Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(30)

He nodded. “That’s them.”

He lowered his fork and let out a snort.

“What?”

“I saw a clip of that friend of hers with the photog. Where she was getting the baby out of the car? And I’ve heard stuff from friends about Trevor Nichols having a personal guard dog working for his office. Clark works with them. So that’s her, huh?”

“That would be…a reasonably accurate description of her personality if you cross her, yes. But like a guard dog, she’s also very sweet and protective of her loved ones.”

“I can’t tell you the last time I went to a casual cookout with friends.”

He felt sorry for the guy. Doyle knew first-hand from his clients how difficult it was to have a private life when a celebrity. Even when they weren’t “on” they had to carefully guard their every word, every action, because of the prevalence of cell phones. They might be famous and have money, but the tradeoff, sometimes, made it a very vicious bargain in terms of their private lives.

“Tilly and her guys are good people. They’ve already signed the NDAs, too, so no worries there. She’s used to working with celebrities.”

“That mean they know about what I did?”

He nodded. “Yes. But Tilly’s also a nurse by training. So she’s sympathetic. She’s also brutally honest sometimes. Don’t ask her for an opinion unless you really want one.”

After taking another bite of pork chops, Mevi spoke again. “I need more people like that in my life.” He stared into Doyle’s eyes. “Like you.”

“I’ll be here for you, as long as you need me.”

He smiled, but it looked sad. “I have a feeling it won’t be long enough.”





Chapter Eleven


Doyle wasn’t sure how to interpret Mevi’s comment, but didn’t want to push him too hard. After dinner, Mevi volunteered to help with cleanup, even though Doyle told him that wasn’t necessary.

“We’ll have to stop by my storage unit tomorrow,” Doyle said. “I didn’t bring swim trunks with me.”

“We could buy some.”

“Why would I do that when I have several pairs in storage that I know fit me? And do you have any with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Perfect. Then we’ll leave here about five. With the traffic, that’ll give us enough time.”

“Do we stop and pick something up to take? Like a dessert or something?”

“Good idea. She’ll appreciate that.”

Mevi headed back downstairs to work while Doyle returned to the sofa. After days of driving and having the lyrics to Hamilton now permanently embedded in his brain, he welcomed the relative quiet.

At least they’d arrived in Sarasota on a Sunday, giving Doyle several days to figure out how to explain the club to Mevi, if they could hear the music through the back wall. Maybe if Mevi followed his current work pattern he’d be too absorbed in what he was doing to even notice.

Then again…

He did have the back bedroom, right against the wall shared with the club.

Dammit.

Well, Mevi didn’t freak out over the fact that Tilly was poly. If Doyle had to explain Venture’s nature to Mevi, hopefully the man would keep an equally open mind.





Mevi retreated to the office to work. His mind had already started diving back into his composing. It’d been a long time since he’d felt like this, and he belatedly realized that there were plenty of years where he’d self-medicated with obsessive workaholism. Normally, a strong work ethic was something to be praised and held up, especially in an industry where spectacularly flaming Dumpster fires were openly mocked in the press and social media.

When he was totally honest with himself, he realized why he’d done it. “I need to work” was nearly always an acceptable excuse to anyone to get out of something he didn’t want to be at.

The truth was, he usually was working.

Working meant he was moving forward, doing something productive.

It also meant not having to face people and pretend he was something he wasn’t.

How many holiday invitations had he declined over the years? Dinner parties? Outings with other band members?

Lots of teasing that he was a workaholic, but…that was the truth.

It was his way of avoiding reality. Insulating himself in a socially acceptable way.

As he stared at his notes, he jotted the word “Aloof” at the top of the lyrics he’d penned. It felt…right.

Then, after staring at it, he added another word.

“Aloof Excuses.”

Now that…that felt perfect.

Picking up his guitar, he strummed it before starting to play again.





Doyle stood in the doorway, leaning against it and watching when Mevi looked up. Mevi never heard him come down.

In Doyle’s hand was a tester.

Mevi held out his hand for it as Doyle walked over.

“How long were you standing there?”

“A while. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

That was something else. Usually, Mevi was hyperaware of others in his space. A protective sense he’d developed over the years so he didn’t slip up around anyone.