Page 63 of Lies and Lullabies
Ethan shook his giant head. “No. No, Jojo. Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“You’re stalling.”
“No, I’m not,” I lied.
“Maybe I’m your paid slave, but I am not an idiot,” he said, his tone as grumpy as I’d ever heard it. “Man up, would you? Go back to the hotel and tell your girl that you meant every word.”
“She’s not my girl,” I muttered. I’d been an idiot to say all those things on stage. In Maine, Kira had accused me of going all “rock-star power trip” in front of that ex-boyfriend of hers. And I’d vigorously denied it.
She’d beenright, too. The sight of another man sitting across the table from Kira had made me crazy. The pull I felt whenever I looked at her was undeniable, but that didn’t make me worthy of her. I couldn’t make myself into a better man just by wishing for it. And I couldn’t make her trust me just by telling a large audience how much I loved her.
She was probably back at the hotel right this minute, thinking of all the different ways she might tell me to take a hike.
“Look,” Ethan said. “Someone has to watch Nixon, but that someone is me. If you stay at this party, then I have to look out forbothof you fools. I’ll have to keep him from self-destructing, and save you from your broody self. Do me a favor and get the fuck out of here. I might get laid tonight if it doesn’t all go sideways.”
“Wait.” I laughed. “You want me to go home, so you can hook up?”
Ethan gave me a little shove toward the venue gates. “There are a hundred good reasons for you to go back to the hotel right now. I’m just sharing the highlights. Can I tell this driver that you’re on your way? Pretty please?”
“Fine.”
Ethan took out his phone and tapped the screen.
I scanned the party, trying to see it through Kira’s eyes. Nixon had already locked onto a couple of fans. The three of them stood, beers in hand, getting to know each other a little better before they all got stoned and naked, probably in that order.
Then there were the roadies carrying equipment to the trucks. They had no hope of getting either beers or girls until all the work of breaking down the show was done. Against one wall, Kira’s brother Adam stood listening as one of the guitar techs told a story, gesturing madly with his hands while Adam grinned.
“Let’s roll,” Ethan said, pocketing his phone.
He pointed to a car, and the two of us jogged toward freedom. Security staff began moving the fans aside, making way for us. “Jonas! Jonas!” the women screamed. “Over here, baby!”
When I was younger, I used to shake hands and sign autographs with the fans on the other side of those ropes. But I’d learned interacting only fed the beast. The types who rushed the security ropes after a show could be pretty fucking scary, thrusting things at me to sign, grabbing my T-shirt, trying to yank me over the rope.
The moment the car door opened, I launched through the parted clot of outstretched arms and dove into the sedan. Ethan slammed the door behind me, and the driver hit the locks. Then the car began inching forward, nudging through the crowd that formed around the darkened windows.
This was why we’d sent Kira ahead, alone. If she got a look at this, she’d take her daughter and run like hell.
It took ten minutes to thread through the crowd, and then only two minutes to drive to the hotel. The driver brought me to the service entrance, and I slipped into a maintenance elevator without incident. I put my key card into the slot granting me access to the club level, and seconds later I was standing outside my door, letting myself in.
I tiptoed inside, wondering if Kira was still here. The lights were low, and the door to the double bedroom was still open, so I crept around, slipping my gym bag to the floor before poking my head into Kira’s room. She lay on the bed fully dressed, next to Vivi’s short little form. Even as I sneaked across the room toward them, Kira put a finger to her lips.
I stopped beside the bed. Vivi’s satin eyelids were shut tight. In one arm she clutched a purple kitty—the same stuffed animal I’d won at the fair all those years ago. It was smaller than I remembered, and it had not aged well. Some of the fur had been rubbed off its head.
I couldn’t have looked away to save my life. And it was impossible to say which of the two girls on the bed was responsible for the lump in my throat—the beautiful child asleep on her pillow, or the gentle eyes of her young mother looking up at me.
How many times had I returned to a hotel room after a show? Three hundred times? Five hundred? Never had anyone of any importance ever been waiting for me. Not once. I had never allowed myself to imagine how this would feel—finishing up a grueling performance (they were all grueling) and finding a family waiting.
I pushed that thought aside. “Kira,” I whispered, bending down next to her ear. “I’m going to shower, because I am disgusting. But I was hoping you’d have a drink with me.” I pointed towards the living room.
She nodded, and my heart gave an optimistic tug. I made myself turn around and walk back to my room, closing the door as quietly as humanly possible.
Alone in the marble shower stall, I tried not to think how badly I wanted to remove all of Kira’s clothing and spread her out on the king-sized bed.
But I knew better than to expect her to feel the same. Just because I’d basically told fifteen thousand people that I still loved Kira didn’t mean she wanted a demonstration of how much.
I rinsed the soap off my body, turned the shower off, and dried with a big, fluffy towel. Then I pulled on some jeans, but no shirt. After a summer concert under thousands of watts of lighting, it always took hours to stop perspiring.
