Page 8 of Bad Desire

One wrong decision,

we’ll never be the same.

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Awellness check wasn’tnecessary. He’s not dead. He’s no ghost. Michael Lange is gloriously, viscerally, alive. So is she. And living people can grow and change and move forward. They can want and need and have. They canchoose.

Lily goes back upstairs without saying a word to him. They’ve had an entire conversation already. She just needs to process what it means.

Six

Lily takes it uponherself to fix dinner that night, in the hopes Mick will finally emerge from his self-exile and share it with her. She might not know the difference between sauce and gravy, but Mrs. S and Gran made sure she knows the basics from their respective repertoires. And living on her own for the past decade has made her more self-sufficient than life with her parents ever did. Ivy League school or no, she still had to make cheap packs of ramen and leftover takeout stretch for days.

She pokes around in the fridge and the cabinets, eyeballing the spice rack and the produce drawers. By the time her handsome host appears, she has a basic lentil stew simmering and spiced eggs and potatoes almost ready to plate. He inhales the rich scents with appreciation, brows rising with surprise. “Well, look at you with the hidden talents. Never a daal moment, huh?”

It’s a dad joke of the groan-worthiest kind, but Lily laughs anyway. Because Michael’s at ease, and it’s infectious. That blazing look in his eyes down in the studio has been replaced with a twinkle of good humor. She doesn’t want to rock the boat...and at the same time she wants to tip it over and submerge them both. Her whole life’s been a mess of warring impulses.

“How’s the album looking?” She adopts the same light tone as him as he sets the table. “Sounded pretty good to me.”

“It’s coming along.” Mick shrugs, his shoulders stretching the washed-soft cotton of his mechanic’s shirt. An embroidered name tag over his left pec says “Lou.” Like he got it from a thrift shop instead of some fancy designer trying to be ironic. Maybe he did. Maybe he shops at Target and lifts weights next to mere mortals at the gym. Just to remember how the other half still lives. “Won’t know until the whole gang gives it a listen. Could be crap.”

Bullshit.If there’s one thing she’s learned about musicians, as an ex-groupie’s kid, it’s that they know when they’ve got gold and when it’s a big old turd. Well, that and the fact that tour buses are rolling dens of sin. And they reek if you don’t offload the toilets frequently enough. But none of that matters as long as the public thinks whatever the band’s PR machine wants them to think.

She doesn’t question Michael’s deflection out loud. Mostly because that song she heard snatches of is still coursing through her veins. The words are making their way to her vital organs.

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You’re every bad desire

and every good thing.

Should I give you my soul

or give you my ring?

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