High Strung (Power Station Book 1) (36 page)

“Dude, get your head
in the game. I’m playing a C sharp major, and you aren’t even in the same scale. What the hell key
are
you in? Did you forget how to play? Did you tune at all?” Alex flung a guitar pick at me as I looked up from my bass. I actually had no recollection of what I played, and we’d gone over this progression at least six times.

“I’m fine, asshole. Just making sure you’re paying attention. You just worry about making sure your part is tight. I can handle mine.” I stretched out my fingers before flipping him off. Fucking Stone and his perfect-ass playing.

“Hey, why don’t we take five?” James put his mic back on the stand and walked toward me. If there was a mediator in this band, that guy sure as hell fit the bill. Sure, he was a tough business guy and when it came to music, he knew that shit inside and out, but he was too smart to let that go to his head. Whenever things got hairy, James was always the first one to step up and take control.

“What’s going on, brother? I’ve never seen you this edgy before a show.” James clapped his hand around my shoulder. Now I felt bad about letting him down. Another heaping spoonful of disappointment.

“The show isn’t the problem. I can play this shit sideways. Just got some other stuff clouding up my gray matter.”

Ashlyn still wouldn’t take my calls. I had left maybe forty voice messages, and I was half expecting the sheriff to show up and issue me with a restraining order.

“We can cancel the gig, dude. It’s no big deal.” Troy rested his sticks on his snare and popped out his in-ear monitors. “It’s just an exhibition show. No tickets have been sold. No harm, no foul.”

If anyone knew what private hell I’d been living with for the last two weeks, it was the man sitting across from me. He had found my sorry ass, a bottle and half of bourbon later, on the floor of my fucking apartment where Ash had left me. He didn’t even say anything, just parked his ass on the floor beside me and helped me finish the other half of the bottle.

I’d fucked up. I got that. I should have told Ash right off the bat about the job. But I knew if I did, she would take it the wrong way, which she did anyway. The whole Sydney thing was a kick in the nuts. I had gone back and forth a million times and still didn’t know what else I could have done differently. I came up blank each and every time. I had slept with Syd, but that shit was in the past, and the minute I fucking laid eyes on Ash, Sydney wasn’t even on my radar. Ash was never a consolation prize. She was the fucking jackpot. She was The World Series and Superbowl rolled into one and no girl had even come close. The fact she didn’t get what a big deal she was made me feel like I’d had my dick slammed in a car door.

“Ash and I aren’t together anymore, but I’m fine. We’re doing the show.”

“Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up at you like that. I was a complete dick.” Alex put down his ax and walked over. He looked all regretful and shit. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Nothing to say.” I shrugged. There really wasn’t. ’Cause talking about it just made it harder, and it was bad enough running through it in my head. It was a car crash, and yet I couldn’t stop the fucking loop.

“We’re here for you, brother. Whatever you need.” Jase joined the improv therapy session.

Jase already knew. He had joined Troy and I in one of my post-break up drinking sessions and listened to me in my misery, but like the stand-up guy he was, had kept his trap shut and didn’t tell James and Alex. It’s not that I didn’t want them to know, I just didn’t want to have to say the words. Like maybe some miracle would happen and she would come back. But all the hoping in the world didn’t do jack.

I was not willing to let down my brothers. It was bad enough I’d let down the only woman I’d ever loved. Yeah. There was that. I fucking loved her. Still did. The fact she’d bailed did nothing to change up that sitch.

So, I guess I knew. Knew what it felt like to have your heart broken, and knew what it felt like to live with the fact that the only person you want to be with didn’t want you. It was a kind of suck that you couldn’t even begin to understand, or explain. Unimaginable pain.

“I’m going to need a minute.” I pulled the strap from my chest and rested the bass on the stand. I needed some air.

The guys looked at each other before looking back at me. I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what was going on in their heads. They were wondering how long I was going to be able to keep my shit together. I couldn’t even clue them in, ’cause the truth was, I had no fucking idea.

I walked out of James’s studio and into his backyard. It was the tail end of fall and the chill factor was getting good and cozy with the day. I wasn’t wearing a jacket but I didn’t give a shit. I welcomed the cold air hitting my skin like an ice bath. Gave me something else to concentrate on other than this pit of emptiness I was dealing with.

I pulled out my phone and flicked through my contacts. I stopped at her name; my finger hovering over it like it did every single time. I didn’t call. Not this time at least. I reserved the calling for when I got good and worn down. Usually late at night or the early hours of the morning, hoping her automatic reflexes would kick in and she’d just pick up. But she didn’t. It always diverted to voice mail where I’d get to live a different type of hell and listen to her sweet pre-recorded voice tell me
she can’t come to the phone right now
. I fucking hated it, but it was my only connection to her, and like a fucking junkie, I wasn’t willing to go cold turkey. For those few precious seconds, with her voice in my ear, I could pretend that she was still mine and that was I going to hold her again soon.

I scrolled down the names in my phone a little farther, and before I could stop myself, I hit call. It was the other number my brain liked to wrestle with before hitting dial; today I was all out of fight.

“Hey, Dan. You really need to stop calling me. It feels wrong going behind her back.” I knew it was only a matter of time before she said it, and today those words had finally come.

“I know, Megs. I’m sorry. I just miss her and I need to know she’s okay.”

