Rhythm, Chord & Malykhin (12 page)

“Not really.” I gave him a half-hearted smile.

I didn’t want to look behind me, but because I was an idiot, I did. I spotted Sacha in the parking lot with two guys, another girl and the redhead from earlier, before they made their way inside. My stomach sputtered again, and I turned back around to wait for the waitress to join three large tables for all of us to sit.

“Did you see E trip getting offstage?” Mason asked, rooted in his spot next to me.

Under normal circumstances, I would have asked for specific details and been disappointed that I missed my twin embarrassing himself, but it was a testament to the green-eyed bitch in my heart that I could barely smile. “No.”

He frowned and yanked on the end of my sweaty ponytail hard enough to make me yelp. “I don’t like seeing you like this. Quit it.”

“You dick,” I groaned, rubbing the spot where my hair was tied back. “I hope your razor yanks a couple pubes out the next time you shave down there,” I muttered.

Mason laughed. “There’s my bride.” He elbowed me with a wink. “And I don’t shave.”

Oh my God.

Just like that, I told myself to ignore the feeling in stomach and I did, mostly. I snorted, thought about hugging him for a second until I remembered he hadn’t showered in a few days, and instead poked at the spot right under his ribs where I knew he was ticklish. Once the tables were ready, I sat down between him and Eli, with Carter, Gordo and Freddy across from us.

I spotted Sacha three seats down on the same side I was on. I may or may not have noticed that he pulled out the chair next to him for the redhead before they took their seats. I ordered my food and tried to focus on the conversation around me—one was about Fruity Pebbles versus Frosted Flakes, and the other discussed woods used as guitar fingerboards. At one point, I noticed Sacha leaning forward over the table looking at me but luckily Eliza moved a split second later, blocking his view.

When I got up to the use the restroom after finishing my meal, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started poking around at the screen like I was busy sending an important text message so I could focus on that and not the people I was walking by. Once in the bathroom, I used it as slowly as possible, willing away that crappy, unsettling sensation that seemed to jackhammer away at my nerves.

He had a girlfriend, or a girl he was interested in. Was that really so surprising? It shouldn’t be.

I wasn’t particularly stunning; I rarely put a whole bunch of effort into my appearance, and we constantly teased each other and talked about bodily functions. That wasn’t exactly screaming romance.

Fine. It was fine. Everything was okay; at least it would be.

I ducked out of the bathroom, heading back to the table with a headache. Unlike before, I trained my eyes on the wall ahead of me so that I wouldn’t look down when I passed Sacha’s seat. Was I being immature? Maybe a little, but I didn’t care. My heart was pounding, my head was throbbing, and I felt like a fucking moron.

The warm, firm grasp that landed on my forearm stopped me right when I saw the shaved hair on the side of Sacha’s head in my peripheral vision.

“
Fight Club
,” his low voice murmured, tightening his grip on my arm.

It took everything in me to swallow the bile that had mysteriously appeared in my stomach before I glanced at him, as blankly and indifferently as possible.
Friends. We were friends
, I reminded myself. “Hey.”

Those pale gray eyes flickered over my face, which I knew was smudged with eyeliner and slightly oily from how much I’d sweated throughout the day. My hair was a side-ponytail mess and there were also ketchup stains on my shirt. So, pretty much, I looked as attractive as possible…

To a blind man.

“Gaby, I want you to meet my friends.” Sacha said, watching me swallow hard. He started pointing at the four people surrounding him. “That’s Matt, Seb, Bianca and Liz.”

Liz
. The redhead.

Reaching deep inside of myself for my inner adult, I pulled my arm loose of Sacha’s grasp to look at his “friends” and I waved. “Hi,” I greeted them, noticing just how fake the red color in his “friend’s” hair was. Who did she think she was?
The Little Mermaid?

They all greeted me, but it was the final person who made my head hurt worse.

“Hi,” Ronald McDonald’s illegitimate daughter replied, blinking big, brown eyes in my direction. She had that kind of classic beauty that would give a photographer a boner. And perfect, clear, pale skin.

What a bitch.

“Your hair is so cute,” she added.

A big part of me wanted to say something really bitchy like “does it look like I care” or “go fuck yourself.” I didn’t though. But I really wanted to.

It was my period talking.
Right
.

I just smiled stiffly. “Thanks.”

