Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(40)

Ben didn’t reply.

Noise from the party dropped in volume once again as the bedroom door closed. Then there came the boom. Once, twice, three times. I stared at the bathroom door in surprise, with just a small dash of fear. It’d been damn loud.

Might be time for me to go.

“Liz, can I come in?”

“It’s not locked,” I told the door.

Ever so slowly the handle turned. Then Ben stuck his head in as if he was expecting more projectiles, liquid or otherwise, to be lobbed his way.

“It’s safe,” I said.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

He said no more, instead turning to the sink to wash off his face and neck. Guess I’d done a good job of juicing him, because he stripped off the Arizona T-shirt and tossed it aside. Next, he spent some time washing his hands.

Only then did he approach. “Mind if I join you?”

I shrugged. “It’s your bath.”

With a sigh, he climbed in and sat down opposite me at the other end of the tub. I tucked my legs up, ensuring he had plenty of room without us being required to touch. He stretched out his long legs on either side of mine, gaze glued to my face. What a sight we must have made, me fully dressed in the dry tub and him in his jeans and big black boots. Man, he had a nice chest. I did my best not to notice, but some things are beyond my control. A half-naked Ben was most definitely one of them. The fight with Jim, however, concerned me. As did the raw pink knuckles of his right hand. These guys obviously enjoyed hitting walls when they got testy. I could remember Mal once doing the same. Males. So violent.

Because of course I hadn’t thrown anything at anybody lately.

“Take it you heard me and Jim fighting,” he said.

“Hard not to.”

A nod.

“He was right about one thing: it’s been a while since we talked. I mean really talked.”

“Yeah.”

No one spoke for a moment. I sure as hell wasn’t going first. Right in that moment, I just wasn’t that brave.

“I, um … shit’s been busy with the tour.” He stretched his arms out around the edge of the tub, obviously getting as comfortable as hard ceramic and the situation would allow. A small line of blood down his right hand, ignored. “Weeks leading up to it, Adrian had us talking to every damn reporter in the country. It was insane.”

“Oh.”

“The producers think the music just makes itself. Once Dave’s written the songs, they think it’s a round or two in the studio and we’re done. But that’s bullshit. Takes hours, sometimes days, to get the sound right.” Fervor shone bright in his eyes, beyond the booze and whatever. His passion for the music. “Dave used to be a perfectionist about it too, but all of the guys are distracted now, eyes on the clock, wanting to get home to their women. I’m the one sitting there with Dean and Tyler till four in the f*cking morning, getting it perfect.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is. Jimmy and Mal go off onstage and Dave’s still the poet writing the songs. In the band, it’s all down to me now, though, to work the sound.” He scratched at his chin. “Know it makes me sound like a self-congratulating art geek, but it’s important, you know? Whatever we put out there, I need to know in my gut it’s the best we’ve got.”

“I can understand that.”

“Wasn’t avoiding you, Liz, but I wasn’t putting any effort into seeing you, either. You might have noticed.”

“Right.”

“Thought I’d let things with Mal and Anne calm down. That’s just another excuse, though.” Dark eyes bored into me, as if he could see my soul. Who knows, maybe he could. I always felt too open, too exposed, around him. He made me so messy with all these wants and needs. I don’t know if it was love that I felt for him or lust. But whatever it was, it sucked.

“I’m sorry, Liz,” he said, his soft, deep voice filling the room. “I said I’d have your back and I didn’t. I disappeared on you again, and this time you were actually going through shit. Serious shit.”

Huh.

“Jimmy was right. You shouldn’t have had to go through it alone.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” I turned away. A lot of emotion for one day. “I had Anne.”

“Yeah, but this is our baby, and Anne isn’t me.”

I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, nice and slow, trying to calm my racing heart. It was true. His absence had left a bruise, and no amount of go-girl lectures delivered in the bathroom mirror could alter the fact.

“Is she?” he asked.

“No, Ben, she’s not.”

He slowly nodded, like something had been decided.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Talk to me.” The fingers of his left hand flicked and fiddled with the hard upper rim of the bathtub. Nerves or what, I had no idea. At least the blood from the knuckles on his right hand had dried.

“About what?”

“All the stuff I should have been hearing the past month.” The man was serious. Very much so. “No more of this useless f*cking texting, Liz. Talk to me. Right now, face-to-face. Help me prove Jim wrong.”

Give him another chance.

I stared at him, lost, my brain searching for the words. Any easily retrieved information lacked in either dignity or strength. Ah, man. Could I trust him with my weaknesses and issues? That was the question.