Page 117 of Reverb
That had crossed Mish’s mind. “Maybe. But I’ve also learned not to wait too long on another’s dime. Gotta live my life, too.” Tears welled. “Why the fuck do we have emotions anyway?”
Marcella choked a laugh out. “So you can write songs and sing and have fans scream in joy at you?”
The tears didn’t want to stop. “He understood me. How can he leave me when he understood me?” That was the question that lurked, that kept coming back, over and over.
This time, it was Marcella that pulled her into a hug. “Oh, hon. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
She cried then, in Marcella’s arms, with David’s bear between them. And the tears didn’t stop for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Three
July flew past, hot, humid, and painful. Mish had spent a good part of the first week after the attack either talking to the police, her lawyer, or some combination of the two. The next week she spent holed up in her apartment, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom until the entire band, plus Adrian and Marcella, had shown up in her lobby with various containers of takeout and three bottles of wine. Then they’d spent the day in her living room watching comedies, action movies, and cat videos until she’d laughed so hard that she’d broken down sobbing.
She’d hated them for that. Loved them, too.
The last two weeks, they started practicing again, to get ready for the next leg of their tour. This time, there was no bodyguard for her. There was security—the band hired a few guards—but they weren’t David.
She wanted David. Missed him. Spent too much time clutching Marly.
There were nightmares, too. Of her stalker. Of David with a knife in him. Of her mother in the hospital. Enough that she asked Ray if he knew a good therapist.
That helped, talking to someone. Gaining some perspective. Getting some coping skills.
Once they got back onto the bus, she let herself sink into the rhythm of touring. The late nights, Adrian’s fantastic coffee, and their camaraderie. Marcella joined them on the band bus. Turned out she was a natural card shark and whipped them all at any game they played with a deck, including Go Fish.
Most of the time, it was fine. Except for those late nights when Mish held Marly, listened to the rumble of the bus, and let the tears slide silently down onto her pillow.
Being on stage was the best. She lost herself in playing or singing or both. But the constant sway between the joy of the band and her own broken heart left her exhausted. Enough that Dom pulled her into the lounge one day close to the end of their touring stint. They’d sat down on the leather couch that ran along the back of the bus.
“You look like you need a shoulder. And you’ve been there for all of us so many times.” Dom wasn’t wearing any of his stage makeup, but his hair was teased up like Domino’s, and he was wearing one of his ripped tanks.
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but she also wasn’t going to make this tour the “fix Mish” one.
Dom looked up at the ceiling of the bus. “You know you’re as bad at lying as the rest of us, right?”
She felt a spark of laugher, but it never made it out of her chest. And yeah, that was a problem. Mish rubbed her eyes. “It’s hard, having him gone. It’s like he should be here with us. Sometimes I turn and expect to see him. Only he’s not here.”
Dom nodded. “Though, even if he’d chosen to stay with you and us...he still wouldn’t be on this part of the tour.”
That was certainly true. Last she’d heard from Marcella, David was still recovering from the knife wound. He’d been in contact with their lawyer and the police, which made sense. When—or if—they went to trial, his account of what happened would be needed.
“I know. But it’s—We don’t talk. If he hadn’t left me, we’d be talking.”
“Yeah.” Dom flopped back on the couch. “There’s that. It does feel strange not having him here. Watching out for us.”
“I’m just—” She gestured at the air. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get out of this funk.”
“You’re not.” Dom spoke gently. “You don’t get out of heartbreak overnight.” She dropped her head into her hands and he gave her a side hug. “But I’ve been thinking.”
“Fuck thinking.” She pushed her hands into her curls.
He gave her a hollow laugh. “I know, right? But still. I needed to get my head on straight about Adrian. Zav had to figure out how to quantify the feelings he had for Ray. Maybe David needs some time.”
Her therapist had said the same thing. Marcella, too. “I’m not hanging my happiness on some vague hope that he’s gonna come to his senses.”
“That’s fair. I guess I’m trying to say not to give up hope in general? Or maybe wait until after this part of the tour and talk to him again? ’Cause you both went through a lot there...”
They had. “I don’t know, sweetheart. You guys lucked out with your partners. Just wasn’t in the cards for me this time.”
