Strong (Stage Dive 4.50)

Lena just shook her head. “Martha, come see this one. I think it might make a good cover shot.”

“Coming.” I hopped up.

“Can I stop staring slightly broodingly yet meaningfully at the wall now?” asked Adam.

“No, stay there,” ordered Lena. “The light’s perfect.”

On top of deciding to become Adam’s manager (with Sam MIA I had plenty of time to think deep thoughts), I’d temporarily played the part of his stylist today. Mal had offered, but we’d let him experiment on the children instead. Hence the current array of crazy hairdos on everyone under three. The second twin had an attempt at a mohawk and Gib’s hair had been spiked. Lots of hair products were involved in both. Lizzy or Ben could do bath time tonight. My nephew had a tendency to howl like a banshee when hair wash time came around. No way would I be volunteering.

“Nice,” I said, checking out the picture.

“The wall will be out of shot, but you see what I mean about the light?”

I nodded. “The shadows work. Very emotive.”

“I feel like an idiot,” mumbled Adam in his black shirt and distressed jeans. We’d nailed the outfit. It really made the most of his messy hair and lanky frame.

“And you look like one,” said Mal. “Rest assured.”

Dave chuckled. “Get used to it. Photo shoots are always awkward as hell. Remember that time they tried to put me in red sequinned pants?”

“That was special. Though the tartan suit was my favorite.”

“Actually, I didn’t mind it.”

“Davie, you are such a show pony.”

“Afternoon, ladies and gentleman.” A familiar deep voice entered the room. “And children, of course.”

My head shot up, eyes narrowing.

Sam stopped cold. “My love, it’s good to see you. Is something wrong?”

“It is good to see you,” I said, abandoning the camera and heading straight for the bodyguard. “Surprising to see you even.”

“What’s with that tone of voice?”

“Guess.”

“You’re very, very angry.” He slid an arm around my waist. I didn’t knock it away. Not yet at least.

“Four days, Sam. Four days with barely a fu…” I looked down just in time to catch Gibby attaching himself to my leg. “Freaking word.”

“Sam-Sam-Sam.” The small child grinned, reaching out to pat the black slacks of the big man. The one in seriously deep shit.

“Hello, Gibby.” Sam smiled then exhaled. “Martha, I’ve been busy at Jim and Lena’s. I texted to tell you that.”

“One single text. That’s the best you could manage.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Ah...”

I said nothing.

“I should have at least made the effort to call you. You’re right.”

“Keep going,” I encouraged. Still not smiling.

“It’s possible I have some workaholic tendencies. And well, we’ve been very busy…and, um…” His gaze darted around the room, seeking inspiration or pleading for help from the other adults. So nice to have everyone witnessing yet another dramatic moment.