“Don’t frown, there’s no need to worry. Do me a favor and go talk to Mom okay?” he asked. “Keep her happy. I can’t, ah … I can’t talk to her right now. Not yet.”
He put the bottle to his lips again, tipped his head back and drank, while I swallowed hard. The booze was him self-medicating regarding this situation. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me just the same. His eyes popped wide open and he exhaled. “That’s better. That’s fucking better.”
“I think Adrian’s going to get someone to come check your hand,” said David, sidling up next to us.
“No need.”
I tried to clear my sore throat. “Let him look at your hand, Mal.”
“Pumpkin–”
Enough of this shit. “You want me not to worry? You get your hand looked at. That’s the deal.”
His gaze ever so slowly sized me up. “I love it when you get all hard assed on me. Okay. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll let them look at it.”
“Thank you.”
Another big swig from the bottle.
Ev situated herself beneath David’s arm, both of them watching him with anxious eyes. There was strain and stress on everyone’s faces and Mal just kept right on drinking. Bottom of the bottle, here he came. For some reason, it just made me mad.
“That’s enough.” I tugged the bottle out of his hand. He obviously hadn’t been expecting it because he didn’t put up a fight. Big green eyes blinked at me, then narrowed into anger.
“What the fuck?” he said in a low voice.
“Find another way to deal with this.”
“That’s not your call.”
“You really want one of her last memories of you to be watching you get drunk?”
“Oh, please. Mom’s been around since the beginning. She knows what parties are like backstage, Anne. She wants normal? I’m giving her normal.”
“I’m serious, stop this.”
He gave me more of the angry stare. No problem. If he wanted to do glaring competitions all night, fine by me. I’d said I had his back. It meant protecting him even from himself if need be.
“Look around you,” I said. “They all just watched Jimmy go through this. They’re scared shitless for you, Mal.”
“It’s not like that,” he growled.
“Not yet.”
“Not your job to tell me what to do, pumpkin. Not even remotely.”
“Mal–”
“We’ve been together what, a week? And you know best now, huh?” He looked down at me, his jaw shifting from side to side. “Yeah, Anne’s in charge.”
“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” said David, stepping forward. “Shut up, you dickhead, before you say something you really regret. She’s right. I got no interest in watching you go through rehab too.”
“Oh give me a break,” said Mal. “Rehab? A bit overdramatic there, Davie.”
“Really?” asked David, getting right up in his face. “You’re getting so drunk you’re accidentally kicking your girlfriend in the head. So mad you’re putting your fist through walls. How’s that sound to you, hmm? Sound like someone who’s got it all under control?”
Mal flinched. “Stuff is happening.”
“I get that. We all get that. But Anne’s right, you fucking yourself up every other night isn’t the answer.”
Mal’s shoulders dropped, the fight leaving him. “Fuck you, Ferris.”
“Whatever. Say sorry to your girlfriend and mean it.”
His sad-eyed gaze turned to me. “Sorry, pumpkin.”
I nodded, tried for a smile.
“Come on, you need a breather.” David grabbed Mal by the back of the neck and towed him off into the crowd. Fortunately, Mal didn’t fight him. I watched them go with relative calm. Sure, everything would be alright. Whatever happened, however, I didn’t want to turn around. I could feel the weight of Lori’s stare burning a hole in the middle of my back. Her and Neil had to have heard and seen it all. What could I possibly say?
I was so terrible at this family and relationship stuff. I wish Lizzy were here. She’d know what to do. She was so much better with people than me.
“It’ll be okay,” said Ev, taking my hand in hers.
A nice sentiment, but I highly doubted it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“PARTY!” An hour later, Mal was in loud, manic mode.
He only had a bottle of water in his hand. Our words had gotten through to him at least. Just like the first night I met him, he stood on top of a coffee table, doing his groove thing. There were a lot of women willing to heed his party call. Plenty of slick, shiny women watching my man with avarice in their eyes. It was something I’d have to get used to. I couldn’t kill all of them. I mean, where on earth would I hide so many bodies?
This dating rock stars business was harder than it looked.
One such young lady tried to climb up onto the table with him and no. Not even a little.
I grabbed her arm. “Not happening.”
“Get your hand off me,” she spat.
“PUMPKIN!” shouted my drumming delight from above.
Holy hell, my ears. They were ringing.
The woman gazed up and gave Mal a foxy grin. Her facial expression when she turned back to me was not as warm.
“Sorry,” I said (blatant lie there). “He’s taken.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m pumpkin.” The “ha, bitch” was silent, but make no mistake, it was most definitely there.
She did some strange squinty-eyed thing and then about-faced, disappearing into the crowd. There was a flash of shiny silver stilettos and she was gone. Awesome shoes. I’d worn my usual boots and a skirt, denim this time, a black long-sleeve shirt and some chunky resin jewelry finished me off. Deep down inside, I had no idea how a rock star’s girlfriend was supposed to dress, but for comfort would do. Those shoes though, I’d really like to know where she got them. Chances of her telling me now had to be somewhere between nil and none.