Getting Real

44. In the Hand of God



The default setting was drift. Jake knew it and let it happen. He and Rie drifted through the next two days, wrapped in each other, avoiding any talk of the future, of coming apart—of ending. They slept late and woke to make love, stayed close until it was time for the show, and afterwards came together again with a strength of emotion that left both of them gasping.

He gave up any notion of proper sleep. When Rielle finally closed her eyes, he lay awake to watch her, memorising the contours of her face, the shape of her eyes, the line of her cheekbone and the curve of her jaw.

This would be what he’d have to survive on; this and the memories of touching her, loving her, making her claw his back and call his name. He listened to her breathing, her soft sighs, and once, the grinding of her teeth as she dreamed darkly. He dozed but was awake the moment she stirred, any sense of exhaustion banished in the face of another day by her side. When it was over, he could sleep. There’d be nothing important to stay awake for.

There were moments when he had more hope. When she would reach for his hand and ask his opinion, laugh with him and seem to crave his closeness. Hope that he would see her again when the tour was done, when she had her life and time back, and could make different choices. Those moments, when he pretended they had a future, were when he knew himself to be deep in thrall to his addiction.

On the day of the final show, Rielle woke early. She’d been curled against him and he felt her moving. He opened one eye and smiled, drew her into his arms. “Go back to sleep.”

She brushed her lips across his lightly. “Why are you awake?”

He closed his eyes, mock snored, hugging her closer. She traced her finger under his eye, where he knew the skin had darkened from lack of proper sleep. “Tell me.”

“Nothing to tell. Come on, we can both sleep some more,” he said, but when she went stiff in his embrace, he opened his eyes again. “You don’t want to know, Rie.”

“I do. You’ve been different.”

“No I haven’t. Kiss me.”

She shook her head. “Talk.”

Jake moved Rielle away from him. He sat up against the headboard and steeled himself. She was right, he was different. He was being torn apart by the thought of losing her and never telling her how he felt. He couldn’t be Zen—couldn’t wear the disguise of ambivalence any longer.

“Oh God, Jake what is it?”

He filled his lungs and breathed out slowly, tucked his chin down and swept his eyes over her face. “I adore you, Arielle Mainline.”

She smiled, relieved it wasn’t something awful, but he went on to make it that way. “I understand I don’t have much to offer,” he snorted, “not much at all, but I love you, and I’d do anything for you. And I’m having trouble with that promise I made not to ask you for more, because I need more. I want to hear you say I mean something to you too.”

“Oh Jake,” she said, her voice cracking. She shook her head, adamantly. “You can’t love me. I’m not worth loving.”

He took her hand. “I do love you. Your bitterness and your sweetness, Rie. All the twisted little parts of you.”

Rielle looked away but not before he saw tears welling in her eyes.

“Look at me, Rie. Tell me you don’t feel something for me too,” he plucked at the sheet, “something more than this lust.”

Her voice shook but her words were clear. “You’ve been important to me. I’ve valued your friendship.” Her eyes were down on the sheet. “You got me through my fear.” She looked up, but she seemed so unhappy. “You got me, when I needed help most.”

Listening carefully, Jake had reason to be grateful he knew the difference between past and present tense because all he heard was that this was already over for her.

When she scrambled out of bed and fled to the bathroom, he let her go. He needed his distance. Dumb to put it all out there after all. He’d thought it might make him feel more himself, but it left him filled with anguish for what might have been, with bitterness for having hope.

Slumped against the headboard, he berated himself for misreading her so badly, for only seeing what he wanted to, and not what was real. The sound of her vomiting and water flushing in the bathroom brought him back to the moment.

At the bathroom door he said, “Rie, are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Her reply was muffled so he called again. “Hey, you okay?” In response he heard her strangled sobs.

He shouldered the door open and found her on the marble floor, on her hands and knees.

“Ah, baby.” He bent to lift her and she came easily into his arms. “What’s making you sick? Is this nerves? You know you have nothing to worry about.”

Rielle buried her face in his chest. Whatever was going on with her, she was hurting and despite the way she’d rejected him he couldn’t help but care about her. She was sweating and her heart was pounding. Maybe she was genuinely sick. She pulled away and blinked big wet eyelashes at him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever she was going to say.

“I adore you, Jake Reed.”

His breath came out in a hiss of shock. Was she playing with him? Was this some new crazy, heartless diva act?

She raised her hand to caress his face but he leaned away. She gave a nod of acceptance and closed her eyes. “I’m in love with you, Jake.”

He gasped, disbelief soaring and expectation cruelly shackling him to the spot.

She opened her eyes and raised her hand again. This time he let her touch him. “But I don’t have anything to offer you. I’m not together enough to share my life with you. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m f*cked up, Jake, and you deserve so much more than me.”

He heard her as though he was underwater, as though his ears were closed and stuffed with wadding. As though she was a great distance away from him. “Did you just say—?”

The shake now gone from her voice, she repeated. “I love you.”

