Playing the Pauses Read online

  “Mmm?” Even that small rumble carries through the door and I glance away.

  He may not be in love with her after all, but she’s his friend, and she is what he needs right now. I put away my phone and adjust my purse. They’re going to be okay. I can go, and even if someone walks in now, it’s no big deal.

  “Why tell me now?” Jera asks. “I was a judgy little bitch, I get that, but you’re talking all past tense, like you don’t do that stuff anymore. So why today, in an airport of all places?”

  “I was with someone last night.”

  My first step toward the corridor doesn’t even land.

  “Okay... And apparently it didn’t go so well?”

  How much is he going to tell her about what we did? Is he going to tell her it was me?

  “I fucked up, Jimi. Big time.”

  My toes squirm inside my ballet flats and I tug at the hem of my shirt.

  “I doubt that,” Jera says. “I have never seen you do anything you didn’t strictly mean to do, and I don’t believe for a second that you mistreated a woman.”

  “Believe it. I left her tied up, I didn’t give her a safeword...” His voice cracks and my hand flies to my throat in horror. He can’t think I would have safed out—the only thing I said the whole time was a clear and unambiguous yes.

  “You left—” Jera stops herself and her voice drops again and gets firm. “Danny. Look at me. Did you do something that she did not want you to do?”

  “No... Shit, I don’t think so but you don’t do that, Jera.” Somebody’s shoe squeaks and I glance behind me before realizing it came from inside the room. “I have never in my life done a scene without a discussion of hard and soft boundaries first, without a safeword in place. It’s...If there’s no safeword it’s...” His footsteps rain across the floor and I back up behind a pillar in case he paces himself all the way out into the waiting area.

  “Did she ask you to stop?”

  “No! Christ, Jera, who the fuck do you think I am?”

  “Then she was probably fine, D. Hey, the rest of us have sex all the time without safewords and we muddle through on a simple yes or no, okay?”

  The sounds of pacing continue unabated.

  “Danny...did you really leave her tied up?”

  “Loosely. It wasn’t cuffs or anything. But I...” His voice chokes and I step closer to the door. “I had to. I went to get rid of the condom and when I looked back, I caught the look on her face and I knew. She didn’t want me to break the scene, didn’t want me in the place that she’d just filled up with her fantasy Dom. It’s why I quit the BDSM world to start with. Sometimes it’s freeing to leave your real self behind, and sometimes, it’s just another cage.”

  My head drops and tears burn behind my clamped-closed lids. What have I done? And how fucking well do I know the feeling that must have been poisoning him last night?

  “I went to your room because I was half out my head and I needed somebody to see me,” Danny tells his friend, his voice rough. “When I got there, I could hear you on the phone with Jacob. You were crying and I was such a jackass that I didn’t even knock to see if you were okay. And once I took off, I remembered you didn’t know either. That there wasn’t a single person who knew all of me and the thought just...” He stops, but it doesn’t matter. I know, without him saying another word. I know, and I can’t take this.

  I bolt into the corridor and it’s just a few steps to the ladies' room, my eyes down as I dart into a stall and then my sob breaks on my palm, stuffed hard against my mouth.

  It’s too close. Everything he said is just... I can’t go there. Not today. Not in public at the start of a long stint on the road. Not with those vivid eyes of his, seeing too much but still not enough for him to realize that last night, he was only wrong about one thing. And I have no idea how to take it back.

  Chapter 5: Communication

  That afternoon, things are not better. I have a headache beating the hell out of my temples, we’ve got a show in a few hours and I’ve been fighting tooth and claw all day with the rental company, who suddenly doesn’t have our buses available when we need them. Not to mention that after what I overheard, my mind is a mess about everything having to do with Danny.

  This morning, I made it back to the airport waiting area first, fully Visine-ed, re-mascara-ed and re-composed. When Danny eventually returned from the prayer rooms, he collapsed into the seat next to Jera, put on his headphones and closed his eyes. Jera took his hand and held it solidly in her lap while I tried not to think about whether that meant he was okay, or that he wasn’t at all. And if he isn’t, I don’t know how to fix whatever I did wrong.

