Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
ZARA
I hate to say it, but I’m going to anyway.
I don’t understand how this band survived this many tours without a full-time doctor.
Maybe it’s just this particular tour or the people on it. But we’re only on day one, and I’ve dealt with a bloody nose caused by two very clumsy crew members, a dehydrated security guard, and a near panic attack by one very hot bass guitarist.
When I walked past Hendrix earlier, I almost didn’t see him. He had done a decent job of making himself nearly invisible in that darkened corner.
He did not want to be found.
And that’s what set off the alarm bells in my head.
Hendrix isn’t the kind of person to run and hide from challenges.
Even in college, when he struggled with biology, he didn’t succumb to his fate.
He simply dealt with the issue, found a tutor—me—and retook the class.
Since our recent reunion, I’ve noticed that even though the single-minded determination he once had may have taken a hit or two over the years, no doubt due to Edwin’s betrayal, it’s still there.
It’s still driving him to succeed.
And if there’s one thing I know, it’s how overwhelming stress can feel when you’re working toward a long-term goal.
That is what I saw in his eyes in that hallway.
The kind of stress that can paralyze you.
If not properly managed, it can rob you of the very dream you’re trying so desperately to achieve.
It almost took mine that day outside the testing facility.
If I hadn’t known what kind of breathing exercises to do, thanks to a roommate back in undergrad who suffered from panic attacks, I might not have made it into the building or through the next two years of med school.
But I did.
And I knew he could too.
So I lied and got him out of the hallway. Once we were safely behind closed doors, I did the first thing that came to mind: Story Time.
It was something I made up during our tutoring sessions to help bridge the gap between what was in the textbook and what made sense to him.
I used real-world examples and wove them together with what I was trying to teach him.
Soon, it became a sort of game he loved to join in on, only his stories had little to do with science and often involved a heavy amount of flirting. But it was fun.
He was fun.
I never used Story Time again with any of the other students I tutored. Whenever I thought about it, I always found an excuse for why it wasn’t suitable for that person or that particular situation. It just never felt right.
And now I know why.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t find anyone who felt right.
It was that I didn’t want to.
Story Time was ours.
It’s a couple of hours later. The first concert of the tour is in full swing, and based on the deafening level of noise coming from the direction of the stage, I think Hendrix is doing just fine.
I’ve just wiped down my entire clinic with antiseptic when Elena comes in, sans kid.
“Hey, you busy?” she asks, looking every bit the rocker’s wife in tight black pants and a cropped Manic tee. She takes a cursory glance around and gives a faint smile of approval.
“No, why? Everything okay with Marisa?”
“Yeah, she’s with the nanny for a few hours,” she explains with a shrug. “If I don’t hand her over now and then, it sort of defeats the purpose of having one in the first place.”
“Is it a requirement that you have one?” I met Selene, the nanny, on the plane yesterday.
She reminded me a bit of my mom. They are close in age, and she has the same sweet and sassy demeanor that everyone loves about my mom.
Within hours, she’d been named the unofficial grandma on tour, promising baked goods to everyone as soon as she got her hands on an oven.
“No, and this is the first time I’ve ever had one.
When we’re home, it’s just the two of us.
But being on tour is a whole different beast, you know?
” I nod because after just twenty-four hours of this, I wholeheartedly agree.
It’s a lot. And I don’t even have a kid.
“And at times like this, when I want to watch my husband play, it just wouldn’t be possible without a nanny.
I could put headphones on her ears and take her out there for a few minutes, but that’s about it,” she explains.
“With Selene, she can be content in the quiet room, and I can enjoy a bit of adult time.”
I nod, shrugging off my white coat and placing it on top of one of the rolling carts. “That makes perfect sense, and it’s what I would recommend if you had asked me.”
“Well then, I guess I’m not doing too badly at this whole parenting thing.”
“Nah, I’d say you’re doing pretty damn good.”
“Nice. Doctor approved! I’m so texting that to Marin.”
“That’s your sister-in-law? The one from North Carolina?”
“Yeah.” She smiles, reaching out to grab my arm. “Did I tell you she’s an artist? And she lives on the cutest little island in North Carolina? Come on, I’ll tell you all about her on the way.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, grabbing my cell, since I’m apparently leaving the clinic.
