Down Beat Page 18

  “With me.”

  I snap my gaze to Rey, suddenly all too aware it’s just me, him, and a huge empty suite. “Okay?”

  “Is that all right?” He rubs one arm. “I can probably arrange something else if it’s not.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I mean, yeah we’ve kissed. So it’s no big deal to share a bed, right?

  This is such a big deal. Does he think I’m not here for the mental coaching, because I’m clearly down with more? But at the same time I don’t want to come off as easy.

  Why is this so hard? This is why I’ve avoided serious relationships so successfully until now. Exactly! Who said this was serious? Play it casual, play it cool. Take it as it comes, Tabby.

  “Wanna let me know what’s going on in there?” Rey takes a step forward, ducking to look me in the eye.

  “I was in my head again, wasn’t I?”

  “Just a little.” He smiles.

  “Sorry.” I take a step toward him also and slide my arms around his middle when we meet. “Kendall tells me off for it all the time. You better get used to it.”

  “Huh.” His arms band around my shoulders, squeezing me tight. “What were you thinking, though?”

  “About how out of my depth I am. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

  “You’ll do fine. You’ve got me.” He chuckles, pulling away to look me in the eye. “Come on. I’ll show you how fucking awesome the bed is.” He takes off, unaware of how that sounded as he continues. “You’re gonna love it after last night. It’s like a fucking cloud.”

  I head toward the room he disappeared into, my nerves pinging as I literally step over the threshold from safe and open territory into intimate and personal space.

  Rey lies on the enormous bed, one hand behind his head as he pats the mattress with the other. “Try it.”

  “It’s a bed, Rey,” I level. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “Try it,” he repeats, low and persuasive.

  “Ugh. Fine.” I kick my Uggs off and climb up.

  Holy shit. It’s like there’s a gazillion fluffy bunnies all holding me up. “It’s so soft, and yet it’s not too soft, if that makes any sense.”

  “I know, right?”

  “I want one.”

  “I’ll buy you one.” He rolls to face me, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. “We could share it.”

  “Whoa.” I lift both hands between us, as well as both eyebrows. “Slow down there, tiger.”

  “What?” He graces me with a cheeky smile before leaning in to sweep his lips over mine.

  I love it, I really do. But we literally moved from twenty-first century pen pals—keeping in touch via Messenger—to… well, whatever this is in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Can we just.…” I slide out from beneath him and roll to my side so that we’re face-to-face. “Let’s get settled, get you to rehearsal, and then we can.…” I wave my hand between us for lack of anything better to say.

  His face falls, lines pinching his brow. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away.” He slides off the bed and heads toward the bathroom. “I should get changed before we head out.”

  My mouth waters when he reaches over his head with one hand and then tugs his T-shirt off. The material hits the floor in a heap, while my resolve to let this develop at a more sensible pace is seriously tested. Who the fuck am I kidding? If I don’t get to jump his bones by the end of this stint, I’m going to be seriously disappointed in myself and disillusioned in his prowess as a rock star.

  Still, there’s a time and a place, and the thirty minutes we have to get ready before heading out hardly seems like enough time to start that kind of relationship off in the right way. I don’t want forever from him, but I sure as shit want more than a fleeting tap and go.

  The water switches on in the bathroom while I stare at the ceiling and groan. I catch the clink of his belt before his arm appears in the doorway, jeans in hand, and he flicks them in the general direction of his T-shirt. The boxers come next.

  Fucking save me.

  “You’re being a tease,” I whine as I catch a glimpse of his naked butt in the mirror when he steps in the shower.

  “I’m being an open book, kitty,” he calls back. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  An open book. The goddamn thing isn’t written in English, I can tell you that much. Does his non-aversion to being naked around me mean he isn’t ashamed of his body? Or does he want me to join him?

  I don’t need a shower. Nope. But I do need something. Relief. And not the sort I can get here when I didn’t pack that.

  Shit.

  “Come on in,” he sings out in a Southern accent. “The water’s just fine.”

  I slide off the bed with a moan, my body alive at the anticipation of what I’ll find beyond that open door.

  Pity I’ll never know.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Rey

  “Mudshovel” - Staind

  I need a new approach. Subtle didn’t work with kitty. Neither did a blatant invitation. And she shot me down when I went in guns blazing.

  All I wanted was to make the most of our time alone, in private, and instead she marched her pert little ass out to the living room and waited on the sofa for me, messaging who I can only assume was Café Girl.

  I don’t really know what to make of it. I haven’t been blown off like that in years, and the last time I was it meant the girl didn’t want a fucking thing to do with me.

  I know that’s not the case with Tabby, but this male brain is seriously messed up when it tries to calculate what all her mixed signals mean.

  She kisses me, and she gets close to me, yet she shies away when anything indicates that we could actually be something together. Fuck. Is she scared of commitment?

  “Really could have used some help cleaning my back in there, kitty.”

  Her gaze lifts to me as I towel off my hair, decent in a clean pair of boxers and fresh denim.

  I’m still shirtless though. Couldn’t pass up that opportunity to rev her a little before we leave.

  “I’m sure you managed just fine.”