  Even if I did, I’m not going to get the chance, because when we finally get to our Atlanta hotel, the door is blocked by a knot of fans.

  I love fans, I really do. Even though I will never have any of my own, they are the reason my job exists. But I do not love fans staking out the hotels near a big venue on the day of a concert. It’s why I never make reservations under the band name or any of the performers’ real names. Regardless, they seem to find us anyway, especially on days like today when I’m dying for the privacy and quiet of the hotel room they’re blocking me from.

  But breaks aren’t in the job description, so I drop obediently back, calling to a couple roadies to help me take luggage from the band members so their hands will be free for signing autographs and they won’t risk a fan swiping their carry-on as a souvenir. I hope this doesn’t take too long—the mid-day sun is already cooking my back, and humidity clings to my skin.

  “Oh, hi!” Jax says to a girl shrieking his name with excited tears shimmering in her eyes. “I love your shirt.” He turns to Danny. “Check this out, man. In your face!” He laughs, urging the girl forward so she can show off her homemade “Jackson Sterling 4 EVA!” tee.

  I wave the crew on past us into the hotel so our group will stop clogging the sidewalk and attracting more attention.

  “I feel like such an ass. If I’d known you were all going to be here, I would have made you something, too,” Jax says to the group of fans that’s now thick around him, most shouting for his attention. “Hold up, one sec.”

  He dodges over to the valet parking station where the pair of uniformed valets are taking pictures of the commotion. One of them stuffs his phone back into his pocket and snaps to attention. In response to whatever Jax asked him, he hands over a fistful of blank key tags and a pen.

  “Just because you were all so amazing to come here and welcome us to the city, these’ll get you backstage for a quick visit before the show, okay?” Jax scribbles on the key tags.

  My eyes bulge. We have pre-printed, hologrammed backstage passes for a reason. There are hours yet for this to explode across the internet, until the entire city of Atlanta shows up with valet tags and Jax’s scanned signature, demanding to be let backstage.

  “Hey, Jax, maybe let’s not...” I step forward.

  Before I can start to argue, Jera’s voice cuts through the commotion, high and shocked. “Andy?”

  I glance over. She’s stopped giving autographs and is frozen in front of a male fan. I wave to the valets, trying to signal them to go in for hotel security, but they don’t even see me because they’re too busy snapping pictures with their phones.

  Danny moves to Jera’s side and I relax somewhat, keeping an ear on the situation as I dig in my purse.

  “Jax, let’s only give out real backstage passes, okay?” People passing on the sidewalk are stopping now to see what’s going on. I need to rein this in. “And I’ve only got...five.” This announcement is greeted with groans and more than a few killing glares in my direction.

  “A contest!” Jax snatches the passes from me and waves them over his head. “Dance off!”

  The entire front of the hotel erupts into chaotic movement: bouncing, screaming and more than a little wild gyration. Jax jumps up on a bench, cheering them on. I can’t help but smile at his animation even as I elbow my way out
of the crush, veering toward Jera to see what’s up with her and this Andy guy.

  “I transferred to Georgia State a few years back. I don’t know if you heard...” the solemn-looking fanboy says to Jera. “I saw on Facebook that you were going to be in town today, and I wanted to see you. I thought we could...”

  His voice is lost to a shriek from one of the dancers that feels like a screwdriver in my eardrum. This guy is probably an ex-boyfriend who wants to ride the good old days right into a guest pass and Jera’s panties. I hope she doesn’t fall for it.

  I push up on my toes to see past a guy doing an inspired version of the Sprinkler. Jera sucks in a quick breath, her eyes glinting with tears.

  The ex-boyfriend reaches for her. Danny punches him.

  Oh, this is so not what I needed today. The punk goes down like he took a bus to the face instead of a fist. I shove Sprinkler Guy out of my way as Jera drags Danny away from the fallen form of her ex, shouting something I don’t catch.

