Moses
“Here you go, sugar. You look like you need this more than me.”
Maeve, Unrequited’s drummer as of a year ago, held out a frothy pink drink in a clear glass. I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
She snorted a little laugh. “Are you? You’re wearin’ a hole in that strip of carpet, remindin’ me of my first show with y’all. Take the drink, Mo.”
Relenting, I took the glass from her and sipped the strong, sweet, pink drink. It went down easy, leaving a trail of flames in its wake. I shook my limbs loose and growled.
“Holy shit, what’s in this?”
With her hands on her curvy hips, she popped a shoulder. “Trade secret. It’s sure to grow hair on your chest—if you didn’t have any before—and soothe janglin’ nerves.”
Sue me, my eyes flicked to her full breasts, barely covered by aPretty in PinkT-shirt she’d cut and ripped to shreds. Santi, our bassist, happened to glance up from his conversation with Murray on the other side of our dressing room at that exact moment.
“Stop checking out my wife’s cleavage,” he grumbled.
My hands flew up. “She mentioned her chest, I’m gonna look.”
Maeve laughed, giving my shoulder a playful shove. “I saidyourchest. Anyway, at least this interlude distracted you from all the pacing. You nervous about Michaela watchin’ you?”
“Yep.” I shoved my hand through my hair. “Hell, I don’t even know if she’ll show up.”
“Why? Didn’t she say she’ll be here?”
I had no idea where Mic and I stood. Even in Miami, I was aware falling into bed together didn’t change a single thing for her. She wasn’t in the same place I was. My mind got twisted and dark, wondering how long it’d take her to get where I was, wonderingifshe’d get there. Each time I saw her, talked to her, touched her…hell, even read one of her funny, silly, stupid texts, I went deeper into my feelings and affection for her. At this rate, she’d never catch up.
“She did, but she’s been really tired over the last week. I don’t know.” I jumped up and down, shaking out my arms and wrists. “I’m being stupid and adrenaline’s making me all hyped up. I just need to get out there on that stage and let it all out.”
“Hell yeah, you do.” She gave me a one-armed hug. “We all do.”
I nodded, lifting up the drink she’d made from gasoline and Sour Patch Kids. “Hell yeah.”
Right before it was time to leave the dressing room and take the stage, I checked my phone one more time, my heart surging at the text notification.
Yael:Baby Mama has landed. I repeat, Baby Mama has landed.
*picture attachment*
Mic and Yael’s smiling faces were pressed together, the crowded venue in the background. Relief warred with the frustrating fact I’d had to worry whether she’d show up or not. I was nowhere with this woman, and I had no fucking clue how to get where she needed me to be.
Maeve looked at my phone over my shoulder and gave me a nudge.
“Gorgeous,” she said.
“I know.”
Tell her I’m on my way out. I’ll be looking for her.
Yael:This is Mic. I can’t wait to see you. Wish I could have come backstage, but I took a long nap so I can stay up later tonight. :)
Always, always pulling me back in with that fucking smiley face and just enough affection to keep me begging for more.
“All right, people, it’s showtime!” Our manager, Clark, who was pretty much universally despised, clapped at us like schoolchildren. Not one to fall in line easily, I took my sweet time stashing my phone and sauntering to the door. It wasn’t like they could start without me.
In the dark, by the stage, the four of us huddled—me, Maeve, Santi, and Murray—like we always did. Quiet, soaking in the hum of the waiting crowd. One by one, they took the stage, leaving me for last.
The only place I’d ever been wholly confident was on stage. A switch flipped inside me, sending my doubts, insecurities, and fears ducking for cover. Tonight was no different. The second I stepped onto that stage, the crowd’s roar buoyed me, lifting me from ordinary into the next plane. Extraordinary, on fire. I basked in it, let myself believe it.