by Sarah Grimm
She didn’t know what to say so she said nothing.
“Emma? Sunshine, talk to me.”
“How does whiskey at eight in the morning sound like a good idea?”
“Enough whiskey and the brain shuts off.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s working much as it is.”
Silence.
Absolute dead silence.
Shit. She had a bad habit of giving voice to thoughts that were better off flitting around in her head. Alison always told her that one day she’d say the wrong thing and live to regret it. “Look, I’m sorry, I—”
Joe barked a laugh. “Not a whiskey drinker, I take it?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Wait, not at all?”
He sounded so appalled by the idea, she grinned. “Not alcohol, no.”
“Bloody hell. A tea-totaling ray of sunshine. How the bleedin’ shit does that happen to me?”
“You’re just lucky, I guess,” she said dryly, which made Joe laugh harder.
“I knew you would make me feel better. Tell me, anything new in your life?”
Met a rock star the other night and for some reason he turned to me instead of the bottle? “I had cupcakes for breakfast.”
“Did you? What kind?”
“Crème Brûlée. They were fantastic. Better than…”
“Whiskey?”
Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly, considering her response. Did she really want to finish her statement?
“Em? You were going to say whiskey, right? How would you know if you’ve never—”
“Sex. I was going to say sex.”
It was Joe’s turn to be quiet a minute. “Then you’re doing it wrong.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. The best orgasm of your life was self-induced and now cupcakes are better than sex? You need to…”
Dare she ask? “I need to what?”
“Bring your sexy self to me so I can show you how it’s done.”
God, his voice was all low and rough and sent heat skittering over her every single nerve ending. “I know how to make love, Joe.”
“I’m not talking about making love, I’m talking about fucking. Hot, sweaty, screaming-my-name-as-you-come fucking.”
“I’m not interested in—”
“Awe, Sunshine, don’t start lying to me now.”
He was right, she was lying. Both to him and herself.
“I saw the way you looked at me when you walked into my dressing room. If I hadn’t acted like a—”
“Asshole?”
“—I could have had you naked in under sixty seconds.”
Just the memory of how he’d looked in nothing but those low riding jeans had her salivating. “But you did act like an asshole.”
“Yes. And I regretted it almost immediately. Enough that I watched you walk away from me.”
“You were just checking out my ass.”
“You do have a bloody beautiful ass.”
Her pulse tripped into overdrive. “Joe,” she said, her voice pathetically breathy even to her own ears.
A rustling sound came through earpiece followed by a grunt. “Fanfuckintastic. Did you know it’s impossible to get comfortable when your cock is hard as stone and there’s an ache in your balls?”
His statement was so blunt and honest, she released a startled laugh. “At least you’re no longer thinking about whiskey.”
“Sure I am. Only now I’m imagining sipping it off the globes of your ass.”
Emma did her best to swallow further laughter, which caused her to snort. Which, in turn, sent her into hysterics.
“How can you laugh at me,” he asked, his voice a combination of frustration and laughter, “knowing I am the only source of relief at this point?”
Who the hell had conversations like this? Certainly not her. Not before today at least. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to self-satisfy.” She pictured him. Completely alone in his bed, eyes closed as he palmed himself, and moisture pooled in the apex of her thighs. “But I’m not sorry it’s me you’ll be thinking about as you do.”
The air hissed out between his teeth. “You’re not helping.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am, but…”
“But you’re really not.”
“Not even a little.”
April 1
Today is the third anniversary of my parent’s death. Three years in, I still get up with the same sadness I felt on the day they died. I know I’ve mentioned they weren’t the most caring or supportive people. But they were my parents, and I loved them.
I went to the cemetery and put flowers on their grave. Looking down at their names on the headstone was sort of surreal what with my own fate staring me in the face. Is this really my life?
On the surface, I appear to be just like every other twenty-three-year-old woman. However, I couldn’t be more different. People my age don’t normally recognize their own mortality. They don’t sit down with their lawyer and write up their Will. Or arrange and pay for their own funeral.
People my age don’t stare down at the roses they’ve just placed atop a headstone and wonder if anyone will care enough to do the same when they’re gone.
Number of days since I decided to live: 40
Number of days until Blind Man’s Alibi concert: 2
Current level of panic: 9/10
FIVE
April 17
Joe woke with a start, groggy and disoriented. He blinked to bring his eyes back into focus, trying to recall where he was. Georgia? Florida? Fuck, he had no idea. Backstage, that much he knew. Rock music boomed from speakers hidden in the ceiling, loud enough to be painful, but not enough to drown out the chatter of voices or cackle of laughter. Bodies pressed in from every side, none of them aware that seated in the middle of it all, he’d drifted off.
None except the generously breasted brunette working her way up his thighs. She seemed to be taking advantage of the fact.
“Sod off,” he muttered, shifting to dislodge her. His body ached, his throat was on fire, and he was in no mood to be polite.
She gave him an obvious looking over, steadfastly ignoring his command.
