Page 97 of Out of the Blue

I return the spoon for the crawfish onto the serving platter. “There was something about the way the crowd surged.”

He nods. “Glad Cordelia’s exercises helped you out.”

Frowning, I retort, “There are no ‘Cordelia’s exercises.’” She may have found more on the internet, but my therapist gave me the first round. “I got my own head back into the gig.”

He swallows. After a second, he continues, “You sure did. I liked your interactions with those chicks in the front.”

That’s more like it. “They were hot.”

He shrugs. “Not as hot as Denice, but I can see their appeal.”

“Damn straight.” I zip toward the tables set up around the perimeter. After I sit, Dwight’s plate lands next to mine. Followed by his cell phone.

I dig into my meal. Wow. For concert fare, this food is the real deal. When our first plates are empty, I wash everything down with my beer and contemplate what I’m going to get for seconds.

Dwight drops his fork onto his equally empty plate, then picks up his phone. He fiddles around on it for a while and holds up his screen for me to see. “Have you read this?”

I take his phone from him and squint as I read the headline. “Ex-Apex Woman Solves Rumor Mill Tipster.” I frown. “What’s it about?”

“Cordelia.”

I drop his cell as if it were a flaming bananas foster. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“I know. But I think it’s time you did. She was great around here. She fit in with the band, and really set us on the right path with our social media.”

I lower my voice. “Whatever. She got what she deserved. We don’t need her.” I suck down air. “Our new social media guy is doing a great job. The audiences are coming to hearus, and not because we’re Hunte’s opener.”

“You loved her.”

At his pronouncement, I leap to my feet. Wiping my mouth, I throw my napkin onto my chair. My voice rises, and I ignore the descending silence. “And she fucked me over. She broke her vow to me. Shelied, like all the women in my life. And now she’s gone. Forever.” I storm out of the room and hop into one of the waiting black sedans, instructing the driver to take me to the hotel. My entire ride is spent fuming.

When I’m in my suite, I grab another Bud from the fridge and sit at the table. Fucking Dwight. Just because he’s married and shit, doesn’t mean he gets to spew crap to me about love.

I bring the bottle to my lips and tilt it back. Placing it on my thigh, my thumb covers the open top.

So what if she gave me a few stupid exercises to calm me down before I hit the stage. My therapist already beat her to the punch. Same for the ridiculous lyric book, which sits—still blank, thank you very much—on the nightstand.

Abandoning my Bud, I flee to the balcony.

I don’t care that I told her I loved her. She ruined everything when she told the entire planet about my relationship with Brax. She didn’t even come clean to me about it untilIn the Knowpublished their “tell-all.” She was content to let her lie well, lie. No forgiveness from me.

I never forgave my prior girlfriend either, and no one gives me shit about her. I hope her wardrobe keeps her warm at night.

It’s just like how Mom lied to me about my father. She never came clean, either. But for her diary, I’d never have found out.

Only the guys in the band have had my back. Forever. We don’t lie to each other, no matter how hard the truth is to swallow.

Like when Dwight told me I loved her.

My body wars against itself. I want to hurt her, lash out, make her disappear from the face of the earth. Or at least from my life. Yet why do I employ her calming exercises before every performance? And sometimes without a gig looming. I tug on my dreads to the point of pinpricks of pain.

I gather all my energy into my diaphragm and scream, “Fuck!”

Whirling around, I stalk back into my suite and grab my phone. With a few taps, I pull up the article Dwight showed me. I skim the first few paragraphs and lean against the wall.

She figured out Hector was the guy supplyingFirst Rumorsall the intel. Well, since she literally told him about Brax and me, guess it wasn’t too difficult for her to figure this out.

As I continue reading, my body becomes heavier. I slide down to the floor, my back leaning on the wall while my knees remain tented.

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