Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
HENDRIX
So far, being on tour is not exactly how I imagined it.
This whole thing didn’t feel real until I stepped on that stage. Over eighteen thousand empty seats stared back at me, just waiting to be filled. The biggest gig I’d ever done up until that moment wasn’t even a third of that, and this was just day fucking one.
We had been traveling all day, but at that moment, I could have strapped on my bass and played an entire set right from start to finish. That’s how pumped I was. How fucking honored I felt to be part of this tour.
But yesterday was just a walk-through, and before I knew it, we were whisked back to our hotel for a mandatory group dinner. Asher’s idea, apparently. Something about everyone getting to know each other and bonding or some shit.
I know I’m the new guy, but even I knew this was a total buzzkill.
Asher may be a bit of a recluse now, but the rest of the crew definitely was not, and they were itching for a night out.
Still, everyone stayed because we all love Asher.
Surprisingly, the dinner wasn’t so bad. It might have even bordered on fun if I hadn’t spent the entire evening listening to Zara laugh at someone else’s jokes throughout the meal.
Darius was a cool guy, but he wasn’t that funny.
Afterward, when a few of the techies headed for the club and asked me to join, I surprised the hell out of myself by saying no. Then I surprised myself even more by walking myself up to my room, picking up my bass, and practicing until my fingers went numb.
Because I refuse to fuck this up.
And now it’s finally game day. We just finished our final sound check, and I feel like I’m going to puke.
My hands are shaking. My breath is coming out all weird and choppy, and I’m sweating like I’m standing in the middle of the Sahara fucking desert on a hot summer day.
I find a dark corner away from the stage where I can hide, because Christ, this is embarrassing.
I’m a seasoned musician. I’ve been performing on stage since I was a scrawny-ass teenager.
The first time my dad took me to a music store, and I saw a dude playing Black Sabbath on a shiny new bass, I knew.
I just knew that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
And I’ve been trying to make it a reality ever since.
I thought I’d get my chance with Edwin and our band, but it didn’t happen, and I’ve been trying to crawl back from that mistake ever since. So now that I’m here, why do I feel this unexplainable dread in the back of my mind like I’m right on the cusp of losing everything?
Like the rug is about to be pulled out from under me?
Like my life is about to change forever?
“Hendrix?”
Fucking hell.
I was really hoping to have this mini meltdown all by myself, so, of course, the universe would send her my way.
I’m shoved as far into the corner as physically possible without actually becoming part of the drywall. My feet are wedged in between several of the cords that have been taped to the ground—something that one of the techies wouldn’t approve of, but it’s fine. Desperate times and all that.
“You going to acknowledge me, or am I gonna have to make it awkward?”
“Acknowledged,” I manage to say.
I’ll give it to her. She’s keeping her distance. Most people would have marched right up and demanded answers.
What’s wrong with you?
What the fuck are you doing?
Stop being weird and get your ass out of there.
I’m ashamed to admit, if the tables were reversed, I might be one of those people. Perhaps having four siblings has made me a natural problem solver. I see something is broken, and I immediately want to fix it. It has not, however, made me subtle, and I tend to attack problems head-on.
Zara, on the other hand, seems to be approaching me like a wounded animal. Cautious. Calculated.
I can’t tell if it makes me want to run or stay just to see what she does.
My feet stay firmly planted on the ground…or wedged between the wires.
She steps into my line of sight, and whatever assessment she makes doesn’t show on her face.
But I know her well enough, from studying her all those years ago in the library, to realize Zara doesn’t merely look.
She analyzes. She observes and examines, furrowing away information in that great big brain of hers.
It was just as hot back then as it is now.
“I, uh, was actually looking for someone to help me with something in my clinic? Do you think you could spare a few minutes?”
She’s a terrible liar. Takes one to know one, after all.
“Your clinic?”
An amused smile spreads across her lips. “Yeah. The one I have set up backstage. What did you think I was going to do? Run around handing out Band-Aids all night?”
I hadn’t even thought about it. When Ridge had us write up the paperwork for the position, he made it clear we were to just give her whatever the fuck she wanted because, in his words, he was not postponing this tour over a toddler.
“What do you need?” I ask, running a shaky hand through my hair. Her eyes track it, and I immediately put it back at my side.
“Just some heavy boxes that need to be moved.”
“I—”
But before I can even come up with an excuse, she looks up at me with those intense brown eyes and says, “Please?”
How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that? “Sure.”
It’s thankfully a short trip to her clinic.
I do not want anyone to see me like this.
She may have lured me out of my corner—god, was I really just huddled in a fucking corner—but I’m still a mess.
My palms are sweaty, and my knees feel weak.
I hear someone call the ninety-minute mark in the distance. My heart leaps to my throat.
Yeah, I’m a mess.
We walk into the room she’s taken over. It’s on the small side and directly across from the hospitality suite. It’s set up with a portable exam table, locked rolling carts I’m assuming are filled with supplies, and a whole bunch of other shit I recognize but can’t name.
But one thing I don’t see is a single fucking box.
“What the hell, Zara?”
