The Jenna Rollins Real Love Tour

by Janci Patterson

  I can’t help but pull up the video of the Boston concert again. My internet opens to the YouTube clip automatically, because I’ve watched it about a dozen times in the two days since that concert.

  There I am, on stage, in my element—and then I see Grant. My whole body stiffens; my eyes grow wide. I didn’t notice it at the time, but I take a full step backward.

  There’s a murmur in the crowd, confusion. Felix looking worried.

  I look downright terrified.

  Security never found Grant, and really, he didn’t do anything more than show up. Just stand there and smile at me and turn me into a wreck.

  A loud knock sounds on the hotel room door, and I jump and close out of the video like I’ve been caught hacking some government database and there’s a SWAT team out there, rather than some housekeeper trying to finally get our room cleaned.

  I hate how scared I’ve become. Of everything.

  I pull on Felix’s Nirvana t-shirt from yesterday, which was still puddled on the floor. It’s long enough I can get away without wearing pants for the moment, and more importantly, it smells like him. My hyper-tense muscles relax the tiniest bit.

  If I can’t wrap myself in him right now, this is the next best thing.

  Another knock. “Jenna? Felix?”

  I open the door. Leo’s standing there, using his fingers to comb his blond hair into its usual spikiness. He looks at my state of undress and raises an eyebrow. “Dude. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “I wouldn’t have opened the door if you were,” I say with a smile. “Felix is out, and I apparently hardcore slept in.” I pause. Leo doesn’t exactly come to our room to hang out—we all see each other enough with all the concerts, and Leo and Roxie do their own thing in the down time. “Is there something you need?”

  He holds up his phone. “Yeahhh. Roxie just booty-called me, and I’m umm . . . out of supplies, you know? And I could run down to the convenience store, or have the concierge get some, but I thought—”

  “You want a condom.” I don’t even bother trying to hide the amusement from my voice.

  He grins and shrugs. “Maybe more than one, if you’ve got some to spare.”

  I roll my eyes, and motion him to come in. “Is it still considered a booty call if it’s noon on a Tuesday? And from your girlfriend?”

  He scrunches his nose, like Ty does when he’s not wanting to talk about something. Or facing a side order of green beans.

  And I’m guessing that look doesn’t have anything to do with the noon on Tuesday part.

  “What,” I say. “You don’t like calling her your girlfriend? You told her you loved her. You guys have been together pretty much nonstop.”

  His expression slides into further unease. “Yeah, I know. I would be cool with that, but she . . .”

  Maybe I’m prying, but Leo knows me well enough to tell me to shut up if he doesn’t want to talk. “She doesn’t want a relationship?” I ask.

  Leo scratches at his bicep and frowns. “Not exactly. You know Roxie.”

  “Clearly not as well as you do.”

  “She doesn’t really . . . talk much.”

  Now I’m really confused. “So what do you guys do all the time?” When he lifts his eyebrow suggestively, I shake my head. “Don’t give me that. No one has that much sex.”

  He acknowledges my point with a little nod. “We hang out. Play video games. Go to clubs. We just don’t talk a lot. Especially about that stuff.”

  There’s a definite sadness to his voice.

  “Maybe you should,” I say, cautiously. It’s really not my business. But. “Maybe if you asked her what she wants . . .”

  “Nah, it’s good,” he says, with another shrug. But he sits heavily on the armrest of the closest love seat, his shoulders slumping a bit. “We went out last night to this club, you know? And these girls there kept flirting with me, and I wasn’t into them, but Rox kept telling me I should go dance with them. Like getting pissed at me about it. So I did. One of the girls was from Louisiana, and she wanted to see my state tattoo and—” He cuts off when he sees the look I’m giving him, his cheeks reddening. “Anyway, I just danced with them. And then Roxie got even more pissed at me afterward.”

  I wince. “Yikes. So did you guys not go back to the hotel together?”

