by A. M. Jones
“Oh, I predict they will, by her manipulation, but it won’t last and we’ll be back to where we started. I wish he’d just move on to tell you the truth.” His pointed look isn’t lost on me.
“Maybe. But I think it’s best if I’m not in the middle.”
“Is that why you said yes to Adrian?”
“I love Adrian.” Again, I sound short as my hackles rise.
He tilts his head and nibbles a fry. “If you say so.”
When I walk in, I spot him right away and can’t help my smile. The look he sends me is one only described as panty-dropper. He stands to hold out my chair.
“Dabby, you’re dashing. As always.” He kisses my cheek as I sit. Only he would compliment me when I have sweat forming on my hairline from the July heat.
“Marcus, same to you.” He’s decked out like he walked straight from a GQ photo shoot. I place my fifth installment on the table.
A smile bares his white teeth from his plump lips. Lips he knows how to use to his advantage. The white is a contrast to his chocolate latte skin. He tsks, looking over the cover. “Finally.”
“That’s him.”
His brows rise. “The lead of Tainted District?” I nod, and he gives the image a better look. “I bet he’s got a set of balls on him.”
I laugh. “You’re fishing, and I wouldn’t know.”
A waitress takes our drink order before he says, “I don’t handle indie rock.” He’s right. Marcus’ forte is R&B and sometimes heavy underground stuff.
“I know, but he hit a rough patch and needs a little push.” I give him the rundown of Tainted District’s history.
“I’d like to see what I’ll be putting my name on first.”
Relief swamps me. “They’re having a big party tomorrow night at their ongoing gig place. They have the new name and new songs to reveal.”
He strokes his chin, adorned with a trimmed goatee. Premature gray spots it. “I see you’re getting salt and pepper on me,” I tease.
His baritone laugh fills the café. “I like to think of it as my wise coming out.” His eyes scan my tattoos. “I see you’ve expanded the hibiscus flowers. I wonder what else you’ve expanded.” Molasses colored eyes stare at me with curiosity.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He grins.
“Well, I’ve expanded my jewelry box.” I flash my hand with a smile.
His smile widens along with his eyes. “Who put that there?”
“Adrian.”
“You still with that punk?” he scoffs. “You can do better.”
The waitress delivers our water glasses, and I order a turkey wrap. “That punk is moving me to New York.”
“Aw, Dab, smog will do no good for that milky-white complexion of yours.”
“Shut up and be happy for me.”
“Always. Tell me about some of these future projects I keep reading about.”
Lunch comes and goes while we catch up on future and past ventures. He hands me a card. “Write the address of the place, and I’ll run by and check them out.”
I write all the details down. “Thank you so much for this.”
“I’ll put it on your tab, since you’ve broken my heart with your engagement.”
“Please. I’m sure you rolled out of bed, leaving behind some big booty beauty to meet me here.”
He laughs again, which makes me smile. “You know me too well, Dabby. It’s scary.”
I shouldn’t, but I go to Eli’s, hoping to catch him before he goes to Jimmy’s tonight. Marcus will help him, but I think it’s only right if Eli has a heads-up from me. Plus, I don’t want to leave things how we left them. I knock on his door, checking the time on my phone.
When the door opens, Madison leans against it in a nude-colored bikini. Flawless golden skin takes up most of her toned torso—a torso that’s experienced Eli countless times. I feel like I’m hanging out of my corset—like a brick house. You’re right. You’re not my type. Yeah, Eli. Your type is undeniable. This is a bad idea. I fumble with my bag when I realize she’s taking me in, too. Her face screws in confusion, but I ask anyway, “Is Eli here?”
Something flashes in her eyes. “I thought you were at the wrong door for a minute. He’s not home yet but will be soon.” She opens the door wider. “You can wait for him.” Her brow rises in challenge.
Driving home from the shop, I dread being at home alone. Keeping busy has been a top priority the past few days. Taylor and Adrian are more serious than I thought. I laugh. If only I believed that. I’m not sure why she seems hell-bent on marrying the dude. It’s hard to get a read on her, but I swear she feels our connection, too.
