Page 15 of Drum Me Away
I needed to get her out of here.
Wrapping my arm around her back, I guided her in the opposite direction of the dressing rooms. We’d played this arena before, and I knew we could get out to the parking lot pretty easily from here. I’d get her to the tour bus and then I’d text Gabe and tell him to collect our shit from our dressing rooms. Everyone else would be cleaning up or chatting with fans, and the crew would be striking the set, so we’d have at least a few minutes alone.
I could find out what the hell had set her off like this.
I don’t think I’d ever seen Faith cry before. Thirteen fucking years we’d known each other, and I’d never seen her express this much emotion.
The door to the tour bus slid open. Vinny, our driver, took one look at Faith’s face and then excused himself and bolted across the parking lot like he was one of those guys who didn’t know what the hell to do with a woman’s tears. If it were anyone else sniffling and crying, black streaks marring her puffy face while she numbly followed every direction I gave her, I’d be jealous as hell and wish I could go with the guy.
But this was Faith. No way I could abandon her.
We had a pretty tricked out tour bus. Four years at the top of the charts tended to exponentially improve one’s comfort level while driving across country from arena to arena to the occasional rock festival.
The front portion was set up like a cozy living room, with leather couches, large-screen televisions, and a wet bar and snack area. The back was a mobile recording studio, since we never wanted to miss an opportunity to lay down tracks for our next big hit.
In between was a small closet-slash-dressing-room and bunks for sleeping, a bathroom, and a separate shower. Matt and Angel had their own bus now that he traveled with his wife and kids, and theirs had a full-on bedroom in the back. I wish this one had an actual bedroom so I could lock Faith and I in there, not for nefarious reasons but so that she wouldn’t be on display when the rest of the band showed up.
I led her straight through to the bathroom and then I stood in the hall. All of her makeup removal products were here, and since I lived with her, I knew her routine. I handed her a moistened towelette first, which she used to clean the gunk around her eyes. Then I pulled her braids back and clipped them together so she could lean over the sink and scrub the rest of the makeup off her face.
Halfway through, she froze for a moment and then covered her face with her hands and sobbed, still leaning over the sink. I rubbed her back and didn’t say a word. What the hell was I supposed to say? I didn’t yet know what was wrong, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t have the right words. If I’d been able to articulate remotely decently around Faith, we wouldn’t have spent four years pretending to be dating.
Her shoulders stopped shaking, and she reached up and shoved my arm away. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she demanded.
“Uh, because you’re obviously hurting.”
“So why didn’t you call Gabe or Dahlia or Angel or someone else?”
I doubted Gabe would be any more comfortable in this situation than I was, and Dahlia was back in LA, and it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask anyone else to take care of her.
“I just wanted to get you out of the public eye, since it was obvious something terrible happened, and I know how you hate to emote in front of people.”
She let out a half snort, half sob and finished rinsing her face. I handed her a towel.
“Okay, fine, but why are you being so nice?”
“Am I normally not nice?”
“Normally, you’re just…” She flapped one hand and hooked the towel back onto its holder before picking up a jar, twisting off the lid, and swiping her fingers through white goo.
She looked at me through the mirror while rubbing that stuff on her face. “Unless you’re putting on a show for the fans, you’re just…there. You aren’t exactly an emoter either, you know.”
She was right, and that was definitely something I needed to work on. When this was all over and I finally got around to trying out a new relationship, I vowed to make a serious effort to ensure my partner knew how I felt about her, right from the start.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked instead of dragging out that conversation.
I should have carried on the convo, because her eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled again. I didn’t even think about it before reaching forward and pulling her into my arms so she could cry into my shoulder and finally tell me what was wrong.
“My favorite grandma just died.”
CHAPTER6
Faith
By the timeI was done in the shower, Lucas had made arrangements for us—yes, us—to catch a redeye to Seattle.
When I asked him why he was coming with me, he said, “Would you rather do this alone?”
I was going home.
