Chapter Thirteen
John didn’t even know how he got through that rehearsal.
At first, it had just been bad . They were all out of sync, with Frankie playing behind the beat just a bit and Ryder’s and John’s guitars sounding like they were talking over each other instead of being in conversation.
And then Micah was clearly nervous and in her head about it, and the more she fucked up, the more nervous and in her head she got.
He’d barely been able to look at her when he’d arrived.
He’d been disappointed when he woke up alone, only the slight imprint on the pillow next to him giving away that Micah had been there at all.
But he’d been relieved, too. Because he’d had a hell of a dream about her, and had woken up so hard it was painful.
Thanks to the total darkness of his room, he’d also overslept, which meant he hadn’t had time to do anything about it before he had to run to rehearsal.
Which was another reason it had been difficult to get through the last couple of hours—he just couldn’t stop thinking about Micah in ways he really shouldn’t be thinking about her.
Her hair was back in its usual ponytail, but he couldn’t help but remember the way it had been last night, messy and undone from rolling around in bed.
She was dressed casually today, in a black T-shirt with the words The Same Songs Over And Over printed in white block letters, and jeans that perfectly formed to her ass when she bent over to move the mic cord out of the way.
And he found himself thinking about that expanse of bare back when she’d sat up in bed the night before, how much he wanted to put that entire peony tattooed on her shoulder in his mouth.
And then there had been Ryder, who just seemed determined to be every asshole stereotype he could fit in before lunchtime.
“Hey, man,” he said to John now, clapping him on the shoulder as they packed up the gear, some of which cruise officials would take care of later.
“I know they didn’t need two guitarists for bingo, and since you don’t like public speaking—or hell, private speaking—I think it’s smart that you’re sitting this one out. ”
Micah was required to be one of the hosts for the bingo game, of course, and John had happily conceded one of the other two spots to Frankie, who seemed really excited to do it.
Ryder wasn’t wrong about John’s antipathy toward public speaking, so it had been an easy decision to make.
Ryder was the logical third person to round out the hosting duties, and even though John and Steve were supposed to sit up in the balcony seats of the theater to still be “around” and “participating,” somehow he knew that Steve was going to sneak out halfway through for that pool time he was determined to get.
It had been a no-brainer to opt out of bingo, but then John had to watch from the balcony while Ryder made a show of pulling out Micah’s stool onstage and helping her up.
And suddenly John felt like he wanted to go back in time and insist that he could’ve hosted the shit out of some bingo, actually.
“Who’s ready to play some games and win prizes and hang out with ElectricOh!
, am I right?” the host from the cruise ship said into his microphone, gesturing over toward the small table on the stage where Frankie, Ryder, and Micah were seated on their stools.
Micah gave an awkward little laugh, raising her own microphone to her mouth.
“Well, three fifths of ElectricOh!,” she said. “The rest is up there where they can heckle us.”
The crowd below swiveled to look up toward where John and Steve were sitting in the balcony seats, and Steve put two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle.
“We’ll let security handle them if they get too rambunctious,” the cruise host quipped, then gestured up toward the screen behind the stage where all the bingo numbers were displayed. “I know I don’t need to explain how this game works, but…”
He went on to explain how the game worked, which John tuned out while he watched Ryder place his hand on Micah’s waist, leaning in to say something in her ear. She laughed, but John could tell it was for show.
Who had ended things between them? And when? John hadn’t allowed himself to think too much about Ryder and Micah’s relationship. It had been like a mild case of tinnitus the entire time they’d been together—always there, always annoying, but much, much worse if you actually focused on it.
John wondered which floral tattoo was for Ryder, if she’d gotten one for him at all.
He knew that was the story behind Micah’s tattoos—the ones he knew about, anyway.
She’d gotten a different flower for different people who were important to her life somehow.
The dandelion on her neck was for her younger sister; the peony was for her grandmother; and she had a rose on her thigh that was based on one that could only be found at Graceland or had been named after Graceland, he couldn’t remember.
