Mended

CHAPTER 6 Talk to Me

Xander

The outside passes in a blur as I walk into the front lounge from the galley. As usual, I’m awake before any of the guys. I did my typical tour bus workout in the back lounge—sit-ups, push-ups, and weights that we keep back there. I’ll run tonight before the show. It’s hard to keep a routine on the road, but I try. It helps relieve stress and keeps me focused.

Entering the room, I get a feeling like I’ve been slapped in the face. Jack White’s “Love Interruption” is playing. It’s an awesome slow-burn blues ballad, and the lyrics seem to reflect the way my relationship with Ivy ended. I flip the light on and see her sitting there on one of the benches. Holding a cup with both hands, she’s drinking coffee and staring out the window. I hear soft, quiet notes as she sings along to the song, but she stops when the lights flicker. Her gaze darts to mine for one brief second, and then her eyes swing immediately back to the window.

I clear my throat. “Hey. Good morning.” It seems odd to see her on the bus.

She glances back toward me. Something flashes across her face, but it’s gone before I can pinpoint it. “Hey. Morning.” Her expression is neutral and her voice is low.

“How’d you sleep?”

She sets her cup down. “Great. The quiet of the engine seems to lull me to sleep every time I ride on one of these.” Her tone is sarcastic and I fucking love it.

I offer a smile, holding back my smirk. “Yeah, try sleeping on the bottom bunk with the floor vibrating underneath you.”

“I’ll pass,” she says and turns back to look at the cornfields and lush greenery of the Midwest surroundings.

I pour a cup of coffee and look over my shoulder. Lifting the pot, I ask, “Refill?”

“I’m good,” she answers, covering the top of her cup with her hand.

I move to sit across from her. “Mind?” I ask.

She shakes her head. I want to ask her a million questions. I want to know everything she’s done for the last twelve years, but when one of the songs from her first album comes on the radio, I settle for asking one simple question that has been eating at me. Her song “Hit It” surrounds us. The lyrics are about dancing but can very easily be misconstrued as being about sex. Since it doesn’t seem like a song she’d have sung, let along written, I nod toward the speaker and ask, “What made you take that road?”

Her eyes narrow on mine. “What do you mean by that road?”

“Ivy, you know what I mean.”

She turns to look at me full on. The look she gives me tells me right away that she’s offended, and her answer only confirms this. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you explain?”

Okay, if she wants me to spell it out, I will. I pause for a moment before answering, trying to figure out the best way to phrase this, but decide to just say it. “Why did you choose pop music? You were never one for the verse-chorus structure or catchy hooks like this.” When the hook plays, I lift my eyes to the speaker and add, “You have so much artistic depth. I just never thought you’d sell out for mass appeal.”

With a sigh, she stands up. Hurt quickly passes over her face before hate presents itself. Bracing her hands on the table, she leans forward. “You don’t know what I have anymore,” she says with a shaky voice. Then adds, “I’m going to get ready.” With that she brushes past me.

Rising from my chair, I call, “Ivy, wait. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”

But she doesn’t stop. Instead she hastily pulls the curtain back to huff forward. It’s then that she finally comes to a dead standstill. I’m on her heels and almost barrel right into her. She’s stopped, just staring, and I glance inside the galley to see what has captured her attention. It’s Garrett and he’s awake, doing his morning exercise.

“Is that a sex swing?” she asks him wide-eyed, her cheeks turning pink as soon as the words leave her mouth.

I burst out in laughter. I can’t help it. For some reason being near Ivy makes everything that’s mildly funny seem funnier. It always did.

A devilish grin appears on his face. “No. It’s a yoga swing. But thanks for the idea,” Garrett tells her.

“Fuck, no, not in here,” Nix calls out from behind one of the curtains. “No one wants to see your naked ass in the act.”

Leif comes out of the bathroom wearing some kind of sleep pants that make me laugh equally as hard—they’re baby blue with an elastic waist, and I wonder if they’re Ivy’s. Holding my stomach, I try to calm myself. Garrett gives me a perplexed look. I know he must be thinking he’s probably never seen me laugh this much, and I don’t remember the last time I did. Leif, with his toothbrush in his mouth, shrugs past as if nothing out of the ordinary is occurring and disappears into his cubby. Nix pops his head out and starts talking to Garrett about setting some new rules.

