Page 104 of Down Beat
“Doing interviews.”
Probably a good thing he chose to come back here then. “Why are you mad at them?” I break his day down; filling in the blanks in the hopes it’ll give me something to go off.
“They cut me out.” His smile is beautiful in its honesty, yet ugly with its pain. “They told me to leave because I couldn’t be trusted not to ‘make a scene.’”
Ouch. “Who told you to leave?”
“Toby. Rick. Even Emery nodded at what they said.”
“Kris?”
Rey laughs. “Fucker never says much anyway.”
“Hey.” I take his hands in mine, resting them on my knees. “Tell me about the show. Why was it good?”
“Fucking epic crowd.” His voice is clearer as he lifts our joined hands to wipe his face with the inside of his right elbow. “I got down front with them, had them singing lines for me. It’s always cool when they’re so interactive.”
The shift is measurable, the topic enough to pull him from his spiral. “What songs did they do for you?”
He keeps talking, recounting the night. Tells me all about a birthday girl they got up on stage to serenade with their own twisted version of “Happy Birthday.” I hold on throughout, feeling the stress enter me as it melts from him.
Yet as he wraps up his retell of the concert, the darkness remains. His lips quirk up on one side apologetically as he sits in silence, only the song repeating between us.
“You’re still here,” he murmurs, cycling back to the start of the conversation.
I get to my feet, pulling him with me. “Not going anywhere, Rey. Except”—I tug my hands free to head for the music dock—“over here to switch this off.”
He huffs a laugh, standing on the spot with his hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans as he watches me. “You’re fucking incredible, kitty. You know that?”
“Not really.” I give him a sad smile. “I’m just me.”
“Which is what makes you so incredible.” He reaches for me, sighing when I step into his embrace. “I wish I could be more of a man for you.” He huffs at the sentiment.
I pull back to shake my head at him, keeping my eyes on his. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“It’s girly, crying and shit. It’s weak.”
Ugh! “No, it’s not,” I snap. “It’s never weak to admit when you need help. It’s the bravest fucking thing you can do.” Heaven knows I don’t do it enough.
“You were on my mind all night,” he says, lifting a hand to sweep the hair from my face so that he can rest his palm against my cheek. “I just wanted one more minute to talk to you. One more minute to tell you how sorry I am.”
“I know you are.” I allow my eyes to slip closed as I lean into his touch. “But it means nothing if you let things get this bad again.”
I lift my head and hold his gaze, hoping I haven’t pushed too far. Judging by the sullen look on his face, I skate the line.
His hand slips down to rest on my back. “I drove Kris mad with how many times I screwed up one song in practice. I should have known then I’d be useless tonight. Owe him a pack of smokes for it.”
Little things like that, little glimpses of their friendships remind me that behind all the fuss, they’re just men. They’re simply a bunch of friends who got together doing what they love.
Except now that same thing tears them all apart.
“How long have you got before we leave this place?”
“A day. We hit the road again tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow morning. You need to sit down with the guys and talk about what’s going on,” I level. “You can’t stay angry at them, and they can’t have a reason to be mad at you.”
“Kitty.” He steps back, the void between us physical as well as mental. “They know what’s going on. That’s the problem.”