I walk over to the other side of the island and park myself in front of the stool that my laptop is at and power it up. When I was with Annie earlier, I didn’t tell her what was going on; that this thing with Eli had escalated to this level. She cares too much and this would stress her out when she has enough on her mind. She definitely doesn’t need to hear about my dumpster fire of a situation right now. I’ll fill her in when things have blown over.
Once the laptop is booted, I open a new document and just start typing, barely giving any thought to the words that flow out of my mind and onto the screen. I have to write. Even if I can’t turn it into anything that can be published, I have to get it out so that maybe it will stop torturing me on the inside.
It’s like Eli has taken on the form of some asinine little demon fucker that has taken over my mind, annoyingly tapping at my frontal lobe, and I have to make him shut the fuck up by venting all of this into a writing piece so that I can hopefully get some sleep, for fucks sake.
Before I know it, there is a page and a half of words staring back at me and I’m just getting warmed up. I quickly get up to turn my electric tea kettle on and grab a mug out of one of the cupboards. I’m on a roll. I have a feeling in my bones that this is the way to vanquish Little Demon Fucker Eli. It’s like an exorcism!
An hour and five pages later, my mind feels lighter and my eyelids feel heavier. It’s still pitch black outside; the digital clock in the upper right corner of my screen reads 3:12 AM. I’m leaning my head on my hand, staring blankly at what I’ve written. It doesn’t seem to be complete, but it must be for now. Nothing more is coming out of me, and I’m drained.
“Hey,” I hear a husky whisper from the entryway that leads to the living room. I look over my shoulder at Jack and give him a tired smile. He’s thrown on running pants but nothing else.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, ambling over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.
“Couldn’t sleep. What about you?” I ask, as he rests his chin on my shoulder.
“Reached over to cop a feel and you weren’t there. What’s this?” He gives his chin a nudge towards my screen.
“This… is Little Demon Fucker Eli,” I confirm with a slight nod of my head. I feel him go still and can see his eyebrows draw together in confusion in my peripheral.
“You… wanna, maybe… explain…?” He starts chuckling and shaking his head, not getting my particular brand of three AM weirdness.
“Well,” I start matter-of-factly, waving my hand in explanation. “While his douchiness is not here in physical form, he’s robbing me of sleep by monopolizing my brain. Like a little demon fucker,” That earns me an amused smile. “So I’m writing, hoping it will clear my head.” I end with a shrug.
“What do you think it’s going to be? An article?”
“Something like that, maybe an essay. Doesn’t matter; I can’t publish it. Not right now anyway, he’d sue me for slander.”
He nods and slides over to the stool next to mine, keeping one arm around my waist and assuming my earlier position, resting his head on his hand and rubbing his eyes in frustration.
“I just want to beat the shit out him for what he’s putting you through.”
“It’s not just me.”
“You should know by now that I’m the least of my worries,” he says, giving my waist a little tug.
“And you should know by now that the feeling is mutual.”
He blows out a heavy sigh. “I know.”
I turn to lean my tired head on his shoulder as we marinate in contented silence for a moment or two before he takes charge. I love when he does that.
“Alright woman,” he says, shifting out of his seat and turning me to face him. “Little Demon Fucker Eli has gotten enough of your attention for one night,” Amen to that. He pulls me up and my legs go around his waist. “Time to come back to bed with me.”
“What if I still can’t sleep?” I ask, as he stands there, holding us in the middle of our dim kitchen.
“Then in the morning, all bets are off and Life-sized Fucker Eli is getting his ass kicked,” he answers with hooded eyes and a half smirk.
I can’t help but let out an easy giggle as he carries me up the stairs to our room.
20
Jack
I am incredibly surprised that my rage has not set the stage on fire, either night that we’ve played in Boston. I’ve been known to rock hard during performances, but these last two nights since we’ve resumed the tour have been insane. I’ve had so much anger, frustration, and fear to be honest, and having nothing I can do about it has turned me into a madman during shows. I’m staying strong and stable for Mayzie, but the emotions scream to get out, so I’ve been unleashing it and letting it run wild like a rampant beast all over the stage, the only place it can, because the crowd loves it and sees nothing more than a rock musician giving a passionate performance. They feed off it, and I feed off them, allowing it all to fuel me to burn hotter.
I’m careful of my voice, as losing it once on a tour is enough, but my movements, my demeanor… they send the message that I’m a dangerous force of nature. Near the end of the first show, I was working my guitar so hard I busted a string. I finished the song anyway while it flailed around, brushing against the skin of my forearm, making cuts that drew blood that smeared against the white urethane finish of the guitar’s body. That made the crowd go apeshit. Just before sound check for tonight’s show, Chris was raving and showing me his phone, swiping between social media sites where fans had posted pictures of the whole thing, and yammering on about how many likes, shares, tweets and all that shit that he pays attention to and I don’t care about.
