Page 123 of Down Beat

FORTY-FOUR

Tabitha

“(I Just) Died In Your Arms” – Cutting Crew

I don’t hear a damn thing before Rey comes through the door. No forewarning that he’s back, no sound of guys talking in the hall before he slides the keycard in the lock… nothing.

“Catch you in the morning, Kris.”

No wonder. I’ve barely heard a complete sentence out of the guy in the days I’ve been travelling with the band.

“Hey.”

Rey’s head snaps around as he guides the door shut. “You’re awake.”

“It’s still before midnight; I figured I’d wait up a bit longer.”

He tosses his wallet and phone on the side table as he walks in. His hair has lost the edge he gave it before they left, the casualty of too much time sweating it out under the stage lights, I imagine. The lines around his eyes show how tired he is. Yet that smile….

“Where’s Toby?” We’re sharing with him; Kris and Emery shacked up in the other two-bedroom suite.

“Out for the night.” Rey slides onto his knees at my feet. “Just you and me, kitty.” His arms push around my waist, his hands connecting behind my back as he lays his head in my lap.

I run my fingers through his hair, promptly wiping the waxy residue off on the back of his T-shirt. Maybe not the best idea. He chuckles when I change my tack to running my fingertips from his brow, down his temple, to his jaw.

“How was it?” I ask.

“Fucking awesome.”

“How are you?”

He hesitates, the silence unnerving me. I prepare for the worst. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Rey rises; hands braced either side of my hips as he holds himself face-to-face with me. “I’ve been honest this far. I think you can rely on me to tell you the truth.”

He has a point. Still.… “Okay.”

“What have you been up to?” He looks at the seat around me, hands still tucked at my sides.

I rest my palms on his arms and look to where he does, at the pile of pages torn from my notebook. “I forced it.” After I spent the hour they had pre-show messaging back and forth with Toby….

“You don’t like it?” Rey leans over to check out the scrawled music.

“It could be better.” As nice as the small talk is…. “I, um. I talked to your brother.”

He drags his gaze away from the compositions and to mine, eyes narrowed. “When?”

“During your dinner break before the show.”

“So that’s who he was on the fucking phone with.” His nose twitches, his lips tight. “Why?”

“To understand.”

His arms withdraw as he rocks back to sit on his heels. “Understand what? Why do you have to ask him and not me?”

I’ve caught the tripwire. I’m stuck between going back and pushing forward with this, knowing both options are equally as doomed. “I wanted to hear a different viewpoint.”