Mish put Marly down and opened her arms. “I know you’re not the biggest on hugs, but...”
Marcella wrapped her arms around Mish’s neck. “You have no fucking clue how much both of you scared the shit out of me tonight,” she murmured.
“Pfft. You’ll get used to it.” Mish pulled back.
Marcella laughed. “God, I hope not.” She sobered. “Maybe David needs some time.”
That had crossed Mish’s mind. “Maybe. But I’ve also learned not to wait too long on another’s dime. Gotta live my life, too.” Tears welled. “Why the fuck do we have emotions anyway?”
Marcella choked a laugh out. “So you can write songs and sing and have fans scream in joy at you?”
The tears didn’t want to stop. “He understood me. How can he leave me when he understood me?” That was the question that lurked, that kept coming back, over and over.
This time, it was Marcella that pulled her into a hug. “Oh, hon. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
She cried then, in Marcella’s arms, with David’s bear between them. And the tears didn’t stop for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Three
July flew past, hot, humid, and painful. Mish had spent a good part of the first week after the attack either talking to the police, her lawyer, or some combination of the two. The next week she spent holed up in her apartment, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom until the entire band, plus Adrian and Marcella, had shown up in her lobby with various containers of takeout and three bottles of wine. Then they’d spent the day in her living room watching comedies, action movies, and cat videos until she’d laughed so hard that she’d broken down sobbing.
She’d hated them for that. Loved them, too.
The last two weeks, they started practicing again, to get ready for the next leg of their tour. This time, there was no bodyguard for her. There was security—the band hired a few guards—but they weren’t David.
She wanted David. Missed him. Spent too much time clutching Marly.
There were nightmares, too. Of her stalker. Of David with a knife in him. Of her mother in the hospital. Enough that she asked Ray if he knew a good therapist.
That helped, talking to someone. Gaining some perspective. Getting some coping skills.
Once they got back onto the bus, she let herself sink into the rhythm of touring. The late nights, Adrian’s fantastic coffee, and their camaraderie. Marcella joined them on the band bus. Turned out she was a natural card shark and whipped them all at any game they played with a deck, including Go Fish.
Most of the time, it was fine. Except for those late nights when Mish held Marly, listened to the rumble of the bus, and let the tears slide silently down onto her pillow.
Being on stage was the best. She lost herself in playing or singing or both. But the constant sway between the joy of the band and her own broken heart left her exhausted. Enough that Dom pulled her into the lounge one day close to the end of their touring stint. They’d sat down on the leather couch that ran along the back of the bus.
“You look like you need a shoulder. And you’ve been there for all of us so many times.” Dom wasn’t wearing any of his stage makeup, but his hair was teased up like Domino’s, and he was wearing one of his ripped tanks.
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but she also wasn’t going to make this tour the “fix Mish” one.
Dom looked up at the ceiling of the bus. “You know you’re as bad at lying as the rest of us, right?”
She felt a spark of laugher, but it never made it out of her chest. And yeah, that was a problem. Mish rubbed her eyes. “It’s hard, having him gone. It’s like he should be here with us. Sometimes I turn and expect to see him. Only he’s not here.”
Dom nodded. “Though, even if he’d chosen to stay with you and us...he still wouldn’t be on this part of the tour.”
That was certainly true. Last she’d heard from Marcella, David was still recovering from the knife wound. He’d been in contact with their lawyer and the police, which made sense. When—or if—they went to trial, his account of what happened would be needed.
“I know. But it’s—We don’t talk. If he hadn’t left me, we’d be talking.”
“Yeah.” Dom flopped back on the couch. “There’s that. It does feel strange not having him here. Watching out for us.”
“I’m just—” She gestured at the air. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get out of this funk.”
“You’re not.” Dom spoke gently. “You don’t get out of heartbreak overnight.” She dropped her head into her hands and he gave her a side hug. “But I’ve been thinking.”
“Fuck thinking.” She pushed her hands into her curls.
He gave her a hollow laugh. “I know, right? But still. I needed to get my head on straight about Adrian. Zav had to figure out how to quantify the feelings he had for Ray. Maybe David needs some time.”
Her therapist had said the same thing. Marcella, too. “I’m not hanging my happiness on some vague hope that he’s gonna come to his senses.”
“That’s fair. I guess I’m trying to say not to give up hope in general? Or maybe wait until after this part of the tour and talk to him again? ’Cause you both went through a lot there...”
They had. “I don’t know, sweetheart. You guys lucked out with your partners. Just wasn’t in the cards for me this time.”
“You two were so good together.”
They had been. Mish wiped at her eyes. “I know. And maybe you’re right. But I can’t live in between maybe, you know? Gotta move on.”
“I get it, I do.” Dom bumped her with his shoulder. “We’re here for you, you know. You carried us for so long. Let us carry you a bit?”
Mish bumped him back. “Let’s carry each other. We’re a family, right?”
He laughed and rose. “Yup. And the fam says you gotta come and play this new game Zavier discovered at the last stop. He’s trying to find something Marcella isn’t good at.”