I take the opportunity to get Ivy’s attention. Moving directly behind her, I clutch her arm and pull her back to me. “Can I talk to you back in the lounge?” Her laughter stops when I whisper in her ear, “Please.”

She turns to look at me, her eyes unreadable. “Okay.”

I turn and she follows. I fight the urge to hold her hand. We enter the front lounge again and she moves to one side. I lean against the small counter opposite her. “I’m sorry. That was a shit thing to say. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. What I meant to say was what made you decide to debut with a pop song?”

She sighs and sits back down, sipping from the mug she’d left behind. Silence is all around us before she answers, and the room seems much bigger than it actually is. “First, yes, it was a shitty thing to say. But to answer your question, it was my only choice. I’d been back in LA for six months and hadn’t found a job. I was singing at the coffee shop my mother worked at. Damon had been going in there for years and she had told him about me. He came to one of the open-mic shows and afterward asked to meet with me. When I first met him, I was determined to put out the album I had always dreamed of. He disagreed with my vision. He said the marketability of what I proposed wouldn’t work in the climate we were in at the time. So I left. Then about a week later he talked to my mother. He called me back and agreed to cut a demo of one of my songs. It took another three months before it went out, and I still hadn’t found a job. He finally sent it out, but we never heard back from a single label. In the meantime I’d managed to get a job working for an advertising agency writing jingles—I hated it. A year later I decided to do it his way. And even though the album didn’t hit the top of the charts—I was still happier.”

“That doesn’t make sense. No one was interested in your first song, but he found a label to pick up the album after that?”

She looks up at me with her blue eyes, the softness in them draining by the second. She rises and walks to the small sink next to where I’m standing. She rinses her mug, sets it down, and turns her head toward me. “Xander, I’m not sure what you’re implying, but Damon has always had my best interests at heart. In fact, we’re working on a new sound now—or we were.”

It’s unlike me to hold back on how I feel, but I’m aware she doesn’t trust me yet, so I put my hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

She reaches for a banana and peels it, not responding to my comment. I’m really curious why Damon would switch gears, so I ask, “What kind of new sound?”

“Well, not new. Old might be a better explanation.”

I nod, understanding what she means.

“We both agreed I’d take a break and refocus, redirect my music to what I envisioned when I first started singing. I’ve written songs and hit the studio attempting to produce them. We’ve tried a few different producers, but I’m still not happy with the results.”

“Can I listen to them sometime? You can tell me what it is you don’t like and maybe I can help you.”

She chews a bite of banana, swallows, takes another bite, as if strongly considering my request. “I’d actually really like that.”

She makes the simple statement and I want to press her for more. I want to listen to her new songs now. I want to talk to her more about her music. I don’t want this conversation to end. But silence rises up between us again. She throws the banana peel away, and then her head drops and she stares into the sink. When I brace my arms back on the counter, our hands are so close all I’d have to do is move my thumb a fraction of an inch and we’d accidentally be touching. But instead I do something I know I shouldn’t. I lift my hand and gently grasp her chin, pulling it toward me. “Ivy?” I ask. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she answers, closing her eyes.

I breathe out. She breathes in. I can feel my skin touching hers and I want to hold her, rest my forehead on hers, I want to brush my lips across hers, I want to whisper in her ear that she can trust me. Having her this close twists me, turns me, makes me think about my actions. I don’t want to upset her. It’s been almost two weeks since she joined the band and our conversations have mostly been work-related until now. This is the first personal conversation we’ve had, and talking to her again has everything inside me screaming for her. Everything she does sets my blood on fire. I drop my hand and back away. I’m going to give her some time because that’s something we have—three months’ worth of it.

“I’m really going to get changed now,” she says, her voice smooth and low.

I nod and she turns and leaves the lounge. I watch her until she disappears. Then I open the fridge and grab an apple. Taking a bite, I chew it and grin—all in all, that didn’t go that badly.

Time seems to tick by so slowly the rest of the day. Staring out the window at a stream that meanders through fields on its own sweet time, I kick myself for not pushing it with her. Why wade through the stream instead of jumping over it? Yet I know I have to take it slow with her or she’ll keep retreating—and I want her around. I’ve lived on this bus for six months with eight other dudes, and it’s been nothing but comfortably boring. Having Ivy on board has already made everything different—I feel a buzz of energy in the air and everything seems more alive.