  “Time to go.” I herd the pair away from the guy on the ground and into the hotel, where the air conditioning hits me like a blast of cool, sweet sanity.

  I flag down Clancy, the production manager, and point back toward the sidewalk. He heads out to keep an eye on Jax while I clamp a hand on Danny’s arm and drag him behind a potted palm at the edge of the lobby.

  “What were you thinking?” I hiss. “You just hit a fan in front of half of Atlanta!”

  “Andy’s not a fan. He’s a douche.”

  Jera shoves her hair back so hard that some of the strands rip out. “You had no right. What in the hell, Daniel? Did you ever think I might want to talk to him after all this time?”

  “What I thought was that I wanted to hit him,” Danny says. “Should have done it years ago. Tell Jacob he owes me one.”

  Oh, it’s that guy? I have to manufacture a cough to cover my widening eyes as I put the pieces together. This must be the ex who told Jera she was frigid. Jeez, it’s only Day Four and I already know way too much about this band’s sex lives.

  Jera sputters, finally turning on her heel and stalking away. I feel like seconding her reaction. Instead, I pull out my iPhone and open the calendar app. “If you want to punch people in the future, please try to do it in a private room with no recording equipment,” I say. “Now, you’ve got an interview in forty minutes and there should already be a town car waiting out front to take you to the radio station’s studio. Do you need me to ride along?”

  I keep clicking unnecessarily through our schedule while the silhouette of his body looms behind my phone.

  “No,” he says. “Stay here with Jera.”

  Jax ducks behind our pillar. “Hey, where’d you guys go? I swear we had like fifty people dancing by the end, even those valet guys. But don’t worry, Kate, I only gave out the five passes.”

  I toss him a quick smile and then say to Danny, “Do you want another copy of the do-not-discuss list before you go?”

  “Are you sending him to do an interview on his own?” Jax frowns. “It’ll be like two syllables long.”

  “Okay, you go with him, then.” I shoo them toward the door. With any luck, the ex-boyfriend will have left to ice his face by now. “Be charming. Don’t punch anybody. Be back by three.”

  Jax looks confused, but when Danny takes off, he jogs to catch up and the two men leave together.

  I get everyone checked in and keys passed out, and I load the crew into a van the promoter sent to take them to the venue. I’m almost home free until I realize I still have Jera’s room key.

  I keep an eye on the clock as I set out to look for her, because I’m dying to get up to my room and four walls that enclose only me. I might be able to squeeze in a thirty-minute power nap before I get back to wrangling with the tour bus company. We’re supposed to be off the airplane plan and onto the bus plan by tomorrow morning, but at this rate, it isn’t going happen no matter who I blow, bribe or threaten.

  The lobby spreads out over nearly an acre full of cozy little seating arrangements, so it takes me a while to find Jera hidden by the back of a huge armchair, leaning forward with her elbows tightly braced on her knees.

  “Hey, do you want to ride up with me?” I pass her a key card folder. “We’re on the same floor today.”

  She glances up and huffs out a breath. “Yeah, okay.” She pushes to her feet and pulls out the handle on her rolling suitcase. “Sorry for the scene. I can’t freaking believe I finally had a chance to get some closure with Andy, and Danny had to haul off and ruin it.”

  “Well, testosterone isn’t known for enhancing cortical function.”

  She lets out a little laugh that sounds more like an accusation. “Yeah, no shit. Especially not his. Once Danny decides on his reality, he doesn’t even see anyone else’s.”

  I hit the “Up” button and decide not to comment. It’s a pretty predictable trait of dominant males. I’ve never met a single one who could leave their dictatorial, over-protective bullshit locked up along with the leather and lace.

  The elevator arrives as I’m thinking it’s probably for the best that things with Danny ended so abruptly. No methadone exists to help kick the Dom habit, and last night was a relapse I shouldn’t have allowed myself. I just wish I could stop hearing that moment behind the prayer room door when Danny’s voice broke.