“Oh, good luck there. Poor Zavier. He’s found his match.”
Dom offered her a hand up. She took it, because yes, sometimes she needed to let them carry her, too. So she went up and learned to play the game Zav had found.
As Mish expected, Marcella won. Every single time. But by the end of the night, Mish was laughing and grinning as much as Zavier. Ray crowned Marcella Queen of the Games, and they all crawled into their bunks happy, even Mish.
She still held Marly tight. Still missed David, but the ache was a little less harsh. She whispered into that plush fur words that barely made sound: “I still love your dad.”
But life flowed onward. Tomorrow, there’d be more fans. Another show. One more day to heal as best she could, and grow. She’d make it through this. They all would.
* * *
David hadn’t expected the loneliness, not while he recovered from his stab wound. There was enough to occupy his time with all the insurance shit and the rehab and exercise he did to heal and keep himself in shape until he could get back to more strenuous workouts. Plus there were all the things he’d put on hold when he’d taken the Twisted Wishes job. Shows he wanted to watch. Books he intended to read. Exhibits he wanted to go see before they left the city.
Plenty to occupy his brain and keep him busy. He should have been fine. That growing sense of isolation was just a reaction to being back in his element, that’s all. He’d been off on his own most of his life, ever since high school, really. Sure, he’d been surrounded by people, but mentally, he’d relied on no one. No more than a stranger afloat in a sea of humanity, not fitting in. Everything was back to normal, or should have been.
He didn’t need anyone. He’d had buddies on deployments and got along with people in general, but those connections had mostly drifted away. Lovers came and went. He’d had several in the army, but those had been on the downlow due to DADT—those w
omen had moved on quickly, too.
He’d never developed feelings so strong and deep that they tied him up in knots about his duty versus his desires. Everything had fit neatly in his mind.
Until Twisted Wishes. Until Mish Sullivan.
He wanted to hate them all, but that was impossible. Instead, as the chaos of lawyers and physical therapy wound down, as he fell back into the life he had before he’d met that amazing group of humans, he found that he missed them. Mish most of all.
Life was—empty. Devoid of color and vibrancy. He ached for the sound of Mish’s voice and their conversations. Her laugh and touch. The way she understood him. How she moved in bed and on stage. Her fear and anger. All of it. He wanted more time. Wanted to reach back into the past and stretch out what he’d had. Somehow make all of this better. Be the kind of person she could date and have. Who’d appreciate her and her life and not be so—selfish.
Didn’t know how. Couldn’t figure out a way to shake off the terror of relying on another, of not being self-sufficient. Of being useless.
Fuck if he didn’t catch himself thinking about the other members of Twisted Wishes, too—of that family who’d nearly adopted him. He’d get breakfast, and Adrian’s morning runs, his coffee, and his friendship burst into David’s head. He’d pay bills, and Marcella’s quiet, organized presence was there. Zavier’s devilish grins and quips flitted through his mind when he overheard something amusing. The way Dom switched between bookworm and rock god came to David as he walked between the shelves at the bookstore.
And Ray. God, Ray, whose last words once all the paperwork had been completed still echoed in David’s brain. “You know, there will always be a place for you here.”
As David scrambled to find another job, Ray was there in his head. After everything that had happened, after David had broken Mish’s heart. As if Ray cared about him.
They didn’t need him, though. There’d been no security incidents on the latest leg of the Twisted Wishes tour. No reports of stalkers. All the photos he’d seen showed Twisted Wishes happy and smiling and whole. The show reviews were exuberant. Mish and Ray’s duets were the highlight of most nights.
Maybe Ray’d been nice in saying what he’d said, but David didn’t want to be shoehorned into a group out of pity. Or so he told himself over and over.
But in the months that followed the stabbing, as David tried his damnedest to ignore the ache in his heart and soul, he found himself turning everything over in his head. His unjustified frustration slid into sadness, and he couldn’t help realize that maybe...maybe Ray had meant what he’d said. Maybe there could have been a place for him in the Twisted Wishes family.
He’d been a fucking fool for running out on Mish Sullivan.
Oh, he’d lie awake at night and turn that over in his head. The thought lodged itself in his brain like a hook with a barb, so deep that the more he rooted it out, the more he tugged and pulled, shit he didn’t want to deal with surged to the top of his psyche. His sense of self. His pride. His unwillingness to listen when he knew what was best.
His goddamned martyr complex.
Once the doctors cleared him for it, he threw himself back into running, despite the heat in the city. Even that didn’t numb away the shame that wormed up from the depths of his brain. Turned out he was the kind of asshole dick he hated—someone who didn’t compromise. Someone who put their own fears ahead of others, without so much as a thought to working through them.
God, he wished he had someone to talk to. Not a therapist—he had one of those—but a friend.
There wasn’t anyone he was close enough to. The few people from the army that still talked to him weren’t the type to listen to relationship troubles. The one person David could talk to, the one whose number he still had—was one he couldn’t even reach out to. He figured Adrian would have blocked his number, anyway.
But after another unfulfilling workout and run, his head and heart were enough of a mess that he did the unthinkable: he texted Adrian.