I closed my eyes and tried to reconcile with the fact this was probably the last time Megs would take my call. Not that I blamed her. Her loyalties were with Ash, and I was thankful she’d been so patient up to this point. A lesser person would have told me to fuck off the first time I’d called. We’d both been surprised. Me, for the fact I’d actually let the call connect, and Megs that I’d kept the number after planning Ash’s birthday celebration.

Maybe it was ’cause she was a shrink, or maybe ’cause she was just a decent person, but she listened to what I had to say with no judgment. She let me spill my guts and lay myself bare with no need to censor. Her advice was sound and she was kinder than I fucking deserved, but I lived for those rare fucking moments where she’d let down her guard and tell me about my girl. Anything. Even if it was just to know she’d finally slept. I wanted to know. I needed to know.

“Dan, I’ve tried to be impartial, but this whole situation is really fucked up. You are both in so much fucking pain. It’s horrendous. Maybe it’s for the best if you let her go.”

“I wish it was that easy.” I swallowed, cursing the fucking lump forming in my throat. “She’s always going to be with me, Megs. I love her. She’s deep in me now, and even if I never see her again, I’m always going to love her.”

“Fuck, Dan, you’re making me cry.” Megs’s voice cracked and I heard her breath hitch as she tried to hide the tiny sobs.

“I’m sorry, Megs. Seems like making girls cry is all I’m good for these days.” I balled my fist up against my eyes. “I know I’ve got no right to ask, but I’m going to need you to do me one more thing.”

“What is it?” Megs hiccupped, having lost her battle with the waterworks.

“Take care of my girl for me, will you?” I tried to pull it together so I could finish what I needed to say, my body fighting a losing battle with my fucking emotions. “You or she ever need anything, I don’t care what it is or when, you call. No strings. She doesn’t even have to know it’s from me. I don’t ever want her without.”

Megs cried into the phone and shit got real quiet on my end while I tried to absorb the pain. I listened. Listened to Megs’s tears and let the misery wash over me. If she could do this for me, then I’d give her a blank check for whatever she wanted. She could call on favors for the rest of her days, and I’d shut my mouth and pay up with a fucking smile. I couldn’t let go and I’d never stop loving her, but if I knew someone was looking out for her, I was willing to step away. She deserved a chance at being happy, and I’d obviously fucked that up. It wasn’t about me, or what I wanted anymore, and I’d give my last fucking breath to make sure she was happy. Even if that meant saying goodbye.

It’s funny how I
now measured time. It wasn’t December tenth. It was three weeks post Dan. It was cold, brutal and unrelenting. The gray sky fought for slivers of sunshine, not usually successfully. And it had already started to snow.

Dan had stopped calling and I didn’t know what was worse. Knowing he’d finally given up, or realizing I wish he hadn’t. Not that it was his fault. He stuck it out a lot longer than I thought he would. I just had been too scared to give it another chance. The gamble. Not knowing if he had loved me as deeply as I had loved him, or if it had been an illusion.

I had stopped crying, too. Well mostly. There was still a night here or there when I’d slip from the wagon, but overall I was doing better. Work kept me busy which helped, hard to be sad when you’re neck deep in property analysis. I was still cautious online, avoiding any website that could potentially spill gossip, and I ran past newsstands like they contained a life threatening disease. I was okay, but I just couldn’t see it yet. Dan with other women. Even though I knew I had no right to think it, I just couldn’t stand the thought of him with someone else. He would have moved on by now. Found someone else, perhaps more than one. Maybe one for every day of the week? I don’t know why I tortured myself.

If it weren’t so tragic, it would be funny. That I had been the one to end it, and yet here I was, obsessed over whether I’d been replaced. I really needed a hobby. I’d heard knitting had suddenly become cool; maybe I’d knit myself a scarf. Or I could cut out the lead-time and just become a crazy cat woman now. Except that I hated cats and wool made me itchy.

“Ash, we’re heading out for lunch. You want to join us?” Celeste from marketing knocked at my door. I’d tried to make friends around the office, thought it would help. But it didn’t. It just added new names to the list of people I had to fake it for. So much for intelligence. I was clearly a dumbass.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to work through. I have a vicious deadline,” I lied, not wanting lunch or the company.

“Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah, another time.” Like when I stopped being a downer. I forced a smile back.

She was kind enough to leave without pushing it further. It wasn’t the first decline she had received from me. Honestly, I’m surprised she kept asking. Maybe she was going for sainthood. Or, I just looked really pathetic.

I turned my head back to my monitor, the sound of her heels heading down the hall marking the end of the conversation. What was I doing again? That’s right, reworking this email for the hundredth time, and hopefully making it seem like someone who was college educated wrote it.

“Hey.” Rob rapped his knuckled against the doorframe. Not sure if it was a knock or a call to attention, but it got me to stop shooting daggers at the computer screen for the minute.

“Thought you might be hungry.” He held up the plastic bag of non-descript containers. “Got some lunch. You want to share?”

My stomach growled on cue, shooting down the anticipated
I’m-not-hungry
my mouth was working on. Both of them, my stomach and my mouth, were assholes.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Rob grinned, strolling into my office. The bag of takeaway waved like a victory flag. “I hope you like Chinese. There’s enough here to feed an army.”

“Thanks,” I conceded. Busy or not, I had to eat. My body was only going to tolerate the lack of fuel for so long before it turned on me. My stomach’s vocal protest proof it had already started the revolt. “Chinese is great,” my asshole mouth offered. It sounded like a shitty tagline. Something a second rate advertising manager would come up with. Thank god I was in the numbers business instead of words.