“Fine, but first this…”
By that point we were mindlessly removing each other’s clothes. I pushed him down on the bed and lowered myself onto him. He sucked in a breath and smiled, so I leaned down and kissed him sweetly and then tugged at his lower lip before sitting up and moving on top of him. I went slow and savored the feeling of him filling me. He met my movements with the perfect amount of resistance, one hand gripped my hip while he ran his index finger down the center of my chest, slowly inching his thumb down to the bundle of nerves above where our bodies connected. He knew exactly what to do with his adroit guitar hands and I made a mental note to thank the nurse if I ever saw her. I jerked, writhing from the intensity; his other hand gripped my hip tighter. I arched my back and let my head fall while I got lost in the feeling of Will in me and all over me as we both cried out. A moment later he sat up, still inside me, and wrapped his whole body around mine.
“I love you, Mia.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t say the words because the feeling had unearthed a new sensation that I had no experience with in a relationship… fear. It’s a plaguing, unruly affliction that clouds any happiness born from real love. It’s a fool who thinks love will set him free. Love equals a morbid and relentless fear of losing the other person. It’s a freak-accident fear, a piece of space junk falling from the sky and obliterating him, leaving nothing but his smoking boots. It’s the unfortunate-organ-defect fear—suddenly, on his thirtieth birthday, the little crack in his heart that’s been there since birth will rear its ugly head and take him in his sleep while he’s spooning you. It’s the only way to know you’re really in love, when you ask the question would it be harder to watch him die, or to know he’ll watch me die? Is there more mercy in being the one who does the watching or in being the one who does the dying? It’s when you realize what mercy-killing actually means, it’s when you actually care to the point of tormenting worry. It’s not roses and white horses, it’s fucking brutal and it can send a person running for the hills. To love is brave and Will was the bravest person I knew.
When we got to the restaurant, Rady came stalking toward us in his black mohair suit with Ray-Ban Aviators peeking from the pocket. He was good-looking in a clean way, but he was fat. He looked like he’d eaten Ryan Seacrest for breakfast. He waddled up to Will, holding the black Gibson.
“What the fuck are you doing with my guitar?”
“Shut up, Will. Give the execs something.”
“Why, you guys having second thoughts?”
“No, of course not—it’s a nice gesture. They’ve made concessions, we all have. Pull your head out before you fuck yourself into obscurity.”
“Charming,” I said to no one in particular.
“I came here to have dinner, I brought my girlfriend; I’m not a circus monkey.”
“Hey, doll.” He finally acknowledged me before looking back at Will. “One song, blow ‘em away, it’ll get everyone off your back.” Will begrudgingly snatched the guitar from Rady and walked away. I stood there, not knowing what to do with myself until I spotted Frank sitting at a table nearby. He motioned for me to come over and then he stood up and pulled a chair out for me.
“Are you working on him?” he said, gritting a cigar between his teeth. He was pickled in Polo cologne, which I loathe. I squinted, trying to prevent the smell from permeating my space.
“I don’t know what to say, he has his own agenda. Maybe he thinks he’ll get another deal.”
“Maybe, but once word gets out that he’s difficult to work with, labels will keep their distance. What’s this master plan he keeps ranting about?”
“Never heard of it.” I searched my mind for some mention of a master plan, but there was nothing. While Will tuned his guitar on the tiny stage, I looked around the dimly lit room. The walls were painted blood red, which caused me to repeat REDRUM, like the kid from The Shining, over and over in my head. Then I imagined Will decapitating everybody but me with his guitar like it was a machete. I spotted Sonja ogling him; I hoped he would get to her first.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Nate. “Hey, how are you?” I said as I stood up from the table.
He hugged me and whispered, “I’d be a lot of better if he would sign the deal.”
I yanked my head back. “What’s in it for you?”
“They’ll keep me on, send me on tour with him. I’ll get paid for once. I hope you’re not the reason he’s fucking around with this,” he said derisively.