Lick (Stage Dive, #1)(76)
“I think so,” I whispered, feeling so much for him right then I didn’t know which way was up.
He yawned again, his jaw cracking. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m beat. You mind if I close my eyes for five minutes?”
“No.”
He did so. “Play me another song?”
“On it.”
I played him “Revelator” by Gillian Welch, the longest, most soothing song I could find. I’d guess he fell asleep about halfway through. His features relaxed and his breathing deepened. Carefully, I pulled out the earbuds and put the cell away. I switched on the bedside lamp and turned off the main one, shut the door so Lauren and Nate’s eventual return didn’t wake him. Then I lay back down and just stared at him. I don’t know for how long. The compulsion to stroke his face or trace his tattoos made my fingers itch, but I didn’t want to wake him. He obviously needed the sleep.
When I woke up in the morning he was gone. Disappointment was a bitter taste. I’d just had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks, devoid of the usual tense and angsty dreams I seemed to specialize in of late. When had he left? I rolled onto my back and something crinkled, complaining loudly. With a hand, I fished out a piece of paper. It had obviously been torn from one of my notepads. The message was brief but beautiful.
I’m still not leaving Portland.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I think I’d have preferred to find Genghis Khan staring back at me from across the café counter than Martha. I don’t know — a Mongol horde versus Martha, tough call. Both were horrible in their own unique ways.
The lunchtime crowd had eased to a few determined patrons, settling in for the afternoon with their lattes and friands. It had been a busy day and Ruby had been distracted, messing up orders. Not like her usual self at all. I’d sat her at a corner table with a pot of tea for a while. Then we’d gotten busy again. When I’d asked what was wrong she’d just waved me away. Eventually, I’d corner her.
And now here was Martha.
“We need to talk,” she said. Her dark hair was tied back and her make-up minimal. There was none of the LA flashiness to her now. If anything, she seemed somber, subdued. Still just a touch smarmy, but hey, this was Martha after all. And what the hell was she doing here?
“Ruby, is it okay if I take my break?” Jo was out back stocking shelves. She’d just come back from her break, making me due for mine. Ruby nodded, giving Martha a covert evil eye. No matter what was going on with her, Ruby was good people. She recognized a man-stealing sea monster when she saw one.
Martha headed back outside with her nose in the air and I followed. The usual flow of city traffic cruised by. Overhead, the sky was clear blue, a perfect summer’s day. I’d have felt more comfortable if nature had been about to dump a bucketload of rain on top of her perfect head, but it was not to be.
After a brief inspection of the surface, Martha perched on the edge of a bench. “Jimmy called me.”
I sat down a little way away from her.
“Apparently he has to apologize to people as part of his rehab process.” Perfectly manicured nails tapped at the wooden seat. “It wasn’t much of an apology, actually. He told me I needed to come to Portland and clean up the shit I’d caused between you and David.”
She stared determinedly ahead. “Things aren’t great between Ben and him. I love my brother. I don’t want him on the outs with Dave because of me.”
“What do you expect me to do here, Martha?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything for me. I just want you to listen.” She ducked her chin, shut her eyes for a second. “I always figured I could get him back whenever I wanted. After he’d had a few years to calm down, of course. He never got to screw around, we were each other’s first. So I just bided my time, let him sow all the wild oats. I was his one true love, right, no matter what I’d done? He was still out there playing those songs about me night after night, wearing our earring even after all those years …”
Traffic roared past, people chatted, but Martha and I were apart from it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this, but I soaked up every word anyway, desperate to understand.
“Turns out artists can be very sentimental.” Her laughter sounded self-mocking. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” She turned to me, eyes hard, hateful. “I think I was just a habit for him back then. He never gave up a damn thing for me. He sure as hell never moved cities to fit in with what I wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s got the album written, Ev. Apparently the new songs are brilliant. The best he’s ever done. There’s no reason he couldn’t be in whatever studio he wanted putting it together, doing what he loves. Instead he’s here, recording in some setup a few streets over. Because being close to you means more to him.” She rocked forward, her smile harsh. “He’s sold the Monterey house, bought a place here. I waited years for him to come back, to have time for me. For you he re-organizes everything in the blink of a f*cking eye.”
“I didn’t know,” I said, stunned.
“The band are all here. They’re recording at a place called the Bent Basement.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“If you’re stupid enough to let him go then you deserve to be miserable for a very long time.” The woman looked at me like she had firsthand experience with that situation. She stood, brushed off her hands. “That’s me done.”