  “No, dude, we totally came back and had sex.” His brow furrows. “But then she told me to go back to my own room, because she wanted to be alone.”

  “And then booty-called you just now.”

  “Yep.” His former good mood seems to be returning a bit at the prospect of imminent sex.

  “Gotcha.” I nod, and head back to the bedroom, where I get our box of condoms. I bring it back to Leo. “Here, help yourself—”

  He grabs a whole handful and grins.

  “To the whole box, apparently,” I say, though there’s still a couple left in there. I grin back.

  Maybe I’m just being overly sentimental, but with Leo and Roxie both staying with Felix and me as a band, and all the time I’ve known them, I kind of feel like they’re family. Really weird, quirky family, but family all the same. I know Felix feels the same way. He even involved the two of them when he officially proposed. He brought me to this park with a gorgeous fountain, and got down on one knee, and just as I was about to tackle him with an exuberant acceptance, Leo—dressed as Donald Trump, complete with comb-over wig—jumped out from behind the hedge and “kidnapped” me. At which point Felix called for help, and Ty emerged from behind a big oak tree, wearing a tall pope hat and this long robe to (sort of) cover up the fact that he was sitting on Roxie’s shoulders—despite that Roxie clearly had underestimated how tough it would be to carry an eight-year-old boy around on her shoulders for very long. So while Leo yelled out “Douche!” over and over as part of his act, I could hear mutters of actual curse words and groans of pain from under that robe.

  But Ty was in heaven. He got to be Superpope, defeating his archnemesis and saving me, just in time for Felix to finish his proposal.

  It was hilarious, and charming, and crazy romantic. Pretty much the most perfect proposal ever. I feel a happy flutter in my chest just thinking about it.

  Less so when I remember that Roxie took the Donald Trump wig home for Leo to wear in bed. I’m saved from figuring out what to say to Leo after that image when the key card slides in the door, and Felix walks in. “Hey,” he says, smiling broadly at me, and then slightly more confusedly at Leo.

  “Hey, man,” Leo says, giving a wave with the hand clutching a big wad of condoms. “I’d better go. Rox isn’t super patient. See you guys around.”

  He takes off and Felix gives me an amused look as soon as he leaves. “A lesser man might worry, finding his super-hot wife in their hotel room, half-dressed and giving condoms by the handful to some other guy.” He pulls me into his arms, and I close my eyes as I press against his chest. His hands work their way up under the t-shirt, fingers teasing along the edge of my underwear.

  “Mmmm,” I say. “Good thing I would never marry a lesser man.” I pull back just enough to smile at him, then burrow back into his embrace.

  Earlier, I wanted to talk to him, tell him about the memories that keep dragging me back to a part of my life I want to forget. Now I just want to feel him against me, breathe him in. Not burden him with my problems when he’s just gotten back from a twelve-step meeting. I know I should ask him about his meeting, but the words stick in my throat.

  Instead I lean up and kiss him, soft at first and then deeper, running my own hands up the lean muscles of his back, and it doesn’t take much more than that before he makes a little moaning sound and scoops me up—along with the box of condoms I’d set on the coffee table—and brings me back to our bed.

  My body has barely touched the cool cotton bedding before we’re kissing like we can’t get enough of each ot
her, the fire of his touch burning away my fear from before—and not just from this morning.

  There’s been a tension between us lately, even before my freak-out at seeing Grant, and I’m not sure how to make it better. But right now, we’re together and he loves me and needs me, and god, do I love and need him, too. And if I’ve been messing up in showing that lately, I really hope he can feel it now.

  His lips trail down my throat, and he’s tugging the neck of his Nirvana shirt down to kiss along my shoulder, stretching the shirt enough to find that random extra-sensitive spot of mine he knows very well. I arch against him, wrapping my legs around him—

  My phone dings with a text, and I remember the time.

  It’s got to be past twelve-thirty, which is when we were supposed to relieve my parents of Ty duty.

  He pulls back with a little groan; clearly he remembers too.

