of the next time I’ll be able to get on stage. Maybe I can convince my dad to make it a regular thing. Wyatt usually plays with them when he’s on a break from school. Why can’t I?

  My excitement fizzles a little when we finally get on the bus and I see my mom standing in front of the bunks. She’s got her arms crossed too, and she looks a lot more annoyed than Aunt Daisy had.

  She takes one look at my face and sighs. “Enjoy your moment, Will,” she says. “Tomorrow we’re going to have a long talk about the rules.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” I tell her, but I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face.

  I rush to get my PJs on, eager to get into the privacy of my bunk where I can relive those minutes on the stage over and over. Before I can get my curtains closed, an upside-down face appears next to my mattress. My cousin Everly, hanging down from the bunk above mine.

  “Go to sleep Lee,” I say, pushing on her forehead.

  She doesn’t listen, of course. Everly is seven, and she thinks she’s the boss of the whole family.

  “You’re in big trouble,” she whispers, and I can see her grinning even in the dark. Rose says Everly loves drama. “I heard your mom say you were going to get grounded tomorrow.”

  “Big deal.” It’s not like I can go anywhere when the bus is on the road. We’re all stuck here.

  “I bet she takes away your video game privileges,” she says.

  Okay, that would be pretty bad. Playing video games with Rose is basically the only thing I look forward to when we’re all doing our school lessons on the bus.

  But it’s hard to care too much about that right now, not when I can still hear the sound of the fans cheering for me. “It was worth it.” My smile is so big my cheeks hurt. “That was the best night of my life.”

  Everly huffs and disappears back to her own bunk, leaving me alone with my memories of being on stage.

  That’s going to be my life, I promise myself. Someday, I’m going to be a rock star, just like my dad and my uncles.

  I can hardly wait.

  Will

  Thirteen Years Later

  I do not hate my job, I tell myself, for probably the tenth time in as many minutes.

  It’s kind of hard to convince myself, though, when I’m staring down a pile of paperwork.

  “You’ve got that look on your face again,” my cousin notes from the other side of my desk. Rose is lounging in a big leather armchair—my big leather armchair, the only comfortable seat in this office—with her feet up on the desk, her textbooks spread out, crowding out my paperwork.

  “Isn’t there like, a library or something you can go study in?” I grumble, pushing a psych book away.

  “Yes, but then I wouldn’t have your charming company, would I?” she says drily. I flip her off.

  “Seriously, Will, what’s with the face? You look like you’re being force fed Brussels sprouts.”

  “I like Brussels sprouts,” I point out.

  “And this is why you’re crazy.” She swings her legs down, brushing a mane of white blonde waves over her shoulder as she plants her elbows on my desk, eying me. “What’s your problem?”

  I gesture at the paperwork. “I hate this shit. Wasn’t the whole point of becoming a tattoo artist so I didn’t have to sit in a boring office all my life?”

  “Sure, if you would have stayed a tattoo artist,” she says. “But you just had to go out and start up your own shop.”

  I don’t respond to that, because I don’t want to have the same fight with her again. Rose is convinced I only bought the shop—at a pretty young age—to try to prove something to my dad. Rose may know me better than just about anyone in the world, but she’s still full of shit.

  “You know what you need, Will?”

  “A bottle of whiskey and an office manager,” I mutter.

  “You read my mind on the office manager, but we both know you aren’t going to make that hire any time soon. So, we need to think of something else to deal with this little problem.” She spins her pointer finger in front of my face.

  “What little problem?”

  “River and I have started to call it WAS—like PMS, but worse.”

  I hold her eye contact, refusing to ask her to explain. There’s no point—I can never get Rosie to stop talking, even when I want her to.

  “Will Asshole Syndrome,” she says proudly, like she’s just told a hilarious joke. I keep my expression flat, staring at her, and she groans, throwing a wadded-up piece of paper at my head. “You stomp around the apartment all the time. You snap at River pretty much every day—”

  “Because your brother is a pain in my ass.”

  “Well, yeah.” She shoots me a quick grin. “No one’s arguing that. But that still doesn’t mean it’s pleasant to be around you when you have a giant stick up your ass.”