“I wanted you to meet them earlier, but you disappeared on me,” Sacha explained with a smile on his face that made my stomach want to revolt.

I nodded at him, but it was so forced I’m sure my extreme level of discomfort had to be apparent.

Awkward
.

I coughed and pointed down the table. “I’m going to finish eating. It was—” I nearly choked on my words because I was a terrible liar, “nice meeting you all.”

I didn’t even bother waiting for anyone to say anything before I was back in my seat, feeling like a complete fool. I knew how unrealistic it had been for me to say that I’d never have feelings for another man because I didn’t want the drama associated with a breakup ever again, but this was ridiculous. I felt betrayed and I had no reason to. I was just a girl Sacha had met and got along with because we were stuck on a bus on a trip together. That was all. My stupid fucking heart sucked; it strained in its cage while I sat there miserably.

I didn’t speak to Sacha for a week.

“
W
hat are you doing
, little girl?” a voice whispered at the same time a hand clamped down on my arm.

Instead of screaming like most sane people would if they were sitting in the dark watching
Sabrina
with a bottle of wine in hand—I peed myself a little bit. Honest to God. I peed myself. Not much, but enough.

But I’d like to justify what happened by admitting that my subconscious would always recognize the asshole that had apparently crawled across the floor to scare the Jesus out of me.

“Damn it, Mase,” I hissed as I pulled my legs to my chest, sitting up straight.

Sure enough, he was lying on the floor with a big grin on his face. “Did I get’cha?” he asked as he brushed his pajama pants off and got to his feet.

“Yeah. I need to go change my underwear now, thanks.” Thankfully, I’d brought my backpack out of the bunk area when I’d gotten up.

I ignored his laughter as I went into the bathroom and changed out of my super-sexy period underwear, putting them into one of the plastic bags we left stashed under the sink in case of emergencies. I noted that my period was, in fact, finally over. I hadn’t been sure if my hormones were still out of whack due to it, or if I was just being grumpy because I could be.

I’d still been feeling pretty bitchy all afternoon and all night—okay, all week—but it got worse after I’d run to the trailer in the middle of the opening act’s set and zeroed in on Sacha, Julian and Miles being surrounded by five girls wearing shorts that looked more like underwear and cropped tops. Prostitutes.

To be fair I’d tried to stay away from just about everyone except Carter, who was the only calming influence on the tour, over the last seven days. I did it mainly because I knew I was being mopey and moody. There was also the fact that my three baboons knew me too well, and if they put their minds to it, could figure out there was more to my attitude than simply a bad period.

So I’d told them all I was sick.

Which was why I’d been hiding in my bunk for the most part over the course of the week.

Except tonight I hadn’t been able to fall asleep. It was the first night of a two-day drive from Winnipeg to Toronto, and I had slept most of the day. I’d laid in bed reading until my eyes hurt, and by that time, the bus had gone silent, leading me to believe everyone had gone to sleep. Quiet as a ninja, I got up, snuck out of the bunk area with my backpack, pulled out the bottle of wine I’d bought that afternoon from the fridge and flipped through the satellite channels on television.

Not even half an hour into the old classic movie and Mase had gotten up.

Hating the idea of going back to bed, I headed back into the living area to find him sitting on the opposite couch I’d been on, sipping wine straight from the bottle as he watched the movie on the same super-low volume I’d left it on. When he heard me close the bathroom door, he looked over and smiled.

“Got some new panties on?”

“Ha ha,” I muttered.

Mase simply grinned as he took another drink. His eyes strayed to the screen. I sat in the same spot I’d been in and went back to watching the movie. A few minutes passed before I felt the nudge of glass against my hand. He was holding the bottle out for me to take and I did.

I’d barely taken a sip when he asked, “You finally over it?”

“I’m feeling a little better,” I answered, eyeing him, trying to be all cool and indifferent.

He gave me a flat look that immediately made me sit up straight. “Do I have STUPID written on my forehead?”

I blinked. “Is this a trick question or…?”

The jackass didn’t even hesitate in the split second between when I finished trailing off and the time it took him to reach across the walkway to pinch my butt cheek. I squealed and tried to pull away but it only made the sting worse.

“Are you over your shit with Sacha?” He finally just went right on out there and asked after letting go of my battered booty.

Umm.

What could I do? I just stared at him. If I didn’t admit or deny anything…

“Daddy Mason knows everything.” He raised his eyebrows as he sat back against the couch again. “
Everything
,” he enunciated.

