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I scrub until my skin is raw and red. I wash and condition my hair three times. When I step out of the shower, I no longer smell like Ethan.
Turns out that doesn't do shit to erase him from my mind.
I can't sit here wallowing. No matter how frozen I feel, I need to do something.
My body hurts as much as my heart does. I take another dose of cold medicine, I take a seat at my desk, and I pour myself into my work.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ethan
Playing Better Days on a famous sound stage, even at rehearsal, is the kind of thing that should light me up inside. I don't hold back, not at rehearsals, not on stage, not offstage. Not anywhere.
But right now…
Muscle memory is the only thing that gets me through the song. My fingers know the way around my guitar better than they know anything. This is what I'm good at.
This is where I belong.
Even Violet thinks so.
I should be happy about this opportunity. I should at least be taking it in. My eyes are clear. I can see everything. I can hear every note from my guitar, from Mal's guitar, from Kit's bass, from Joel's drum kit. I can hear every bit of my brother's breathy voice.
I can hear the orders from the crew and from Mal, and I can even sense the continuing frost between Joel and Mal—the two of them hold grudges better than anyone in the universe.
It's all here. It's all happening around me. But I'm not here. I'm off some other place, stuck in how badly I fucked everything up again.
Mal's New York fuck buddy is sitting in the front row, half watching our rehearsal, half looking at her phone. She's waiting for him. She's at his beck and call.
It's the same with all his fuck buddies in every city. They jump to meet his terms. They jump to do what he wants to do, wherever he is, whenever he wants to be there.
No doubt he makes it up to them with his hands, mouth, or cock, but I'm not entertaining those thoughts.
They really are sidekicks. He cares about them, yeah, but he always makes it clear it's only when things are convenient for him.
If that's what I was doing to Violet, she was right to let me walk away.
Fuck, I'm an asshole.
It's possible she's better off without me. But there's no way in hell I'm better off without her.
All day, I stay off some other place. We finish rehearsal, wait around in separate rooms, and perform for a live studio audience. I can see people cheering and clapping and screaming out our lyrics, but it doesn't stir me the way it usually does.
After we finish, a production assistant shepherds us to a dressing room. We're to wait until the producers look over the footage to make sure it's usable.
The room is an average dressing room. It's got a vanity, four hair and makeup chairs, and a table piled with snacks and beverages. It's a nice size but it's far too small for the hostility between Mal and Joel.
Joel grabs a bottle of water and rubs his temples. Another hangover. You'd think he'd know his limits by now.
Most days, I'd throw out a joke about it. Right now, it doesn't feel worth the effort.
Joel takes a seat in one of the makeup chairs. Kit does the same, only he directs his attention to his e-reader.
Mal reaches for the door. "I'm gonna grab Stacey."
Joel's eyes narrow. He shakes it off. "Valentine with your fuck buddy?"
Mal shakes his head.