  “Thanks for the insight.”

  “Will.” She leans across the desk, expression grave. “You need to get laid,”

  “Jesus, Rose.”

  I close my eyes as she giggles. If there’s one thing in the world my cousin enjoys, it’s giving me shit.

  I’m self-aware enough to admit she has a point about some of this. It’s not like my default is sunshine and roses, but lately I have been having a harder and harder time keeping the full-out asshole side of me at bay.

  The thing is, there’s not a lot I can do to change the situation. I’m dead set on the shop turning a profit this year, and I’ve been working my ass off to make that happen. It usually takes a lot longer for a new business to get the start-up money paid off, but I’m impatient. The sooner I can start to support myself fully, and pay my uncle back, the better I’ll feel.

  But the only way to get to that point is to keep my nose to the grindstone and get the work done. Even if it sometimes feels like I spend more time in this fucking office than I do with a tattoo machine in my hands. I definitely spend more time in this building than I do my own home.

  And as far as getting laid goes
… yeah, let’s not even go there.

  Distraction from this annoying as hell conversation comes from an unexpected source—my employee Quinn pops his head into the office. “Hey Will—” He catches sight of my cousin sitting across from me and his entire demeanor changes. He stands up straighter, adopting a smarmy little smile that he probably thinks works for him—he would be wrong—and turns his body towards her.

  “Hey, there, Rose. Didn’t know you were back here.”

  She gives him her usual warm smile. Unless we’re talking annoying brothers—and me, apparently—Rosie is incapable of being anything less than friendly. “Just brought Will some leftovers from home,” she says, pointing at the empty Tupperware containers.

  “Will is a lucky, lucky man,” Quinn says, his eyebrows doing this weird waggling thing that I think is meant to be seductive.

  “Did you need something, Quinn?” I ask. “Or did you just want to flirt—badly—with my cousin?”

  He gives me an innocent look. “I’m not flirting. This is just my natural charm oozing through.”

  “Oozing sounds about right,” I mutter, then give him a pointed look. “What do you need?”

  He smooths the stupid little goatee he wears, looking apprehensive. “I could use your help with something.”

  “I’m not going to be your wingman at Telly’s tonight,” I tell him firmly. “You need to learn to pick up your own women at the bar.”

  He smirks over at Rose, smoothing the chin weasel again. “I have zero problem in that department, let me assure you”

  I grit my teeth. “Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the favor? I really do have a ton of shit to do.”

  “Sorry, buddy, you’re going to have to put it off for a bit. We have a pretty big group coming in about twenty minutes. The whole shop is booked up but they just called and asked if they could add another client to their group.”

  “What kind of group?” I ask, immediately wary. Images of bachelorette parties tipsy from day drinking swirl through my brain. Giggling girls demanding glittery butterfly tattoos and unfortunate lower back tribal pieces.

  “They seem pretty legit,” he assures me. “A few of them were in last week, picked out some pieces from our books. Seems like it’s just a group of friends who want to do something together. Bonding, or some shit.”

  After the morning I’ve had, I’m not really in the mood for what basically amounts to a walk-in. But the last thing I need is for all my artists to get bogged down. That will throw off the schedule for the rest of the afternoon.

  “Fine,” I tell him. “I’m gonna get started on payroll. Call me when you need me.”

  “Got it, boss.” He gives me a salute and my scowl deepens. He knows it pisses me off when he calls me that. Which is definitely why he insists on doing it. Quinn lives to annoy the shit out of me. “Hey, Rose, if you’re ever looking for some company—”

  “Get the fuck out,” I snap, and he holds up his hands.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” He shoots her one last smarmy smile before he goes.

  “You don’t have to be so mean to him,” Rose says. “He was just being friendly.”

  “He was trying to get in your pants.”

  She sighs wistfully. “I’m getting to the point where I wouldn’t turn him down.”

  I give her a sharp look. I know she hasn’t dated much since the douchebag ex fucked her over, but she hasn’t seemed lonely to me. Then again, I haven’t been home all that much. My stomach twists with guilt. I’m missing things. I’m supposed to be the person who looks out for her, who looks out for all my cousins, and I’m dropping the ball.

