Page 44 of Still Her
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 incrediblysurprised 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.Thatmade 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 going 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 mygawd,” 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.