Deep (Stage Dive 4)

Because of course I hadn’t thrown anything at anybody lately.

“Take it you heard me and Jim fighting,” he said.

“Hard not to.”

A nod.

“He was right about one thing: it’s been a while since we talked. I mean really talked.”

“Yeah.”

No one spoke for a moment. I sure as hell wasn’t going first. Right in that moment, I just wasn’t that brave.

“I, um … shit’s been busy with the tour.” He stretched his arms out around the edge of the tub, obviously getting as comfortable as hard ceramic and the situation would allow. A small line of blood down his right hand, ignored. “Weeks leading up to it, Adrian had us talking to every damn reporter in the country. It was insane.”

“Oh.”

“The producers think the music just makes itself. Once Dave’s written the songs, they think it’s a round or two in the studio and we’re done. But that’s bullshit. Takes hours, sometimes days, to get the sound right.” Fervor shone bright in his eyes, beyond the booze and whatever. His passion for the music. “Dave used to be a perfectionist about it too, but all of the guys are distracted now, eyes on the clock, wanting to get home to their women. I’m the one sitting there with Dean and Tyler till four in the fucking morning, getting it perfect.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is. Jimmy and Mal go off onstage and Dave’s still the poet writing the songs. In the band, it’s all down to me now, though, to work the sound.” He scratched at his chin. “Know it makes me sound like a self-congratulating art geek, but it’s important, you know? Whatever we put out there, I need to know in my gut it’s the best we’ve got.”

“I can understand that.”

“Wasn’t avoiding you, Liz, but I wasn’t putting any effort into seeing you, either. You might have noticed.”

“Right.”

“Thought I’d let things with Mal and Anne calm down. That’s just another excuse, though.” Dark eyes bored into me, as if he could see my soul. Who knows, maybe he could. I always felt too open, too exposed, around him. He made me so messy with all these wants and needs. I don’t know if it was love that I felt for him or lust. But whatever it was, it sucked.

“I’m sorry, Liz,” he said, his soft, deep voice filling the room. “I said I’d have your back and I didn’t. I disappeared on you again, and this time you were actually going through shit. Serious shit.”

Huh.

“Jimmy was right. You shouldn’t have had to go through it alone.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” I turned away. A lot of emotion for one day. “I had Anne.”

“Yeah, but this is our baby, and Anne isn’t me.”

I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, nice and slow, trying to calm my racing heart. It was true. His absence had left a bruise, and no amount of go-girl lectures delivered in the bathroom mirror could alter the fact.

“Is she?” he asked.

“No, Ben, she’s not.”

He slowly nodded, like something had been decided.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Talk to me.” The fingers of his left hand flicked and fiddled with the hard upper rim of the bathtub. Nerves or what, I had no idea. At least the blood from the knuckles on his right hand had dried.

“About what?”

“All the stuff I should have been hearing the past month.” The man was serious. Very much so. “No more of this useless fucking texting, Liz. Talk to me. Right now, face-to-face. Help me prove Jim wrong.”

Give him another chance.

I stared at him, lost, my brain searching for the words. Any easily retrieved information lacked in either dignity or strength. Ah, man. Could I trust him with my weaknesses and issues? That was the question.

“C’mon. How have you been, really? What’s been going on with you?” he pushed. I frowned at him and he frowned right back. “Liz, please.”

I groaned in defeat. “All right, I suck.”

“Why do you suck?”

“So very many reasons.” I pushed my hair back from my face—no more hiding. “Pregnancy sucks. It’s natural, my ass. I finally stop throwing up, but I’m tired all the time. Giving up coffee was horrendous. None of my clothes fit right because of these stupid breasts, and they ache constantly. I have to pee like every thirty seconds, and then to top it off, I cry every time the Healthy Hound ad comes on. It’s ridiculous.”

Little wrinkles appeared either side of his nose. “You cry at a dog food ad?”

“Yes. The puppies jump all over each other to get to their mother and it’s just so beautiful, with their cute little tails wagging and everything.”

He just stared at me.

“I know it’s psycho, Ben. Believe me, I’m well aware of this.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” He covered a smile with his hand. Too late, the bastard.

“You try dealing with all these hormones going apeshit. Crap. Apeshoot.”

“Apeshoot?”

“I’m trying not to swear,” I explained. “You want the first word our child comes out with to be something bad?”

“No. Gotcha.” The man was incredibly bad at hiding a grin. “No swearing.”

Jerk. I narrowed my eyes on him, holding back my own smile.

“I’m taking you seriously. I am.” He flat-out lied. Though it was rather nice to see him smile and to hear his low laugh. At least the bad mood was gone.

“And my ankles are all fat and gross,” I said. “It’s ridiculous.”

“What? Show me.” A giant paw grabbed hold of my limb, dragging it onto his lap. Without preamble he pushed up the leg of my jeans and wrestled off my sandal, dropping it out onto the floor. “It looks fine. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I’m retaining fluid. It’s disgusting.”

One-handed, he flipped back his long, dark fringe, giving me a look most dubious.

“Let go of my foot, please. I don’t want you to see it.”

He slowly shook his head. “This what you’ve been doing the last month? Talking yourself into crazy shit and crying at dog food ads?”

“My ankle is distinctly thicker, Ben. And I explained about the dog food ad. Give me my foot back.”

“No.” He tucked one leg underneath the other and rested my foot atop it before proceeding to rub my toes. Damn, that felt good. The man had incredibly strong fingers. Must have been a result of all that bass playing. Thumbs dug in deep to the arch of my foot and my spine basically melted. Heaven, nirvana—I had it all within my grasp so long as he kept doing his thing.