Deep (28 page)

“We need to talk,” he said. “Liz.”

“You signed it,” Martha said. “You even crossed out the money.” The look on his bitch of a sister’s face would have been hilarious had I not been in the middle of getting my heart broken. Her brows might never return to normal, they’d risen so high on her perfect forehead.

“I don’t give a fuck about the contract,” Ben snarled, grabbing hold of my arm.

“If you didn’t give a fuck about the contract, then it wouldn’t exist.” I tugged my arm from his grasp. “You sure as hell wouldn’t be carrying a copy of it around with you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“No. Never again. I’m never … ever … going through this with you again.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t feel too bad about it, Ben. You did warn me, after all. I was just stupid enough to believe that maybe I could matter to you as much as you do to me. My bad.”

Still, Martha stared at the papers, stunned.

“You do matter to me,” he said, breathing hard.

“But not enough. Not enough to be honest with me. Not enough to talk to me about this, about your fears … God, did you really think I would be like her?” I pointed a thumb at his abomination of a sister. “That I would cheat? Lie? Use you for money time and again, messing with your life?”

“I love my brother,” Martha shouted.

“You shut your god damn mouth!” Tears poured down my face. I was beyond caring, really. Beyond everything. I rested my hand on my belly, feeling that strange stirring sensation within again. Bean apparently didn’t care for shouting. I lowered my voice accordingly. “I will deal with you when I am good and ready.”

Martha shut it, face still stunned.

“I was never trying to change you,” I said, finding my last ounce of bravery and staring Ben in the face. “I just wanted some of your time, your attention. I wanted to be a part of what you love.”

Dark eyes gave me nothing but grief.

“You’ve got another six or so weeks on tour. I don’t want to hear from you during that time,” I said, turning away. “I’ll make sure any medical updates are forwarded to you. Otherwise … I just … I need a break. From all of this.”

“You’re going back to Portland?” he asked, obviously unhappy. His man-feelings had been hurt. Too bad.

“Yes.”

As expected, Anne opened her mouth, rising to her feet. She’d have my back, of course she would. But I halted her with a hand. “Later.”

She nodded.

I turned toward Martha, tamping down the need to beat her with the nearest solid object. “I don’t have much family, and sadly, your brother seems all too willing to tolerate your borderline personality disorder. But you will
never
treat my child in a way that is anything less than loving and supportive. Is that understood?”

Numbly, she nodded.

“Good.”

Anne took my hand. Solidarity among sisters, etcetera, and thank god for it. I really needed her right then. Together, with Mal behind us, we left.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Are you sure?” my sister asked, not for the first time. Not even for the hundredth, for that matter.

“I’m sure.”

“I don’t like you being sure.”

“I get that.” I sat on the bed in her suite’s spare bedroom, watching as she meticulously packed my case. My underwear had basically been alphabetized. “And I love you for it.”

She sighed, refolding one of my maternity tops for the third time. “I love you too. I’m just sorry it ended this way. He seemed so into you. I really thought he’d get his act together.”

“I guess some people are just wandering souls. They really are better off alone. They need their freedom more than they need love and companionship. Better to find out now than to keep persevering at a relationship that’s ultimately doomed because he’s unable to trust and commit.” I gave her the same brave, what-can-you-do smile I’d been wearing for the last twenty-four hours. My cheeks hurt. Much more and I’d have to ice my face.

“You’re so full of shit,” she sighed.

I smiled some more.

“Stop trying to appear so cool about it. I know full well the asshole has ripped your beating heart right out of your chest and stomped all over it with his huge black boots.”

“Nice visual.”

“I hate him. Next time we have a band dinner, I’m stabbing him with a fork.”

“You are not stabbing him with a fork,” I said, patting her hand. “You’re going to be perfectly polite and carry on with business as usual.”

Eyes narrowed, she gave me a stubborn look.

“For Mal’s sake,” I said. “I’ll go home and get the nursery sorted. It’ll be fine, Anne. Really.”

“Let me come with you.”

“No.” I shook my head determinedly. “Absolutely not. You’ve never been to Europe. You’ve been looking forward to this trip for months. It’s only six weeks. I’ll manage. Besides, honestly, I need the space right now.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “You promise you’ll call me if you need me.”