  I reach for my phone, which dropped on the floor when Leo showed up. “I’ll text them and tell them we’re running a little late,” I say. “And that we owe them.”

  “Good call.” He trails his fingers over my lower back, sending delicious little shivers through me as I lean over the bed to get my phone.

  I pick up the phone, see the text—from my mom, sure enough, wondering when we’ll be at their room—and hit the buttons to answer it.

  Or I think I do, but I must hit the wrong thing, because that concert video pops up and starts playing.

  There I am at the piano, fumbling my way through my song for my husband, my face pale and voice shaking as my ex-boyfriend smiles that knowing smile at me from the audience.

  That sick dread clenches in my gut again, like it does every time I see this, and it takes me a second to realize Felix’s fingers have frozen in place against my back.

  The dread turns into a guilt I don’t fully understand.

  “You were watching that video again?” he asks. I can’t really read his tone—it doesn’t sound accusing. But I can tell he knows I’ve been watching it way more than I’ve told him about.

  My throat feels dry. Cracked. “I know I shouldn’t, but . . . I just keep watching it.”

  His brows draw together and he pauses a moment before speaking. “Are you still mad about how the song went? Because it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. And one song, out of the whole concert—out of all the concerts—”

  “No, it’s not that.” I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at the paused screen.

  “Are you afraid of Grant? That he’ll show up again?”

  He hasn’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. “A little,” I say quietly. “I know that’s stupid. He didn’t even do anything.”

  “No, don’t—” He sits up. “It’s not stupid.”

  I frown down at the phone in my hand, not sure how to explain it all, not sure what the words even are. He sighs and looks away, and there’s that thread of tension again that seems to be tangling itself around us more and more.

  But our connection is still here. Felix is still here.

  “I hate how he can mess me up, just by being there,” I say, and Felix looks back at me. “I keep watching my face and—I just hate it so much, seeing myself like that, and I’m not even sure why.”

  Felix scoots closer to me, and pulls me back up against his side, and it’s like my body is able to exhale. A little, at least. “You’re not sure why you hate it, or why he makes you feel that way?”

  “Both,” I say. I set the phone down so I can’t stare at it anymore. “And . . .” I draw in a breath. “I had this memory when I woke up. You were gone, and I had this moment where I didn’t remember where I was, and I panicked. Like I remembered being back in this frat house, waking up and not remembering who I’d been with, and just feeling . . .” I pause again, closing my eyes tightly, not wanting to bring it all back.

  You like it rough, don’t you, you little whore. Everyone knows you do.

  “Just feeling what?” Felix asks, watching me carefully, like I might break apart in his arms. I at once want him to hold me together so I don’t, and hate myself that I need that at all.

  “Lost,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. Then I shake my head. “But I kept going back, you know? So many parties, and I just kept going back. God, I was such an idiot.”

  “Jenna, stop,” he says, but my words keep tumbling out.

  “And I did whatever they wanted, and god knows what I let them do when I was totally trashed, and I just kept going back. I kept choosing that over my son and my family.” I’m lobbing my mistakes at him like one of those high-speed baseball pitching machines, cranked up faster than he could ever hope to keep up.

  More and more words, and I can’t stop. “And I have no right to fall apart now, you know? When I made those choices, I was stupid and—”

  “It wasn’t your fault!” His voice is hard. “You know that, right? It doesn’t matter that you were drunk, or that you showed up there at all. They did that to you. They did it. It wasn’t sex, Jenna, it was—”

  He cuts off, his jaw clenching, and he looks away again.

  I know the word he wants to say, but never does.

  Because I won’t say it. Can’t say it.

  On some level, I know he’s right. But there’s part of me that feels like admitting it, saying that word, makes it all more real somehow, makes it all scarier. It makes me a victim.

  And I don’t know why, but I’d rather believe I was at fault, rather beat myself up for it time and time again than be that. Maybe part of me is afraid that Felix has to make me a victim in his mind, because he couldn’t love me if he believed I did those things on purpose.

