Rock Chick Reckoning
Page 49
Mace didn’t feel like letting me lock it down. His hands came to my neck and he moved my head to face him. His thumbs at my jaw, he forced me to look up at him.
“Talk to me,” he repeated and his eyes looked strange.
He was looking at me in a way he’d never looked at me before. It was a warm look but, if I was reading it right, it was fil ed with concern, so much concern it looked a lot like worry. And al that was mingled with such tenderness, at the sight of it, my breath didn’t take a flight, it beamed to another galaxy.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
The phone rang again and we let it, staring at each other.
Mace didn’t move, neither did I.
The phone stopped ringing and Mace’s face came closer, his forehead resting on mine.
“They don’t know where you are,” he said and it wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer but my non-answer was an answer.
“You don’t want them to know where you are.” Mace made another statement and I kept quiet. “You don’t want them to know,” he repeated. “You don’t want them to know so much that you’d sabotage your career by turning down the scouts. Keepin’ yourself secluded here doin’ smal -time gigs rather than lettin’ yourself be what you’re supposed to be.”
I swal owed.
He was digging deep into a place he wasn’t al owed to be. A place I didn’t let anyone visit, not even myself and my trembling body started shaking.
I put my hands to his chest and pushed.
He didn’t budge.
“Move away, Mace,” I whispered.
“You lied to Daisy. You aren’t just scarred. You’re broken.”
I was beginning to breathe heavily.
“Move away.”
Mace changed tactics. “They can’t hurt you anymore.” I felt them then, the tears sliding up the back of my throat, my sinuses tingling.
I swal owed again, this time it hurt.
“Please, move away.”
“I won’t let them. Floyd won’t let them. Fuck, if Hugo heard them say one nasty thing against you, he’d tear them apart. You have people who care about you now, Kitten.
They can’t get at you. You can let it go. You can shine.” For some reason, I said, “They can get at me.”
“Kitten.”
At his soft, deep voice uttering his sweet, special name for me with his face so close, his eyes al I could see, I exposed myself in a way I’d never exposed myself to anyone. Not friends, not bandmates, not even Floyd.
“He can get at me,” I said, so softly I could barely hear myself.
Mace closed his eyes and his hands moved from my neck, down my back and he wrapped his arms around me but he didn’t take his forehead from mine.
I hated to admit it but his arms around me like that felt good.
No, if I was honest, they felt great.
I couldn’t deal with that either.
His eyes opened again and they dril ed into mine. “He can’t.”
I nodded my head.
Mace shook his.
I put my hands on either side of his neck and squeezed gently.
“You don’t get it,” I whispered.
“I get it.”
“You can’t.”
He pressed even closer, his voice got lower and I watched in horrified fascination as something tremendously frightening happened.
Earth-shatteringly frightening.
World-rockingly frightening.
I watched, my breath held, as the guard I never knew Mace kept firmly in place faded clean away.
“Babe,” he murmured fiercely. “I can.” That’s when I slid out of my pain, out of my panic and I saw them, clear as day, dancing malevolently behind his beautiful eyes.
Demons.
Mace had demons.
And they were far worse than anything I could even imagine.
Sinister tingles slithered down my back as a savage, steel-toed boot hit me straight in the gut. It was so savage, my body jerked with it and I sucked in breath, staring speechless at the open torment in Mace’s eyes.
Before I could say anything (not that I knew what to say), the phone rang and the buzzer went on the door.
The moment was lost.
The guard slammed down over his features and he stepped away. Snatching the phone off the counter, he stalked to the door.
What was THAT? My brain asked me.
I was stil trembling, now for a different reason.
I have no idea, I told my brain.
Juno bounded in before Hector and Mace muttered, “No comment,” into the phone again while I watched.
What are we gonna do? My brain asked.
I swal owed, more scared now than when bul ets were pounding in the dirt al around me. More scared than I’d ever been in my whole f**king life.
I have no effing idea, I answered.
Chapter Eleven
First World Tour
Stella
I had no time to figure it out.
Juno butted my calf with her nose with such strength my whole body shifted to the side, tel ing me in no uncertain terms it was breakfast time.
I’d already left her in the clutches of an unknown, but hot (not that “hot” factored in Juno’s choice for companions, stil , it must be said), Hispanic guy for her morning bathroom break. I was heading for Worst Doggie Mom of the Year if I didn’t at least take care of the bare necessities.
“Al right, baby,” I murmured, jumping down from the counter.
Juno knew what my motion meant. She wagged her tail in response and her whole body went with it.
“We gotta rol .” I heard Hector say as I nabbed Juno’s bowl from the floor.
“Yeah,” Mace replied. “Give me a second.” I looked up to see him coming my way.
I straightened and backed up two steps stil in the throes of a jumble of strong emotions, none of which I could process at the moment considering my dog was starving.
“I got things to do,” Mace told me, stopping close and I tilted my head back to look up at him.
“Okay.”
Mace going was good. No, it was great. It meant I could nap. It meant I could play my guitar. It meant I could cal Al y and process every second of the last twelve hours. Or, better yet, pul together a clever disguise and skip town.
He took the bowl from my hand and put it on the counter.
Juno whined, unhappy with this turn of events.
“I have to feed Juno,” I informed Mace.
“In a second.”
My poor Juno.
Mace continued speaking. “You answer the phone, it’s a reporter, you say ‘no comment’ and hang up. Got me?”