By the time we finally arrive in Denver, I’m ready to blast into action. We get right to work, which I’m glad about because it takes my mind off her. I’m in a hurry to get in as much rehearsal time as I can. And at least the tension between Ivy and me melts away when she’s onstage. We both act professional and don’t let our past interfere with the music. I use today’s sound check as more of a rehearsal, so it lasts three hours. The guys are ready to be done, but I think we need more practice. I want their performances to be perfect. A lineup of forty songs means learning a shitload of material, so we keep going over and over them. Leif switches between keyboard and bass, depending on the song. His versatility has proved to be a great addition to the band.

“Okay, let’s call it for now,” I yell.

“It’s about fucking time,” Nix snarls at me.

Leif thumps his shoulder and heads to the keyboard with the corner of his mouth turned up. Leaning over it, he closes his eyes and hits some notes. He seems to be playing a song, but the words that leave his mouth sound more like a rap. The melancholy of it draws me in. I take a seat and just listen until he’s done.

“That’s a showstopper,” I comment, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs as he walks off the stage.

“Yeah, well, it’s not meant for the audience Ivy sings to.”

I shoot him a small grin. “You’re full of all kinds of surprises. But really, I liked it.”

He shrugs. “Thanks, man. Had a buddy years ago and rapping was his thing. What can I say—he taught me well.”

“Not to change the subject, but what’s your take on learning all the band’s songs in such a short period of time?”

He sighs with what looks like an authentic worry line creasing his brow before he confesses, “Honestly, I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear.

He turns and heads backstage to get ready for the show, throwing over his shoulder, “Gotcha, dude! We got this nailed.”

I grin with relief.

Showtime comes quickly and ends just as quickly. There are good shows and bad shows and this one is definitely not great. The arena is filled at about seventy-five percent—not bad, considering we’ve switched leads in mid tour. But Ellie has arranged for some special effects to welcome Ivy, and the streamers just seem to take away from the set, and the guys are off the rest of the night after that.

Fresh from the stage, the band and the crew are digging in to the food backstage. Leif has a penchant for wine and opens a few bottles of red. He sniffs the contents of a bottle and then pours a glass. After he takes a sip he pours some for everyone. By eleven thirty we all smell like red wine and are pretty drunk. Knowing it’s time to leave, we take the backstage door and head to the bus, which pulls out at midnight. We won’t be staying in a hotel until we get to Lincoln.

Garrett walks beside me, complaining about the streamer gimmick. Just as we start to cross the parking lot, at least two dozen fans come rushing over to Ivy, begging for pictures and autographs. I stop and glance at Leif. The others keep moving—all except for Garrett, who’s still talking.

Leif stops as well, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait for her.”

I nod, already having decided I’d wait for her.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and taps it against his hand, then pulls one out and hands the pack to me.

“No, thanks, man,” I say. “That’s one vice I never took up.”

“Good thing, because it’s a fucking hard habit to break.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I only smoke when I’m drinking and never inside,” Leif clarifies, as if I cared.

“I’ll take one of those,” Garrett says.

I just look at him and shake my head. He lights the cigarette and inhales, then exhales smoke in a huge cough.

“You’re such a fucking retard,” I tell him.

“What? I used to smoke.”

“Yeah, when you could sneak one behind the school grounds in the sixth grade.” I laugh.

Garrett stubs his cigarette out. “I’m going to make like Tom and Cruise. You coming?” he asks me.

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’ll stick around with Leif and wait for Ivy.”

I have an uneasy feeling about leaving her with just Leif. She’s pretty tight with him and he seems to watch over her, but if something happens, he’d never be able to handle it himself—from what I can tell he’s definitely more of a lover than a fighter. I make a note to myself to talk to Ena about additional security. I’ll have her call River’s security guy, Caleb, and get some recommendations.

When the crowd finally clears, the three of us head back to the bus. Leif’s phone rings, and glancing at its screen, he stops. “I’ve gotta take this. I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, stepping away for some privacy.

