Page 16 of Layla

Layla

Iwake with a start, my heart pounding, eyes popping open to peer around in the darkness. I have no idea what woke me—I never do. All I know is that I’m lying here, again, in the dark, scared out of my mind, trying to figure out where in the hell I am.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize that the ceiling is close—way too close. I can reach up and touch it. For a second that sends a shot of pure claustrophobic panic through me, and I gasp, turning to my side, and nearly fall through the privacy curtain around my bunk.

My bunk.That’s why the ceiling is so low. I’m in my bunk on the bus. Nothing to panic about.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. Through the curtain, I can hear someone snoring. James, definitely. And that softer snore somewhere above me, the one that sounds a little wheezy, that’s Dylan. The noises should annoy me. We’re in such close quarters on this bus. Since our record broke out, we travel in comfort in a way we never have before, but privacy is not one of the luxuries we enjoy.

Even so, I find the sounds of my sleeping bandmates soothing, in a way. Familiar. I’ve been listening to Dylan and James snore for years. If I listen carefully enough, I can hear Haylee’s deep, even breathing from the bunk above me. The sound of Lance, in the bunk directly across from me, kicking at his sheets every few minutes. These sounds feel like home.

I try to focus on that feeling of home, of calm. Try to match my breathing to Haylee’s. Count James’s snores. But I know it’s hopeless. I’m not going back to sleep any time soon.

As quietly as I can, I pull open my privacy curtain and peer out of my bunk. There’s a faint blue glow of LED running lights down on the floor. I swing my legs down, holding my breath when Willa shifts in the bunk below me. But she doesn’t seem to have woken up so I let myself slide down to the floor and then tiptoe from the sleeping area.

The front lounge is empty, just as I expected. I head straight for the kitchen area and crouch down in front of the fridge, trying my best not to make a lot of noise as I rummage around for what I want.

“Miss Perry?” Someone whispers and I jump up, gasping all over again, my heart right back to racing.

John is standing in front of the curtains that surround the driver. He’s back-lit from the dashboard in a faint bluish glow, casting a shadow over his face. But somehow, I can sense his eyes locked right on mine, as if I can feel his gaze even when I can’t see it.

“Are you okay?”

I realize that I’m just standing here gaping at him and hurriedly move to close the fridge door behind me. “Couldn’t sleep.” I look him up and down. I haven’t seen him much since boarding the bus—he’s been holed up in the front with the driver and our regular security guy, Sean, presumably going over safety plans. But he still looks exactly as he did this morning, dressed in the same black slacks and white button-down, his tie still perfectly in place. He doesn’t even look wrinkled, in spite of the fact that it has to be at least three in the morning.

“Did you have that suit surgically attached?” I blurt out, and immediately feel stupid. Apparently, my brain left its filter back in my bunk.

He steps more fully out into the lounge, pulling the curtains shut behind him. “I’ve been working.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” I point out.

“Yet here you are.”

I shift, feeling self-conscious for some reason. At least I’m not half naked this time. “I couldn’t sleep.”

John strides over to the kitchen. “I was going to make coffee,” he says, squeezing around me to reach for the Keurig. He’s too close like this. Too big, filling too much of my personal space. “I could put on some tea?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Now that he’s closer, I can see his face clearly. His eyes are a little red, his hair not quite as neat as I had assumed at first, like maybe he’s been running his hands through it. He looks tired.

He gestures at the fridge behind me. “Were you getting a drink?”

I hold up the bottle in my hand, feeling silly. “I already got it.”

His eyes flick down to my hand, and then his mouth tugs up a little on one side. “Chocolate milk?”

“It’s what I like when I can’t sleep,” I say defensively.

He meets my eyes and I’m more than a little surprised to see the warmth there. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him look anything other than stern or intense. Or, occasionally, smirky.

“Go sit down,” he says softly. “I’ll make my coffee and find us something to eat.”

“You just can’t get through a single conversation without bossing me around, can you?”

His lips twitch again. “Keep it up and I won’t share my snack.”

I roll my eyes at him as I turn to go but I can’t keep the smile from my face. I take a seat on one of the couches, watching while he works in the kitchen. He grumbles a bit as he fiddles with the Keurig pods and I hear him mutter something about anormal fucking coffee pot. I smirk to myself as I open my bottle of chocolate milk, not at all surprised that John doesn’t like the modern coffee maker.