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“Don’t be silly. You’ve spent a lot of time taking care of me the last year or so. Let me return the favor while I’m feeling good.”
“You’ve been taking care of me since Mom died,” I said softly.
She shook her head. “We’ve been taking care of each other. And that’s what family does, right? We’re here for each other.”
“I love you, Aunt Meg.”
“And I love you, darling. Now put on your PJs and I’ll be back in a few with your tea.”
No matter how tough things were, I was lucky to have someone like Aunt Meg in my life.
9
Zeke
After Chicago, we hit the road hard. Almost no days off for the next few weeks, playing to sold out crowds every night and partying until dawn. I hadn’t allowed myself to let loose like this in a long time, but Carter was nothing if not consistent, and once he figured out I was in a funk he’d made it his life’s mission to bring me out of it.
It was like putting a band-aid on a severed jugular vein.
The harder I partied, the more aggravated I got. I’d even snapped at my guitar tech last night, which almost never happened. He was as good and professional as they got, worth every dime I paid him to not just keep my equipment in top form but to anticipate what I needed before I needed it. And last night I’d lost it over a pick. I was particular about what I used, and normally I didn’t use them at all. For the few songs I did, I liked specific ones, and they were different for each song. Roddy had put out a few of each but I’d stupidly thrown the one I needed next into the crowd. Instead of just sucking it up—it wasn’t that big of a deal—I’d lost my temper afterward, telling him he’d left me unprepared.
This morning I’d ordered him a case of his favorite scotch whisky and had it delivered to the venue where we were playing. I owed him more than scotch as an apology, but I was still too hungover for that. I’d deal with the verbal shit later.
Stepping over the sleeping bodies all over the suite Carter and I had reserved for the party last night, I grabbed my things and slipped out, going back to my own room. I changed into shorts and a tank top, forced my feet into sneakers, and then headed down to the hotel gym. I didn’t like using hotel facilities because I got recognized too often, but I desperately needed to sweat out the toxins I’d been putting in my body. I also needed to drink about a gallon of water, but I settled for picking up a couple of liters at the hotel convenience store.
Kingston was on the treadmill when I got there, and he lifted his chin in acknowledgement as I got on the one next to him.
“Long night?” he asked, grinning.
“Somethin’ like that.”
“You work whatever it is out of your system?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“This about the reporter?”
I grunted in response, picking up speed. I needed to warm up, but I also needed to sweat. Until my muscles burned and my stomach was threatening to revolt. Whether or not it would work I had no idea, but something had to give because I hadn’t been myself since leaving Minnesota. I could fake it with the best of them. I just didn’t want to.
“You want to talk?” Kingston asked, jogging beside me.
“Nothin’ to talk about.”
“Come on. I know you better than that.”
Kingston had become my best friend over the last couple of years. The whole band was fairly close, but while Carter and I had been growing apart, Kingston and I had found a lot more in common than music. And he was easy to talk to. Even when I didn’t want to talk.
“I thought she was different,” I said under my breath.
“Ah. She. The reporter who got under your skin and then stabbed you in the dick.”
I grunted at his crude analogy. “Something like that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing to do.”
“She must’ve been something. I haven’t seen you party this hard in years. Except for the needles, you’re giving Carter a run for his money.”