They’d gone to get their first tattoos together, when they were still technically underage.
They’d flipped through books of the artist’s flash work, trying to decide what to get, suggesting more and more outlandish options for the other one.
Finally, Micah had closed the book, looking up at him with an expression that was more questioning than triumphant.
“I know what I’m doing,” she said.
“The pizza slice on roller blades?”
“I don’t think we’re at the matching tattoo phase yet,” she said, nudging his shoulder.
It had been a joke, clearly, and yet he felt something catch in his throat. “So what is it, then?”
“You can see it when it’s done,” she said. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
But even after they’d taken Micah back to another room, John kept turning the pages of the book, with zero idea what he wanted to commit to putting permanently on his body.
And when they’d called his name and he’d stood up, catching a glimpse of the couple people laid out on tables in the main area of the tattoo shop, artists bent over them with needles buzzing…
he couldn’t do it. He’d shaken his head, sitting back down.
“I’m just waiting for someone,” he said, even though he’d filled out the same forms that Micah had, had clearly put his name down for an appointment.
The shop must have been used to people bailing at the last minute, though, because the guy with the gauged ears and tattoos covering half his face had just shrugged, going back to the computer to click through a few screens.
When Micah had finally emerged from getting her tattoo done, he couldn’t see any wrapping or bandages visible on her arms or legs. “Well?” he asked. “What did you get?”
Her gaze was also sweeping over him, and she seemed to register that he didn’t have anything wrapped, either. “You first.”
He ran his hand through his hair, embarrassed to be caught out. “I, uh—”
Her eyes had widened. “You didn’t do it?”
“I don’t think I like needles?” he said. “I didn’t know that about myself until I saw all these needles, but yeah. Is there an option without the needles?”
“John Lorenzo Populin Jr.,” she said, and he winced. He hated it when anyone said his full name aloud, and she must’ve remembered that, because her face softened slightly even as she turned and left him standing there in the middle of the tattoo parlor lobby.
“Well, don’t think you’re getting to see mine, then,” she said. “Until you’ve fulfilled your side of the bargain.”
And he never had.
Steve brought him back into the present when he accidentally sloshed a bit of drink on John’s shoe.
John could’ve sworn that Steve had sat down with no drink at all, so he had no idea where the brightly colored cocktail adorned with a festive umbrella and slice of pineapple on the rim had come from.
“Sorry about that, mate!” Steve said. At the height of the band’s fame, they’d played a festival in Australia once , and that experience had been all it took to get Steve obsessed with calling everyone mate . There was something so endearing about the fact that he still did it.
“I think rehearsal went okay,” John said. “All things considered.”
Steve leaned in, obviously trying to hear John over the bingo numbers being announced and the noise from the crowd. “Oh yeah! Once Micah figured out that transition, it was a piece of cake. Like riding a bike. Hey, want to see a video of my kid learning to ride a bike?”
“Sure.”
Steve handed his drink to John, reaching into his back pocket to grab his phone.
He scrolled through a bunch of pictures, stopping to show John several—Tyler with birthday cake all over his face, Tyler at the playground wearing an Elsa costume, the back of Tyler’s head at the zoo, the back of Tyler’s head reading a book.
Finally he handed his phone to John, switching it out for the drink as a video already in progress continued to play of Tyler riding a bike with training wheels down a suburban driveway.
“That’s awesome, man,” John said, handing the phone back once the video was done. “He’s really got the hang of it.”
Not that John had any idea what made a kid good at riding a bike at that age, but it seemed like the thing to say. And it worked, because Steve beamed like the proud father he was. “He does. Little speed demon. Remind me, do you have any kids? Wife, girlfriend, kid on the way, anything like that?”
“None of the above,” John said. “Just haven’t had time.”
Steve nodded, like that made sense, but truly it was just something John had said .
It didn’t actually make any sense at all.
He’d had nothing but time. He didn’t even know if he wanted kids, didn’t know if he felt any particular pull toward “settling down” just to do it.