Ivy and I walk the remaining few feet in silence. She’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a gray shirt with the shoulders cut out, and a pair of spike heels that look more like boots. Her flawless body is a perfect match to her songbird voice. We’re both a little drunk, and it shows when she climbs the steps to the bus and one of her heels sticks in the rubber matting, causing her to stumble. Next thing I know, I’ve fallen on top of her. My mouth is next to her ear and I can smell the fresh scent of her hair. I don’t move because I can hear her breathing and I can almost feel her pulse racing beneath me. At that moment I know for sure—she still feels about me the way I feel about her. And in this one moment everything changes.

“You want me, don’t you?” I whisper under my breath and I can feel my mouth tip to one side.

She flips around and my body instantly falls, molding to hers in a heartbeat. The heat between us is undeniable, at least to me.

“No, I don’t,” she says a few moments too late. “Please get off me,” she adds in a voice that refuses any rebuttal. Our locked gazes keep me glued where I am, but when she averts her eyes, I can’t help but grin. It’s so apparent what that means. She forgets how well I know her.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not the liar,” she hisses.

I want to say I’m not either, but I don’t, because that would be a lie. So instead I stand up and wipe my palms on my jeans before extending my hand to help her up. She refuses my help and pushes herself up.

“I can manage myself,” she snaps as she turns and walks up the steps.

And I stand here smug as shit because now I know—I have to tell her what really happened. I just need the right time and place.

The Lincoln, St. Paul, and Des Moines shows come and go without any noteworthy events. We’re headed to Springfield for Summerfest. Summer festivals are a blast to play and we have about four more lined up on this tour. I’ve been extremely busy with press releases and promo changes. Rehearsal schedules have been ramped up and we have very little time to do anything but sleep and work, so everyone is looking forward to the festival.

We reach Springfield on the third day of Summerfest. I’m backstage at sunset and the band is just coming off the stage.

“You rocked it,” I tell Leif, giving him a high five. He had a solo on the keyboard and really tore it out.

“I’m going to check out Eminem a few stages over. Anyone coming?” Nix asks.

“I will,” Ivy answers and I’m surprised. Since when does she like rap?

“Yes, I’ll join you as well,” I add.

The other guys head over to see the Sheepdogs and the three of us cross the field as bands on five stages churn out majestic jams. Walking through the crowds, I stay close to her side, occasionally guiding her with a slight touch. Nix stops to talk to someone he knows and we keep moving. It’s hotter than hell and the crowd is a sweaty mess. We reach the stage area as the song ends and everyone is screaming for more. Another song begins to play and we stand together and listen. It hasn’t been just the two of us since the first morning on the bus. A comfortable ease slips between us as we watch the performance. Feeling the time is right, I step closer to her. Close enough that we’re shoulder to shoulder. Then I dip my head and ask, “Want to have a drink someplace quiet? Someplace we can talk?”

She bites her bottom lip and looks away. She opens and closes her mouth a few times until she actually answers me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her breath is sweet and warm on my neck, and I want her to change her mind. I want to hear her say yes. I want to push her, but I don’t. As I study her—her body language, her perfect face—my lips twitch from trying not to laugh at myself. I’m a guy who has always gone after what he wants. I want what I want now . . . but with Ivy it’s different. I need to earn her trust before I can tell her the truth.

“What?” She looks up at me with an innocence that makes my heart beat dangerously fast.

I can’t hold back my laughter anymore and I let it out. “Nothing, nothing. How about we grab some funnel cakes over at the midway?”

She nods with a small hint of excitement, and I have to cross my arms to keep my hands from clutching her face and just kissing her for the sweetness that I see in it.

Ivy and I spent the night listening to bands and just hanging out, but we never talked about the past—about us. I danced around the topic, but every time I did she tensed up and seemed to withdraw. So I decided to put it aside and focus on things between us now. The guys eventually caught up with us and we headed back to the bus and pulled out for our next show. We’re on the way to Cleveland with a stop in Cincinnati for a night out. Leif’s buddy Casper is a boxer and he invited the band to come watch his next fight. Leif’s convinced that Casper will be the reigning heavyweight champion in no time. His career record so far is 23 and 0. Although I haven’t been keeping up with the sport, I’d have to agree with Leif—his record speaks for itself.

