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“Maybe tomorrow…” She broke down into tears, and I held her close while she cried out her grief. “I’m sorry,” she hiccoughed. “You must think I’m such a dumbass.”
I lifted her chin. “I don’t think anything like that. I think you’re being really brave.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “I lost someone close to me when I was younger.”
“It’s comforting you know how I’m feeling. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispered.
“Likewise.” I glanced down at her, caught her staring up at me. “Don’t ask me any questions, please. I’ll tell you everything, one day. Just not today.”
She hesitated for a beat. “Okay.” Then she changed the subject. “I’ll need to make some phone calls. Tell Dad’s sis, my auntie in Oregon, that he’s passed. Then I’ll have to organize a funeral,” she choked out the words.
“I’ll help you with the arrangements.” I stroked her arm. “You’re not alone.”
“That’s so sweet of you.” She breathed out a sigh. “You’re a good friend.”
“That’s me,” I barked out a self-mocking laugh.
She fixed me in her gaze. “Aren’t you tired? Don’t you wanna go back to bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep either. Was headed down to the music room.”
“I’ll be fine, if that’s what you wanna do.” Her mouth quirked.
“Nah. I’d rather stay here with you.”
She squirmed from my hold. “Why?”
“Because we’re mates.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “As long as you remember you don’t get to be my sex therapist…”
I couldn’t help reaching for her. “Come here, love. Let me hold you. You have my word I’ll be good.”
She did as I asked and I held her close. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of her warm body against mine. I’d wait. Bide my time. This girl. This amazing girl was worth waiting for. I so wanted to help her. I’d find a solution to her problem. I’m fucking determined.Chapter 13HayleyA week after Dad died, I was at the Roxy, putting on Pierce’s stage makeup in his dressing room. His eyes met mine in the mirror. “You okay, sweetheart?” In his London accent, the word sounded like ‘swee’ah,’ and it sent a quiver through me.
“I’m fine,” I said. My throat felt scratchy, but I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. I’d save my tears for later when Pierce would kiss them away. He’d been amazing, so supportive, and I didn’t know how I’d have coped without him.
The morning after Dad had died, Pierce called Phoenix, Camila and Jake. They came right over. Jake asked me if I wanted time off, but I declined. The thought of going back to my empty house was too much to bear. Phoenix and Camila took charge of Pierce’s kitchen, Phoenix baking pineapple upside down cakes—she said her pregnancy was making her crave them—and Camila, who’d recently gotten back from visiting with her sister in Italy, made us pasta dishes which had Pierce practically licking his plate. Grief had taken my appetite, though, and my sunken cheeks, reflected in the dressing room mirror, were a testimony to the fact that I’d lost weight.
My chest ached as I remembered Dad’s funeral, which we’d held two days ago after the autopsy had confirmed that he had, indeed, died of heart failure. All his old buddies from the Fire Department, where he’d served for forty years, were there. And my auntie and cousins had come down from Portland. They asked me to go back with them, so that we could mourn together. I wasn’t even a little tempted. I’d not seen much of them over the years and considered ChiMera more like family.
I stared down at my hands while I spread foundation on Pierce’s stubbled cheeks, and my breath caught on a sigh. I’d been mourning Dad for the past two years, ever since he’d gotten sick and I knew he wouldn’t recover...I’d learned to live with the pain.
I inhaled deeply and put the finishing touches to Pierce’s eyes. Dark blue shadow. Waterproof black mascara. He had lashes to die for…they barely needed my help. I’d styled his wavy hair already, and it hung long and dark over his tattooed shoulders. He never wore a shirt on stage, unlike Axel who started the act wearing his before ripping it off and throwing it into the audience.
I put on a courageous smile, and said to Pierce, “You’re good to go, buddy. It’s showtime.”
He levered himself to his feet, towering over me. “Give us a kiss for luck,” he smirked.
“No way, José.” I swatted his arm. “Someone might see.”
The disappointment in his expression almost broke my resolve. Against my better judgement, Pierce had been sleeping in my double bed this past week, and I’d let him kiss me more than once…way more than once. The first time it had happened was when he was consoling me after I’d broken down sobbing for Dad. But, after that, we’d kiss every night until our lips were swollen, panting into each other’s mouth, and always stopping before things got out of hand. I didn’t know if Pierce had a ploy to get me to trust him and give him more access to my body down the line—I wouldn’t put it past him—but at least I knew he could be a gentleman. When it suited him.
