5. Mai
Mai
Mai got lost in the music as the support act played. She hadn’t been to a concert in years and had forgotten how music in an environment like this transported her to a different world.
Her feet tapped, and her fingers itched for a guitar to play along with the band. They were talented. The drummer was a little green, but she saw on the big screens that he was only young, and it wouldn’t take much to get him up to the quality of the rest of the band.
These kids were going places. She felt it in the buzz of excitement of the crowd, who hadn’t come to see them but were being taken on a ride they were enjoying immensely, singing choruses that just a few minutes ago they hadn’t known. It made a shiver run through her.
“Doctor,” a security guard called as they rushed into the tent.
Mai snapped out of her musical reverie. “Yes.” She leapt to her feet.
“We need you backstage now.” He gestured urgently.
“What’s the problem?” Mai demanded.
The security guard leaned forward and whispered, “Drugs.”
“Right.” Mai grabbed the bag that contained the drug antidotes, which were, evidently, standard issue at any concert. “Coming.”
She dashed after the security guard, who was already rushing away and shoved her glasses back up her nose. They always slipped down when she ran. Not that she ran often, she maintained that trotting along the street, getting sweaty, was not her idea of exercise. She much preferred Pilates.
It wasn’t until she got backstage that the reality of the situation hit her.
She was closer to Midnight Thunder—closer to him—than she’d been since she left sixteen years ago.
Shit. What if it was Ford? What would she do?
Her mind began to spiral, but the security guard pushed a door open and gestured for her to go inside, snapping her out of it.
The first thing she saw was Ford standing there, staring at her as she entered the room.
Their eyes met.
She immediately dropped hers. Her breathing was erratic, and she purposefully turned her head away from him, her gaze skimming over Joel and Scotty, to look instead at the man lying on the sofa, clearly unconscious.
It must be Ryan, she'd read about his ongoing ‘issues’.
Donnie knelt next to the slumped man, one hand on his chest. When their manager’s eyes swung to her, they didn't hold a hint of recognition.
“I’m the doctor.” Mai didn’t supply them with her name. “What happened to Ryan?”
She strode across the room, gently pushing Donnie out of the way to look at Ryan.
“Drugs,” Donnie said.
“Right.” Mai nodded and dumped the medical bags on the floor. “Any idea what kind?”
She glanced up and made eye contact with Scotty and Joel. She avoided looking at Ford, knowing that seeing him look back at her with no recognition in his eyes was something she couldn’t handle.
“Maybe fentanyl,” Scotty said. “The dickhead—” he winced, “—sorry, Doc.”
“I’ve heard that word before. Don’t worry.” She'd spent six years in a band; she knew every swear word in existence and a few that they made up.
She swallowed hard. She spent six years with this band. This was her band. They still sang her songs.
“This idiot,” Scotty amended. “He’s been talking about trying fentanyl for ages. I think he finally found a dealer.”
Mai grabbed a torch out of the medical kit, then leaned over and opened Ryan’s eyelids to examine his pupils. Pinpoint, just like she expected. It looked likely that this was opioids. Hopefully, the Narcan would do the trick.
“Right.” Mai pulled some equipment out of her bag and set up to cannulate Ryan. It had been years since she put a drip into an adult, so she reminded herself that it would be easy. This was just a giant baby.
“And probably a shit load of booze.”
Mai froze for a moment as Ford’s voice rumbled from behind her, and goosebumps ran over her skin.
The last time she saw him, he tried to persuade her to go for a walk with him. She refused, and as he left, he turned around to face her, blowing her a kiss.
What would he say if he knew it was her?
Would he be angry?
Would he be happy?
Would he be indifferent?
That would be the worst. What if he didn’t care at all?
“Right,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “I’ll give him the naloxone first, then set some fluids up. Try and rehydrate him.”
Mai didn’t even bother suggesting he should go to the hospital, as she knew they would refuse. If Ryan woke up, the show would go on, like it always did.
Once the drip was inserted, she drew up the vial labelled Narcan and injected it straight into the line, flushing the drug with saline.
“If it’s opioids, he’ll wake up very quickly,” Mai answered the unasked question.