Oh hell. “What—”

Mason stared at me with those intense blue eyes, and I stopped talking. We both knew it was pointless. Here I was thinking I was being slick by hiding and pretending I had a virus, and he’d known the truth. Which only meant the other two idiots had to know too.

That knowledge was definitely worth the sigh that came out of me as I shrugged, resigned. I scrunched up my nose, wrapping my arms around my bent knees again. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugged back. “We figured it out the day after San Francisco.”

I winced.

“You can’t hide shit from us,” he said, confirming what I should have already known.

I sighed again. “That’s what I was afraid of, damn it.” Thinking about it for a second, something occurred to me. “Why didn’t Eli say anything?” We both knew he didn’t know how or when to shut up. Hell, everyone knew that about him.

“He doesn’t want to piss you off.”

Yeah, that made me scoff. “Since when?” He usually went out of his way
to
aggravate me.

That had Mase grinning. “Since you left last time, Flabs. Shit, I don’t want to piss you off too much either. That whole thing sucked.” He paused and gave me what could have been considered a bashful look if it had lasted longer than a second. “How many months did we go before you started talking to us again?”

“A few,” I answered almost guiltily. Then again, what did I have to feel guilty about? They’d opened their fat traps and said something that wasn’t their business to tell. “I missed you guys too but—“

“I know we fucked up.”

We looked at each other in silence. There really wasn’t much to say after that. It was the first time any of them had completely acknowledged that they’d done something to hurt my feelings. I’d pretty much woken up one day and decided to forgive them for being assholes. I was tired of being mad, and honestly, I really had missed them.

The next time I saw them at my parent’s house during Thanksgiving, no one brought up what they’d done, and we went on as if that night had never happened. In reality, they’d told the members of the two other bands we’d been touring with that I was going to get breast implants because I had “one small one and one big one,” as I remember very clearly. They’d laughed afterward, drunk and high out of their minds, unaware that I’d overheard.

It wasn’t even them telling people I was going to get surgery and implants that bothered me. Who cared if they knew? I wasn’t ashamed; I’d been ecstatic to finally be able to take this next step. What had reached deep within my soul and made me cry my eyes out in the venue bathroom for ten minutes straight, was that they’d laughed. They’d laughed at something that had bothered me so much for so long. I didn’t know of anyone else who had been called “deformed” at the age of thirteen at camp and then laughed at. No one understood what it was like to never be able to wear tank tops unless the neckline was high, or trying to find bras or bathing suits that could be easily manipulated with padding so that my irregularity wouldn’t be so noticeable. I never let anyone but my doctor see my chest,
ever
. Not even in a bra. I didn’t even let my mom or Rafe see me in a bra. Brandon had been the first person since my plastic surgeon and my gynecologist that saw my breasts since we’d started dating shortly after I’d gotten them worked on.

And these three guys that I loved and that I knew loved me back, had laughed at my expense in front of other people.

So yeah, I wasn’t going to apologize for not speaking to them for a few months. They’d deserved it. Since then, years had passed, and I wasn’t about to bring it up more than necessary.

Mase smiled, as if sensing exactly what I was thinking, and patted the seat next to him. “Come here. Come sit next to someone who loves your wino ass.”

“I’m not a wino.”

He shot me a look. “You were drinking straight from the bottle, sitting in the dark watching one of your favorite movies. You’re really going to tell me you’re not?”

The fact he knew
Sabrina
was one of my favorite movies didn’t escape me, but still. I blinked. “Don’t judge me.”

“Too late.”

That made me laugh. Before I could think twice, I got up and sat next to him, leaning into his shoulder with a resigned sigh. “I’m so stupid.”

Did he assure me I wasn’t dumb? Of course not. “No shit, Sherlock.” He patted my knee. “If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t surprised. After me, he’s the best-looking guy on the tour,” the modest ass explained. “The guy’s a pussy magnet, Flab. You know girls love singers. Gordo has to beat the girls off with a stick and he doesn’t even like them.
And
he’s an ugly motherfucker. What does that say?”

Ugh.

Of course I already knew all that, but still. He didn’t need to just blurt it out like that. There was a hierarchy of attraction in bands regardless of what the members actually looked like: everyone liked the singer even if he looked like he ran a heroin ring; next were the guitar players, the drummers, the bass players and finally the keyboardists. It was like actors that weren’t handsome but women liked them anyway because they were famous.