I held up my hand. “I solemnly swear.”

“Hmm.”

“Killer and I are just going to hang out, take it easy.”

“He’s definitely going to be relieved to get out of the pet hotel. That’s one silver lining at least. The last few times I’ve called, he’s flat-out refused to speak to me.”

“He’s a dog, Anne. He can’t talk.”

More frowning. “But he used to make these little yipping noises and bark at me. You know what I mean. I’m worried this has given him abandonment issues. He’s a very sensitive animal. He’s like Mal, deep down, in a way.”

“He’s a lunatic who chases his own tail until he falls over,” I said. “Actually, he kind of is like Mal, you’re right.”

“True.” Anne nodded with a thoughtful look.

“Well, I promise to apply all of my psychology skills to resolving his issues before you return.” In my experience, Killer’s happiness could be bought with a pack of Canadian bacon and the destruction of one of Mal’s Converse. I’d already stolen a reasonably new-looking shoe out of Mal’s closet for just this purpose. The dog would be back to his usual tail-wagging, gleeful, psycho self in no time.

My own abandonment issues might take a little longer to resolve.

Tomorrow, Stage Dive moved on to Montreal, then Europe. Slightly sooner, in secret, I’d return to Oregon. Everyone was going to the concert tonight for the first performance of yet another song. I guess it was a new tradition to have everyone there. Nice. Seemed David was in fine writing form these days—touring agreed with him. While they were gone, I’d make my sneaky exit. Anne didn’t know, she thought I was leaving in the morning. But she’d understand. There’d been enough drama. A big emotional good-bye wouldn’t help anyone. Certainly not me. Staying in the same city as Ben, even for the last twenty-four hours, was grating on me. I ached to have his whole world behind me. I wasn’t being naive and pretending my grief wouldn’t be boarding that plane right along with me. It was more a feeling that I couldn’t even begin to move on until I could see this city recede into nothing through the little airline window. It would be all the closure I’d get.

Besides, the town of Seaside on the Oregon coast was beautiful this time of year. It also wouldn’t be where the press would expect me to turn up. I’d drive out there in the Mustang and get a room, something overlooking the ocean. A pretty view to help me pull myself together, to get over my disappointment and get myself in the right frame of mind for single motherhood. Me and Bean would be fine. Killer too, for that matter.

“You’re just going to go to sleep?” Anne asked, zipping up my case and lugging it off the bed.

“Yeah. I’ll take a shower and then crash. Thanks for helping me pack,” I said. “You better get going. The guys will be taking to the stage soon. And you know what traffic is like in New York.”

She dropped a kiss on top of my head. Then went crazy with both hands, messing up my hair like we were all of fourteen again or something.

“God, grow up, would you?” I groused, pushing my long locks back off my face.

“’Night.” She grinned. Marriage to Mal had apparently given her the childhood she’d missed out on the first time around, what with our parents’ selfishness. It was nice, if occasionally somewhat annoying. I really needed to remember to give her a wedgie in retribution, next time I saw her.

“’Night.”

She walked out with a final wave.

I sat perfectly still, waiting for the click of the outer door closing. Then, just to be certain, I waited another ten minutes. And … yes. Operation Make a Run for It was a go.

I slipped on my black flats and stuffed my blond hair up under a plain black baseball cap, raising the handle on my case. Done. My one-way ticket home had been booked earlier, during a particularly long stint in the john. It seemed the only place some concerned soul wouldn’t interrupt me every two minutes: Was I hungry? Nope. What about a drink? Nuh. How about a rehashing of the god-awful events of the night before, followed by a good long cry on concerned soul’s shoulder, with excessive hugging thrown in? No way. But thanks for asking.

I loved the girls. Honest to god I did. But right then I needed space from everyone.

I peeked my head out. Nada. Not a sign of security in sight. To be expected, given I’d promised to stay in my room and you could only access the floor with the special key. Down I went in the shiny elevator. Across the bright, busy ground floor I all but ran, towing my case behind me. My plane left in a little over two hours. Even with the hellish New York traffic, it should be plenty of time to reach the airport and get through security.

Outside, the night air was warm, alive with light and color. New York really was the city that never slept.

