Page 54 of Opening Strain

“It doesn’t matter who did it, you know. Fact is, your whereabouts are now out to the public. Do you want me to send Elias?”

Security. I sigh. “No. I enjoy being able to move around without having someone tagging along two feet behind me. I don’t want to have to deal with that here.”

“All right. But if there are any more issues, we’ll revisit.”

“Sounds good.” An inexplicable need to spill the beans abouthow I’m feeling about Jenna rises, which I squash. Luke’s become my “good acquaintance,” but he’s not my friend. Ever since Curtiss fucked me over with Lissa in high school, no “friends” are needed in my world.

Luke intrudes on my thoughts. “While I have you on the phone, I do have some band business we need to discuss.”

“Sure. Shoot.” Perhaps this will take my mind off the woman upstairs.

“You know Chico, our guitar tech?”

“Of course I do. He’s fucking brilliant.”

“And leaving.” Luke lets this sink in for a moment. “He just gave his two weeks’ notice.”

We’ve always treated him well—what on earth made him want to leave? “I can’t believe it. Did he say why?”

“His girlfriend’s pregnant.”

Good Lord. “Better him than me.” Truer words were never spoken. “Do you think he can transition the position to a new tech before he leaves?”

“Yeah, that’s the upside. If I arrange for some interviews, do you think you could do them with me when you get back? I’ll be sure to let the candidates know this position starts immediately.”

My mind replays Jenna complaining about hiring new physical therapists. How she hates the process. Once again, I’m grateful I don’t have to deal with any preliminary shit. “Sounds good to me.”

“Will you be ready to perform for the tour? When are you planning on getting here?”

I run my fingers through my hair. “If I had to go onstage tonight, I’d fall flat on my face. It was a long, fucking day, thanks to the press. However, before tonight, I would have said I was making progress. I’m starting to be able to move laterally.” I smirk, remembering how Jenna described the exercises.

“That’s something. I guess we can be happy this isn’t a boy band of the nineties with choreography. You only have to stand and walkacross the stage.” He chuckles. “I’m sure your fans wouldn’t mind keeping you in one place for a bit.”

“I hope you’re right. I still have a limp sometimes, but I’m sure I can play it off. It’s the sudden moves that get me.”

“Well, you still have a few days left to rehab. Use the time wisely.”

So long as I’m ready to hit the stage on day one. “I will.”

“Hey,” he interrupts me as I’m about to end the call. “Know I’m on your side, B. If I could change the dates, I would. We can make sure you ice it—or whatever you do—all the time except for when you have to be onstage. The rest of the guys are ready to help, too. We got your back.”

His words sink into my heart for a moment, then bounce off when my mother asserts herself, mocking me for getting injured in the first place. I’m nothing more than a meal ticket to Luke, who doesn’t want his cash cow to give him curdled milk.

“I hear you. Have a good one.” I kill the call.

I collapse onto the pillow and close my eyes. In the morning, I’ll get the PR team’s plan for how to address the media and will discuss it with Jenna.

Myphysical therapist.

I only wish I still considered her Darren’s ex. No, Jenna’s so much more—kind, caring, capable, insightful, sweet. She understands me like no one elseeverhas. She encourages me to try to dip my big toe in the friendship pool. She makes me want to be a better man.

I huff a sigh. Things are about to get messy.

Chapter Eighteen

Sunlight streams through the window. Where are the blackout shades? I must’ve forgotten to pull them in place last night.

The smell of coffee reaches my nose. IknowI didn’t set up the coffeemaker last night. My right eye pops open and I’m greeted with orange and yellow, two colors not in my rental’s palette.

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