Hopefully, somewhere down the road, I can catch a glimpse of one of those photos and be able to bask in how epic it really was. Right now, I’m overwhelmed with fury over our situation and concern for my wife, and I’m wound up tighter than a spring. Mayzie hasn’t slept much, not even when we were back home. It pisses me off that this is stressing her out so bad that she couldn’t even get a full night’s sleep while we were in the comfort of our own home. Between there and the hotel here, she’s been getting out of bed and wandering. I’ve found her writing a little more, or sometimes just staring out the window at the city below. It’s a lot like after the fuckstick cornered her in that bathroom. When I roll over to find her spot in the bed empty, I get up and find her. I sit with her a while, and eventually bring her back to bed.
She looks exhausted now, as we stand here at a high table in the VIP section of one of Boston’s most upscale night clubs for the show’s after party. I wasn’t keen on coming tonight and neither was she, but being that it’s one of the country’s major cities, it’s better press if the band makes an appearance. I tried to persuade her to stay at the hotel and get some rest, but she shrugged me off, stating that she wouldn’t be able to anyway if she stayed behind.
She looks beautiful as always, in a black and red flowery dress with long sleeves, and black boots that come up to her knees, but her normally slate colored eyes are a darker shade of grey, and the smile she’s wearing is not my smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. My goal was to originally make it to two hours before calling it good, but I’m seriously itching to get her out of here and take us back to the hotel. We’re closing in on the time limit anyway. She’s leaning her chin on her hands and giggling lightly at something Matt is telling her, and just as I’m clearing my throat to suggest we get going, a familiar face catches my eye. Make that two faces.
“Hey!” I exclaim as I see George angling his way through the gridlock of clubbers, pulling his wife Erin behind him. The rest of my bandmates’ heads turn as well as Mayzie’s, as I stand to greet our friends. Erin makes a beeline for Mayzie and they do that crazy girl thing, giggling and squealing and swinging each other back and forth in a tight hug. After George greets the rest of the guys, he comes back to me. “What are you doing here, man? I thought we weren’t go
ing to see you guys until tomorrow.”
“We just got in,” he tells me. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it in time to catch your show, but we knew you’d be here about now.”
“Glad you came over,” I say sincerely. I glance over at Mayzie and Erin, talking a mile a minute at each other, and I’m glad for the distraction. “Where are you guys staying?”
“The Monarch.”
“Us too.”
“No shit?” He asks, with a surprised smile, and I nod. “Well let’s head back there, man. We can hang out in our suite, have a late dinner, drinks, catch up?”
“That sounds… perfect, actually.” I answer, gazing around at the chaotic club, definitely reaching my limit with the noise and the ruckus.
We let the other guys know we’re leaving and they opt to hang back, which is fine. Then George and I usher our ladies out into cold night. I remember to put a fake-ass smile on my face as cameras snap at us while we make our way to the waiting SUV.
MAYZIE
“Oh my gawd,” I gawk down at the screen on Erin’s phone as she shows me new pictures of her and George’s now ten-month old daughter, Eloise. “She’s grown so much! How is she so much bigger?”
“It’s been four months since you’ve seen us; she’s done lots of growing,” Erin muses with a contented half smile. She swipes to one of George cuddling the little darling and kissing her cheek, and I almost die. There’s just something to be said about seeing a hardcore, edgy-looking rock star doting over a baby. Little Eloise has both her parents’ big dark eyes, and George’s black hair.
“I thought she’d end up being a red-head like you,” I tell Erin, as I hand her phone back.
“Oh it’s adorable that you think this is natural!” She jokes, pushing her long auburn ponytail off her shoulder, and I elbow her in response as we sit side-by-side on one of the couches in her suite. Theirs is spacious and swanky, and came equipped with a pool table that the guys are playing with now, while we kick back with a glass of wine. I can see them from where we sit, talking quietly as they amble around the table.
“Are you okay?” she asks with an uncertain look on her face as she brings her glass to her lips. When Erin and I met, Turn it Up was opening up for George’s band, The Shock Wave, and Jack and I were total babies in the industry. Erin and I became fast friends on that difficult first tour, and she immediately took me under her wing. That set the tone for our friendship, which means she’s always got a hint of a protective vibe over me. But I don’t know if I want to tell her what’s going on. I consult my wine glass but it doesn’t take long for her to prod again. “Maze, George talked to Jack before we came out here.”
I look up from my glass and freeze. “What did he tell him?”
“Nothing. But George could tell something was going on… just like I can now,” she says in a coaxing tone.
“Just… trouble with the band’s agent,” I say, trying to be evasive, but she can see that I’m wiggling like a worm on a hook. Thankfully, she doesn’t call me out on it.
“Oh. So is that why Jack asked who represents The Shock Wave?”
“Yeah,” I nod, and sit up straighter. “They… might be needing new representation soon.”
“Why? What’s he done?” Erin asks, her face contorted in confusion.
I lift one shoulder and wave my glass as I answer, “He’s… just a douche.”
“Pretty vague reason to break contract, Maze.”
“He’s the douche to end all douches?” I offer. I might be getting a little tipsy.