The traffic is crazy on the way to the Horseshoe Casino and we’re running a little late. Ivy’s sitting next to Leif in the SUV and I’m sitting behind them with Garrett. Nix is up front. Ivy’s almost too much to take in at once. Her strapless yellow top shows off her perfect figure, but I want to cover her bare shoulders and pull her top up a little to eliminate all that exposed skin. Her hair is wavy today, a style I’ve never seen her wear, but it looks really sexy on her. She shakes her voluminous curls when she laughs at something Leif says, and I take a deep breath—fuck, she looks amazing.

We enter the venue just as the fight is being announced. She’s by my side and jumps a little when the speaker blares with the announcer’s voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, here he is! I know you all know who I’m talking about—so without further ado I give you Casper ‘the Ghost’ Holland.” I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her down the aisle. A slight shiver makes her body shake and I grin.

“This way,” I whisper in her ear.

Just as we reach our seats the crowd roars, “Ghost!” and a guy in all white comes trotting down the aisle. The back of his robe is labeled just what the crowd is chanting—GHOST. He climbs into the ring with one fluid jump and moves to a corner, where someone helps him remove his robe. Shit, this guy is ripped. Ivy’s standing between me and Leif, and when I look her way, I see her eyes are glued to his body. Leaning over, I whisper, “You might want to close your mouth. Leaving your tongue hanging out is a little obvious.”

“What? I’m just looking at his tattoos.” But she’s blushing. My eyes travel down her body and my hands want so badly to follow suit. Leif leans over and she tilts her head to hear what he’s saying. I can’t help but notice how close the two of them are, and I’m glad he has a girlfriend. When Leif pulls his phone out, she steps closer to me. Her fresh scent wafts through the air and I breathe it in. My urge to kiss the skin on her bare neck has never been greater.

When the lights suddenly dim in the stands, she turns to me. “I’m not sure watching two guys beat each other up is my thing.”

“Just look away if you don’t like it, and if it’s too much we can leave anytime,” I tell her, thankful for this sign of the innocence I sense she still possesses. I feel an urge to pull her to me and let her bury her head in my chest, but I resist.

Two burly guys try to get by so they can stand on the other side of me and she pushes her body into mine as she moves out of the way. I stifle a harsh breath. The sound of the gruff voice overhead is the only thing that breaks the spell she’s cast over me. When the crowd goes crazy, I instinctively grip her side and move her to stand in front of me. So much for resisting. She leans back slightly, almost leaning against me. The feeling of her body so close to mine just about sends me over the edge.

The announcer continues: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, may we have a round of applause to welcome, Eddy ‘Bikini’ Bottoms.” He too almost trots down the aisle. I look into the ring and see that Casper seems to be circling it—waiting for his prey. His opponent takes his place with ease, and both fighters flex their fingers at their sides, their hands taped so their bare knuckles are exposed. I have a feeling this is going to be a good fight. Each of them slides his gloves on and the crowd explodes in cheers around us when the two opponents meet in the middle and the bell rings. Casper’s opponent swings first. Casper ducks and jabs Bottoms’s side with a right, then a left. A few more rounds pass, and then out of nowhere Casper lands one straight punch to the jaw that knocks his opponent down just like that.

Ivy gasps in disbelief when Bottoms tries to lift himself up on his arms as the counting begins. With each number, she pushes herself farther back into me. Does she know what she’s doing to me? I couldn’t even tell you what’s going on in the ring. I feel like that eighteen-year-old boy that got hard with every move she made. The counting stops and Bottoms’s trainer is by his side, as he lies flat on the mat. I think the ref has already called the fight. But I’m not sure until Bottoms fails to rise and the ref approaches Casper and yanks his arm up in victory while the announcer boasts, “The victor, ladies and gentlemen! I give you, your one, your only, Casper the Friendly Ghost!”

Ivy twists her head back and looks up at me with those feline eyes. “Is it over?” she asks.

With her warm breath on my neck and her lips so close to mine, I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything but her. When I lean forward so she can hear me, I accidentally press myself into her and I swear I hear a small whimper escape her throat. I murmur in her ear, “I’ll take you back to the bus if you’re ready to go.”

She looks over at the other guys, who have their eyes glued to the ring, and then turns backs around, now dangerously close. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

I chuckle and nod. “I’m sure.”

Just as we move to leave, Leif notices and cups his hands around his mouth. “Pssst . . . Ivy, where are you going?”

