9781488051265

by Reverb (epub)

  This time, it was David who laughed. “It’s—I wish I understood the relationships in Twisted Wishes. Maybe if I did I would understand—” He fidgeted with his beer bottle. “Understand what happened between Mish and me.”

  “I think you know all you need to know to understand you and Mish.” Adrian set down his chopsticks. “Do you love her?”

  Yes. At least he thought so. “I’m not sure I know what love is. I think about her all the damn time. I regret every word I said when I told her we couldn’t be together, and I feel like a goddamned fool. Is that love?” He paused. “I feel like I walked out on my best friend.”

  “Sounds like love to me. Zavier would call it an intimate friendship. I’m not sure it really matters in the end. Do you want to be with Mish?”

  “More than anything. But she isn’t going to be taking me back. Even if she did, what the hell would I do with my life? I sure as shit couldn’t be security for you all, not when my eyes are glued to the stage.” He contemplated his rice dish. “You gotta know what I mean there.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s a perk of my job. I get to ogle my own fiancé while posting about the rest of the band.”

  “With security, it’s everyone else I should be watching. That’s how I screwed up.”

  “You didn’t screw up.” Adrian held up a hand when David started to protest. “Honestly, the job bit is the least of your worries.”

  Once more, Adrian had homed straight in on the issue. David gave up on trying to eat his dinner. His nerves were too frayed. “I fucked up beyond belief with Mish.”

  Adrian nodded solemnly. “Yup. You did.”

  “Gee, thanks, buddy.”

  “I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass, if that’s what you were expecting.” Adrian took a pull from his beer. “But I will tell you it’s fixable.”

  “How?”

  “All this shit you’ve told me? Go tell her. She damn well wants to hear it. More importantly, she fucking deserves to hear it.” He paused. “If you think she’s gotten over you, you really need to do a lot more soul searching, dude.”

  “Dude?” The way that came out was not at all New York City. “Since when do you say dude?”

  Adrian shrugged. “Remember my comment about California? Spent a bunch of years out there. Sometimes it comes back.”

  “Shit ton I don’t know about you guys.” While it had been weeks and weeks on tour, and intense ones at that, that’s all it had been.

  “There’s a solution to that problem.” Adrian took up his chopsticks again and started eating in earnest.

  Sure was. Talking to Adrian was both a soothing balm and a bit like ramming his hands onto spikes. Hurt so damn much to have all David knew thrown back at him in no uncertain terms. But all of this—the beer and the food and the conversation—felt like a home he never had.

  All he needed to do was reach out to Mish. Tell her the jumbled mess that was in his heart and head, and hope she was willing to forgive him. “Fine. I’ll call Mish.”

  “There you go,” Adrian murmured. “Exactly.” He had an expression that could only be called one thing.

  “You’re a fucking smug asshole, you know?” David’s stomach had settled down enough to demand more lo mein, so he dug in.

  “Nah. That’s Zavier.” He paused. “Zav wears his heart on his sleeve for his friends, but can’t help trying to control the situation. I suppose I’m similar.”

  “Yeah, you guys are. But you’re more laid-back.”

  Adrian’s grunt was a different kind of noncommittal this time. “Maybe, maybe not. You’ll need to hang with us to figure that one out.”

  Now that David was calmer, the food tasted pretty darn good, especially the lemon chicken. “You know, you almost sound like you’re the one wooing me to come back to Twisted Wishes.”

  That got him a bark of laughter. “In a way, I am. We’ve been at loose ends with some things, and Ray’d love your advice. Hell, if I hadn’t asked Dominic to keep your text and my visit tucked up nicely in his makeup box, I’m sure Ray would be here hounding you with some job offer or another.”

  That froze David. “Really? After fucking up the way I did?”

  “You mean taking a knife while protecting Mish?”

  David fell silent, and the wound in his side tingled.

  “How is it, anyway?”

  Beer first, then he answered. “Better. Gonna take a little more time to be fully healed.” He set down his bottle. “Guy probably wouldn’t have had a knife if I hadn’t been in all those photos with Mish.” He kept his tone even.

  Adrian chose the same tone to reply. “You know that’s a fucking lie, right?”

  There was nothing he could say.

  Adrian pushed his empty plate aside and speared David with a steady, unflinching gaze. “The fucker in question would have brought that knife, regardless. Most likely Mish, or one of the guys, or Marcella, or me would’ve ended up with a knife in our body. Don’t think we don’t all know this.”

  “My job—”

  “Yeah, exactly. You put your life on the line for Mish, and for us and—” Adrian cut himself off, then pushed back from the table, stood, and gathered his plate. “You should call Mish.”

  Adrian retreated to the kitchen sink, and David studied the empty chair and the back of the man who’d been there. “This isn’t about Mish anymore, is it?” Adrian’s reactions were too personal.

  Without being asked to, Adrian rinsed the dish, then placed it in the sink. “It’s about you.” He didn’t turn around. “You left Mish. That broke her heart—and yours, too. That’s what you need to fix, for both of you.”

