Maybe (8 page)

I sit next to Carrie, aware of how exasperated she’s become with all this and how empty her eyes are when she looks at Shawn.

“Hey.”

She turns to look at me like she can’t believe anyone is acknowledging her. While I’d seen Hollis standing next to her at the first gig, I realize that I didn’t see them speak. Every time she’s been in the room, it’s like she’s invisible. The only time I’ve heard her talk is when she flipped out during the preinterview and almost took Shawn’s hand off.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft and hesitant; untrusting as she looks away again. I want to ask her if she knows that when this band gets signed and goes on tour that she’ll be the one left behind. They won’t ask her to sell merch, and Shawn won’t be faithful. I’ve seen it too many times to count. I don’t know her, but I figure she deserves better than to be the girlfriend who follows Shawn around until he gets famous. At least first wives get money in a divorce. All Carrie will get to see will be all her hard work and devotion thrown away like garbage on the side of the road.

Before I can speak, Hollis is in my ear, asking to talk with me in the hallway. Tyler has this look on his face when we pass by that clearly insinuates that shit’s going to hit the fan. I’m bracing myself for impact when Hollis leans against the wall and brushes her orange bangs from her eyes.

“I don’t know what happened because he won’t talk about it. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t skew your article in any way. Mace really deserves this, and we’ve worked hard to get him some recognition that will help him see that he’s talented enough to do this. On his own, if that’s what needs to happen.” She’s picking at the chipped purple nail polish on her thumb. “The story should be about him.”

“Listen . . .”

“No, you listen. He slept, and he wrote, which is huge. I don’t know if it’s because of you or what other reason it may be. I’m not dumb. I told him to stay away from you, but he’s kind of an asshole, if you haven’t figured that out. But he’s a talented asshole who deserves to get signed and away from Austin so he stops dwelling in the past. So please. Write the story about him.”

My voice is small. “I will.”

“Good.” A smile starts, but she screws up her mouth instead and looks like she’s chewing on the inside of her lip. “Whatever it was? You look like you liked it.”

Ethan gets a few good photos, and we stay for two more songs, but Hollis’ words are ringing in my ears and I just need to go. Shawn asks if we are going to be coming over to his place to play pool, but I decline because I need rest and time to think.

My friend walks to the apartment with me, still holding hands between us as we go. “The singer is sexy as fuck.”

I crane my neck to see a devious smile on his face. “That was his girlfriend sitting on the couch.”

He knows it, and I know it, but to hear the truth spoken out loud seems to make it final. “We both know that won’t last if they leave this town.”

The words are spinning in my head when Ethan leaves to get his rental and drive off. In fact, my thoughts are spinning so fast that when I step into the lobby and see Laura standing a foot away from me, it makes me feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.

“How did it go?” She’s wringing her hands nervously, worry etched in her features.

“It was fine. Ethan got pictures. Their rehearsal was good. Hollis told me to shut up and make the story about Tyler.”

We’re in the elevator when she speaks again, with sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Sounds like it went well.”

“Could have gone worse.”

“Not much longer,” she reminds me when the elevator gets to the fourth floor. “You can do it!” Her fist is raised above her head like Judd Nelson, and I half expect to hear “Don’t You Forget About Me” playing in the background before the doors close and I’m on my way back down.

For hours, I scour the interviews and try my best to change the focal point to Tyler. It’s apparent that he’s the story, but I wonder how Shawn feels about it. How will Jon handle being in the background, or how will any of them react if he’s signed as a solo act?

Somewhere between shuffling words around and highlighting portions of interview text, I doze off. I’m dreaming about Tyler and his hands, his lips, and the feel of him hovering above me in my bed. The sensation of his hand on my calf is so real I hear myself gasp and moan a little, stretching out on the couch. When I touch a solid leg, I’m wide awake and about to scream.

Tyler reaches over and places his hand on my mouth, shushing me with a grin. “It’s just me.”

“Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.” I move his palm so the words aren’t muffled anymore. “What are you doing here?” I laugh when I realize he’s in his pajamas.

“I thought you could use another good night’s sleep.” His mouth is saying words that his eyes belie.

“You mean
you
want another good night’s sleep.” I yawn and stretch before leaning over and placing my cheek on my knees and hands on my ankles.

“Can you not do that right now please? Your flexibility is going to kill my resolve.”

“What resolve?” I’m smiling because I know he’s trying. I am, too.

“My resolve to be in a bed with you and not touch you in certain places.” His fingers drum the table again, and I glare.

“You broke into my apartment to cuddle.”

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I used my keys. You have a crack in your shower, and I was bringing up caulk to fix it.”

The way he says caulk isn’t right, and I know it.

“You can bring up your caulk, and I’ll let you cuddle me. But we had an agreement, remember?”