Ivy turns. “Back to the bus.”

“You sure? I promised Casper I’d introduce him to you and we planned to go out later,” Leif responds.

“Next time?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll set something up.”

She smiles and waves goodbye.

We make our way back to the bus quickly and when we hit the front lounge she turns toward me. “Thank you for bringing me back. I’m really tired and just want to sit around and do nothing for a few hours.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m feeling the same way.”

“Want to watch a movie or you going to go to bed?”

“Watching a movie sounds great.”

“Terrific. There’s a new movie with that actress Jules Atwood on demand I’ve been dying to catch.”

“Jules Atwood?”

“Yes, she’s the actress cast in No Led Zeppelin.”

“Right,” I reply with a smirk. “My cousin’s movie.”

She nods. “Just give me a minute to change and I’ll meet you in the back lounge.”

I make a skeptical noise over her choice of movie and she flashes me a grin before leaving the room.

“Okay, Mr. Push-ups, let’s hear your story,” she mock demands as she enters the dimly lit lounge I’m already sitting in watching the all-time classic movie Stripes.

I swivel around in my chair and glance up. “Chicks dig me, because I rarely wear underwear and when I do it’s usually something unusual.” I grin, quoting John Winger’s most awesome line from the movie.

She giggles and flops into the chair next to mine. “God, I haven’t watched this movie in years.”

“Me either.” I almost say Not since the last time I watched it with you, but I don’t.

“Can we watch this instead?”

I give her a charming smile. “Sure, if you insist.” Like she has to ask me twice about skipping what I can only imagine to be a chick flick.

She has no makeup on, but she doesn’t need it. And when her face is a blank canvas, her eyes seem to always sparkle. Her hair is piled loosely on top of her head, and as she swivels to hoist her feet up on the table, the oversized neckline of her sweatshirt exposes a hint of lace. Fuck, we haven’t been alone like this until now, and I want nothing more than to pull her off that chair and onto my lap.

We sit next to each other for the rest of the movie and even talk over it at times. But the closest our bodies come to touching is when I kick my boots up on the coffee table next to her bare feet.

“Don’t put your shoes on the furniture,” she comments and taps her toes against my boots, shoving my feet down.

I make an amused face. “Yes, ma’am. We don’t want to mark up the fine furnishings.”

She giggles and I toe my boots off, then kick my sock-clad feet back up, where her toes remain very close to mine. Friends, I keep reminding myself. I can do this—establish what we had through friendship first. But no matter how many times I say it in my head, that doesn’t stop me from feeling the way I feel toward her.

The credits roll. Her feet graze mine for a few long moments—on purpose or by accident, I don’t know, but my body reacts instantly to her touch. She looks at me, biting her lip, and the sight sets me on fire. I rise from my chair, ready to pounce, but she stands at the same time and yawns. “It’s late. I’m going to call it a night. Thank you for watching that with me.”

“Good night, Ivy. I really enjoyed the movie and the company.”

She scurries out of the room without turning back, and for a minute I consider chasing after her, but I head to bed instead.

I awake from a deep sleep. Some nights I sleep like a baby, others I find myself tossing and turning most of the night. Tonight is one of those in-between nights. I open my eyes and find myself spinning the gun on his desk as someone taunts me: “Pull the trigger. I dare you. You’re such a sorry excuse of a son. Just do it.” The shadow hovers over me, a face I can’t make out. My heart is pounding and adrenaline pumps through my veins as he urges me to just do it.

“Xander, man, wake up,” Garrett says, touching my shoulders, shaking me.

I look up to see him, not my father, standing over me. Fuck, I haven’t had a dream like that in a long time.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you. Just a bad dream.” He lets the curtain fall back and I shift restlessly for the next few hours.

After a breakdown on the road, we’re headed to Cleveland, and can finally get off this bus. I’ll be glad to stay in my own room and get some decent rest. I’m too tired to get any work done today. My head is drowning with the same regrets I always have after dreams of my father—mainly one regret—why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Of course, in my dreams it’s always my father tempting me with death in some way—but three therapists later, the dreams mean the same thing. I have to let my guilt go or the dreams will continue to haunt me. I have no fucking idea how to do that, and seeing a shrink was not my thing—talking about feelings and evaluating everything in my life since I was born is something I ultimately passed on.

