Mended (Connections, #3)(40)

“Um, Ivy, sorry to interrupt, but Damon’s on the phone and he says it’s urgent,” Leif says in a rather uncomfortable tone.

She jumps off my lap immediately. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Leif leaves the galley and I grasp her wrist and tug her back to me, but she resists.

“Ignore the call,” I tell her, standing up and stepping closer to her.

She backs toward the door.

I put a hand on the wall next to her head. “Ivy, don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, Xander. I shouldn’t have done that. I just can’t be that close to you.”

I look down at her. “Why not? I’ve gone along with the friends thing, but clearly we both want more.”

Her voice cracks as she whispers, “Because, Xander, my body might want you but my heart doesn’t.”

The pain in her voice collapses everything I am, everything I have to give. She turns and walks out without a single backward glance . . . leaving my good mood shattered and a knife twisting in my gut.

? ? ?

It’s a rainy, miserable day when we arrive in Jersey, and the weather does nothing to improve my mood. The heat and humidity are unbearable and the rain just f*cking sucks. We’re late and rush into the stadium. We do a quick sound check and head backstage.

“Are you as sweaty as I am?” Ivy asks Leif.

“My balls are sitting in a puddle of water. Does that answer your question?” He grins at her.

Leif directs his gaze my way and asks, “What’s with the air in the building?”

“How the f*ck would I know? Do I look like the maintenance man?” I snap. His response to Ivy got under my skin, but really I’m pissed that he interrupted us this afternoon for her to take a call from that prick.

“Sorry. I was really just making a comment, not asking you directly.”

I nod and steer the band toward a padded blue table in the NFL training room at New Jersey’s MetLife Stadium. I throw the playlist on the table. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I tell them all as a general statement. Ivy and I haven’t spoken to each other since this afternoon. I’m feeling really fed up with the whole situation, so when Amy texted me and told me Breathless was spending the night in Jersey and could I meet her for a drink before the show—I said yes.

? ? ?

The streetlights flicker on as we exit the bar and cross the road. The sun has set, but the sky is still overcast and the clouds are situated in a way that prevents us from seeing the moon.

“Do you want to have dinner or do you have to get back?” Amy asks.

I glance at my watch and calculate the minutes until the show starts. I’m trying to decide if I should leave now or just skip it. Even if I leave now I’ll be late, so I opt for skipping it and calling to check in instead.

“Dinner sounds great.”

“My hotel has a great restaurant. What do you say?”

“Anywhere is fine with me. I just need a few minutes to check on things.”

We walk to Amy’s hotel and she goes ahead to get a table and I stop in the lobby and make a few calls. When I hang up I feel comfortable that the show is going to run smoothly without me and go to seek out Amy.

We’re seated across from each other in a booth in the dimly lit restaurant. I order my third scotch on the rocks of the night and decide to drink this one a little slower than the first two.

She chats about her job and we compare the cities we’ve both been in. Then the topic of conversation suddenly changes.

“Damon Wolf is buying up as many small production companies and record labels as he can,” Amy tells me.

The mere mention of that *’s name makes me want to grind my teeth together. She seems to have some kind of preoccupation with him and I’m trying to keep my cool. “I really don’t give a shit about Damon Wolf,” I snap.

She gives me an easy smile, ignoring my hostility, and changes the topic. “So how’s the new lead singer doing?”

I shrug. “She’s doing pretty good. Her and the guys got most of the songs down.” I leave it at that and gulp the rest of my drink.

She eyes me. “Everything with you going okay?”

I nod toward the waiter. “Yes, it’s great. I’m just hungry. I don’t think I ate anything all day.”

The waiter approaches and we order our food and I order another drink. For the first time, I don’t want to be out with Amy. Our relationship has always been casual and we’ve always gotten along really well, but tonight she seems to be pushing all my buttons.

She passes the rolls, and conversation with dinner seems to go better. We talk about music and bands, and the topics stay neutral. Once I pay the bill, I lean my head back in the booth and close my eyes. “I should get going.” My words come out slurred.

“Are you drunk?” Amy asks, the word rolling off her tongue in a nonaccusatory way.

“Yes,” I answer proudly and open my eyes. “I think I am.”

She reaches across the table to place her hand over mine. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and sleep it off?”

I have to grin, because a night out with Amy always ends up the same way. “Sure, why not? But the bus is pulling out first thing in the morning for New York City and I have to be back.”

“Xander, I’m sure you’ll be up, and if not, the bus is moving less than twenty miles away. You could always take a cab.”