“Can I help you, miss?” a nice doorman asked me, holding out a gloved hand for my case.

“Yes, thank you. I’d like a cab to JFK, please.”

“Of course, miss.” He held up a hand, summoning a taxi like magic.

In no time at all my case was in the trunk and I was safely buckled in the back. That was when things went kind of wrong.

The car door opened and a large, smelly male slid in beside me. It’s a reality of these types of men, not often discussed. In the same way that cowboys stink of horse and cow crap, after a concert, rock stars reek of sweat—and lots of it. Kind of bursts the bubble somewhat, doesn’t it? But the stink alone narrowed down the cab-stealing stranger’s identity.

“Hey, Liz.”

“Vaughan?”

“How’s it going?”

I blinked. And then I blinked again, because he was still there, messing with my escape plan, damn it. “What are you doing here?”

Without so much as an as-you-please, he directed the cab driver to the stadium where Stage Dive was playing. The hundred-dollar bill he passed along with the instructions meant he got the driver’s attention. Not little old me.

“Any particular reason you’re hijacking my cab?” I asked.

“It was going to be Conn, but then, you haven’t really met him. We figured it’d freak you out less if it was me.”

“Right … right.” I nodded. “Doesn’t really answer the question.”

“Well, all of the other guys are busy playing, so it had to be one of us.” He slicked back his sweat-dampened hair with a hand and flashed me a smile. “Need you to see something.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.” He chuckled.

I chuckled along with him. “Wow. Yeah. I’m really going to miss you after I kill you and throw your body off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that. You don’t like what you see, I’ll make sure you still get to the airport with plenty of time to make your flight.”

“How do you know about that?” I leaned an elbow on the window ledge, trying to keep my cool. Not really succeeding. Outside the city lights sped by.

“Same way I was waiting for you to make your escape,” he said. “Sam.”

“Ah.” Trust the superspy security guy to be a step ahead of me. Jerk.

“Anyway, they figured I’d have a better chance at sweet talking you into coming along.”

“Did they now?” I showed him my teeth. It could have been misconstrued as a smile, but as previously noted, Vaughan was no dummy.

“Liz, please. If I didn’t think it’d be worth your while, no fucking chance I’d have let them talk me into this. I got no desire to have you hate me.”

I sighed determinedly. “Look,” I said, putting on my best laying-down-the-law voice, “all I want right now is to get all of this behind me as fast as I possibly can. I’m sick of being here. I’m sick of the band, and rock ’n’ roll, and most of all I’m sick of smiling through it all. I do think you’re sweet, and kudos to you for trying whatever you’re trying. But I am officially over it. I am so past over it.”

“Huh,” he said, sitting back in his seat and smiling out the window at the Manhattan lights. “I guess I’m the opposite, aren’t I? It’s all over for you and you can’t wait to get away. It’s all over for me too, and I just keep trying to squeeze out another few seconds from my fifteen minutes of fame. Your strategy does sound better. Figures, what with your psychiatry degree and all.”

“Psychology,” I corrected absently. I’d forgotten I wasn’t the only one who was dealing with a breakup of sorts. “I heard you guys were finishing, but it’s hardly all over for you, is it? I’ve seen you up onstage. You’ve got it going on just fine.”

Vaughan smiled sadly. “You’ve never really seen the rock ’n’ roll life, have you?” he asked. “You just got vaulted into the penthouse without getting a taste of the industry. For every Stage Dive there’s a hundred Down Fourths. A thousand. We had one or two hits. We backed up a major band. If we’d held on to that and managed to score a major label contract, who knows? Maybe it all would have happened. Rock superstars, platinum albums, and the cover of
Rolling Stone.
But we couldn’t keep it together. Too many egos and pissy little arguments, to the point we’re barely fucking talking to each other. Luke’s off to bigger and better things, sure. But for the rest of us it’s back to square one. At the end of the day, the last ten years don’t mean shit. I’m tired, Liz. Tired of sleeping in shitty hotels and always traveling and playing shows, trying to make enough to pay for just a little more studio time. I want to go home and see my family, wake up and actually know what town I’m in. I want to see if there’s a better way to do this that doesn’t cost me my sanity and fuck with my liver every night of the week.”