  “I guess you’ll never really know my struggle.”

  Truth is, I have my shower routine down to a fine art. Takes me all of three minutes to clean head to toe. It’s a case of needing to make it efficient as possible when I hate the water so damn much. Tricky fucking drips that run into my eyes—

  “Would you like to eat before we go?”

  I shift my focus back to Tabby to find her watching me with genuine concern. “The fridge is empty, and room service will take too long.”

  “Oh.” She looks to the carpet and frowns. “Would you mind if I skipped rehearsal and took a walk instead? I’m kind of famished.”

  “We’ll get food on the way.”

  Her jaw pulls tight as she looks toward the massive windows.

  “What?” I throw the towel over my shoulder and walk closer.

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “It’s enough to make you look uncomfortable.”

  She returns her focus to me as I take a seat on the low table in front of her. “I don’t mind being here to help you out, but I don’t know anyone else. Hell, I hardly know you.”

  “You’re shy?”

  “I feel as though I’d be more comfortable letting you work things out with the guys on your own today. You need that moment as just the four of you, to talk through what went down.”

  “Fuck them.” If they have any issues, they can talk to me about them with her there. It’s not as though I have any secrets when it comes to Tabby now. “I want you there.”

  “Rey.” Her head tilts slightly, pissing me off with her condescension.

  “You’re coming. End of story.” I push to my feet and hustle around the table to leave so damn fast it shifts when my shin collides with the corner. “Ow. Fuck.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Ego is a little bruised, but otherwise… “I’m fine,” I sn
ap, well aware I unnecessarily take my anger out on her, but the train’s a rollin’. “I’ll be better if you just do what you said you would and fucking support me through this. And right now, that means coming to rehearsal when I fucking ask you to.”

  Her eyes are hard, her jaw even more so as she seemingly bites her tongue and chooses to look out the windows at the skyline instead.

  Jesus. Fuck. This is not how I wanted things to go. I march through to the bathroom and hurl the fucking towel at the floor. My knuckles turn white with the grip I take on the edge of the counter, my head low between my shoulders as I refuse to look at myself.

  It’s catch-22s like these that drive me fucking insane. I need to look in that mirror to finish getting ready to head out, but at the same time I know if I do the usual dark thoughts will take over and leave me ready to punch myself in the fucking face.

  She has every right to take a fucking walk if she wants to. Who am I to stop her?

  Worst of all, why the fuck can’t I just go back through there and say sorry? Pride. It’s goddamn pride that tears my relationships with people apart. If I say sorry, it validates what happened. It says, “Yes, I know I was short-tempered and out of line” and reminds me that no matter how hard I try to be better, I. Just. Keep. Fucking. Up.

  Do it, you pussy bastard.

  I drag my gaze along the counter, up the backsplash, and to the mirror.

  Hair wax. Hands. Hair. Simple.

  Two twists and I have the lid of the wax container off. I set it down a little harsher than usual, which in turn makes the fucking thing ricochet off my damn deodorant stick. The plastic disc skims over the counter before tumbling to the floor.

  A twitch jerks the side of my nose as I gaze down at the tiny little error.

  It’s no big deal, Rey.

  Except today it’s everything. The straws are piling up on this camel’s back: Kendall disapproves of me, we spent a shitty night in the airport to avoid her, Wallace cut off my privileges, the guys rehearse without me, and now Tabby pushes me away, rejects me… that stings most of all.

  One deep breath. Two.

  I lean down to retrieve the lid. My fingertips catch the white sticky wax residue and make a mess.

  Something intrinsic to my state of mind snaps.

  The plastic careens across the marble top with my frustration, quickly followed by the half-full tub. It skates off the end of the counter and collides with the side of the shower. The plastic tub cracks, and then falls to the carpet as my blood surges through my veins.

  Fuck.

  I tried so hard to keep my shit level. I really did.

  But that useless plastic motherfucker.…

  “Fuck!”

  I should leave it where it is and walk away, cool off. Take some time to wind down and then start again fresh.

  But I don’t have time. I’ve probably got ten minutes left to get downstairs if I’m lucky.

  Fuck! My hands damn well shake as I reach for the cracked canister. Tiny fibers are stuck in the wax from the carpet. Tiny fibers that only bury themselves deeper when I try to swipe them out.

  I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.

  The breaths I take leave me hysterical, whooshing out my nose like I’m some raging bull. I chuckle at myself as I fix my hair. At least by some swing of fate the hysteria helps to ease my rage.

  That is, until one fucking spike refuses to play ball.

  “Come on, you little fucker. Get over there.”

  The strand droops at the end, which wouldn’t be such a problem if the rest of them weren’t straight as an arrow. Probably because your hair is wet, you fuckhead. Of course. I’m in such a hurry I forget to do something as obvious as drying my hair first.

  The plastic tub doesn’t survive the second flight across the bathroom.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Great. And now she’s here.

  “Nothing.” I stoop down to salvage what I can of my ruined hair product, bundling it in my palm with the dregs of my pride as I refuse to look at Tabby.

  “Something’s obviously wrong.” She looks pointedly at the ruins in my hands, the cock of her head clear in my periphery. “Can I help?”