“To a rock concert, duh.”
There are three things I realize almost simultaneously as Elena and I reach the side of the stage.
One—rock concerts are loud. Like, the ear-ringing, chest-vibrating kind of loud. I mean, I knew they would be, but experiencing it in person is really something else.
Two—I actually kind of love it. The noise. The energy. The pure chaos of it all. It makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in years.
And three—I most definitely want to have sex with Hendrix Creed again.
There are people everywhere backstage, and I kind of feel like I’m in the way standing here, but Elena seems completely unbothered, acting like the queen she is as she makes eye contact with Zander and blows him a kiss.
The look he gives her…
I find myself blushing and needing to turn away. Good god, I don’t think a man has ever looked at me like that. Like he wants to devour me.
Like I’m the center of his whole damn universe.
I turn my attention to the rest of the band. Darius is pounding away on the drums. Despite being a goofy guy, he looks so professional and natural with a drumstick in his hand. Asher looks every bit the rock god he is. His voice is a dream, and everyone is captivated by him.
Everyone but me.
My eyes go straight to Hendrix.
And I can’t turn away.
He’s wearing black jeans that look like they were made for him, and given the money that was put into this tour, maybe they were. The tight black tee, now slick with sweat, clings to his washboard abs like a second skin.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen him play.
In college, I often saw him lugging a guitar bag around, but that was the extent of my encounters with Hendrix the musician.
Until tonight.
He looks completely absorbed in the moment. Focused. Happy.
His posture, the way he holds the bass, and how skillfully his fingers work the strings—he makes it all seem effortless, even though I know it’s anything but.
He’s truly a master of his craft.
It’s sexy as hell.
As if he can sense me staring, or possibly drooling, he glances over, and our eyes lock. My breath catches as he takes me in.
Is there some sort of masterclass they make these guys take? Rock Star 101: How to Smolder? The Art of Eye Fucking? Because, holy hell, I feel the heat of his gaze lighting me up from the inside. My skin feels like it’s on fire.
I resist the urge to fan myself and inflate his ego. It’s big enough as it is. He smirks as if he can read my thoughts and turns back toward the stage.
“I know, by the way,” Elena practically screams in my ear since it’s so damn loud.
I turn to her and try to gauge her meaning, but her eyes are focused on her husband, her hips swaying back and forth to the music. “You know what?” I ask her, although not nearly as loud.
“About you and Hendrix?
“YOU WHAT?” I don’t even bother leaning into her ear. I’m pretty sure everyone around us heard that.
Oops.
She laughs and motions for me to take a few steps back. I do, but it does little to muffle the sound. It does, however, give us a bit of privacy and somewhat blocks our view of the four hot and sweaty rock stars.
We can see them, but they can no longer see us.
Small mercies, because I do not want to be having this conversation knowing he could, at any time, look over at me with those sex eyes of his.
I lean into her ear and loudly say, “How do you know? What do you know?”
“What?”
“HOW DO YOU—” I stop myself and save my voice, because this is never going to work. Partially because Elena’s eyes are still glued on Zander, and she’s only giving me half her attention. I pull out my phone and open the notes app. She watches with a curious smile as I begin typing.
How do you know? What do you know?
I hand the phone over to her and wait as she quickly reads, responds, and hands it back to me.
Zander told me. Hendrix told him.
My eyes fly up to hers. He is the one who told me to keep it quiet. What the hell?
She motions with her hand to keep reading. Oh, right.
But, to be fair, Hendrix can’t keep a secret or tell a lie to save his life. And once Presley figured out you two went to school together, it sort of all came out.
I start typing again.
Why does Hendrix and me going to college together matter?
I have to tap her on the arm to get her attention. She’s already fallen back under the spell of her husband’s sultry voice. I had no idea until tonight that Zander did backup vocals for the band. But then again, Manic had somewhat fallen off my radar over the last couple of years.
I inwardly sigh. I could say that about a lot of things, actually.
Something brushes against my arm, and I jump. I look up to see Elena holding out my phone and laughing. I guess she isn’t the only one lost in the music.