Adrian’s words come back to me. She’s been distracted. I think it has to do with you looking like something she made up in her head.
I let out a shaky breath and grip the steering wheel. Maybe that’s all it is—I resemble Jaxon, and she’s attracted to me because of that. After trying not to compare myself to that asshole for days, I can’t help doing it now. From what Taylor said at Jimmy’s on Friday night, Adrian’s successful at whatever it is he does. He’s moving her to New York—information by Crockett’s big mouth—that happens to be an expensive place to live. Me? What do I have to give? Nothing. Half of nothing to be exact. I’m broke and struggle with everything I have except for songwriting. At least the lyrics flow in abundance. In my perfect fairy tale world, Taylor doesn’t care about what I have to offer. She doesn’t seem like that kind of person, so what am I missing?
My face grows hot as I clench the steering wheel. My inner debate doesn’t matter, none of it. If Adrian wasn’t in the picture, it’s not like I could give Taylor a proper courtship because of my marriage, anyway. I stuff it all down, ready to drink a beer and strum my Martin. Focus on my music.
I’m still covered in grease and sweat as I take the stairs two at a time. When I unlock my door, the familiar scent of banana tanning lotion hits me. Once, it was comforting, now it burns my nostrils and turns my stomach.
Madison lies on a foldout beach chair in front of the huge open window, much like she did when she lived here. The sun gleams off her skin. She’s wearing a swimsuit that cost more than my rent from an itty bitty bikini boutique. What the hell is she up to now? I slam the door and she starts, removing her sunglasses. “Why don’t you make yourself at home?”
She waves toward the door. “Your friend left you something a few minutes ago.” I follow her gesture to an envelope on the small entry table surrounded by my keys and guitar picks. “She apologized for not being able to wait.”
She. Taylor. I seize the envelope, ripping the sealed edge. The photos I took of her at the band shoot slide out along with a handwritten note. Thanks for everything. I wish you luck in all your endeavors.
My mouth runs dry. I study each for a few seconds before returning them to the envelope unsure of what to think. When I notice Madison watches me, I clear my throat. “I haven’t changed my mind about a collaboration.”
She shakes her head, standing from her lounge chair. “That’s not why I’m here. My schedule is open, and I thought you’d want to catch dinner.”
“I have a gig.”
“No, you don’t.” She glances at the envelope in my hand. “I called Edie at Jimmy’s Bar.” Her tone suggests she’s unsure. Maybe Taylor’s short visit has stumped her on my comings and goings. And damn Crockett and his weird work hours. If it weren’t for his schedule, we could play every night and I’d be fine with it.
I flop on the couch, slapping the envelope on my coffee table. “That’s Jimmy’s.”
“Don’t bullshit me. And who was that?” She points to Taylor’s hidden photos.
“Taylor.” I rub my forehead. “I need to rain check dinner though.” Not bothering to give her an explanation for either Taylor or my faux gig. It’s not her business. If she wants to do dinner, she’ll take it.
She stares at me for a while in consideration. “Sunday night.”
“Fine,”
I agree to get her out of here.
“And I want you to wear my favorite D&G shirt. You can keep it casual with denim.”
I sigh, letting her know she’s pushing her luck. “Fine.”
“Really?” She smiles, tilting her head. Genuine.
Taylor’s fat engagement ring taunts my brain. “Yes.”
“Great.” She slips on her sandals, throws her cover thing on, and grabs her purse. “I’ll see you then.”
As soon as she leaves, I dump the photos out and grab the note. It’s from an old notepad with the shop’s logo on it. Madison must have given her something to write on. I swallow hard knowing this is some attempt at closure on her end. If that’s so, I didn’t get to see Taylor smile one last time. Something else tossed in the wind by Madison.
The way the light peeks through the window and how my phone buzzes from the nightstand lets me know it’s late afternoon. I ignore it all, or try to, until someone pounds on my door.
