Eventually, we hung up, and I looked over at Maeve. She gave me a soft smile.
“How did you think he sounded?” she asked.
“Good. But I thought he sounded good before he went to rehab, so what the hell do I know?” I shoved my fingers through my hair again, tugging at the ends.
Her hand landed on mine, lowering it with gentleness.
“Focus on him bein’ okay right now. He’s where he needs to be, gettin’ help.”
I took another second or two to get my shit together before climbing to my feet and offering Maeve my hand. She stared at it like she was contemplating refusing, but finally took it, letting me help her stand.
“We have to go,” she said.
“I know. I need a minute to get my head straight again.”
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Want me to go?”
“Nah. Stay. Tell me something.” Reaching out, I fingered the hem of her shirt. “Tell me about these. When’d you start slicing and dicing all your shirts?”
When my fingertips skimmed the petal-soft skin of her stomach, she shuddered, but didn’t pull away. I slid the backs of my fingers along her hem, every so often coming into contact with her skin.
“In L.A., I saw a girl whose style I liked, so I asked her where she’d gotten her clothes. I looked up the store she told me about, saw they sold T-shirts for two-hundred dollars, then got myself to Goodwill the next day.”
Her hands caught my wrists, stopping my movement. “I know you need a distraction from that phone call, but you’re not bein’ fair.”
“Touching you isn’t fair?”
I was pushing it, but something had shifted in my world. I felt reckless and out of control. Too many emotions warred for space inside me, so I pushed them all out.
“What the fuck are the two of you doing?” Clark, the manager from hell, blustered. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
I let my hand fall away, and Maeve took two big steps back.
“I had to handle something,” I said, my gaze flicking between them.
Clark’s hands went to his hips, glancing between us. “I bet you did. You need to stop fucking around with the drummer girl and get your ass ready to go on stage.”
“Drummer.”
Clark rounded on Maeve. “What did you say?”
She mirrored his pose, cocking her hip out. “I said I’m the drummer, not some cutesy ‘drummer girl’ as you fellas seem to be stuck on sayin’.” She pulled her sticks from her back pocket. “And I’m more than ready. Just need my monitor in my ear and I’m set. Is that all?”
Not waiting for his answer, she marched off, ponytail swinging behind her. I watched her go, thinking how much she’d changed from the first time I knew her. Back then, she’d been a hothouse flower, pretty, but not ready for the world. This woman, who faced down hard rock and metal audiences night after night and put Clark back in his place without even blinking—she was a whole goddamn garden.
Clark clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, man. Time to get this show on the road.”
I shrugged him off. “Watch yourself with Maeve.”
He held his hands up like he had an entire SWAT team surrounding him. I could almost hear him yellingI’m innocent, I tell ya.
“I won’t call her ‘drummer girl’ ever again. Jesus, all this P.C. bullshit trips me up.”
I’d been around criminals and the dregs of society most of my life, but I’d never met anyone slimier than Clark. It wasn’t any one thing he’d said or done, it was an accumulation of years of comments and underhanded tactics. I’d let it slide, because he got shit done. But seeing him even fucking look at Maeve with anything other than the utmost respect would not stand.
Thank Christ he’d only flown out for a couple shows and would be going back to New York sooner rather than later.
“Fuck off, boy,” I gritted out. “Go talk to someone else.”