“No I didn’t.” There’d been no crush of bone under her hand. “But it’ll feel like it. Go ice it and don’t ever grab me again.” She watched him stumble in the other direction, blood now on his white shirt, calling for ice and a towel and sending a couple of wardrobe assistants scattering to do his bidding.
Then she saw Jake. He was a good twenty metres away and there were a dozen people between them, but he’d obviously seen what went down. His handsome face was creased with mirth. He sent a roadie with a first aid kit scurrying off after Jonathan and he sprinted up the corridor to her. “You are a goddess.” He swept her into his arms. “I’ve wanted to do that to him since Perth.”
“I’m wet and I smell.” She tangled her hands at the back of Jake’s neck.
“Couldn’t care less.” He brought his face to hers, teasing her with a near-kiss.
She strained upward to meet his lips. “Can we get out of here?”
“You should go to the party, just for a few minutes.”
“Mmm, one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Give me ten minutes to change and come shower with me. I want to ravage you.”
“Ravage!”
“Got a problem with that?”
“Nope.”
In her dressing room, Jake flicked the lock and his shirt over his head. He sat to unlace his boots and stared at her while she undressed. Watching his eyes in the mirror she almost forgot what she was doing. He came to help, peeling her out of wet lycra, his hands doing things to excite her that seventy-five thousand screaming fans hadn’t achieved.
He had a way of touching her that made her skin sing notes she’d only ever heard in her mind. He chased a song all over her body, with feather light touches, stinging bites and soothing licks designed to make a chorus of his name. And he loved that, so she held it back, and he loved that too, and he showed her how much with his eyes and his lips and his own wordless articulations that rumbled in his chest and were breathed through her epidermis to start the process over again.
Forty minutes later, he was back on the couch, watching her dress again, but she could tell by the look on his face, something wasn’t right. “What are you thinking?” she said, eyes on him in the mirror. She couldn’t read his expression, and that was puzzling. He was normally so open, so transparent and truthful.
“I’m thinking that’s a waste of good lipstick.”
She laughed. But his mind wasn’t on lipstick.
“Jake.”
“What?”
He sounded grumpy. She turned to face him, hoping it was the filter of the mirror affecting her ability to read him. “What’s wrong.”
He shook his head. “I have to share you again out there.”
She knelt in front of him. “Why is this worrying you now?”
The head shake again and he didn’t want to look at her. “Jake?”
He brought his eyes back to her face. “Sorry. I’m missing you already.”
“Don’t do that.” He couldn’t be this way. He wasn’t meant to make this hard. He knew what this was. He knew forever wasn’t on the menu, wasn’t a dish she’d ever have the ingredients for.
“You’re right.” He hauled her to her feet. “Come on rock star, your adoring public awaits.”
By the time they got to the green room, the party had reached the sloppy stage where too much of everything except edible food was happening. The pizza was cold, the sushi was just leftover grains of rice, but the alcohol flowed.
In one corner, Stu was holding court, telling stories about other tours they’d done. He played straight man to Roley’s funny guy. Ceedee was hanging out with Problem Children, but Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. How was on the sofa with his tongue down the throat of some girl in black leather pants and a lace bustier. Brendan and Jeremy were likewise engaged with women on the prowl, though neither of them had advanced to the stage where buttons were popped. Rand had Harry in one hand and a beer in the other. He looked bleary and happy, surrounded by friends and well-wishers.
Rielle kept hold of Jake while she reconnected with the band and then chatted to some music journalists. She was starving and the one drink she’d had was making her sleepy.
“Let’s go.” She tugged Jake towards the door, but when a dancing couple cut her off, she lost hold of his hand. Laughing at their drunken stumbling, she wound her way through the clump of dancers and turned back to look for Jake. The expression on his face made her catch her breath. He looked worried, his mouth drawn down, his brow furrowed. But then he caught her eye and his lips ticked up in an immediate smile. Before she’d had time to process what she’d seen he was at her side, his arm around her back to shepherd her into the corridor.