She tried not to be too aware that the band had crowded closer, but she could sense Ford. She knew he was only a metre behind her; he could reach out and touch her.
She wished he would do that. Just once more, she wanted to feel his touch on her.
She shook her head. She was so stupid. It had been sixteen years. The man had lived a million lifetimes since they were together. She was sure he barely remembered her name, let alone craved her touch, like she did his.
Ryan’s chest heaved, then heaved again.
Mai sat back on her heels, grinning with satisfaction.
She pushed her glasses back up her nose. Then she frowned when Ryan made a telltale face, one that was very familiar when you were a doctor. It was the face of a man about to vomit.
His head turned toward her, and she did the only thing she could think of; she leapt to her feet and jumped backwards to avoid wearing the guitar player’s stomach contents.
He vomited on the floor exactly where she had been kneeling.
Mai breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t fancy smelling like puke all night.
Then she froze.
She jumped backwards alright, right into Ford’s arms, which were now circled around her waist.
There was so much more ink snaking up those arms than when they were together.
She realised that she hadn’t seen his forearms in any photos, as he always wore leather strips wrapped around them when on stage.
She couldn’t stop her eyes from staring at the tattoos, wondering about the meaning behind them.
When she knew Ford, every tattoo had a story.
The biggest one was numbers, and when she peered harder, she saw it was a latitude and longitude.
She tried to commit the numbers to memory, but was too frazzled with awareness of everywhere they touched racing through her, as her back was pulled tightly against his solid chest.
When he spoke, his breath brushed her ear. “Are you alright?”
Mai nodded. She couldn’t talk. She wanted to stay in his arms forever.
Why did she run away from him?
They fit together. They always had. He was so much taller than her that he could tuck her under his chin and still be able to look over her head.
“Yes. Thank you.” Her voice sounded stiff when she finally found it, and she stepped out of his embrace and back to Ryan, not daring to look over her shoulder at Ford. “Ryan, I’m going to give you some IV fluids and anti-sickness drugs. Okay.”
Ryan stared back at her glassy-eyed and nodded.
“What drugs did you do?” Mai questioned as she set up the fluids. She didn’t look up at Ford, but she could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head.
“I didn’t do any drugs,” Ryan denied.
Mai laughed. “Don’t bullshit me, mate. I don’t care what you took. I just need to know that I’ve treated you adequately.”
Ryan gazed mulishly ahead. “Can we get rid of the help now? I’m fine.”
Mai counted to ten inside her head to dampen her short temper from rearing. Sie would have given him a punch in the nose for that kind of comment, whereas Mai, the person she spent years becoming, would grit her teeth.
Unfortunately, a little of her fire escaped before she could stop it. “You might be famous, but you’re still a dickhead.”
Mai bit her tongue hard to prevent anything else from coming out.
Like how his guitar playing was a letdown to the rest of the very talented band, and it had been obvious for years that Ford was helping him along when he was too off his face to play.
She never meant to watch or listen to Midnight Thunder, but she could never help herself and studied every clip she found online.
She heard a bark of laughter behind her. Laughter that she would recognise anywhere.
“She’s not wrong, mate.” Ford’s voice, which held a slight rasp, was so close to her.
She didn't acknowledge Ford's comment and instead addressed Donnie, “I’ll wait outside the dressing room. I’ll take the drip out just before they go on stage.”
Kneeling down, carefully avoiding the vomit, she packed the medical kit back up.
Donnie held his hand out to her when she turned to face him, ready to leave. “Thanks, Doctor—“ He left the word hanging in the air, waiting for her name.
“No problem.” She ignored the implication and reached over to shake his hand. “Give me a shout when you need me again.”
When her hand met Donnie’s, his shrewd gaze locked on hers, and for a moment, she was sure he knew who she was.
Shit, shit, shit.
Dropping her eyes, she pulled her arm back and spun away, rushing to the door. When Donnie didn’t call out ‘Sie’ as she hurried away, her shoulders relaxed.
There were chairs in the corridor, and she flopped into one. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back on the wall and tried to breathe slowly and deeply to get control of her heartbeat, which pounded in her ears.