Page 122 of Reverb
Shit. Well, if he needed to feel worse about everything, that did it. He rinsed his plate as Adrian packed up the leftovers. “I think I need another beer.”
“There’s four left.” Adrian nodded at the leftovers. “You should keep these, too. They aren’t gonna make it back to Brooklyn, at least not edible.”
They stacked the containers in the fridge, and David slipped another beer out of the six-pack holder. “Thank you for this. The food, the beer, the kick in the skull.”
Adrian gripped his shoulder. “Any time. I’m glad you texted.” He let go. “I should get back home. I think you have some mulling and maybe a phone call to make?”
God. David didn’t want to call Mish. He absolutely needed to. The only thing he could do at the moment was nod in silence. He showed Adrian to the door.
Before he headed out into the hall, Adrian gave him a shrewd look. “Regardless of anything, don’t be a stranger, David. We might tour a decent amount, but we’re also in the city frequently, too. Call.”
“I’m not good with friendships.” Obviously, given the way he’d blown it with everyone.
“Well, I am. I can give you a crash course.” Adrian tapped the doorframe. “Besides, you’re family now.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“’Cause it’s true.” Adrian gave him a mock salute. “Night, David.”
“See ya.” He watched Adrian head to the stairwell, then closed his apartment door.
The talk had helped and also made everything infinitely worse. At least, though, he wasn’t entirely alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Despite the beautiful October day, Mish couldn’t get her brain to shut up enough to enjoy it. Usually she loved their breaks in tours. A chance to relax and de-stress and eat some greens rather than the dangerous roadway cuisine they dared each other to consume. Get some sleep. Rest the hands and legs and recover from the grueling schedule that came with riding around the country and performing their hearts out.
But on the road, she didn’t need to think. She could throw herself into playing her bass or singing. Ray, Zavier, Dom, and Adrian kept her busy with chatter and quips and fun. Even Marcella had kept Mish occupied with interviews and some exclusive content for this or that magazine or website about her early career.
Now back in her apartment, there wasn’t anything to keep her mind from drifting to the one thing missing from her life.
David Altet.
The sadness was tempered with anger. For the way he’d left. Because of what he’d said. She didn’t understand how anyone could be so damndense. Theyworkedas a couple. Matched in bed and outside of it. He got her humor and her need to be in control of her destiny. She understood his need to be independent, but also his desire to let go.
If only he’d realized that she wasn’t asking him to give up his damn job. They could have made something work—or at leasttried. Wasn’t what they had together worth every effort to keep it going?
Apparently, no, she wasn’t worth that much hassle.
Even that felt flat. It wasn’ther, as the saying went. It was David. There was something in him, in his past or his mind or wherever—something love couldn’t overcome.
That was an unfair assessment, too. The idea that love could heal all, that it could fix anything, was a fairy tale. Love—or any deep friendship between people—couldn’t fix another human being. Love could support, yes. Help, yes. Contribute to the healing, be a balm, yes and yes.
Humans were messy and wonderful, and they weren’t broken anyway, even when brains and hearts and bodies didn’t work the way everyone said they should. People were who they were, with all their foibles and wonders and faults and greatness. Sometimes, you had to accept that. Help them, yes. Butfixthem?
She didn’t know a damn thing about fixing people. She could only stumble into the future with her friends and loved ones by her side. Help them when they needed a hand. Sometimes ask for help herself. The past several months had taught her that.
She’d thought David would be one of those people—maybetheperson—she’d stumble toward old age next to. But no. She doubted she’d ever find another human being she didn’t intimidate in some way. No partner for her.
David hadn’t been intimidated, though. He’d been lovely and fun and sexy and a hell of a ride. Her heart grappled with the reality of the loss. He’d been sosetthat there was no way forward together.
Mish paced around her living room, racking her brain for something to do. She’d already practiced that morning, even breaking out her acoustic guitar to run through some pieces. She probably should work with her upright, but her limbs were itchy and music wasn’t soothing her as it normally did.
Probably because she wasn’t in the studio with the band. Ray was composing new material. They’d even worked through bits on the bus this last tour leg—but nothing was done enough yet to make going into the studio worthwhile.
That afternoon there wasn’t a damn thing to keep her mind from wandering back, over and over again, to the hurt that seemed like a permanent part of her soul. Part of her wanted to rail at David, but she couldn’t reach the fury she needed for that.
She didn’t want to be angry anymore. She’d spent all her fury and fear on that waste of a man who’d stalked her. She’d need that again later—the court case was still winding through the legal system at a rate slower than molasses in the freezer—but eventually she’d have to be in the same space as him again. Hear his name. See his fucking punchable face.
