Everything You Are (Jukebox Heroes 3) Page 8

  Somehow I made it to quitting time without killing anyone. I went straight home, forced down a sandwich, got ready for bed and passed out. Sometime later, I woke to the ringing of my cell phone. Hoping desperately that it was London, I scrambled for the phone. The caller ID dashed my hopes and confused me all at once.

  “Chris?” I asked, my voice as rough from sleep as my brain was.

  “Hey, girl. You okay?”

  “Um...yeah?”

  “We got worried when you didn’t show up.”

  I thought for a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

  “Oh, shit. Michael’s band.”

  “Yeah. You sure you’re okay?”

  I sighed. “Peachy.”

  “Beth, what’s going on?”

  “Just...stuff.”

  Chris threw another question or two at me, trying to get me to spill my guts, but I was too damned tired to talk about it.

  “You want me to come by after work?”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m okay.” But did I want him to? Yeah, yeah I did.

  “Uh-huh. I can tell how okay you are. I’ll be there around three. I’ll bring dinner. All right?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  We said our goodbyes and hung up, and I forced myself up out of bed. I took a shower and pulled on clean pajamas, and then I curled up with Benny to try to watch TV. I gave up on that idea pretty quickly, though, and grabbed my laptop instead. Taking care of bills and reading stupid forwarded emails seemed like a good way to kill a little time.

  I was playing a random game on the web when someone knocked on my front door. I assumed it was Chris but peeked through the peephole anyway before letting him in.

  “Taco Cabana?” I asked in lieu of an actual greeting.

  “Not much is open this time of night. I hope it’s okay,” Chris said, stepping past me to set the drink carrier and bag of food on the table.

  “That depends. What did you get me?”

  “Brisket quesadilla and Dr. Pepper?”

  My stomach did a happy flip.

  “Then yes,” I told him, plopping down at the table. “I didn’t think I was hungry, but it smells awesome.”

  We dug into our food, Chris pausing now and again to feed me tidbits of news about the bar and Michael’s gig. The place had been packed, and the show had gone really well.

  “Michael wanted me to tell you he missed you tonight, and he hopes you feel better soon.”

  “I hate that I bailed on him. I didn’t mean to. It’s just been the week from hell at work, and then London and I got into it last night.”

  “What happened?”

  I shrugged. “Just a disagreement. It happens.”

  I could tell Chris wasn’t convinced, but he let it drop.

  Once we’d demolished dinner, Chris asked me if I wanted to talk. I didn’t. I really, really didn’t. So we ended up snuggled up on my sofa with Chris manning the TV remote. He flipped stations until he found Buffy the Vampire Slayer – the movie, not the series. Even though I’d seen the movie several times, I found myself getting sucked into it.

  The movie ended and infomercials took its place. When Chris didn’t switch the channel or turn off the TV, I eased away so I could look at him. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, his head lolling against the back of my sofa.

  “Poor baby,” I murmured.

  I laid my hand on his shoulder and said his name, and he forced his eyes open.

  “I fell asleep,” he said.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  He sat forward and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I should go.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  Chris looked up at me, confused.

  “You can barely keep your eyes open. You don’t need to be driving across town. You can have my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” he argued. “I can take the couch.”

  I shook my head. “My couch is not made for tall guys, hon. It’s barely long enough for me to sleep on. Take the bed.”

  Chris looked up at me with bleary eyes and nodded, too tired to argue. I quelled the urge to lean in and kiss his forehead, like he was a little kid in my care. Instead I went to wash my face and brush my teeth. While I was getting ready for bed, I dug through the cabinets until I came up with a spare toothbrush that I vaguely remembered tossing in with the rest of the bathroom bric-a-brac after my last trip to the dentist. I left it on the counter for Chris and went to find blankets to make up the couch.

  Chris still sat right where I left him. He didn’t look any more awake, either. I dropped my blankets on the sofa and touched his cheek.

  “You okay, Chris?”

  “Tired.”

  He got moving after that, though, and I told him where to find anything he might need and to make himself at home. He nodded in response and headed for the bathroom.

  I had gone back to the bedroom to retrieve Benny and my cell phone when Chris emerged, shirtless and shoeless. I tried not to stare. He dropped his shirt and boots by the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “It’s okay. I want you safe.”

  He smiled back at me and held out his hand. I took it, and he drew me in for a hug. With him sitting and me standing, it should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It just felt good.

  “You sure you don’t want the bed?” he asked.

  “Want it, yes. Need it, no. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then his eyes flickered down to the archaic teddy bear in my hand. He smiled again.

  “He looks like he’d be a pretty fierce chaperone. We could share.”

  If it was a come on, it was the worst one I’d ever heard.

  “Benny is a pretty fierce chaperone, as it happens. Just ask Seth.”

  Chris tried to raise an eyebrow in question, but as tired as he was, it didn’t work out so well. I couldn’t stifle a giggle.