Unable to sleep, I hop out of bed and check my e-mails, but find nothing of concern and no fires to put out, so I decide to go back to bed. Around noon I finally haul my sorry ass up. I skip any kind of workout today—I’m just too drained. The galley is quiet as I walk through it and into the small bathroom. Turning the hot water on in the shower as high as I can, I try to erase the nightmare from my mind and for once just let thoughts of Ivy consume me. The mirror starts to fog up and I think about last night. Shit, all I want to do is make her mine.

Stripping off my clothes, I’m already half hard just thinking about her, her perfect body, and how much I want to be with her again. I step into the pint-sized shower with my cock in my hand. I want her hand to curl around me so she’ll feel how hard she makes me. I close my eyes and gently rub, first around my cock, then my balls. Fuck, that feels good. I picture her doing this—in the shower, with us exploring our bodies in any way we want. I want to feel her hands gripping me. I think of her, her face, her body . . . the ways I want to touch her, where I want to touch her. I imagine driving my cock into her sweet pussy, and it makes me want to come hard and fast.

My fist pumps at a quicker pace and I lick the water from my lips. The pressure wells deep and a tingling radiates from my cock. As my orgasm starts to build, so do the contractions—it feels like electricity is shooting through me. My dick twitches and I can’t hold on any longer. As I start to come, practically spasming, the incredible feeling builds and I finally let myself go, crossing that threshold over and over until I’m spent. My chest rises and falls and I slouch back against the shower wall.

Once my breathing returns to normal, I lather up with soap, rinse it off, and get out of the shower. I don’t bother to shave. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I wipe the steam from the mirror. The ink on my side was always the hope for my future, but I fucked it up because I never went after it. Hazel eyes and brown hair reflect back and I try to see my life differently from what it really is—I’m thirty fucking years old and I have nothing—nothing that matters, anyway.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I attempt to shake off the morning. I print out the daily schedule and post it, then head over to get a cup of coffee. Nix and Garrett sit in comfortable silence in the lounge. Nix is reading the paper and Garrett is eating something that resembles nachos.

“Want some? There’s plenty,” Garrett says, crunching a chip.

“No, thanks. That looks disgusting. What is it?”

“It’s classic is what it is—a can of chili con carne, a jar of nacho sauce, and a bag of chips.”

I pour a cup of the coffee that looks like sludge. “Flynn, your eating habits need some serious help.”

“Hey, watch out—the next time you’re craving my pizza, I might just tell you to make it yourself.”

I shake my head and laugh. “Remind me again when I ever asked you to take a stale-looking hunk of bread and slap a jar of sauce on it?”

He just grins at me and crunches another chip. I take my coffee and stumble blurry-eyed into the back lounge to catch ESPN. Leif’s in there, and he looks me over.

“Rough night?” he asks.

I rub my hand over my stubble. “Just ready to get off this bus.”

He’s in the club chair, twirling while watching TV. “I know the feeling. Want to play some ball?”

Since my mind is shot and I can’t do any work right now . . . “Why not?”

An hour later, I’m killing him. I’ve always been a competitive guy. I don’t fuck around . . . video game or real game, it’s all the same. When my team is beating his, 95 to 72, I yell, “Yeah!” and pump my fist in the air.

He sets the controller down. “Bastard! I’m done.”

“Yes, you are—you sad son of a bitch. You lost! Rematch?”

Shaking his hand, he says, “No fucking way. Are we almost there?”

I glance at my watch and see it’s a little before three. “John said we’d be there before five. What’s your rush?”

“Just wish there were chicks on this bus so I could get a handy while we wait.”

Unable to believe his candor, I have to laugh. “What about that girl of yours you’re always talking on the phone with?”

“She dumped my ass.”

“That’s why you’ve been so punchy. Makes sense now.”

“Yeah, but tonight I’m not only getting stone drunk, you can bet I’ll be taking as many BJs as are offered my way.”

“Why did she break it off?”

“My girl?”

I grin at him. “I’m not talking about your dick.”

“Fuck you,” he says.

Leif and I have really hit it off and I enjoy having him around.

“No, really, what happened?” I ask.

“She’s pissed that I’m on the same bus as Ivy.”