  I’m curled up, my legs tight against my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to—” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it.

  I let out a breath. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” I clear my throat. “How, um. How was your meeting?”

  He blinks at me in surprise, and now I’m the one whose eyes are darting away. I don’t usually ask. I rarely bring up anything drug-related. I’ve convinced myself it’s because I don’t want to be the one to bring it up, to make him think about the drugs more than he already has to. But I know I’m also afraid. Afraid of saying the wrong thing and making it worse.

  Afraid of hearing how bad it is, and not being able to do anything to make it better.

  Afraid, afraid, afraid. God, I’m the worst. How can I be any good for Felix or Ty or anyone?

  “Good,” he says, after a moment. “Lots of people there. But good.” He hesitates, like maybe there’s more he wants to say, but the phone dings again, and he sighs. “We’d better relieve your parents.”

  I pick up the phone, and look at the text.

  Mom where are you and Felix? It’s Ty. Hoooooo hooooo hooooo

  I show it to Felix and his lips quirk up. “Has he decided he’s an owl?”

  “Somehow that wouldn’t surprise me,” I say.

  We both get up, and I get dressed. I decide to keep Felix’s Nirvana shirt on, and just wear it loose over a pair of skinny jeans, and we head down the hallway to my parents’ suite. Neither of us say anything about before, though he brushes his fingers against mine as we walk, and I take his hand. He squeezes mine back.

  It’s a small gesture, but it feels so good.

  We reach my parents’ door, which has been decorated since last I saw it. Silver tinsel is taped all around the doorframe, and in the center of the door is a construction paper Christmas tree.

  Christmas.

  Not hoo hoo. Ho ho. “Ohhhhh,” I say, at the exact same time that Felix says, “That’s what he meant.” Felix has missed all the Easters, and he’s missed all the Christmases, too. Apparently we’re doing the whole year’s worth of holidays, all before we get to Halloween.

  We smile at each other, and I knock on the door.

 
My mom opens it, and she’s wearing one of those pointy felt elf hats with a bell at the end.

  “Merry Christmas!” she says brightly. Then she gives us each a big hug, even Felix. My parents weren’t exactly thrilled with us getting married so quickly—though thankfully they changed their mind about boycotting the wedding, which would have broken my heart. But they’ve gotten a lot of opportunity on this tour to see how great Felix is with both me and Ty, and I think they may be coming around.

  I think Grant showing up a few days ago didn’t hurt Felix’s cause with them, either. They really hated Grant.

  “Nothing like a surprise October Christmas,” I say when she ushers us in.

  My dad waves from where he’s sitting in an armchair, wearing a matching elf hat and studying the sports pages of the Chicago Tribune. He’s got his glasses perched on the end of his nose while he does so. My parents are still young, only in their mid-forties, but my dad especially seems to have fully embraced the “grandpa” stereotype.

  “Well, it was a surprise to us, too,” my mom says in a low voice. “Ty wanted to do Valentine’s Day next, I think. But we were at the costume shop helping him find his Halloween costume, and he found . . . well, I suppose you’ll see what he found.” She’s got her lips pressed tight together like she’s trying to hold in a laugh.

  “Ty, I think your Nana’s about to spoil your surprise,” my dad calls out.

  “Nana, don’t!” Ty’s muffled voice shouts back from the bedroom. “I’m almost ready!”

  “Why don’t you two sit down on the couch,” my mom suggests. She offers us some soda to drink; apparently eggnog isn’t in the grocery stores quite yet.

  We sit and sip at our drinks. Felix looks like he might be trying to think of something to say to my dad, but before he does, Ty shouts out, “Okay, now, Nana.”

  My mom presses a button on her phone and the song “Up on the Housetop” starts playing. “Oh my!” my mom says in a breathy, dramatic voice like she’s auditioning for the role of Scarlett O’Hara. She cups her hand to her ear. “I think I hear the sound of hooves up on the roof!”