But he couldn’t blame it on time. He thought about his days spent playing in various local bands, hanging out at the music store when his favorite clerk was on duty, eating cereal on the couch while watching a TV show.
And suddenly it felt like such a waste of a life. Was that all he’d been doing?
Down on the stage, someone had brought props for the band members, and now Frankie had a lei around their neck and Ryder was hamming it up with a pair of cruise-branded sunglasses over his eyes.
Micah had a cute little sailor hat she’d perched on top of her head, and it kept almost falling off every time she laughed, until she had to hold it with one hand.
Frankie had said something to make Micah legitimately, full-on lose it, and John caught himself smiling, too.
It was good to see her laugh like that, especially after the way she’d looked yesterday.
“B-4!” the host announced, and a roomful of papers shuffled as everyone checked to see if they had that one. Frankie, Ryder, and Micah had each been given a few cards themselves, and Micah leaned over Frankie’s shoulder, trying to see if they had that number.
“I need to step it up before I lose my ass,” Micah said into the microphone, and Frankie grinned at her.
“You should’ve thought of that before you challenged me,” they shot back.
“Ladies, ladies,” Ryder said, looping his arm around Micah’s shoulders. “We can all go back to before , don’t you worry.”
And with that, he planted a big kiss right on Micah’s cheek, knocking the sailor hat down to the stage.
Even from up in the balcony, several yards away, John could see the way Micah tensed up.
The problem was that the crowd loved it.
There was a collective, almost involuntary aww , followed by whispering that gained volume as people got more and more excited.
Several people had their phones up for the entire bingo game, so John had no doubt this entire thing would be on YouTube later, filled with comments about how cute they were together or how people had called it, they said they weren’t done yet.
Micah played along, smiling and continuing to make the occasional comment into the microphone, but once the bingo game was over she was the first one off the stage.
Sometime in the middle of everything, Steve must’ve also found a way to sneak off for the pool time he’d desperately been wanting, so John was alone as he made his way down the stairs.
He kept getting stopped, and he scribbled his autograph on several bingo cards just to be able to climb up onstage and make his way behind the curtain to try to find the rest of his band.
“ Ladies? ” Frankie was in the middle of saying. “Come on, you’re such a troll.”
“It’s a word,” Ryder said. “And it was just a kiss , Christ, Micah, don’t be such a drama queen about it. Everybody was into it.”
“ I wasn’t,” Micah said. “ I wasn’t, and that’s the most important part. Ever hear of consent, you dirtbag?”
“Oh, like you asked for our consent before you completely snaked our album deal out from under us?” Ryder said. “I don’t recall being asked how I felt about that.”
John expected Micah to fire back after that, but she didn’t. Instead she just grabbed her own pair of cruise-branded sunglasses, setting them on her face before pushing past John toward the exit. He barely had time to decide whether to follow her or stay when she’d already gone.
“What the fuck?” he asked Ryder. “You owe her an apology.”
“I don’t owe her shit.”
“Your pathetic career isn’t her fault.”
Ryder stretched his arms wide, as though encompassing the entire ship.
“Look around you, Johnny boy,” he said. “This is all her fault. The fact that we’re some one-hit-wonder joke, the fact that we’re one step above a cruise ship talent show act when we should be selling out stadiums by now, the fact that we can’t get through a single one of these events without being at each other’s throats.
And I’ll play your stupid fucking song tonight, but never forget that while you’re so busy looking out for her , all she cares about is looking out for herself.
Call me pathetic? It’s your fault that you’ve never been able to see that. ”
Once again, John felt the overwhelming urge to punch Ryder right in his pretentious, arrogant face, but once again he felt powerless to do anything but stand there. Ryder shoved past him hard enough to jostle his shoulder, and still John just took it.
Frankie looked at him sympathetically once Ryder had gone, leaving only the two of them. “She mentioned wanting to get some air,” they said. “I bet you could catch up to her.”