“Is this your fever talking?” He put a hand against her brow. She was hot and so pale. “Because if you’re delirious I—”

“The only thing I’m delirious about is you.”

Hope wore wings. It fluttered in his chest like moths. They stared at each other, neither of them moving, neither of them knowing what to say next.

But she was going to f*cking cry again.

He lifted her and brought her back to bed. He held her against his chest and watched her eyes, still wet and red rimmed. He found truth in her steady gaze. In his head, he heard bells ringing, clear and sharp, a soundtrack for his joy. It might not be easy, but they had a chance. It wasn’t over; they weren’t done.

Jake explored Rie’s body as if it was totally new to him, with infinite tenderness and a slow, passionate build to a fresh abandon that drugged them both, fusing them closer together in the light of each other’s eyes. And then they slept, wrapped in the promise that something new had begun.


The crowd that night was fired with excitement; chanting the band’s name, calling for Rielle, stomping their feet, whistling, hooting and clapping their hands.

In Rielle’s dressing room, Rand worked gel through his hair. He needed a dye job. His blond roots were starting to show through. Behind him, Rielle had her foot on a chair, lacing a boot. She’d eaten and kept it down and now had colour in her face and no trace of the nerves that had plagued her for most of the tour.

“I asked Harry to marry me,” Rand said, out of nowhere.

“What!” she stopped, hands frozen over the tongue of her boot.

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited, she turned me down.”

“She what? Are you…? Wait. You seem all right. Good, even.” Rielle gave the lace one last tug and dropped her foot to the floor, coming to stand beside Rand at the mirror.

“I am good. It’s all a little weird for her. The way we live, the business, the money. How quick this all happened. But I love her and she loves me, and I’ll wait until she’s cool with it. I’ll wait forever.”

Rielle gave him a shove. “Oh my God!”

He shoved her back. “I know, right!”

“She turned you down?”

“Yeah, can you believe it?” He puffed his chest out, preening in the mirror, but looking slightly forlorn at the same time.

“I really like Harry, she’s smart.” Rielle dug her elbow into Rand’s rib, making him squirm sideways. “Fan girls won’t be happy.”

Outside the door, Teflon called, “Fifteen minutes.”

Rand grunted. He knew she was right about the fans, but they’d get over it. For most of them the music came first and some new band was always in the wings ready to take the lead anyway. That was the business.

“Your hair looks awful,” she said.

“I was thinking I’d go back to—”

“Think again marrying boy,” she said, “not on this tour.” But when she hugged him it was with profound joy for his happiness.


Jake watched the band that night from his place at the side of the stage with a heavy heart. This was it. His last chance to watch Rielle light up the night. After the strike and the bump out it was back to normal life—well as normal as the life of a professional touring roadie could be.

Bodge stood beside him. He already had another tour to start after a two week break. He had plans to sweet talk his ex-wife into letting him crash on her sofa and use her laundry before his tour gear grew legs, drink too much, get fleeced by his kids and generally be depressed about the Ice Queen tour not being bigger, badder and longer, though it would be all those things in direct proportion to how much he’d drunk when he yacked about it.

“What’s with you and her,” he shouted in Jake’s ear, which was an indication of how desperate he was to know, because side of stage was the worst place for a deep and meaningful.

It meant Jake could shrug him off. Not that he could’ve put a cogent answer together anyway. What was with him and Rie? They were a romance cliché—the rock star and the roadie. They were a hot mess of stupid for each other. And they were clueless about what to do next. But every bit of him was fine with it. They’d work it out. In the short amount of time they’d had together, they’d already worked out harder issues than how they’d manage to meet up again.

On stage, Rie was glittering; wickedly, brilliantly. And every beam of light that broadcast from her was reflected back in the adoration of the crowd. They ate her up and she gave them more to gorge on.

It was one hell of a show and Jake could feel the extra electricity in the air. He looked about the side of the stage and saw Tef, Liz, Bunk and even Glen transfixed, and yet they all knew the show backwards. That’s how good this band was—when you thought you knew their every move they had extra in the tank.

When the second half of the show opened, the band were so obviously enjoying themselves that the punters had something even more to scream about. They changed the song order, they played extended versions of favourite tracks, they chucked in a rendition of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. For many in the audience, this was the second or third show they’d seen, so they knew what they were experiencing tonight was special, and their enthusiasm fed the stadium and hyped the atmosphere for everyone.

The night, the love of a rock star he knew he’d have in bed later, the fullness of his heart made Jake feel a little reckless, like shaking things up himself. He only had one chance. When he saw Bunk take his place to go for his ride in the Hand. He took it.

He grabbed the back of Bunk’s shirt. “I want this one, mate.” Bunk swatted him off. He had one hand already on the ladder. Above him in the cage, Rie was adjusting her sound pack, oblivious to the surprise Jake had for her. “You! Are you f*cking kidding?”

“No. Something I’ve gotta do.”

