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Birdie swallows, not agreeing with the reporter, but also not disagreeing with her. “I’m grateful for the time I had with the boy who broke my heart, but now he’s just a memory within a song.”
Right. Well, I’m glad I know how she feels. Not that I should be surprised. For a moment I thought that maybe Birdie and I could work out our shit, or at least have a cordial relationship over the course of the next couple months. But if that is how she feels, if that’s how she wants to continue to deal with me being here, then so be it.
I’ll be the bodyguard she wants me to be. Nothing more. Nothing less. It’s better for me anyway. I can keep all my secrets and feelings away from her… and away from her damn songs.
I skip Birdie’s show and wait in an empty dressing room for it to be over.
Venue security has her covered while she’s on stage, so I sneak in a good meal and even a short nap. My shoulder is still killing me, so I take off my shirt but leave my pants on. If I can’t get to the gym today, I may as well do a little yoga. As Ben says, “No excuses.”
There’s an area rug in the dressing room; I cringe to think what's been on this floor, but since I don’t have a mat, this will have to do.
I start off with a few sun salutations then stretch my arms over my head. The twinge in my shoulder is there, but I’m glad I can stretch it out before it has time to get worse.
I go through several different poses, including a few hip openers, which are hard to do in these tight pants. After I do downward dog, I end my practice in corpse pose.
My brain wanders while I’m there—I haven’t allowed myself to feel this many emotions since the accident. Birdie is pushing my boundaries, and I felt like I may snap if I don’t at least try and keep my cool.
I count to ten and attempt to focus on my body, breathing through any pain just as my therapist taught me. In and out, in and out, in and out. My breathing calms, the bass from Birdie’s band thrumming in the background. My body buzzes with the vibrations from the floor and I can hear my beating heart in my ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I enter a meditative space…
I’m back in New York City on patrol. My partner Maria smiles at me, jelly on her cheek from the raspberry filled doughnut she just consumed. I’d make a funny cop joke if she wasn’t so damn cute.
“You like what you see, Miller?” She quips, licking some sugar from her lips.
“You have jam on your lip.”
She reaches to get it, but misses. I shake my head and lean over to take care of it. She stills as my finger touches her cheek. I get the offending jelly, and before I think about what I’m doing, I lick it from my finger. My face heats with embarrassment, but all she does is smile.
“When you do things like that, Miller… it makes a girl think things.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “And if I do want the girl to think things?”
She laughs. “Then maybe you should ask the girl out on a date?”
Normally I’m a confident man, but Maria, she does something to me that makes me feel like a giddy boy. I’m about to ask her on a date when we get a call over the radio. Someone called in a 10-20, a robbery, on the Upper East Side.
“10-4, en route,” I quickly turn the car around. I guess asking her on a date will have to wait.
Knock, knock, knock!
I’m startled from the memory. Fuck. I haven’t thought of that day in almost six months. Now I really know my head’s not in the game. I think about calling Ben, or maybe my cousin Hammer—I know they’d both hear me out without judgment.
The person behind the door knocks again, so I stand and rub my hands over my face to clear some of the cobwebs. “Come in,” I say.
A second later Shea’s purple hair is in my line of vision. Her eyes drop down to my chest, taking in the muscles and light sheen of sweat. I’m pretty sure she licks her lips, but I try to ignore it. She’s a cute kid, but way too young. I don’t usually do under the age of 25, and she can’t be more than 21, maybe 22.
“I found you,” she says, her voice a little hoarse.
“What’s up?” I move to put on my shirt and shoes.
“The show’s over. You’re needed in the green room for fan meet and greets.”
“Roger that.”
She smiles but doesn’t leave. I finish buttoning my shirt. “Something else?”