Where the fuck was Gary? He pushed her hand away as she reached for his fly, only to have her outmaneuver him. “I said sod off!”
Disentangling himself from the brunette required standing, which was easier said than done. She countered his every move until he gave up being nice and simply stood, causing her to lose her balance and drop onto her ass at his feet.
He couldn’t find it in him to care.
If Joe were to be honest with himself, he didn’t care about much anymore. They’d played to a sold out stadium tonight—the second night in a row to be exact. He’d spent his youth dreaming of this day and now that it was here? He sure as hell wasn’t enjoying it the way he’d always imagined. He was sick of it all, sick of the shit. He didn’t know when it happened, but one day he’d just become disillusioned and unhappy. The music no longer brought the joy it once did. The audience no longer brought the thrill it once did. And the whiskey currently burning its way down his throat? It no longer brought the relief it once had.
Emma was right. He was in a dark place.
Joe leaned his sorry arse against the wall and took in the room. He ignored those shouting greetings or trying to get his attention and instead concentrated on drinking enough to quiet his demons. Fifteen minutes later, Gary finally made an appearance at his side, and it still wasn’t working. “About time you showed up. Where the hell have you been?”
Gary’s gaze went from Joe to the bottle of Jameson and back again. “Doing my job.” His tone of voice made it obvious he didn’t like being questioned.
Joe didn’t give a shit. “Your job is to be here when I need you.”
“My job is the security of both you and the fans. It is not to be your lap dog.”
“Yeah, well I could have used your help getting the brunette of
f my lap a bit ago.”
“Appears you did just fine without me.”
A chime coming from his pocket stopped Joe from threatening to kick Gary’s ass, which was probably a good thing since he didn’t stand a chance against the man. Not with the buzz of alcohol swirling through his veins.
“You going to get that?” Gary asked, his gaze sweeping the room.
Joe took a pull from the whiskey bottle before he replied. “Didn’t plan to.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
Gary slid him a long look.
“Say it.”
“I was just thinking it might be someone who could improve your mood.”
Emma. Joe shifted the bottle to his other hand and removed his phone. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Joe?”
His smile was instant and automatic. “Hey, Sunshine.”
“Joe? I can barely hear you. Where are you?”
“We’re still at the stadium. The show ended about an hour ago.”
“Partying.” At least he thought she said partying. He was having a hard time hearing her since the brunette had reappeared, sidling up to him and rubbing her bountiful boobs against his arm like she could change his mind.
Joe disentangled himself from the brunette with a muttered, “Sod off.” Lucky for him Gary was there to make sure she got the message this time.
“Excuse me?”
“What?” He reached up to plug his free ear, and ended up smacking himself in the temple with the bottle of Jameson. “Fuck!”
“You’re drunk.”
Shit, add a throbbing skull to his list of aches tonight. “Well on my way, yes.”
“The way you’re slurring your words, you’re already there.” The music stopped as the song ended, allowing him to hear her sigh. “Why?” she asked softly. “You told me to call you.”
“I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you, too, Joe. When you’re sober.”
The music started up again. Some teen queen pop star known for using auto tune. Even with the help, Joe couldn’t stand her voice. It was a moment before he realized he couldn’t hear Emma, not because of the caterwauling blaring from the speakers, but because she was silent.
“Emma?” Working his way through the overcrowded room, he aimed for the door. “Em?” He turned left, heading for his dressing room. “Are you still there?”
“Why do you do this to yourself?” For the first time since he’d answered the phone, Joe could hear her perfectly. “Why do you do this to me?”
The pain in her voice tore at him. It, like everything else about this day, pissed him off. “What exactly am I doing to you?”
“Reaching out to me then falling right back into the same bad habits. Why reach out if you aren’t going to even try to change?”
A group of fans was making their way down the hall toward him. The bird in the lead spotted him and opened her mouth in what he could only guess was going to be a scream. Joe ducked into the first room on his right. Thank Christ, it wound up being his dressing room.
He pulled the door closed behind him with a snap, then leaned against it. “You have no idea what my life is—”
“Spare me the ‘I don’t know what your life is like’ crap!” Emma’s tone was clipped and inflexible. “Everyone has shit to deal with, Joe. We all have demons—things we wish we’d done differently. Some of us don’t have the luxury of time, but you do.”
His stomach knotted with discomfort and confusion. He’d done exactly what she said he had—reached out to her then was too weak and chickenshit to resist drinking. But that last bit… “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t get the same moment twice in life.”
“That’s original,” he said on a low, baffled, bewildered laugh.
“Yeah? Well, how’s this for original? You want to live your life in a fog of alcohol and women, go right ahead. Just leave me out of it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I hope you’re sober enough to remember this moment. Good-bye, Joe.”
“Wait! Emma?” A glance at his display told him she’d rung off. “Emma? Fuck!”
Joe threw his mobile across the room where it smashed against the wall with a satisfying thud. He threw himself into the corner of the couch and tipped the bottle to his lips.