  “If I say ‘yes’, will you quit fighting sleep like a three-year-old?”

  “Yes.”

  Chris gave me a sideways grin, and I just shook my head. I handed Benny to him and started turning out lights. When I slid under the blankets, Chris gave me back my bear and curled up with his back to me to go to sleep. I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or disappointed that Benny didn’t have to play chaperone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I woke up just after noon the next day with Chris curled around me, his legs twined with mine, his hand resting on my hip, and his face buried in my hair. For a moment or two, I let myself bask in his warmth and the feeling that I was safe and cared for. Then I eased out of bed and went about my normal wake-up routine: bathroom, splashing water on my face, checking my phone for messages, checking email and the social networks.

  Once I was awake enough, I crept back into the bedroom for clothes. It felt weird to get dressed in my living room; even when Blas and Alex stayed over, I had free reign over my own room, but I wasn’t going to risk waking Chris – or giving him an eyeful. After poking through my cabinets and fridge, I decided to venture out in search of food. I jotted down a note and tapped it to the bathroom mirror, letting Chris know where I’d gone just in case he woke before I got back.

  Chris was still asleep when I got home, though, sprawled on his back now that I wasn’t there to cuddle. I hated the idea of waking him, but I didn’t know what his plans might be for the day. I’d hate even more to let him sleep through something important. At least I had breakfast and coffee waiting for him.

  I perched on the edge of the bed and leaned over to rest my hand on Chris’s shoulder, much like I’d done the night before. I called his name, and his eyes fluttered open.

  “It’s just after one,” I told him. “I wasn’t sure if you needed to be up. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

  “No, I’m good,” he replied, dragging the back of one hand
across his eyes like a sleepy toddler.

  Once I was sure he was really awake, I wandered back into the combination kitchen dining area where breakfast waited, sitting in the middle of my secondhand table. I slid into a seat and opened the lid of the pastry box, deliberating over the contents. I was still deciding when Chris emerged from the bedroom and came to join me at the table. I tried to ignore the flutter of disappointment I felt when I saw that he’d put his t-shirt back on.

  “I got you a mocha,” I said. “I thought I remembered that you got one when we went for coffee last weekend. But if you want something else....”

  He cut me off with a little shake of the head and slid into the chair across from mine. “Mocha’s good.”

  “There’s food, too,” I pointed out, like he couldn’t see that for himself. “Not the healthiest thing maybe, but they’re amazing.”

  I made my selection – chocolate chip – and slid the box of scones across the table to Chris.

  “What’s what?” he asked, reaching past the open box for his mocha.

  “Cranberry-orange, lemon, blueberry, cinnamon, and chocolate chip,” I said, pointing out each flavor in turn. I’d gotten one of everything and two each of my favorites, cinnamon and chocolate chip.

  He sipped at his mocha for a moment before helping himself to the cranberry-orange scone. “I can at least pretend it’s good for me, right?”

  I grinned around my mouthful of chocolatey heaven and nodded.

  After we’d each had a few bites of scone and some coffee in our systems, Chris sat back in his chair and looked at me.

  “You gonna tell me what last night was all about, now?”

  I sighed and fought down the urge to roll my eyes. “I told you – London and I had a disagreement. I got my feelings hurt. It’s fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Try again.”

  I considered throwing my scone at him. I took another bite of it instead, giving myself time to figure out what to say.

  “It really was just a disagreement. But we were both in a bad place when it happened. He got pissed and hung up on me. I got upset and spent the night worrying myself half crazy. I’m okay. I told you that last night – before you drove up here to check on me.”

  “Seems like he’s always making you half crazy,” Chris noted as he turned his attention back to his breakfast.

  “True enough. But it’s not always in a bad way.”

  Chris just shook his head and changed the subject.

  We lingered over breakfast for a while, making small talk about the club, my job, and our friends. Chris left to go back to his side of town, and I goofed around on the internet for a bit before heading back to bed. I had an overnight shift at the hotel, and I could do with a little more sleep before dealing with the joys of night audit.

  I hadn’t even had time to get comfortable before my cell phone rang. Cursing whoever dared disturb my impending nap, I rolled over and grabbed for the phone. It was London.

  “Hey.”

  “I called to apologize,” he said.

  “I’m listening.”

  London blew out a breath. “Hanging up on you was shitty and childish. Getting pissy with you was just stupid. I wasn’t mad at you. Or the guys. And anyway...I’m sorry.”

  “And?”

  There was a moment of silence, and then London added, “And I love you?”

  I grinned. “I love you, too. And I’m not going to say ‘it’s okay,’ because it’s really not. You hang up on me ever again, and I cannot be held responsible for whatever damage I do to your pretty face.”

  “Fair enough.” Another moment passed in silence. “Am I forgiven, then?”

  “Duh.”

  “Good.”

  London shocked me by admitting that maybe the guys and I had been right that he needed some downtime. “We’re going to have a few days off soon. And Quinn and Ashe are both demanding that I step away from everything else, then, too.”

