Page 37 of Tangled Up In You

“So, you’re back in L.A. How long has it been since those sold out shows at the Palladium?” the DJ asked.

“Em, I dunno, maybe nine months?” Gavin said, leaning into his microphone.

He and the rest of the band were crammed into KROQ’s studio to promote their appearance at the radio station’s upcoming summer music festival.

“Right. It’s been non-stop touring for your debut album. You’ve really made a name for yourself in a short time. And speaking of names, I gotta ask, which one of you came up with the name ‘Rogue’?”

Gavin laughed first, but Conor, Shay, and Martin quickly joined him.

“Ah, I suspect there’s a story there,” the DJ said, eyeing Gavin over the various computer monitors and other equipment. “Let’s go ahead and use this momentous occasion of your first visit here with us to come clean.”

“Can’t do that,” Gavin said. “We took a solemn vow to never reveal the origins of our band name.”

The others laughed, but the DJ wasn’t deterred.

“All right, here’s what I’m going to do. There’s gotta be a Rogue superfan who can tell us the story. The first one who calls in with it gets VIP tickets to see you at the Weenie Roast.”

The first two calls were fans who didn’t even try to take a guess and instead begged for tickets. But the next call changed everything.

“Hey, you’re on the air with Rogue. Can you tell us what the origin of their name is?”

“I’m calling for my friend,” a female voice said. “She’s the one that knows the story but she won’t get on the line.”

“Okay, and what’s your name?”

“Gracelyn.”

“Let’s hear it, then, Gracelyn.”

“I’m not sure I have it exactly right because she started to tell me and then when I said I was going to call in she freaked out. She wants me to hang up right now.”

“This is intriguing,” Gavin said with a laugh.

“Anyway,” the caller continued, “she said it has something to do with Marty—Martin?—getting confused between the word rogue and a scholarship? Rhodes scholarship?”

“Sophie,” Gavin said. It had to be her. She was the only other person there when they came up with the name for their band. Adrenaline coursed through his body. He stood, pressing his headphones tighter to his ears with both hands. “Sophie? Are you there?”

“Who is Sophie?” the DJ asked.

“Please, Gracelyn? It’s Gracelyn, is it?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Can you put Sophie on the line? I need to speak with her.”

“Gavin, not like this,” Conor said urgently.

Gavin ignored him. There was nothing that would stop him from trying to get it right with Sophie this time. In the months since the show at the Palladium, he’d regretted everything about that encounter. He hated how he treated her, hated how he let that prick actor talk to her, and most of all, hated how he let her walk away. He’d done everything wrong but the band had moved on from one city to the next and he never found the nerve to contact her. Her reaching out to him once again was a chance he wasn’t going to screw up.

“Please. Put her on,” he said to Gracelyn.

There was a muffled conversation on the line, the reluctance on Sophie’s part clear enough.

But then he heard her voice as she said a soft hello.

He let out his breath in relief and stared at the chrome pole holding the microphone in front of him. “Sophie, I’m so glad you called.”

“I didn’t call,” she replied. “That was Gracelyn. I got the message about us the last time. I’m not looking for anything from you.”

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