“Sorry,” I say, taking the phone back.
I skim through the old messages until I reach the new stuff she’s written.
He told Pres about a woman from college that he hooked up with at a party. Hendrix is no saint, but he doesn’t get around THAT much. There was only one person it could be.
I focus entirely too much on the fact that Hendrix is not sleeping with a new girl every night. I force myself not to ask her for details, like just how often is he getting around? Every other night? Weekly?
God, Zara. Shut up.
I type out a normal question, one that doesn’t include Hendrix’s sex life, or at least his sex life with anyone else.
So you, Presley, and Zander know. Does anyone else know?
The expression on her face as she reads it makes my eyes widen. She looks up at me, lips pressed together, and shakes her head. But it’s not the kind of head shake that makes me think she’s saying, No, Zara. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Your secret is safe.
No, she’s frantically shaking her head back and forth like, please, don’t make me say it.
I fold my arms firmly across my chest and nod toward the phone.
She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I see her mouth the word, “Fine.” A strand of her dark-brown hair falls in front of her face as she leans over the phone, and she absently pushes it away. She begins typing, and after what feels like an eternity, she finally—reluctantly—hands the phone back.
My eyes widen. She’s penned a new novel right here inside my phone. It’s that long.
Okay, so don’t freak out.
That’s never a good start.
But this may have all come out during a family dinner.
The Creeds are known for having these huge family dinners. Totally informal and…
I skip ahead.
Anyway, I wasn’t there that night because I needed a night to myself, so I got all of this secondhand from Zander. But, apparently, Presley made the connection while they were all around the dinner table and just sort of blurted it out.
Oh god. I don’t like where this is going.
Luckily, it was just the kids. Hendrix’s parents were in the kitchen.
Thank God.
But Asher happened to be there that night. Random, right?
Fuck my life.
Oh, and Lance and Tilly (that’s Hendrix’s mom) came in right at the tail end. So yeah, they know too.
My hands fly over the keyboard.
Is there anyone who DOESN’T KNOW?
When I hand it back to her, she actually looks up like she has to think about it for a minute. But then she laughs as I playfully smack her arm, my lip twitching in amusement.
She types significantly less this time, and when I get it back, I snort.
Not sure. Want me to go around and ask? Oh! How does this sound? “Sir, we’re conducting a poll. Were you aware of the rumor that our esteemed doctor and new bass guitarist engaged in coitus before the start of the tour? Yes or no?”
I roll my eyes but can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face. I don’t remember having this much fun with a friend in a long time. Aside from my sister, I don’t remember having an actual friend in a long time. Not since I got married.
As your doctor, I must insist you refrain from using the word coitus from here on out. It’s bad for your health.
When I hand it back to her, she bursts out laughing, but then sobers slightly as she begins to write again. Her eyes find mine, and there’s an emotion behind them.
Soon, she hands the phone back.
All joking aside, I want you to know this because I now consider you a friend, and I don’t keep secrets from my friends.
I see the way you and Hendrix look at each other, and I know how confusing being on tour can be for people. It’s easy to forget that real life exists outside this little bubble, and eventually, we will go back to that. So just make sure whatever you start here can survive when all this is over.
I read over her words at least twice.
She sees the way we look at each other? I mean, I’m sure how I look at him is obvious. I wouldn’t doubt that half the women in this stadium gaze at him with a mix of heat and adoration just as I do.
But has she caught him looking at me?
I think back to that moment when he was on stage. That heated gaze, the way our eyes met, and how that single glance made me feel more than anything I experienced in my entire marriage.
I swallow and nervously bite the corner of my lip as I type one last message to her.
You and I are most definitely friends. And I appreciate you looking out for me.
But it’s a nonissue. Hendrix and I agreed to keep things professional during the tour.
Also, he made it crystal clear that anything more than that would be a giant distraction, and he needed to focus.
That’s basically “fuck off” in guy speak.
I can practically taste the bitterness in the words as I type them out and hand the phone back to her.
She takes her time reading my message, but her response is almost instantaneous.
Yeah, but remember how I said he’s a horrible liar?