“Stop deflecting,” she says sternly, tossing a throw pillow at me. So that’s why they call them that. It hits my face, making my hair stick to my lip gloss. I make a big show of puffing and sputtering to get it out of my face, but she’s not biting. “What’s going on?” she presses.
“What’s going on is that you’re almost spilling my wine,” I huff, still trying to put her off. The only reason I’m foolish enough to think that I can do that is because it’s my third glass. “That’s straight up alcohol abuse,” I accuse her as I lovingly stroke my glass. She takes it carefully out of my hand and sets both glasses down on the nearby glass coffee table before scooching close to me and taking both of my hands in hers. She levels her face with mine. Her expression is hard but non-threatening, letting me know she means business, but is here for me at the same time.
“Mayzie.” My name is one heavy statement from her lips, Erin’s eyes never wavering from mine.
“Erin,” I say back at her. “I promise to tell you. I just don’t feel like I can right now, it’s all so complicated.” She nods encouragingly, but doesn’t break eye contact, as if she’s waiting for more. “I just…” it’s so hard to find the words to tell a good friend that you just don’t want to talk about something, even though they want so badly to help. It’s even harder when you feel the relaxing buzz of pinot noir growing stronger by the minute. But if I tell her that the band’s agent has been harassing me and God knows how many other women, and that I plan to suit up and go into battle in order to get the proof to bring him down… I’m not sure what she’d do to be honest, but I can’t risk her trying to intervene. She cares enough that she just might. Oh, how I want to let her in.
“Really Erin,” I struggle to reassure her, “I will tell you when we’re not so in the thick of it. I just really don’t want to go into detail right now. Okay?” I’m doing my best to sound sober; I need her to take this one thing I say seriously. She continues to glare before slowly nodding.
“Just tell me this,” she gently proceeds. “Are you in danger?”
I try not to take too long to respond so that I don’t alarm her. When an image of Jack with Detective Morris in the background forms in my mind, I answer.
“No.” And I’m telling her what I believe to be the truth.
“Okay,” she says quietly. Her heavy exhale lets me know that she’s letting it go.
“Can I have that back?” I ask, nodding towards my neglected wine glass.
She gives a curt nod, clearly disappointed that I haven’t opened up to her, but obliges by turning to pick it up and handing it to me.
“Really Erin,” I start off after taking a healthy sip of smooth alcohol infused goodness. “He’s just a douche.” Another sip. “A big douche.” Erin is nodding and rolling her eyes as I take another sip and hold my hand out, flexing my fingers in the direction of the bottle. “A giant douche,” I affirm, as I empty my glass.
“Mm-hmm… okay,” Erin humors me and picks up the wine bottle to top me off. She sets it down and takes a sip from her own glass. She settles in and lets me yammer on about Eli and his infinite douche factor. He has officially driven me to drink. “Easy there, killer,” she chides me as I knock back another gulp. I’m feeling really good right now.
“It’s like if there were this land of douches, he’d be their king. That’s all I’m saying…”
JACK
“How’s dad life?” I ask George as I lay down my pool cue across the table and take a drink from my tumbler, enjoying the relaxing burn it sends to my chest.
A shit eating grin spreads across his face as he blows out a breath before answering me. “I’m in love,” he declares, shaking his head. “Didn’t know that could happen twice in my life, but here we are.”
“Doesn’t sound possible,” I respond as I shake my head, trying to fathom the idea.
“Trust me, it is. It’s just different.”
I nod. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. But are we ever going to talk about what’s going on with you?” I drop my head in response, letting my hair fall in my face. “Something’s going on. I’m assuming it’s with your agent. Thought you were going to fill me in,” he reminds me.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out as I bring my head back up. I did say I’d fill him in, but dammit, saying the words now are as hard to say as they were to Ian back home. So much has happened since Eli made his first move, making the situation so much more
monumental and harder to talk about.
“Yeah, it has to do with our agent, Eli Costa. Ever work with him?”
“No.” George answers, putting his own pool cue down and picking up his glass. “Heard of him though. We were already locked in with Excel when his firm started getting attention.”
I nod as I lean back on the pool table and polish off what’s left in my glass before setting it off to the side. I grip the side of the table as I run the other through my hair and decide to spit it out. “He’s after my wife, man.”
His jaw drops and his eyes widen as he takes a step closer to me. “Jack…” he starts, I’m sure trying to find something encouraging or compassionate to say. He looks around the room for the words. “What is he –,”
“Please don’t make me say anymore,” I plead, resting both hands beside me on the table.
He’s silent for a moment before bringing his shoulders up and asking “What can I do?”
I shake my head and give a one shoulder shrug. “We’re handling it.” That’s a lie. Mayzie’s handling it. While I stand by, useless. Helpless to protect her. We leave for New York late tomorrow afternoon, and then it’s a ticking time bomb. The band has several appearances to make in addition to the two shows we are doing at Madison Square, and who knows which time the motherfucker will choose to move in. My mind hops on a train and I quickly assess where it’s going.
Still Her (Turn it Up Book 2) Page 17