“Eli, I know you’re in there, and you have about a half hour before Crockett gets here to rip you a new asshole.” Jack beats on the door with every word. “And we all know how much he loves assholes.” Goosebumps cover my skin when I toss the blankets off and trudge to my door. He continues his incessant racket, “And it’s my life’s mission to make sure he doesn’t—”
I jerk it open, cutting him off. Surprisingly, his knuckles aren’t bloody. “I think you made your point.”
Jack lets out a breath. “Good. I was beginning to think you’d shut yourself in like when…” Trailing off, he shrugs his shoulders.
“I’m fine. Just sleeping in for once.”
Footsteps pound on the stairs, and Crockett hops onto the landing, smiling down at his phone.
I frown at Jack. “Half hour my ass.”
Crockett gives me a once over. “You’re not ready yet?”
“Give me five.”
He shoves by me. “I’ll give you thirty. You need it. Our biggest fan sends her love.” Waggling the phone, he grins big. Jack gets to it before I do.
His eyebrows raise and hands it to me. It’s a picture of Taylor holding out her t-shirt so it shows every member of Tainted District. A promo item she had made for us, except she ripped hers to make the neckline low-cut. My heart sinks when I realize she’s on an airplane. I held on to a little hope about seeing her tonight, but it diminishes. The window shade is half open behind her. Adrian more than likely took the picture for her. She’s really moving to New York with that prick.
I’m there in spirit.
I toss Crockett his phone back without a word. Two minutes later, hot water streams down my back, easing tension. When I step out of the bathroom about twenty minutes later, Milo sits on the couch with Jack and Crockett. Their quiet talking ceases as they dig and sort through promo stuff.
I try not to get irritated as I grab my phone to shove in my pocket, but first I check it. Letting out a breath, liberation swamps me when I see the same picture of Taylor. The liberation doesn’t last long when I realize it’s a group message. She sent another text a few hours after that.
Are you okay? No one can get in touch with you.
For a minute, I almost call her, but it’s not fair to her or me. As much as I hate to do it, I need to let her move on with her life. I need to move on with mine. Taking a deep breath, I stab the phone and delete the texts. After another moment, I delete her picture and automatically wish I hadn’t. Staring at my phone that no longer has her name in my messages, all I want to do is climb back in bed. “Damn it!”
The guys all pause and stare at me.
“Who'll sell this stuff?” I point to all the t-shirts and stickers.
Milo shoves his arms into his own TD t-shirt. “Edie said she’d come and fill in for Taylor. Everything is ready to go there. The projector is all set.”
With no help from me. “All right. Let’s do this.”
By the time midnight rolls around, the regulars crowd Jimmy’s Bar and the promo stuff sells out. I’m glad for the latter because now we’ll be able to pay Taylor for anything she fronted plus save some for future expenses. Drunken dancing proceeds through clouds of smoke as we make our way through a short suggestion set. Glasses and bottles clink together now and then.
We’re taking a break when a man approaches me. “Nice noise you got here.”
“Thanks, man,” I say and take his outstretched hand. He’s not someone that frequents a bar like this.
“Marcus Demont. You must be Eli.” He has my attention now and must know it because he laughs. “We have a mutual friend. I own a recording studio. If you’re interested, I’d love for you to come in and have your stuff professionally produced.”
“We would be, if we could afford it.”
“You wouldn’t owe me for the time or the edits. Just material expenses. All you need is your cover and disc art. I’m sure you can find a graphic designer for that.” His eyes slide toward our new banner courtesy of Taylor’s genius.
This is something the band, and I have looked into before. We’ve produced our own stuff, but it’s something the band did with cheap editing programs and whatnot. The quality left a lot to be desired, and we always said when we record again, we’d fork out the cash to have it professionally done. Cash is something we have little of at the moment.
If he owns his own studio, he has premium equipment and programs that would cost us thousands of dollars to set up on our own, so this offer is one in a million. Too good to be true. And suddenly, I know where this is coming from.
