It didn’t take long for Josephine and Cara to come back on tour with us either. Josephine returned for Angel, of course, and for work since she and Camilla areour wardrobe personnel. On the other hand, Cara struggled with being alone with a new baby and a rambunctious toddler. Her anxiety flared, and she developed a case of the baby blues.
We had every intention of canceling the tour right then. She needed Jake. She needed Dane. Hell, she even needed Maddox and me. But the brat, being the bloody stubborn girl she is, would not hear of it. Fortunately for her, we are all equally as stubborn. She had a choice. Come back on the road with us, or we pack it up. She didn’t think it was practical, but Josephine had Aubrey with us already, proving it could work.
And work it has, I note as the women make their way to their seats with babies on their hips. Aaron is ten months old, and Aubrey has just turned a year. The baby buses now outnumber the rest.
I lean my head back with a sigh. It is pounding from the hangover I have. It will be good to get home because the truth is, in nearly four years, I’ve seen my apartment for six months. And that wasn’t consecutively.
I love touring. Absolutely nothing beats performing live. There is no better feeling than the rush of hearing fifty-thousand people sing along to the songs you’ve poured yourself into. Of seeing with your own eyes the impact your music has made on so many people.
But we are tired. We all need a break from the insanity and chaos. After last night’s run in with my mother, I need to decompress.
I hear Lyra squeal behind me, making the throbbing in my head feel like Dane is playing legato and staccato on the drums. I didn’t think I could even get a hangover anymore, but I was very,verywrong.
After we left the party, I went straight to the hotel. The encounter with my mother replayed over and over. Then my encounter with her the last time I saw her took its place, serving to increase my anger with each passing second. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. After half an hour of breaking everything in sight, Maddox finally strolled in with a girl on each arm, two fifths of Macallan in each hand, and a couple of eight balls in his pocket.
He knew what I needed.
“They gonna be able to handle me tonight?” I asked sharply.
He shrugged his shoulders with a smirk. “They said they could, but if they can’t, you know I can.”
I drank so much I nearly drowned. He got so high he was looking down to see the sky. I fucked the girls until they begged for mercy. He watched. Then I fucked him. Hard and rough. Just like we like it.
I’m not sure when we finally passed out. Or even who passed out first. One thing for certain, for the moment, I was placated.
Maddox and my relationship has gotten more complicated over the years. We have a lot of baggage we don’t let anyone see, but we don’t have to hide it from each other. Because most of thefucked-upgarbage in our lives, we’ve been there with each other. We get each other. There is a mutual admiration, as well as a mutual need, for one another.
He gets high to numb everything. He feels everything so intensely he can’t breathe. He has so much weighing on him that he’s never dealt with, and the list keeps growing. So, he does whatever he can to shut it all off.
I don’t feel anything at all most of the time. Not truly. And when I do, it’s usually anger. But how can I feel when I don’t have a heart? It’s somewhere out there in a pixie’s pocket.
Lyra squeals again, making me grind my teeth in pain. I love that kid, all those kids, as much as I am capable of, but right now, I wish I had a muzzle. I won’t say anything, though. It’s not her fault the drumline is marching through my head.
I feel a body settle next to me. I don’t have to open my eyes to know that it’s my best friend and sometimes lover of over fifteen years. “Where’s your head at?” he asks softly.
“On the football field being kicked toward the goal,” I remark without moving.
He gives a light chuckle. “Thought so. That’s why I got this for you.”
I peek through one squinted eye to see him offering me whatlookslike a Bloody Mary. I raise a brow, causing him to laugh again. “Hair of the dog and all that.”
I take the proffered beverage cautiously. “Hair of the dog, huh?” I sniff it, my face pulling into a grimace. “Why does it smell like your hangover relief?”
He grins, showing off fifty-two perfectly straight teeth. “Hey, it works.”
“But it’s bloody rank,” I grumble as I take the first swig. It takes like death and ass. “Ugh! How did you make this here?”
“I didn’t. Called ahead for the attendant to have it ready.”
I groan some more, leaning my head back again.
“You gonna tell me where your head is?” he asks again.
“Soon as you tell me where yours is,” I snap back.
The truth is, we don’t have to say anything. We already knowwhere the other’s head is.Mads wants to take everything offeveryone’s shoulders and carry it himself. The problem is, he’s already carrying too much. Then he turns that extra weight inward and finds reason to blame himselfif things go wrong. When he couldn’t be less responsible.
He’s definitely not responsible for the hole in my chest. He’s the only reason I’m still standing.