“Are you okay?” She stopped him to watch his response.
“You bet.”
She squinted at him. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “What?”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
He rattled the keys to the Triumph. “Sure, let’s get out of here.”
Back at the hotel, Rielle ate a twenty-five dollar room service hamburger and loved every bite of it. Sprawled on the plush suede sofa, Jake watched her lick tomato sauce off her fingers. Now she could read him, the expression on his face told her he wondered what else she might like to lick.
Seated at the dining table, she said, “I’m still hungry.”
He laughed, his voice husky. “For someone so little you sure can put away food.”
“Not that sort of hungry.”
He was on his feet and across the room in less time than it took for her to push away from the table. They made love in four rooms and used half a dozen surfaces starting with the dining table, moving to the moonlit balcony and then to the bedroom via the massive double shower.
Neither of them was tired. They were fuelled by the touch of each other’s skin, the sounds of each other’s sighs, and the knowledge that their time together was almost over.
With one Sydney show down and only three to go, the tour had reached its climax, and everyone was already tuned in to the next thing. Sharon had completed all the forward arrangements, airfares and freight for equipment. Stu and Ceedee were going home via a week in Bali, Jeremy and Brendan were detouring to the Great Barrier Reef, and Rand was working out agenda items for meetings set up in LA prior to the start of the European leg of the tour. Even the crew were talking about their next jobs, some of them moving on to the summer festival season and others taking jobs with smaller touring bands.
For Rielle, lying in Jake’s arms was release and relief. A sweetness she knew was only borrowed; a tenderness that made her throat close up and her eyes water. When she thought about the future, she concentrated on what was critical: seeing Jonas, looking at the whites of his eyes to know if he was well again, the music video edit, planned interviews with media in the UK and Germany, and the kick off of the European tour in Spain. That’s all she could afford to think about. She had to stay centred on the business, keep moving forward, because if she thought about the personal, about her life, if she looked in the mirror too closely, or over her shoulder for one minute, she knew she was lost. If she thought about Jake she knew she was already heartbroken.
“You should sleep, baby.” Jake trailed his knuckles up the curve of her neck. She was as reluctant as he was to let the night end. She hooked her leg across his hip and settled on his chest, her chin on her hand.
“We still have time,” he said.
She shook her head. “I was thinking about how much time we wasted before we got to this point.”
He smiled and stroked her back. “I think maybe we needed all that to get to here.”
“Maybe.” Rielle felt tightness behind her eyes. How could she leave this man whose every touch told her he loved her without conditions? Who’d promised her he’d never ask for more than she could give, and never had?
“Ah Rie, what’s wrong?”
She closed her eyes. “I guess I am sleepy.” Rielle let
the pull of tired muscles and the threat of tears drag her into fractured dreams.
For Jake, sleep was elusive; kept away by a growing sense of bitterness born of the knowledge that despite what they’d become to each other, Rielle fully intended to walk away, and he had no idea how to stop her.
44. In the Hand of God
The default setting was drift. Jake knew it and let it happen. He and Rie drifted through the next two days, wrapped in each other, avoiding any talk of the future, of coming apart—of ending. They slept late and woke to make love, stayed close until it was time for the show, and afterwards came together again with a strength of emotion that left both of them gasping.
He gave up any notion of proper sleep. When Rielle finally closed her eyes, he lay awake to watch her, memorising the contours of her face, the shape of her eyes, the line of her cheekbone and the curve of her jaw.
This would be what he’d have to survive on; this and the memories of touching her, loving her, making her claw his back and call his name. He listened to her breathing, her soft sighs, and once, the grinding of her teeth as she dreamed darkly. He dozed but was awake the moment she stirred, any sense of exhaustion banished in the face of another day by her side. When it was over, he could sleep. There’d be nothing important to stay awake for.
