Strong: A Stage Dive Novella (Stage Dive #4.5)(13)
“You have become a bit of a love ’em and leave ’em, Marty.” Mal tutted. “Such a heartbreaker. Don’t break Sam’s heart, that’s all we’re saying. No one wants a moping bodyguard. That’d just be plain sad. And possibly dangerous.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Can we talk about something else now?”
“Sam and Martha…huh,” said Jimmy, all oblivious like.
Beside me, Ben made a noise of agreement. “Liz told me he was hung up on her a while back.”
Apparently not a single one of them understood what something being none of their business meant. I ground my teeth together, trying not to scowl because my face had started to ache. Stupid black eye.
Without missing a beat, Mal flipped back his long blond hair. “You’re all incredibly freaking clueless. Sam’s around us like twenty-four seven and you don’t even notice when shit’s going down with him. Because I’m telling you, every time he looks at Marty since about forever, shit is definitely going down with that dude.”
“Really?” I asked, despite myself.
“Oh yeah. He gets all tense like his panties are in a wad or something. It’s actually quite entertaining.”
Fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, Adam changed the music into more of a driving rhythm. “He does watch you a lot.”
“See?” asked Mal. “Even young Aaron here has noticed.”
“My name’s Adam.”
“If you say so. Maybe. Though I think you’ll find Aaron’s an improvement. I’m good at fixing people’s names. Just ask Marty.”
If looks could kill, Mal would have died under my glare. Probably about fifteen years ago, come to think of it.
On Jimmy’s lap, Gibby’s eyes were closed, lulled to sleep by the familiar voices and soft strains of music, no doubt. Guess we should have realized Gib had fallen asleep when he failed to repeat Mal’s profanity slip. And I’d been trying to talk him into having a nap for hours. Jimmy could out-nanny me without even trying. I actually was the worst.
“I’ll carry him up to bed,” said Ben, lifting him carefully out of the singer’s arms.
Eager to finally escape, I followed, glad to be away from the confusing and complicated array of topics of conversation. Away from the band room, the house was quiet, peaceful. A balm for my frazzled nerves. “Do you really think I could be a manager?”
“I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” Ben answered in a similarly low volume. Sweet of him, really. I had no idea his confidence in me ran so high. His big-ass boots padded quietly along the beige carpet. “We’re not going to talk about Sam, are we?”
“No.”
“Okay, good. Cause he’s my employee and you’re my sister. Not that I don’t care about you both, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay the hell out of it.”
“I’d rather you all stayed the hell out of it since it’s personal and none of your business.” The words came out sharper than I had intended. But the day had not been going according to plan. Maybe if I went back to hiding out in my bedroom at night and keeping Gib away from the practice room during the day, that would work. Me diving behind a couch every time Sam walked in wouldn’t be the least bit suspicious. Much. Perhaps facing difficult things didn’t fall under my list of specialties. At least, not when it came to one man in particular.
He laughed softly. “C’mon, you know what everyone’s like. The chances of them all minding their own business...”
“Great,” I said glumly, trudging up the staircase. “Do you think he meant it when he said he was always on my side?”
Ben looked back at me, gaze soft, understanding almost. “Sis, you ever known Sam to say something he didn’t mean?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Wat den?”
I exhaled. “Then the train drew a picture.”
“Wat den?” asked Gib for about the hundredth time.
“Ah, then the train went for a swim in the pool.”
“Wat den?”
“Well, then the train ate his vegetables. All of them. Without any fuss.”
“No.” His little face scrunched up in disgust. “Wat den?”
“Then the train went to sleep because it was way past his bedtime and he’d been drawing out this whole tell-me-a-story-Aunty-Martha thing for over an hour,” I announced. “The end.”
“No-no-no!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Lizzy, wandering over to tuck her son in. “Thank you, Aunty Martha, for the awesome story.”
Gib just frowned. He might have gotten that particular facial expression from me, he did it so well. When I leaned down to kiss him on the brow, however, his little hands reached up and clung to my neck for a moment. As if he actually liked me and maybe appreciated the dumb train story. Not that I teared up or anything because how silly.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” I said, giving him an extra kiss.
Gib smothered a yawn. “More twain.”
“Tomorrow.” Lizzy had her firm-mother voice going on. “That’s enough for now. Thank Aunty Martha.”