  David grabbed his plate and stood, too. “But?”

  “When you left Mish, you left the rest of us, too.” Adrian’s voice was soft. He turned around, and the tight smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not the same as with Mish, but don’t think you weren’t missed by the rest of us, for who you are and what you bring to our group.”

  Shit. Well, if he needed to feel worse about everything, that did it. He rinsed his plate as Adrian packed up the leftovers. “I think I need another beer.”

  “There’s four left.” Adrian nodded at the leftovers. “You should keep these, too. They aren’t gonna make it back to Brooklyn, at least not edible.”

  They stacked the containers in the fridge, and David slipped another beer out of the six-pack holder. “Thank you for this. The food, the beer, the kick in the skull.”

  Adrian gripped his shoulder. “Any time. I’m glad you texted.” He let go. “I should get back home. I think you have some mulling and maybe a phone call to make?”

  God. David didn’t want to call Mish. He absolutely needed to. The only thing he could do at the moment was nod in silence. He showed Adrian to the door.

  Before he headed out into the hall, Adrian gave him a shrewd look. “Regardless of anything, don’t be a stranger, David. We might tour a decent amount, but we’re also in the city frequently, too. Call.”

  “I’m not good with friendships.” Obviously, given the way he’d blown it with everyone.

  “Well, I am. I can give you a crash course.” Adrian tapped the doorframe. “Besides, you’re family now.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that.”

  “’Cause it’s true.” Adrian gave him a mock salute. “Night, David.”

  “See ya.” He watched Adrian head to the stairwell, then closed his apartment door.

  The talk had helped and also made everything infinitely worse. At least, though, he wasn’t entirely alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Despite the beautiful October day, Mish couldn’t get her brain to shut up enough to enjoy it. Usually she loved their breaks in tours. A chance to relax and de-stress and eat some greens rather than the dangerous roadway cuisine they dared each other to consume. Get some
sleep. Rest the hands and legs and recover from the grueling schedule that came with riding around the country and performing their hearts out.

  But on the road, she didn’t need to think. She could throw herself into playing her bass or singing. Ray, Zavier, Dom, and Adrian kept her busy with chatter and quips and fun. Even Marcella had kept Mish occupied with interviews and some exclusive content for this or that magazine or website about her early career.

  Now back in her apartment, there wasn’t anything to keep her mind from drifting to the one thing missing from her life.

  David Altet.

  The sadness was tempered with anger. For the way he’d left. Because of what he’d said. She didn’t understand how anyone could be so damn dense. They worked as a couple. Matched in bed and outside of it. He got her humor and her need to be in control of her destiny. She understood his need to be independent, but also his desire to let go.

  If only he’d realized that she wasn’t asking him to give up his damn job. They could have made something work—or at least tried. Wasn’t what they had together worth every effort to keep it going?

  Apparently, no, she wasn’t worth that much hassle.

  Even that felt flat. It wasn’t her, as the saying went. It was David. There was something in him, in his past or his mind or wherever—something love couldn’t overcome.

  That was an unfair assessment, too. The idea that love could heal all, that it could fix anything, was a fairy tale. Love—or any deep friendship between people—couldn’t fix another human being. Love could support, yes. Help, yes. Contribute to the healing, be a balm, yes and yes.

  Humans were messy and wonderful, and they weren’t broken anyway, even when brains and hearts and bodies didn’t work the way everyone said they should. People were who they were, with all their foibles and wonders and faults and greatness. Sometimes, you had to accept that. Help them, yes. But fix them?

  She didn’t know a damn thing about fixing people. She could only stumble into the future with her friends and loved ones by her side. Help them when they needed a hand. Sometimes ask for help herself. The past several months had taught her that.

  She’d thought David would be one of those people—maybe the person—she’d stumble toward old age next to. But no. She doubted she’d ever find another human being she didn’t intimidate in some way. No partner for her.

  David hadn’t been intimidated, though. He’d been lovely and fun and sexy and a hell of a ride. Her heart grappled with the reality of the loss. He’d been so set that there was no way forward together.

  Mish paced around her living room, racking her brain for something to do. She’d already practiced that morning, even breaking out her acoustic guitar to run through some pieces. She probably should work with her upright, but her limbs were itchy and music wasn’t soothing her as it normally did.

  Probably because she wasn’t in the studio with the band. Ray was composing new material. They’d even worked through bits on the bus this last tour leg—but nothing was done enough yet to make going into the studio worthwhile.

  That afternoon there wasn’t a damn thing to keep her mind from wandering back, over and over again, to the hurt that seemed like a permanent part of her soul. Part of her wanted to rail at David, but she couldn’t reach the fury she needed for that.

  She didn’t want to be angry anymore. She’d spent all her fury and fear on that waste of a man who’d stalked her. She’d need that again later—the court case was still winding through the legal system at a rate slower than molasses in the freezer—but eventually she’d have to be in the same space as him again. Hear his name. See his fucking punchable face.