  The elevator doors close me in with his best friend, and I struggle with myself for a minute. It’s not my business, but I also know I’ll never get another opportunity this private.

  I toss a sideways glance at Jera, trying to keep my voice casual. “So, is Danny okay? He seemed upset this morning and this afternoon he lost it at your ex...” I trail off, hoping she’ll fill in the blanks.

  She rolls her eyes. “He’s always hated Andy. Thinks he nearly ruined my life, when really it was the other way around. Danny probably would have punched him even on a good day and today was definitely not that, for any of us.”

  “Anything I can, um, help with?”

  “Not unless you can make my boyfriend’s new engineering firm change their time off policy for first-year employees. And also make me stop being an oblivious jerk who hurts my friends for years without ever realizing I’m screwing up.” She gives me a wincing smile. “And if that’s what I’m doing to you right now, you can definitely help by smacking me upside the head.”

  Guilt needles through me. “Sorry, no can do. I might have a few too many oblivious jerk offenses on my own record to be passing out judgment on that score.”

  “You?” Jera narrows her eyes. “But you get along with everybody.”

  “That doesn’t mean people don’t misinterpret sometimes.” I sigh, wishing I were running on more than a couple of hours of sleep. “The wrong inflection on a word, and everybody’s upset, and all the sorrys in the world won’t take it back.”

  “People should stop second-guessing everything,” Jera says. “If everybody did that, they wouldn’t be so skeptical of those of us who actually mean what we say, nothing less and definitely nothing more.”

  “God, tattoo that on my ass, would you?” I shake my head, exhausted by the idea of how much Danny and I got wrong from one single, searing look.

  She laughs sympathetically and the elevator dings as it arrives at our floor.

  My phone rings as we step through the doors and my shoulders sink a little when I recognize the ring tone. Today? Seriously?

  “I’ve got to take this.” I pass over Jera’s room key and give her shoulder a little squeeze. “You’ve got three drama-free hours before we have to leave for sound check. Use them wisely, okay?”

  She smiles, her eyes shadowed. “You, too.”

  Yeah, not likely. I toss her a smile anyway and start wheeling my suitcase the other direction down the hall as I answer. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Things are...” She takes a shaky breath. “It’s getting bad, baby.”

  I wait an extra second before I respond, letting myself into my hotel room and closing the
door behind me. “Are you taking your meds?”

  “They aren’t helping anymore. Kate, sweetie, I need you to come home. I need my daughter with me right now.”

  I close my eyes and push the button on my suitcase handle, collapsing it down with a hollow scrape. “I can’t, Mom. This tour is a really big opportunity for me; you know that. What did Dr. Peterson say?”

  “We have our standing appointment on Tuesdays, but I haven’t gone for a few weeks...I just can’t get up the energy, you know? I start thinking about all the things I have to do to get ready and get across town and I just can’t, baby. You don’t understand how exhausting it can be.”

  I haul the suitcase stand over next to my bed and then lift the case on top of it. “I know, Mom, but it’ll help. You know what you need to do: get outside and walk, set a timer to keep you eating even if you’re not hungry, and see Dr. Peterson. She can adjust your meds if you have to.” I tug at the ends of my hair. “Look, if I come home, you’ll only get better for a little while because I do those things for you. Real change has to come from you, not me.”

  “I understand and I would do all of it, I would, but I’m so tired, Kate. You don’t have to quit your job, just take a little vacation. Come home for a week or so, just to help me get started on the right track. Then I’ll be fine.”

  “Mom...” I take a breath, but every argument I have is worn around the edges and she knows them all by heart. In the end, I just sigh. “I’ll send a taxi for you, to take you to your appointment. You can go in your pajamas if you have to. But go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  I click off the phone and close my eyes. Dr. Peterson has been telling Mom for years that having me around is just enabling her to take on the role of the patient, and it’s anything but therapeutic. Intellectually, I understand that. But now I can’t stop thinking about if she’s eaten today. If she’ll shower if I don’t make her. How long it will take her to pull out of the cycle this time. If she’ll pull out of it this time.