There were moments when he had more hope. When she would reach for his hand and ask his opinion, laugh with him and seem to crave his closeness. Hope that he would see her again when the tour was done, when she had her life and time back, and could make different choices. Those moments, when he pretended they had a future, were when he knew himself to be deep in thrall to his addiction.
On the day of the final show, Rielle woke early. She’d been curled against him and he felt her moving. He opened one eye and smiled, drew her into his arms. “Go back to sleep.”
She brushed her lips across his lightly. “Why are you awake?”
He closed his eyes, mock snored, hugging her closer. She traced her finger under his eye, where he knew the skin had darkened from lack of proper sleep. “Tell me.”
“Nothing to tell. Come on, we can both sleep some more,” he said, but when she went stiff in his embrace, he opened his eyes again. “You don’t want to know, Rie.”
“I do. You’ve been different.”
“No I haven’t. Kiss me.”
She shook her head. “Talk.”
Jake moved Rielle away from him. He sat up against the headboard and steeled himself. She was right, he was different. He was being torn apart by the thought of losing her and never telling her how he felt. He couldn’t be Zen—couldn’t wear the disguise of ambivalence any longer.
“Oh God, Jake what is it?”
He filled his lungs and breathed out slowly, tucked his chin down and swept his eyes over her face. “I adore you, Arielle Mainline.”
She smiled, relieved it wasn’t something awful, but he went on to make it that way. “I understand I don’t have much to offer,” he snorted, “not much at all, but I love you, and I’d do anything for you. And I’m having trouble with that promise I made not to ask you for more, because I need more. I want to hear you say I mean something to you too.”
“Oh Jake,” she said, her voice cracking. She shook her head, adamantly. “You can’t love me. I’m not worth loving.”
He took her hand. “I do love you. Your bitterness and your sweetness, Rie. All the twisted little parts of you.”
Rielle looked away but not before he saw tears welling in her eyes.
“Look at me, Rie. Tell me you don’t feel something for me too,” he plucked at the sheet, “something more than this lust.”
Her voice shook but her words were clear. “You’ve been important to me. I’ve valued your friendship.” Her eyes were down on the sheet. “You got me through my fear.” She looked up, but she seemed so unhappy. “You got me, when I needed help most.”
Listening carefully, Jake had reason to be grateful he knew the difference between past and present tense because all he heard was that this was already over for her.
When she scrambled out of bed and fled to the bathroom, he let her go. He needed his distance. Dumb to put it all out there after all. He’d thought it might make him feel more himself, but it left him filled with anguish for what might have been, with bitterness for having hope.
Slumped against the headboard, he berated himself for misreading her so badly, for only seeing what he wanted to, and not what was real. The sound of her vomiting and water flushing in the bathroom brought him back to the moment.
At the bathroom door he said, “Rie, are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Her reply was muffled so he called again. “Hey, you okay?” In response he heard her strangled sobs.
He shouldered the door open and found her on the marble floor, on her hands and knees.
“Ah, baby.” He bent to lift her and she came easily into his arms. “What’s making you sick? Is this nerves? You know you have nothing to worry about.”
Rielle buried her face in his chest. Whatever was going on with her, she was hurting and despite the way she’d rejected him he couldn’t help but care about her. She was sweating and her heart was pounding. Maybe she was genuinely sick. She pulled away and blinked big wet eyelashes at him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever she was going to say.
“I adore you, Jake Reed.”
His breath came out in a hiss of shock. Was she playing with him? Was this some new crazy, heartless diva act?
She raised her hand to caress his face but he leaned away. She gave a nod of acceptance and closed her eyes. “I’m in love with you, Jake.”
He gasped, disbelief soaring and expectation cruelly shackling him to the spot.
She opened her eyes and raised her hand again. This time he let her touch him. “But I don’t have anything to offer you. I’m not together enough to share my life with you. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m fucked up, Jake, and you deserve so much more than me.”