“You’ll have another psycho attack up there,” Bunk shouted.

“Back off, Bunk, she’s mine tonight.”

“No way.” Bunk stood his ground.

The tour was over; it’s not like Jake could sack him now. He got up in Bunk’s face. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Bunk swore at him but stepped aside. Jake had psyched him out. Now he had to make sure he didn’t blow himself up.

“He grabbed the railing and hoisted himself up the ladder into the cage. Rielle was fiddling with her mic still and had her back to him. He slipped in behind her and waited. She did a double-take when she saw him, and shook her head in surprise when she realised he was meeting her eyes not looking at the cage floor.

“So, kill me already,” he said in her ear. He was remembering the gym that first day when he’d teased a cute blonde and his first ride in the Hand when that same cute blonde disguised as a bitch from hell was out to do him in—and everything it led them to.

“You’re sure?” she shouted, though there was no time now if he wasn’t.

He ran his thumb gently over her lips. “Bring it on.”

She laughed and took her place, then jerked when he slammed his body hard against hers, wrapping one arm around her and dragging her back against his chest.

“No,” she said, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He was holding her all wrong, too tightly and he knew it.

He put his lips against her ear, “Yes,” and ran his hand up her body and under her chin, forcing her to drop her head back to his chest. “Payback, my darling bitch.” He took one of her hands in his. This time he was in control.

Jake could feel his heart clobbering his ribs, the combined effect of being in the Hand, of having Rielle in his arms, and the anticipation of appearing in front of seventy-five thousand screaming fans. What the f*ck was he doing? But he had a lock on his fear, and while it was burrowing away at his consciousness, he was keeping it fastened down and out of his knees and hands, out of his head.

When the Hand of God rose above the pit, and the spotlight hit them, the crowd went ape. Jake released Rielle enough to allow her to sing the verse, but he kept her in his arms. And he concentrated on her. She was the centre of his new calm, the level horizon, the rational argument, the strength and reason that could beat his demon panic. Because she’d been doing that by herself since she was fourteen years old and she loved him.

When she stood, he stood with her, running his hands up her hips, over her ribs and coming to cup her breasts, pulling her back against his body and nuzzling her neck. The punters in the pit below them roared. Every man there wanted to be him and every woman Rielle.

How many times had she sung this song? How many times had she gone through this routine with Tef, Bunk and even Lizard? Not once had she reacted to their hands, been more aware of them than of her own breathing? But Jake knew he was making her feel him. She lost all sense of the performance and the crowd below and breathed into his hands, letting her head fall back against his arm and looking up at him.

She misplaced a word in the song, mumbled over it, then caught herself. He felt her chest expand under his hands as she sang the next line correctly, and in the beat between it and the next, he spun her around to face him. He had his legs planted wide apart making their height difference less obvious and he pulled her hips against his, arms around her waist.

If he looked out at the mosh pit he might not have made it through this, but when he looked at her, every wondrous, sexy, changeable and dangerous part of her, his paralysis was love not fear.

Under the intense heat of the spotlights, he felt her shiver and he threw back his head and howled her name.

He barely waited for her to sing the last word before he crushed her lips in a wet, open-mouthed kiss—bending her backwards, breathing his desire into her. When he straightened up and released her, he was aware of the swell of noise from the crowd and the look of wonder on her face. She leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and they kissed again.

Poor Bodge wasn’t sure what to do for the second time that night. He should’ve had the cage moving before now, but because they were still standing—well he was—it was too dangerous. The crowd was going wild, and when the song ended Rand and Stu looked at each other for a clue on what to do next.

Rand said into his mic, “It’s in the Hand of God!” and the punters went crazy. Bodge reckoned half the stadium either had their tongue down someone’s throat or wished they did.

It wasn’t til Bodge came up the ladder to break them up that Jake really knew what day it was. If he didn’t let Rie go, she’d miss her cue. He could see Bodge looked kind of proud of him. It was very rock and roll.

That night Ice Queen played five encores. The final one being a new song Rand and Stu played impromptu, just for the hell of it. That made it three times in one night Bodge had to scramble. He had to send Tef, Liz and Bunk on stage to re-set gear. Not that punters cared if a few black shirts crawled around the set; all they cared about was not going home yet.

When the band took their last bows, Bodge sighed. He’d already said goodbye to Rielle when he fitted her mic and sound pack at the beginning of the show. He wasn’t ready when she came off stage and barrelled into his arms. She jumped and he caught her legs and she straddled his hips and looked him straight in the eye.

“You ever need work Bodge, you give us a call. As long as we’re touring there’ll be a job for you.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“Aw, Rie.” He was red to the tips of his ears. “I’m too old for shocks like this.”

She laughed and kissed him full on the lips and he almost dropped her in surprise. And when he let her down, and she disappeared backstage, Jake knew Bodge wouldn’t feel half as crappy about missing her as he already did.

He clapped Bodge on the shoulder. It was a really good tour.