“Keep to the routine, Fletcher. The fucking routine.”
That mantra was a frail, rickety bridge between what I wanted and what I would never have. It would fall to pieces in a stiff wind, but it was the only bridge I had. Without it, I would free-fall to nothing.
“Keep. To. The. Routine.”
When I returned to the living room, Kacey sat up, yawning and stretching. She smiled when she saw me. A surprised smile. As if we hadn’t spent all evening hanging out together. As if I’d been years away in Africa and not two minutes in the john.
But I felt it too. I missed her. Every time I closed my fucking eyes, I missed her.
I stood apart from her, staring, while in my mind I closed the distance between us, took her down to the couch cushions again, but this time, I lay over her. Kissing her luscious mouth, tasting her tongue as it slid over mine. Her thighs parted for me, revealing panties that were damp when I touched her…
Jesus Christ…
I took shelter behind the kitchen counter so Kacey wouldn’t see the raging hard-on tenting the front of my flannel pants.
“I’m getting some more ice for my tea,” I muttered. “Need some?”
“Sure.”
I opened the freezer and stayed there, inhaling the cold air until my blood had cooled and it was safe to turn around.
Or maybe I could slam my dick in the door…
“How’s that drink doing ya?” I asked, cringing as the words left my mouth. Clearly, the blood had yet to return to my brain. “I mean, how is it without something harder to drink than iced tea?”
“Not bad,” she said. “Actually, it’s been pretty easy to lay off the booze these last few days. I thought I’d be jonesing, but here I feel like I can chill. I don’t need the buffer.”
“Buffer?”
“The booze buffer. The one that goes up between yourself and real life when you’re drunk. Everything is so much easier to take. Easier to not give a shit. You can put yourself at a safe distance.”
“Safe distance from what?”
She shrugged and glanced at the couch cushions beneath her. “Life. The life I’ve found myself living. A life that happened to me, instead of one I made.” She became intent on a stray thread, winding it over her finger. “Vegas is different than I thought it would be. After all that shit that went down with Chett, I thought it would be haunted. But it’s not so bad. Better than being on the road with the band. I can see that now. So I was thinking I might…” The thread on her finger went round and round. “Stay.”
The blood drained from my face so fast I had to grip the counter.
Stay.
The word hung in the air. A crystal bubble of perfection.
She’s going to stay. I can see her every day, I can talk to her, I can touch her…
My thoughts ran rampant, carried on the rapid tide of my pulse that was buzzing in my ears. It was so loud, I could hardly hear Kacey’s next words. But I felt them. I felt each word; little bullets that struck me, each with a new emotion: fear and joy and guilt and something damn close to happiness.
“I think I want to quit the band,” she said, still concentrating on her loose thread. “I’m under contract and I have no idea if it’s even possible to get out of it without being sued. But I think I might try. I think I might do what you said. Try to put all the pieces together. Write my own songs and sing them myself. Of course, I’d have to get a regular job in the meantime, but that would be good for me too.”
Her face…She wore a look of conviction I’d never seen before, her voice was clear and strong, as she built a life for herself here.
A life with me?
“I’d get my own place and take care of myself,” she was saying. “Instead of letting Lola handle all the responsibility. Pay my own bills, go back for my GED. Stand on my own two feet for a change…”
Her words trailed off and she looked over at me. She saw my stricken expression and all her hope vanished. It slipped from her features like a mask and the light burning in her eyes dimmed.
“Anyway,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Like I said, I don’t know if it’s possible. I’m probably locked into my contract.”
Still I said nothing, a thousand thoughts warring, a thousand words locked in my mouth.
Kacey swallowed hard, and lifted her chin up against my silence. “Never mind, it’s a stupid idea.” She threw the pillow aside and flew off the couch, toward the bedroom. “And I’m not feeling well. I’m going to hit the sack. Goodnight.”
The door slamming shut jumpstarted my synapses. “Kace, wait.”
In my room, she had her duffel bag on the bed and was grabbing clothes out of the drawers.
“Wait,” I said. “Stop. I’m sorry. We need to talk about this.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “I fucking get it. I read it all over your face. Only you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”