  “Oh my God,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Drop the martyr look, Will. I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, that would be my problem.”

  “You’re my problem,” I say, and her eyes widen. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”

  She cuts me off with her tinkling, musical laugh. “I know what you meant. But you really don’t need to feel so responsible for all of us. The Ransome clan is doing fine.”

  I know that she’s right. My cousins, siblings, and I talk every day either on the phone or in our group text thread. They’re all busy, excited about the things they’re working on. Rose’s little sister Violet was recently accepted into a prestigious dance program at her ballet school. Our cousin Lyric, the brainiac of the family, got another perfect report card last week. My little sister CeCe scored in her last soccer game. My cousins are happy. Thriving.

  I’m the only one who feels so damn stuck.

  Enough of that, I think, reaching for the ledger so I can get going on the payroll. “Will,” Rose interrupts, her voice soft now, concerned, and I feel my shoulders tense. I know that tone and nothing good ever comes from it.

  “I’ve got to work, Rosie.”

  “I know we joke around a lot,” she says, ignoring me. “But I’m honestly getting worried—”

  “Don’t you have class in half an hour?”

  Her expression turns from worried to annoyed. “You can’t hide from me forever, you know. We live in the same apartment.”

  “A decision I regret daily.”

  She rolls her eyes as she gathers her books. “Please. You practically begged me and River to move in.”

  I snort. “That’s an egregious rewriting of history. Pretty sure I found the place first and the two of you tagged along.”

  She slings her book bag over her shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

  She comes around the desk on her way out the door, stopping at my side and placing a warm hand on my shoulder. For a second, I close my eyes, letting myself relax into her soft touch. Willing myself to forget all the stressful, painful shit swirling in my head.

  “I’ve got dinner plans with Alex and Everly tonight,” she says. “But I can stay home if you feel like company.”

  I force a decently sincere smile on my face and turn to her. “I’m fine, Rosie. Probably gonna work late. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

  She stares down at me, ice-blue eyes filled with concern, looking like she’s uncertain about leaving. Finally, she squeezes my shoulder. “Have a good afternoon. Try to relax a little.”

  I chuckle. “You know me, Rosie. Mr. Cool.”

  She gives me one more shoulder squeeze and then goes, leaving me alone in the office with way too much work to do and not a lot of motivation.

  Luckily, my cell rings a moment later, and I’m so relieved at the distraction that I pull it out and accept the call without looking at the screen.

  “Will?” my little brother’s voice comes through the line.

  “Hey, Si,” I answer, settling back in my chair. “How’s it going, man?”

  Silas makes a huffing noise. “Same shit. Mom and Dad are on my case. CeCe is pissing me off. Just another day at casa de Ransome.”

  “I don’t buy it. My baby sister is a perfect angel. What could she possibly be doing to piss you off?”

  He snorts. “You only say that because you don’t have to live with her. I swear to God, Will. She’s insufferable. And she’s so spoiled. She never gets in trouble.”

  Knowing he could bitch about our sister for an hour if I let him, I nudge the conversation. “What’s this about Mom and Dad being on your case?”

  He sighs, and sounds an awfully lot more sheepish when he responds. “I may, uh, be failing geometry.”

  I wince. Nothing bothers our mother more than one of us not taking our education seriously. “Are you having trouble with the material?”

  “Nah. Just don’t feel like dealing with it, you know?”

  “Sure. School sucks, I get that. But you also don’t want to deal with failing, Si. They’ll just make you repeat the class. You don’t want to spend your summer back in school.”

  “I don’t see why I even have to be in school now,” he mutters, sounding every bit the sullen sixteen-year-old. “It’s not like I’m going to college.”

  “You could,” I point out. “You’re smart enough.”

  “You don’t need to go to college to make music, Will,” he mutters, and I feel something tighten in my stomach.

  My little brother is determined to follow in the family footsteps and make a career out of music. And that’s a topic that I have zero desire to discuss with him.