He stands, and his eyes hold an intensity I can feel myself drowning in. “Of course I remember. We had a deal.”

I change into pajamas and sink into the mattress, where he’s waiting to wrap me in the warmth of his arms.

“Good night, Tyler.” The way his chest goes rigid behind me is a reminder that no one else calls him that, even though I don’t know why. “Sorry. I meant good night, Mace.”

His fingers are soft against my face when he moves a lock of hair off my shoulder. “You can call me Tyler, Emily.”

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday go much the same way. He shows up. I let him in. He writes, and I work on the article. We sleep.

It’s comfortable, and my lips don’t touch his once.

When I leave for work, he kisses my cheek and tells me goodbye from my own door. I know he’ll lock up when he leaves, though. He has keys.

The office is louder than normal when I walk in, and Laura greets me by popping her head out of the conference room when I pass by. “Jonathan is here for his interview.” I can hear Grier carrying on a conversation in there, and the laughter that follows whatever is said makes me chuckle, too. They clear the room when I walk in, and I’m setting up my phone to record the interview when Jon stops me.

“I won’t be here long.” He’s smiling so wide, and his eyes are clear when he says it.

“Why not? Do you have something else to do?”

“No. But you already know that this isn’t about me, so I don’t want to waste your time. You want to know about me? I’m from Texas. I’m married. My family has a huge ranch in Midlothian, and I’ll move there someday to take it over. I like playing bass, but I won’t be doing this until I’m forty. But Mace will, and that’s why you’re here.”

“I got that from Hollis on Sunday.”

He leans forward, and this time his smile is one of pride. “She’s a great manager, but we need to ask a favor of you. You and Mace have this thing going on. We don’t know what it is, but the bets and the eye-fucking? It’s a thing with you two. We have a proposal for you. A wager, if you will.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say. Just listen. We’re going to a bar tonight for drinks. There’s another band playing there, but Hollis called ahead and asked if we could do one song.”

My shoulders hunch, and I lean back to eye him. “Why?”

“We need him to see that he can take lead. I want you to bet him that he can’t sing onstage. He never backs down from a bet, and I guarantee he’ll do it, even though it scares him, because it’ll be you setting the challenge.”

“What’s my prize?”

“Whatever you want.” He looks like he means it, but I’m skeptical.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You have about seven hours, then.” He hits the table with his fist and grins. “You’ll do it. I know you will.”

When he walks out the door, I know he’s right. Twelve days is all it has taken, and I hate that I know how long it’s been since I met Tyler.

Chapter Twelve

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

I write notes on her, and she still hasn’t found them. Last night I left a clef note behind her right knee. The music is getting worse every time we’re together. Louder. More cohesive. I’m craving the times I get to be alone with her and listen to her heart beat in three-quarter time. I want to record it and use it as the bass line in a song.

She calls me Tyler.

There was a time when hearing my own name made me sick.

If she were staying longer, I’d let her call me anything she wanted to. But she is leaving, and I think it’s for the best. She’s in love with the Big Apple and the Peach State. Her map is filled with lines and places that do not include coming back to Texas.

So I won’t ask her to.

—M

Chapter Thirteen

I knock on his door at eight o’clock on the dot. He yells for me to come in, and when I do, I see him tying his shoes, barely looking my way until I shut the door behind me with a click. His attention is finally on me, and the way he’s staring makes my chest grow warm and tight.

This is the first time I’ve really seen his apartment, which is ridiculous given how much time we’ve spent together over the last few days. It’s neat and tidy, everything in its place, with room enough for his drum set and a small upright piano against the far wall. It is everything I would expect and more.

“Hi.” I walk over to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You know, this is the first time I’ve really seen this place. The first time I was here, I ran out pretty fast after pepper spraying you.” My eyes wander again, and I’m drawn to the drum set and notice how pristine and shiny everything is. My fingers pop the top of one of the cymbals before I take a seat on the throne and extend my foot to touch the bass pedal.

“I like the way you look on that,” he tells me, coming to rest on the other side.

I blush and swivel a little, getting a better view. “I have no idea how you got all this in here and still have room to live and eat. Kudos, Tyler.”

“Lots of practice. Video games and shit.” He chuckles, and it makes me laugh, too. Then I stand and walk to the small piano bench. There’s sheet music above the keys, and I point to it to ask, “Is this the same piece you were working on?”

“Yeah. It’s incomplete. I mean, the music is there, but I need lyrics.” He sits down next to me and lifts the piano lid. Placing his fingers on the keys and his foot on the pedal, he starts the song. I lean into him and watch him play until the last note floats into the air. He turns toward me and smiles. “Well?”

“I love it. Really, really love it. You’re so talented that it’s kind of unfair.” I shove him with my shoulder.