This piques my interest. “Why? Do the two of you have something going on?”

“Fuck, no. She’s like my sister.”

“Did you explain that to your girl?”

“Man, I’ve talked about it so much that last night after another fight, I was over it and just said fine, believe what you want. You want to believe I’d cheat, believe it.”

“No, he’s definitely not the cheater,” Ivy chimes in. She’s standing behind my chair and I whirl around. Her words assault me and her eyes flash to me in an accusatory manner, but the moment passes quickly. She moves next to Leif and picks up his controller, then adds, “Just give her some time and then call her back—she knows you’re not the kind of guy who’d cheat.” She tips her head to the side and Leif moves out of the chair. She flops down in it and when she does her knee grazes mine, and every muscle in my body clenches. I want that two seconds of contact to happen over and over. She looks at me. “Go for the championship?”

I quickly focus my eyes on the TV. “Bring it, baby.” The word baby slips out. Ivy remains still for a moment, but Leif doesn’t seem to notice.

With the Lakers just catching their stride, Garrett, in all his annoyance, stands in front of me. “Hey, why don’t you make like Michael Jackson and beat it? My turn.”

“Beat it yourself, asswipe. We’re not in elementary school.”

“Right! So take your loss like a man and move on out so a real player can beat a chick,” he says, snatching the remote from me.

I stand up. “This ought to be good. You haven’t beaten me in anything since . . . oh yeah, never. Unless you cheat, that is.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he says and starts to play.

I lean against the window to watch. But under her breath I hear Ivy mutter, “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

I’ve had just about enough of leaving the past in the past. It’s time to have that conversation I’ve been holding back on. So when Nix walks in the room, I ask him, “Nix, why don’t you take over for Ivy? I need to talk to her about something.”

She glares at me with a fierceness in her eyes I’m not used to seeing, but I’m ready—it’s time to come clean. I nod toward her bedroom and she stands with a huff, throwing the controller down. “Xander, I told you let’s leave the past in the past,” she tells me in a whisper.

Leif’s phone rings and when he looks at the screen, he heads our way. “Mind if I go in your room, Ivy? It’s Amber and I think I should grovel in private.”

“Take your time. I’m fine out here,” she tells him, directing all her coldness my way.

Garrett looks up at me. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” I answer and head for the front lounge for another cup of sludge, but as I walk I wonder if telling her the truth even matters.

Less than an hour later we pull into the Hyatt Regency at the Cleveland Arcade. I’m in the galley on the phone with Ena making sure the merchandise for this week’s shows will arrive on time, not late like last week.

“It doesn’t fucking help to have T-shirts at a concert once the concert is over,” I tell her.

“I know, Xander, but I can’t control the pace at which UPS decides to move.”

“Ena, just overnight the shit for next week. We’re missing out on a huge financial opportunity.”

“Okay, I will. But just remember when you pay the bills, it was your idea.”

“Right. I gotta run. I’ll check in tomorrow.” I hit END and hoist my bag onto my shoulder—so ready to get off this bus.

Entering the hotel, I glance around. This place is completely cool. It’s two large buildings linked together by a wall of glass-framed windows. By far one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture I’ve ever seen, with its old railings and wooden trim. In its day it must have been a place to see.

I get us all checked in and luckily we each have our own room. Garrett takes the room keys while I sign for everything. When I turn around, everyone has disappeared. The lobby is oddly quiet, but the bar is not. A happy hour sign reads TWO FOR ONE. The elevators are to the right of the bar and Leif stands near them, just staring off into space.

Approaching him, I ask, “How’d it go?”

“Not well. She’s in love with someone else. That’s the real reason she wanted to break up.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks. But better to find out now. How about I take you out tonight? Get your mind off everything,” I ask as I press the UP button.

“Just tell me where and when.”

“There’s a club in the warehouse district with a band playing I’ve heard a lot about. I’m going to check them out later. Meet me in the lobby around ten.” The elevator doors open and we get in.

“I plan to get really shitfaced. I’m just warning you now.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I remember the shit River and Dahlia went through last year when I had to take care of his sorry ass after he tried to drown himself in booze rather than tell her what he knew. Not that I haven’t done the same many times. So, shit, a guy whose girl broke up with him—I can handle that.