“I haven’t seen him mess around with anybody, if that makes you feel any better,” he added. “But…”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” But he’d still hung out with that girl. A fact I had been trying to come to terms with for a week.

I told myself what I’d been telling myself since then: he wasn’t my boyfriend, he was my friend, and I needed to get over this possessive, jealous crap pronto. I was going to get over it. I would.

With another sigh I peered up at Mason who was still letting me lean into him and smiled reluctantly. “You really knew I was full of shit from the beginning?”

“You’ve been my best friend my whole life. Of course I know when something’s up your ass,” he stated.

That had me cracking a real grin. We had been best friends our entire lives; this beautiful, moronic boy-man who once had a gap between his teeth and didn’t hit a growth spurt until we were almost sixteen. How many things had we done for each other? More than I could ever count and that alone made my heart swell with affection. Most people didn’t have a single best friend, and I didn’t just have multiple ones—I even had some that would commit crimes for me. This guy happened to be one of them. Was he perfect? Absolutely not. Neither was I.

But who needed perfect when you had someone loyal, funny, with slight mental problems that knew you inside and out? I didn’t. “You know I love you, right?”

He put his hand on my head and ruffled my already messy hair. “Yeah, I know, Flabby.”

I smiled at him and he smiled back at me.

Then he messed with my hair some more. “If it makes you feel any better, your boobs are way nicer than that chick’s were.”

Was it rude? Of course it was, but I laughed anyway, and me laughing only made Mase do it too.

“What would I do without you?”

“Be bored to death,” he replied, tugging on my hair.

I crossed my eyes.

“I don’t like seeing you bummed, so cut it out. A week is long enough.”

If only he’d seen me right after my breakup. Plus, he’d already done who knows what to Brandon’s car in retaliation. “See? And Mandy used to say you didn’t care about anything.”

He frowned. “I forgot about her.”

“I just remember her telling me that she was going to kick my ass if I didn’t stop text messaging you.” Then I’d told her I’d been in Mason’s life before her and I’d be in it afterward, just to be a bitch.

He cracked up. “She hated your guts! I forgot about that!” He blew out a breath. “Most of my girlfriends—” for the record, he hadn’t had an official girlfriend in at least five years, “haven’t liked you, now that I think about it.”

Of course they hadn’t. Most of them had always thought there was more to our friendship than what there was. It wasn’t like I could blame them, but I always tried to be extra respectful and not pinch his butt cheeks out of anger when he was dating someone.

“Remember Teresa Martinez back in junior year? I broke up with her because she said you were annoying.”

I blinked, knowing exactly whom he was referring to. She’d been one of his girlfriends that hadn’t gotten on my nerves. That fake bitch. While I realized it was dumb to be offended over a comment someone had made ten years ago, I couldn’t help but get a little grumpy about it. “She said that to you?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it. You’re a pain in the ass, not annoying.”

I snorted. “Well, she was a slut, I remember that.”

He elbowed me with a snicker. “I know. That’s why I dated her.”

Oh God.

Then he kept on going, as if I wanted to hear all the shitty things his past girlfriends had said about me. Which I didn’t. “You remember Crystal Hernandez? Senior year? She called you a bitch. I let her give me a blow job and never called her again.”

My hands went over my face as I repressed the urge to laugh. When I finally had myself under control, I cupped my cheeks and shook my head. “What a noble, noble gesture. Seriously. Thank you.”

Mason grinned. “Right?”

Dropping my hands, I nodded up at him. There were tears in my eyes, and I didn’t even bother blinking them away. “I wouldn’t trade you for a million dollars, Mase.”

His reply was to beam at me.

“But for ten million, I’d work out some kind of visitation schedule.”

I
t was
the pain in my neck that woke me up.

There was also the fact that one of my legs was hot, my arm was numb, and I had a headache.

I’d barely opened an eye to figure out what the hell was going on when I realized I wasn’t in my bunk. The cushion beneath me was harder than it should have been and there was way too much light. What the hell?

I tried to think back on my last clear memory, and that was Mase and I on the couch watching infomercials
and arguing over whether this bonding glue they were presenting would really work or not. After that I couldn’t remember anything. The only answer I had was that it didn’t take a genius to figure out that my head hurt from the entire bottle we’d polished off between the two of us.