“Mace –”
“Stel a, no comment. I don’t want that shit in my life. Not again.”
“Talk to me,” he repeated and his eyes looked strange.
He was looking at me in a way he’d never looked at me before. It was a warm look but, if I was reading it right, it was fil ed with concern, so much concern it looked a lot like worry. And al that was mingled with such tenderness, at the sight of it, my breath didn’t take a flight, it beamed to another galaxy.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
The phone rang again and we let it, staring at each other.
Mace didn’t move, neither did I.
The phone stopped ringing and Mace’s face came closer, his forehead resting on mine.
“They don’t know where you are,” he said and it wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer but my non-answer was an answer.
“You don’t want them to know where you are.” Mace made another statement and I kept quiet. “You don’t want them to know,” he repeated. “You don’t want them to know so much that you’d sabotage your career by turning down the scouts. Keepin’ yourself secluded here doin’ smal -time gigs rather than lettin’ yourself be what you’re supposed to be.”
I swal owed.
He was digging deep into a place he wasn’t al owed to be. A place I didn’t let anyone visit, not even myself and my trembling body started shaking.
I put my hands to his chest and pushed.
He didn’t budge.
“Move away, Mace,” I whispered.
“You lied to Daisy. You aren’t just scarred. You’re broken.”
I was beginning to breathe heavily.
“Move away.”
Mace changed tactics. “They can’t hurt you anymore.” I felt them then, the tears sliding up the back of my throat, my sinuses tingling.
I swal owed again, this time it hurt.
“Please, move away.”
“I won’t let them. Floyd won’t let them. Fuck, if Hugo heard them say one nasty thing against you, he’d tear them apart. You have people who care about you now, Kitten.
They can’t get at you. You can let it go. You can shine.” For some reason, I said, “They can get at me.”
“Kitten.”
At his soft, deep voice uttering his sweet, special name for me with his face so close, his eyes al I could see, I exposed myself in a way I’d never exposed myself to anyone. Not friends, not bandmates, not even Floyd.
“He can get at me,” I said, so softly I could barely hear myself.
Mace closed his eyes and his hands moved from my neck, down my back and he wrapped his arms around me but he didn’t take his forehead from mine.
I hated to admit it but his arms around me like that felt good.
No, if I was honest, they felt great.
I couldn’t deal with that either.
His eyes opened again and they dril ed into mine. “He can’t.”
I nodded my head.
Mace shook his.
I put my hands on either side of his neck and squeezed gently.
“You don’t get it,” I whispered.
“I get it.”
“You can’t.”
He pressed even closer, his voice got lower and I watched in horrified fascination as something tremendously frightening happened.
Earth-shatteringly frightening.
World-rockingly frightening.
I watched, my breath held, as the guard I never knew Mace kept firmly in place faded clean away.
“Babe,” he murmured fiercely. “I can.” That’s when I slid out of my pain, out of my panic and I saw them, clear as day, dancing malevolently behind his beautiful eyes.
Demons.
Mace had demons.
And they were far worse than anything I could even imagine.
Sinister tingles slithered down my back as a savage, steel-toed boot hit me straight in the gut. It was so savage, my body jerked with it and I sucked in breath, staring speechless at the open torment in Mace’s eyes.
Before I could say anything (not that I knew what to say), the phone rang and the buzzer went on the door.
The moment was lost.
The guard slammed down over his features and he stepped away. Snatching the phone off the counter, he stalked to the door.
What was THAT? My brain asked me.
I was stil trembling, now for a different reason.
I have no idea, I told my brain.
Juno bounded in before Hector and Mace muttered, “No comment,” into the phone again while I watched.
What are we gonna do? My brain asked.
I swal owed, more scared now than when bul ets were pounding in the dirt al around me. More scared than I’d ever been in my whole f**king life.
I have no effing idea, I answered.
Chapter Eleven
First World Tour
Stella
I had no time to figure it out.
Juno butted my calf with her nose with such strength my whole body shifted to the side, tel ing me in no uncertain terms it was breakfast time.
I’d already left her in the clutches of an unknown, but hot (not that “hot” factored in Juno’s choice for companions, stil , it must be said), Hispanic guy for her morning bathroom break. I was heading for Worst Doggie Mom of the Year if I didn’t at least take care of the bare necessities.
“Al right, baby,” I murmured, jumping down from the counter.
Juno knew what my motion meant. She wagged her tail in response and her whole body went with it.
“We gotta rol .” I heard Hector say as I nabbed Juno’s bowl from the floor.
“Yeah,” Mace replied. “Give me a second.” I looked up to see him coming my way.
I straightened and backed up two steps stil in the throes of a jumble of strong emotions, none of which I could process at the moment considering my dog was starving.
“I got things to do,” Mace told me, stopping close and I tilted my head back to look up at him.
“Okay.”
Mace going was good. No, it was great. It meant I could nap. It meant I could play my guitar. It meant I could cal Al y and process every second of the last twelve hours. Or, better yet, pul together a clever disguise and skip town.
He took the bowl from my hand and put it on the counter.
Juno whined, unhappy with this turn of events.
“I have to feed Juno,” I informed Mace.
“In a second.”
My poor Juno.
Mace continued speaking. “You answer the phone, it’s a reporter, you say ‘no comment’ and hang up. Got me?”
“Mace –”
“Stel a, no comment. I don’t want that shit in my life. Not again.”