  “I know it worries you, but it’s got to be a good thing.”

  “Quinn says a little time away will help me have a clearer head when I get back to the search. Ashe says the same thing about my tutoring sessions.”

  “It makes sense,” I noted. I curled up on my side, cuddling one of the pillows on the bed. It still smelled like Chris’s cologne, a warm, masculine scent that I found comforting. “So what are you going to do with the time off?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving weekend, so I’m going home. To my parent’s house, I mean.”

  “That’s good.”

  I meant it, too. As much as I would like to see him, there are certain times of year that are all about family. Thanksgiving is one of those. I was glad he’d get to be with his family, even if I wouldn’t get to be with any of mine.

  “I was hoping you could come with me.”

  I swear my heart stopped for a moment. My hand came up to cover my mouth, and I just lay there, stunned. London wanted me to meet his family.

  And I couldn’t go.

  “I have to work,” I told him, my voice barely more than a shaky whisper.

  “Shit.” London sighed. “But if you’re working Thanksgiving, you’ll be off Christmas, right?”

  “No,” I breathed. I cleared my throat and forced myself to say it again, audibly this time. “No. I’m the new kid. I get to work the holidays.”

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  “It’s not my fault!” I wiped away tears, angry with myself for never being able to keep the damned things at bay.

  “I know it’s not,” London said, his voice gentle. “I wasn’t....I just can’t believe your boss did that to you.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. I’ll call my mom, tell her I can’t make Thanksgiving. I’ll come spend it with you.”

  My heart did a cartwheel, the joy of his wanting to spend time with me mixed up with the grief of what I was about to say.

  “Don’t change your plans. Go see your mom.” I took a breath. “I’m going to be working all weekend. We wouldn’t get that much time together, anyway. Just...go home, London.”

  He was quiet for a long time.

  “Are you sure?” he asked at last.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll figure something out after things settle down, okay? There’s only a few weeks left of the tour. And hopefully everything else will get better soon, too. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay.”

  I must not have sounded convinced, because he repeated himself, his tone more certain.

  “We’ll figure it out, Em. I promise.”

  I knew he meant it, and even though I was scared to get my hopes up, I chose to believe him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next couple of days were the same old whirlwind of work and errands and chores and random text messages and emails from my friends. London managed to stay in touch three days running – the first time that had happened in ages – even if was only through texts and picture mail.

  Tuesday rolled around again, and I called Chris to see if he wanted to grab food before open mic night. The two of us, Michael, and a couple of their friends met up for dinner. I did my invisibility trick, staying quiet and still in a corner of the booth and listening to the guys cutting up and giving each other a hard time. Nothing like a front-row, center seat for people-watching.

  Chris, Mike, and I headed to Haven afterward. Their friends had things to do, but would show up later. I found myself wondering if they were musicians or spectators, but I wouldn’t know the answer until later on that night.

  Being inside Haven before it opened for the evening was strange and interesting. Part of me – the part that was only a few months away from earning my degree and entering the hospitality industry – wanted to bug everyone and learn how any and everything went down behind the scenes. The part of me that loved to people-watch was content to sit and watch. And the part of me that loved music was happy to listen to Michael and Chris sound check a
nd get in a little practice time.

  Open mic night ran smoothly, as usual. Joseph was working, and I got to talk to him a little between acts. And I got to see Chris work his magic on the audience. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of watching him work the crowd or listening to him sing.

  It was a great night. Until it wasn’t.

  After Haven closed, while the staff subtly urged the other patrons toward the door, I sat at Joseph’s bar fiddling with my phone. I had a voice-mail from Dylan, who was almost in hysterics because Brian insisted that he really, honestly wanted to go with her to her parents for Thanksgiving. I figured she was afraid that Brian would find out how nuts her family was and run for the hills. That or she was afraid he’d actually like them and then she’d run for the hills.

  Under other circumstances, I’d have found the whole thing amusing. But after finding out that London wanted me to meet his family on Thanksgiving, and after learning that my brother was going to his boyfriend’s family’s big to-do in Laredo, leaving me alone for the holiday...well, I didn’t find it amusing at all. It was just depressing as hell.

  I felt big, strong hands squeeze my shoulders.

  “You ready to get out of here?” Chris asked.

  “Sure.”

  “You okay?”

  I sighed and leaned my head on my hand, my elbow propped on the bar. “Just tired of getting the short end of the stick, that’s all.”

  “What’d he do now?”

  I frowned. “He didn’t do anything.”

  “Beth,” Chris said, sitting down on the barstool next to mine. “I’m not buying it. He’s always the reason you have that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “The look like somebody just sucked all the happiness out of you.”

  “Yeah, well. None of this is his fault.”

  “Because he’s got a lot to deal with,” Chris said, his tone letting me know just how much he didn’t believe that claim.

  “There are things at work here that you don’t have any clue about,” I snapped.