The door swung open. Gary stepped into the room.
“What?” Joe hissed between his teeth.
“Just making sure you’re in one piece. Is there a problem here?”
Joe didn’t respond.
“You appear to be in better shape than your mobile. That’s going to make calling her back and groveling a bit difficult.”
“What makes you think I have anything to grovel over?”
Gary tossed his head back in exaggerated laughter.
“You’re an arsehole.”
“You talk to your girl that way? No wonder she rang off already.”
“She’s not my girl.” He barely knew her. They’d spent two evenings together and managed all of three—no four—telephone conversations since. He was in… Fuck, he didn’t know what city, while she was half-way across the country in Ohio. How did any of that make her his girl? Still, an ache of emptiness ballooned in his chest as he spoke the words aloud. “She told me to piss off.”
“Smart girl.”
“Fuck you.” Too bad his directive lacked feeling. She was smart. She was a bright ray of sunshine. A light that drew him because light was something he didn’t have right now. He was darkness: a man losing interest in life. What would an angel like her want with a sinner like him?
The best thing for her to do was stay away before he pulled her into the shit alongside him.
“May I speak freely?” Gary asked.
“You’ve never needed permission before.”
“You won’t like what I have to say.”
“Again, when has that ever stopped you?”
Gary sighed. “How long have we been doing this, Joe? Six? Seven years?”
“Seven years sounds about right.”
“It used to be fun. We had some good times. Then this tour started…”
Goddamnit. Now Gary was dissatisfied? “Gare—”
“You’ve changed, Joe. You fell for the line of shit you’re constantly being spoon fed and you believe you’re something special. You drink too much, fuck too much, and all I can do is stand in the shadows and watch.”
He didn’t believe himself to be special. Maybe for a time there, but not any longer.
“I’ve watched you spiral out of control, sink lower and lower, lose your interest in the music, lose yourself,” Gary said, his voice dropping in volume. “I can’t do it any longer.”
“You’re quitting.” Story of his mothereffing life lately.
“Do I need to?”
Joe lifted the bottle.
Gary snagged it from his hand before Joe could drink any more. “Get your shit together or I will!”
A crushing weight settled in his chest. Gary was the closest friend Joe had. He couldn’t lose him. “I don’t know how.”
“Find a way.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“Not hard enough.”
“Fuck!” Joe surged to his feet, fists clenched at his side. He hadn’t wanted to hit something so badly in a long time.
“Go with that emotion.”
“The one that has me wanting to pound on you?”
“I’ll find a local gym and we can go a few rounds if you’d like. But the one I was referring to was the emotion that has you staring at the pieces of your mobile like you’d give your left nut to be able to use it.” Gary pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Call her. Beg, grovel, crawl if you have to. Promise her the moon and then deliver. Just get her here because, as far as I can tell, she is your best chance of reclaiming the man you used to be.”
Joe
’s mind was spun with the shocked realization that what Gary said—everything he said—could be so spot on. “Huh.”
“Did you honestly believe you were the only one who could see the changes in you when she was around?” He held out his hand, offering up his mobile phone.
“Small problem…I didn’t memorize her number.”
“Bloody hell.” The mobile went back in his pocket, the whiskey into the bin by the door. Gary pulled the radio off his belt. “Anyone have eyes on Marvin?”
“I got him, boss,” came the response. “Just a sec.”
Marvin’s voice followed a moment later. “Yeah?”
“We need a replacement mobile. I have a singer with a bit of groveling to do.”
“I’m on it.”
Joe dropped back onto his couch. What more could he do?
Gary stared down at him. “Scare up some roses while you’re at it. In case the wanker forgot to back up his contacts. Mayhap he’ll get lucky and she’ll call him.”
“No,” Joe mumbled.
“Lots of them,” Gary emphasized. “Send them to Emma Travers, Cleveland, Ohio.”
“No roses.” Damn it if he was going to do this—and it was pretty bloody obvious that if he didn’t, Gary was going to in his name—then he was going to do it right. “Those big yellow flowers with the brown centers.”
“Did you get that, Marv?”
“What yellow…what is he talking about?”
“Sunflowers,” Gary supplied. “The bleedin’ sap is talking about sunflowers.”
“That’s them,” Joe said quietly. “Sunflowers. Lots and lots of sunflowers.”
April 18
“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”
Emma handed off her credit card with a smile then turned back to Alison, who stood to her right, her attention focused on the pamphlet in her hand. “Why not? You know I’ve always wanted to.”
“Yes, but…I guess I always thought you would have someone with you. Me, or Melody, or…someone.”
So had she.
“I mean, isn’t it dangerous traveling to all these places alone?”
Emma chuffed a laugh.
“Don’t. Don’t be flip about this, Em. I’m not just talking about the normal dangers of a woman traveling abroad by herself. I’m talking about your health.” The more she talked, the closer Alison’s face got to the pamphlet. She was either really enjoying the photos of Scotland’s castles, or trying to hide. “What if something happens and there’s no one around to help?