I peek at the guys who aren’t paying me any attention as they chat with bar patrons. Irritation returns from earlier. “I don’t want Madison’s fucking charity.”
An intense look comes across his features, and he rubs his chin. “I don’t know a Madison, but I get it, I do. Think about it. Offer is on the table. Call me if you want more details.”
The plane touches with bumps and jolts. I sigh. I’m home—we’re home, since Adrian lives with me now. He squeezes my hand. “Thank you for coming with me.”
He used these same words all weekend. Guilt thickens my throat, so I nod still staring out the little window. I’m more worried about the phone call from Marcus this morning. Eli rejected his offer.
Adrian tries another tactic. “I know this is hard for you, T. Have you set a dinner night with your mother?”
I look into his eyes, even with hair in them, they’re sincere and full of sadness. “I did this morning, and I think I should tell her alone. About the moving part anyway.”
He sighs, knowing she’s not one hundred percent on his team. She’s not on any man’s team. I don’t know what he expected. My life feels turned upside down. Why can’t he be satisfied with how things were? The five years we’ve been together seem like a distant memory and now things are full-throttle.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says, gathering our carry-on from the overhead bin.
“Really?”
He grins. “Yep, you'll love it.”
As we stroll through the airport, the live music at Tootsie’s floating down the gates brings me familiar comfort. Just another thing I love about Nashville. We don’t have to wait for luggage since we only packed for a night.
Savannah picks us up, and she chats the whole way into the heart of Nashville. Adrian seems anxious the closer we get to my, well, our apartment. She directs her questions toward him and not me, so he’s the one who answers them.
The setting sun streaks the sky with pinkish-orange as we park in a handicap spot near the door. Adrian opens my door and drags me across the parking lot. “Ta-da!” he announces, waving his arm toward a brand-new Toyota J9.
I stand in shocked silence for several seconds before I wince. “Adrian…” I’m not sure what to say. My reaction isn’t what he expects because his face falls.
“You don’t like it?”
Wiping eyeliner from under my eyes, I reason with him. “I like it, but it’s too much. My 4Runner is fine.”
; Savannah scoffs and crosses her arms at my blatant unappreciative attitude. I rub my thighs, not wanting to deal with any of this right now. He’s already moved in with me and now this. Shouldn’t big purchases be discussed? This is insane, right? What happens if I let this one slide?
“I want you to have something reliable to get you to New York,” he explains.
“You need to return it. I want nothing I can’t pay for myself.”
“But T.” He swallows hard, piercing me with his wounded gaze. “My money is your money. What do you think marriage is?”
“We’re not married yet. Even so we should talk about things like this,” I snap and glance at my 4Runner, but pause when I spot the emblem on the back—an emblem that had been missing forever. “We’ll talk about it later, I have a cover reveal to get ready for.”
When my emails are checked and all social media posts are ready to go for tomorrow, I watch Adrian do his own catching up. He pulls at his eyebrow and is focused on the computer in his lap. His phone vibrates and after checking it, his eyes flash to me and back to his computer so fast I could’ve imagined it. He’s angry with me about the car, but I stand firm in my decision. He’ll get over it. After all, many more disagreements are in our future. We have to learn to work through it.
A few of his boxes still line the wall. I moved all my shoes for the space. The apartment feels stuffy. The exact opposite of how I feel. Hollow. Numb. “I’m going to the grocery,” I say. “Do you need anything?”
He shakes his head, not looking at me. “I can get whatever I need later. With my own money.”
Instead of stabbing him in the eye, I grab my bag and leave.
That’s how I find myself driving around in my 4Runner aimlessly. Now that I can breathe, shopping doesn’t seem like a priority. Maybe I can call Crockett and see how the show went but decide to pay Eli a visit. I wish he’d take Marcus’ offer on the recording session—even if it’s just to get songs on a CD to have on hand. But more than that, the last time I saw him does not sit well. His words have given me insomnia.