“Sit,” she commands, shutting the door behind her. My eyes immediately go to the exam table. “Not there. Over here.” She points to two folding chairs that I must have overlooked.
I glance back at her, but she has that don’t mess with me look about her that she used to give me when I tried to convince her to cancel tutoring and go party with me instead.
Never happened. Not even once.
I huff out a resigned sigh. I don’t have time for this, but I take the seat anyway, pushing it back to create some distance between us. I don’t feel like my laid-back self right now, and I need my space.
She must understand that because she mimics my behavior, moving her chair the same distance before plopping down to face me.
“Are you my therapist now?” My right hand started plucking out a rhythm on my thigh, something we played during sound check. It’s something I do whenever I’m bored or nervous.
Or stressed.
“No,” she answers, letting out a sound of disbelief. “God, no. I’m barely stable. What would make me remotely qualified to be in charge of someone else’s mental health?”
“So then, why am I here? Why waste my time? Why lie about nonexistent boxes to get me in here?” I get to the end of the chorus, and my hand cramps. I knew I played too long last night. I shake it out, and Zara’s eyes narrow, and I fold it in my lap before she can say anything.
She lets out a frustrated sigh, looking away briefly. “Okay, how about this? Story Time.”
I stare at her and blink, because that’s a phrase I haven’t heard in a while. “Story Time?” A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips, seemingly pleased that I remember what she’s referring to. “All right. But do you remember the rules of Story Time?”
“There are no rules of Story Time.”
“Yes, there are. This isn’t Fight Club.”
“Those were your rules, and they’re stupid. How am I supposed to know if a story is”—she makes air quotes—“boring? And what if I need more than two minutes to make my point?”
I simply shrug. “Those are the rules. Can’t be changed.”
“Yes, they can! You’re the one who—” She huffs out a breath. “You’re just as insufferable as you were in college.”
I shift in my seat as if I’m about to get up. “I can leave.”
“No! Ugh. Fine.” I grin, feeling myself begin to relax a little, just from the sound of her voice. “Stay.”
“Your two minutes start…” I make a show of glancing down at my smart watch and pausing before I finally say, “Now.”
She takes a breath and begins. “Okay, so at the end of your second year of med school, you take basically the hardest exam of your life. I won’t bore you with the specifics, but it’s the kind of exam that either breaks you or makes you.
For eight weeks, I lived in the library.
” At the mention of the library, one of those fantasies I’ve had of her over the years hits me square in the gut.
Her body splayed out on a table. Her hair fans the open pages of the forgotten book she abandoned as I spread her wide and thrust—Get it together, man.
I swallow and focus back on the here and now.
At least I’m not hyperventilating anymore. Well, not much, anyway.
“And that’s any different from undergrad? You were there so often, they should have just put a cot in the corner for you to sleep on.”
“New rule.” She folds her arms across her chest. It presses her tits together, and I have to force myself not to look. “No talking when it’s not your story.”
“You can’t just make—” Her brow arches, and I relent. “Fine.”
“Anyway, like I was saying, it was one of the most stressful moments of my life—at least, up until then. But I got through it, and when I woke up on the morning of the exam, I felt good. Confident, even.” If this is her point, she’s seriously missed the mark. “I met Tanner at—”
“New rule,” I interject, not giving a shit that I’m interrupting her. “No talking about douchey exes during Story Time.”
She stares at me and simply replies, “All right.”
I stare right back. “Okay, then.”
It takes her a moment, almost as if she’s still digesting the moment, but finally, she shifts in her seat and speaks.
“Anyway, I got to where they were administering the test, and as soon as I walked up to the building, I froze. I couldn’t move.
Tan—” She stops herself from saying his name.
“Certain outside forces possibly added to my stress in that moment, and I ended up having a full-blown panic attack. It was the first time something like that ever happened to me.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “What do you mean by ‘outside forces?’”
“It doesn’t matter,” she answers quickly. “And you’re breaking the rules.”
“Fuck the rules. What did he do, Zara?”
She lets out a long sigh. “He told me I was embarrassing him and needed to pull myself together.”
“God, that guy’s an asshole.” I just shake my head. “You know that, right? Because nothing about that moment was embarrassing. It’s natural to freak out when shit gets stressful.”
“I know.”
“Especially when it’s something you’ve been working toward for a really long time.”
“Yes.”
I didn’t realize my gaze had drifted down to the ground until I felt her eyes on me, and I understood the double meaning of what I had just said.
Did she intentionally turn this around and connect it back to me, or was that a coincidence? Either way, I let out a deep breath, and just as I’m about to lift my gaze to look at her, the door bursts open, and two of the crew members barrel in.
They come to an abrupt halt when they see us.
“Uh, sorry, Doc. Didn’t know you had anyone in here. We can come back,” the scrawny dark-haired guy says as the tall blond one looks at him with wide eyes, holding a wad of toilet paper to his nose.
“No.” She rises to her feet. “It’s fine. Bring him over here.” She points to the exam table and then turns back to me, giving a warm smile. “We good?”
“Yeah.” I gaze into her eyes, suddenly feeling like a heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders. “We’re good.”