  Right now, though? Didn’t want to pour any energy into anger. The stalking and the incident at the night show were both on the list of questions reporters and media personnel were forbidden to ask her. No one made that mistake anymore—not after the third time the band had walked out of an interview and the journalist had been told they’d never gain another session with the band.

  Marcella had practically rubbed her hands with glee each time she’d handed down that edict.

  But without the anger there to fuel Mish, most of what dwelled in her was an ache for what could have been. That was the worst kind of mourning—the constant taste of a dream that had died.

  Mish paused, that phrase echoing in her head. She didn’t have a notebook like Ray did, but something compelled her to dig out a scrap of paper—an old envelope from a bill—and scribble the line down.

  God knew how long it had been since she’d written a song. One line—a trite one at that—didn’t a composition make. But it still felt good to see the words on paper. She touched the ink. Maybe she could puzzle something together, even if it only ever lived in a drawer once she’d finished.

  She sat down on the couch—the same one she’d shared with David months and months ago, at the start of this odd, wonderful, and crushing tour—and let more lines flow out of her.

  The constant taste of a dying dream

  Sadness on tap

  How do you mend what will always be gone

  Fill a hole that has no bottom

  Take my hand and show me the sun

  Walk along this path with me

  Even in despair I am not alone

  With you by my side

  Fill the cracks in my soul tonight

  Drink to the past and to the future

  Be with me now and show me hope

  Together we are now

  She studied the words, then set the pen aside. Ray’d tell her to leave them. Come back later and take another look. That’s what he did. He’d revise, then bring them to the group and they’d listen. Make suggestions.

  This probably wouldn’t get that far. But warmth spread through some of the cold places in her soul—because she could take these to Ray and the band, and they would take her seriously. You needed dreams and thoughts of the future to make the now bearable.

  She rubbed at her forehead, the bubbles and burbles of too many emotions making her eyes and head hurt. This needed to end—the sadness and fractured feeling. A tiny part of her said she could call David—but the greater part of her rejected that option. She’d promised herself after watching her mom chase after too many of the wrong guys, that when partners left her, she’d let them go.

  If David hadn’t wanted to stick around, she wasn’t going to force him to. The only way relationships ever had a hope of working was when all partners worked together.

  Hell, that’s what made Twisted Wishes strong.

  Mish closed her eyes and leaned back on her couch. She should get out of the apartment. Go for a walk. Get lost in the streets of the city for a while. Instead, she dozed off—then nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone started ringing.

  On the screen was David’s name.

  She nearly let it go to voicemail—but that seemed worse than answering. “Hello?”

  “Hey.” His voice was soft, but full of all the grit she remembered, as if he were keeping his emotions in check. “If I told you I was an absolute utter fucking fool of a man, could I buy you a beer?”

  She was glad he wasn’t in the room, because her heart cracked and those damn tears of hers leaked out of her eyes. She answered him in a calm and steady voice. “I think we could work something out.”

  “Mish, baby, I’m an absolute utter fucking fool of a man.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I don’t expect anything. I just want to apologize in person.”

  The tears wouldn’t stop. He didn’t expect anything, but this one phone call meant everything. Yes, David still had work she expected him to do, but this was a start. “How about you meet me at that bar you once came to my rescue in?”

  There was a pause. “That’s still a pretty touristy place, even for a Wednesday in October.”

  “I know.” Because she had
a plan, too.

  “All right,” he said. “I can be there in about forty-five, if the trains cooperate.”

  “So I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

  His laugh warmed her heart and did nothing to stop the cascade of tears from rolling down her cheeks. They didn’t feel bad this time, even if she hated them on principle.

  “Yeah,” he said. “See you soon, Mish.”

  “Soon,” she repeated. Because saying I fucking love you, you asshole seemed over the top.

  She stared at the phone after setting it down on the coffee table, brushed the tears from her cheek, then stood and headed to her bedroom to get ready.

  * * *

  When Mish got to the bar, David was standing against the wall next to the door, trying to stay out of the way of the people passing on the sidewalks. He let out a breath that smoked into the cold day when his dark eyes met hers. Nervousness and tension were carved into the hard set of his shoulders and the rigid way he stood.

  She’d done the same, blowing out a breath when she spied him. That combination of a gut punch and the absolute knowledge of coming home ran hard through her.

  She’d missed him. More than she wanted to admit and in every way that told her this was worth fighting for—if he wanted to. He had to listen and work for their survival as well. They’d walk this path together or not at all: that was her bottom line.

  She chose to step close enough that a shove or jostle from anyone passing might push them together. David met her gaze, tipping his head up a fraction.

  “Come here often?” His voice was soft and broken. Full of all the things she’d wished he’d have said months ago.

  “Hardly ever. But I met a guy I liked here once.” Her throat stung, as did her eyes, though she could blame that on the cold. Maybe.

  “Funny, I met a woman I liked here once. But I fucked it up horribly.” He gave a little shrug. “Now I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, you did say something about buying me a beer. Let’s start there?” She paused. “You okay with being seen with me in public?”