Hey. I don’t suppose you’d have time to talk about something over a beer. —David
Twisted Wishes was back in the city after completing another leg of their US tour. Adrian was probably busy, though. He had a life with Dom. A house in Brooklyn. David didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t even know what had possessed him to reach out—other than every damn thing in his life feeling utterly wrong now that he was alone.
Maybe thirty minutes later, his phone buzzed.
Of course. Where and when?
David stared at the message. Had Adrian told Mish about the text? What about Dom? And...those were both very good questions. Part of him wanted to answer never and nowhere, but those were both lies. He chose a casual reply.
Whenever. I don’t have a regular bar or anything.
He set about cleaning up his already neat kitchen. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed again.
This shit you want to talk about in public?
David snorted. Not really. Baring his heart in public sounded excruciating.
Okay. Address, then. I’ll bring the beer.
What, now? On the one hand, better to get this over with, on the other hand...now?
You got plans or something?
He didn’t. Never had plans. Spent most nights either binging something on Netflix or reading. Or staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of Mish or the band. Hard to do when every other song on the radio was Twisted Wishes these days. He’d started listening to jazz and oldies.
No, no plans. But I don’t want to disrupt your life. Who knew what Dom thought of all this.
Dude. Just send me your fucking address.
He did, paced to his living room, set his phone down on the coffee table, then collapsed down onto the couch, his head in his hands. A tiny spark of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe...maybe what Ray had said was true. Maybe he still had a place in that family. He doubted he had a shot with Mish, but at the very least, he’d apologize for being an arrogant prick. Couldn’t even blame the pain meds for that.
Pride, pride, and more pride.
An hour later, his phone buzzed again. I’m here. Let me up?
David did, and far too few minutes later, Adrian was at his door, a six-pack of beer in one hand and a plastic bag that smelled gloriously of Chinese takeout in the other. “Figured you might be hungry, too,” Adrian said.
Given the way David’s stomach grumbled, yes. “I might have skipped lunch.” Did, actually. He closed the door after Adrian sauntered in.
Adrian made a noncommittal grunt. “Kitchen?”
David nodded toward the door at the opposite end of the living room, then followed Adrian.
“Nice place. Decent space.”
“Yeah. Been here for a while, so the rent’s reasonable. Figure if I like it, why move?”
“Oh, I hear you. I own now—and that’s a long story—but I lived in California, so...” Adrian set the food and beer on the counter and pulled containers out of the bag. “No idea what you like, so I got a little bit of everything.”
David shrugged. “I’m fairly easy.”
“No, you’re not.” Adrian’s tone was light, but the comment still carried the weight of a gut-punch.
“I’d say I’m not picky...” But he was that, too.
A wan smile from Adrian. “Grab a beer?”
Adrian had brought a seasonal brew from a local microbrewery. Not a bad choice. David pulled out two, stuck the rest of them in the fridge, and popped the caps off both bottles.
“Appreciate you coming.” He handed the beer to Adrian.
He got another grunt that could mean anything. “Plates? Bowls?” Adrian took a drag on his bottle.
David pulled out two plates. “Fork? Or did you bring chopsticks?”
That got him a laugh. “I brought chopsticks, what do you take me for?”
>
“An Irish-American with a taste for guys in lipstick?”
Adrian’s lips quirked up. “First part’s right. Second part’s close, but we’re most certainly not here to talk about my love life.”
David winced.
Once they’d taken what they wanted of the food, they settled around his tiny dining table. After a few quiet moments, Adrian regarded him. “I have a pretty good idea of where this conversation’s gonna go. But how about you tell me why you reached out to me?”
Rather than answer right away, David toyed with his food and took a swig of beer. When it was obvious Adrian would wait him out, he relented. “I don’t have anyone in my life I can talk to. No one I’m close with.”
Adrian sat back in his chair. “No friends from the army?”
“None that I’m gonna talk about this shit with, no.” He snagged a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks. “They’re—We talk about the times we were in, and about current work, and avoid talking about the bad stuff. Plus, I wasn’t the man I am now.” Back then, he’d been seen as butch. DADT had been in effect, but no one had asked, and he had kept his deeper secret in the closet. “I’m a loner by nature.”
“Gotta wonder if that’s true. After all, I’m here.”
“I’m desperate,” David deadpanned.
Adrian cracked a smile. “Maybe you are, but I don’t think that’s it, either.”
It wasn’t. “I fucking miss you guys, all right?” David took a swig of beer to loosen the sudden knot in his throat. “First time in my life I felt like I belonged somewhere, then I had to go fuck it up, and now I have no idea how to fix it.”
Adrian ate a little before replying. Those moments of silence were excruciating. “It’s hard to walk into Twisted Wishes and get caught up in the community Ray built. It’s doubly hard to get sucked right into the heart of the group so fast.”
“You did, though.”
“Not really. I was utterly taken with Dominic before I knew he was Domino Grinder. He and I had—and have—this relationship that’s outside of the band.” Adrian huffed. “Here we are talking about my love life after all.”
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