He heard her as though he was underwater, as though his ears were closed and stuffed with wadding. As though she was a great distance away from him. “Did you just say—?”
The shake now gone from her voice, she repeated. “I love you.”
“Is this your fever talking?” He put a hand against her brow. She was hot and so pale. “Because if you’re delirious I—”
“The only thing I’m delirious about is you.”
Hope wore wings. It fluttered in his chest like moths. They stared at each other, neither of them moving, neither of them knowing what to say next.
But she was going to fucking cry again.
He lifted her and brought her back to bed. He held her against his chest and watched her eyes, still wet and red rimmed. He found truth in her steady gaze. In his head, he heard bells ringing, clear and sharp, a soundtrack for his joy. It might not be easy, but they had a chance. It wasn’t over; they weren’t done.
Jake explored Rie’s body as if it was totally new to him, with infinite tenderness and a slow, passionate build to a fresh abandon that drugged them both, fusing them closer together in the light of each other’s eyes. And then they slept, wrapped in the promise that something new had begun.
The crowd that night was fired with excitement; chanting the band’s name, calling for Rielle, stomping their feet, whistling, hooting and clapping their hands.
In Rielle’s dressing room, Rand worked gel through his hair. He needed a dye job. His blond roots were starting to show through. Behind him, Rielle had her foot on a chair, lacing a boot. She’d eaten and kept it down and now had colour in her face and no trace of the nerves that had plagued her for most of the tour.
“I asked Harry to marry me,” Rand said, out of nowhere.
“What!” she stopped, hands frozen over the tongue of her boot.
“Yeah, but don’t get too excited, she turned me down.”
“She what? Are you…? Wait. You seem all right. Good, even.” Rielle gave the lace one last tug and dropped her
foot to the floor, coming to stand beside Rand at the mirror.
“I am good. It’s all a little weird for her. The way we live, the business, the money. How quick this all happened. But I love her and she loves me, and I’ll wait until she’s cool with it. I’ll wait forever.”
Rielle gave him a shove. “Oh my God!”
He shoved her back. “I know, right!”
“She turned you down?”
“Yeah, can you believe it?” He puffed his chest out, preening in the mirror, but looking slightly forlorn at the same time.
“I really like Harry, she’s smart.” Rielle dug her elbow into Rand’s rib, making him squirm sideways. “Fan girls won’t be happy.”
Outside the door, Teflon called, “Fifteen minutes.”
Rand grunted. He knew she was right about the fans, but they’d get over it. For most of them the music came first and some new band was always in the wings ready to take the lead anyway. That was the business.
“Your hair looks awful,” she said.
“I was thinking I’d go back to—”
“Think again marrying boy,” she said, “not on this tour.” But when she hugged him it was with profound joy for his happiness.
Jake watched the band that night from his place at the side of the stage with a heavy heart. This was it. His last chance to watch Rielle light up the night. After the strike and the bump out it was back to normal life—well as normal as the life of a professional touring roadie could be.
Bodge stood beside him. He already had another tour to start after a two week break. He had plans to sweet talk his ex-wife into letting him crash on her sofa and use her laundry before his tour gear grew legs, drink too much, get fleeced by his kids and generally be depressed about the Ice Queen tour not being bigger, badder and longer, though it would be all those things in direct proportion to how much he’d drunk when he yacked about it.
“What’s with you and her,” he shouted in Jake’s ear, which was an indication of how desperate he was to know, because side of stage was the worst place for a deep and meaningful.
It meant Jake could shrug him off. Not that he could’ve put a cogent answer together anyway. What was with him and Rie? They were a romance cliché—the rock star and the roadie. They were a hot mess of stupid for each other. And they were clueless about what to do next. But every bit of him was fine with it. They’d work it out. In the short amount of time they’d had together, they’d already worked out harder issues than how they’d manage to meet up again.
Getting Real Page 31