  And there it goes—my last strand of rationality.

  “I don’t know, can you?” I holler at her, while my subconscious screams at me to stop, to calm down and to relax. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Can you fix this?” I yank at my hair before messing it up with both palms.

  She stands stoic in the doorway, silent while I meltdown, crying internally at myself to stop.

  It’s been a while. I knew it was coming. I had hoped it wouldn’t be today, was all.

  The tap slips in my grasp as I try to crank the water on to wash my hands. Tabby steps forward to help… forward into my lava bubble of self-hatred.

  “No. I can do it.”

  “Just let me—”

  “I said I can do it!” My voice reverberates off the shiny surfaces, deafening.

  She retreats a step, watching quietly while I use a hand towel to get the tap on. The wax predictably repels the water, which means the cleanup takes a painfully long time. My heartbeat pulses through my veins.

  She’s not convinced I can handle this, and I don’t blame her. I can see it in the set of her eyebrows as she punches her arms over her chest.

  “What?” I mutter.

  “Got it out of your system yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “What set you off?” Her question is carefully delivered.

  The towel rubs hard against my skin as I scrub the last of the wax off my fingers. “You.”

  I turn my head to look at her when she remains silent. Her brow is pinched, the anger there to see. I get it. I asked her here, spouting off how I couldn’t be without her. And I still can’t. But what confuses me no end is why that is when her presence only makes me more frustrated at what I’ve become.

  I push past her, my shoulder knocking hers as I head into the bedroom and retrieve my wallet and phone. She stays leaning against the bathroom door with her back to me while I punch them in my pockets.

  “Maybe you should take that walk, Tabitha. Probably be a good idea if you didn’t come back, either.” Not when I’m like this.

  Not even twenty-four hours and I’ve already done it.

  I’ve already brought her down to my level.

  Aaand… this is where they leave.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Tabitha

  “Waking Lions” – Pop Evil

  What the fuck have I signed up for?

  My hands shake in my lap as I stare pointlessly at the coffee table before me. I dropped onto the sofa the second he slammed the door behind him and I haven’t moved since. Welcome to the tour, Tabby.

  I let him go.

  What did he expect me to do? Run after him and beg for forgiveness? If so, he can think again—I don’t play that game. Especially when I have nothing to be sorry for.

  I mean I get it. I really do. Especially after reading a couple of firsthand accounts online from people who struggle with the disorder. He feels out of control. The mood swing takes him over, and his anger stems from his frustration at himself.

  He’s the product of seemingly years without proper treatment, without a proper action plan. From what he told me, the members of his support network have simply done what they had to in order to prop him up like some puppet, instead of actually dealing with the problem properly.

  I can deal with that. I understand why he’s so fractured.

  But what I can’t deal with is being made to feel as though this whole thing is my fault. It’s like I’m being punished for his issues.

  That’s hard to get past, no matter how much I want to help him. No matter how much I know he doesn’t mean to make me feel this way.

  I should go out and get food, but I’m stuck with one tiny predicament: I never got a moment in that blaze of fury to ask Rey if I could use his key card. Room service it is, then.
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  I scour the apartment for the menu, finding it stashed in one of the kitchen drawers. Yet as I stare at the list of things that belong on a restaurant menu, I can’t make heads or tails of the words. Nothing registers. I’m here in body, but my thoughts are across town with a man who’s stuck on self-destruct.

  I burn to message him, to get in touch, desperate to know how things went when he showed up to practice. Yet I know that would only give him an out for his behavior and set the benchmark. It would let him know I’m okay with him carrying on like he’s always done.

  And I’m not. I didn’t come here for a holiday, I came here to help. And I can’t help him if I enable his current defaults.

  My gaze falls on my violin case as I give up on food for the time being. If I can find solace in my music, why can’t Rey?

  I’m such a mess. I need a reassuring voice, to talk to somebody in my corner. And there’s only one person I have to do that with, despite how she feels about the man. I retrieve my phone from my purse and then navigate to Kendall’s number.

  “Hey, hon.” Her bubbly voice leaves me tight in the chest, suddenly a little homesick.

  “Hey.” I return to the kitchen and lean a hip against the counter.

  “What’s up? You sound flat.”

  “Tired,” I bullshit. “How are things there? No sleepovers while I’m away, okay?”

  She chuckles at my dry humor while I chew my thumbnail. “No, Mom. I’m fine, though. Little bit jealous of you living it up. You’re lucky I love you, bitch.”

  “I promise it’s not as wild as whatever you’re thinking.”

  “Probably not, but a girl can dream.” She hesitates before asking, “What have you been up to so far? Why’s it so quiet? I thought you’d be getting ready for tonight, or something.”

  “The guys are.” I fuss with the menu beside me. “I asked if I could hang back and get something to eat. We didn’t have much before we got on the plane, and Rey doesn’t really stop it seems.”

  “Well, you tell him I said he has to take good care of you, okay? He doesn’t want to cross me again, trust me.”

  “He’s just a bit stressed, I think.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I push off the counter and head for the windows before answering. “He lost his cool when we got in to the hotel this afternoon. Typical rock star moment.”