Summer's Hidden Melody - Chapter 3

Chapter not beta'd - mistakes are mine.
----------------------------------------------------------

It turns out that Anthony didn’t spend the entire night at the poker table.  Irina had contacted all the band members to get their approval on a last-minute addition to the tour schedule.  Instead of ending in Boston with one show—those tickets had sold out within five minutes of being released to the public—they would add a second show there and finish up the tour with a two-night performance at Madison Square Garden in New York.  Irina’d been working on the details for weeks, and everything finally came together last night.  Tickets go on sale tomorrow.

Reactions from the band are mixed during rehearsal.  Jasper’s demeanor is poised as usual, but I’ve seen him enough to know that he’s not pleased.  Anthony said that Jasper was the most reluctant to agree to more performances.  He only gave in because New York is the band’s home city and his family would be back in their own residence.

Jake and Tyler seem unaffected by the changes.  Jake animatedly discusses the set list with Anthony, who looks sinfully gorgeous despite minimal sleep, and Tyler is messing around with a hacky sack.  Laurent wears dark shades and seems to be dozing in his chair.  Rosalie hasn’t made an appearance, though she rarely comes to rehearsals anymore.

I sit by myself in the front row and am reading on my phone when large hands cover my eyes.  I sigh.

“Hi, Seth,” I intone in a bored voice.

“You always know it’s me,” he complains, taking a seat beside me and draping a heavy arm over my shoulders.

“That’s because you’re the only one who does it.  It’s not hard to guess.”

“Are you excited to be stuck with me for an extra week?  I mean, you’re staying, right?”

“Actually, I’m not sure,” I tell him.  “Anthony and I slept in late and hardly got a chance to talk before rehearsal.  He and Jake have been busy discussing the MSG show.  I hear you guys want to make a big deal out of it?”

He nods.  “When Boston was our last stop, it didn’t matter as much.  But in New York, our own city…well, we want to end things right.”

“And by ‘end,’ you mean the tour, of course.”  I can tell there’s something he’s not saying, and I have a bad feeling about it.

“Uh, well…”  He cringes and gives me a wary look.

My heart plunges in my chest.  “Seth, you’re scaring me.  Please don’t say what I’m worried you’re going to say.  Tell me the rumors aren’t true.”

The expression on his face confirms my fear.  He leans in close to me.

“Look, don’t say anything to anyone, not even Anthony unless he tells you himself.  Jasper said last night that he’s quitting for sure.  That’s why Irina was scrambling to make the extra shows happen.  I think they’re making the public announcement just before tickets are released.”

“Holy shitballs,” I murmur in a daze.

“Yeah, I know.  It kinda blew us all away.  Anthony was beyond pissed that Jasper sprung it on us at the last minute like that, but I guess when you’re done, you’re done.”

“Damn, I should have been with him last night.”  I feel terrible that I wasn’t there to give him whatever support I could.

“If it makes you feel any better, I heard he was having a pretty decent time taking Laurent and the rest of his tablemates to the cleaners before the call came,” Seth chuckles.

“That’s something, I guess,” I say distractedly.  My eyes are focused on Anthony.  There’s a tightness around his eyes that I hadn’t noticed earlier.

Seth pokes me in the shoulder.  “Hey, don’t worry.  It sucks to lose Jazz, but we’ll find another bassist and make music like always.  Keep the faith, sistah.” He stands up to take his place on stage.

“Alright, let’s get started.  We’ll open with an extended drum solo…”

Anthony is talking through the song lineup when Em sits down in the seat that Seth had vacated.

“Hey there, Bella,” he says with a smile, his greeting the most confident I’ve heard from him yet.

“’Morning, Em.  I’m surprised I beat you here.  Had a hard time waking up?”

“No, but that’s because I haven’t slept yet.”

I turn and lean sideways to fully take in his appearance.  While there are dusky shadows under his eyes, he seems to be doing pretty well for having stayed up after a night of drinking.  In fact, there’s almost a radiance in his expression.

“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.  I would think that under the circumstances with the band…”  I trail off, realizing I almost broke Seth’s confidence.

Em gets it, though.  “You mean because of Jasper?  Yeah, it sucks for the rest of us, but I support his decision.  He’s following his heart and doing what’s right for his family—how can I fault that?”

I nod reluctantly.  “I know.  It’s just a bitter pill to swallow.”

“You’re full of idioms this morning,” he teases.

“And you’re strangely full of yourself.  Did Ed McMahon visit your trailer or something?”

Chuckling, he shakes his head.  “Even better.  I finished the song I was working on last night.”

“Really?”  I squeeze his hand in congratulations.  “That’s great!  So…will you tell me the name now?”

“No,” he answers easily, “but maybe someday. We’ll see.”

A sequence of loud rim shots diverts our attention to the stage.  Jake improvs a few bars of his solo and the band transitions into tonight’s opening number, “If I Could.”

I turn to Em, who is listening intently.  The nuances of interplay between music and words are manifested in the emotion on his face.  It’s beautiful to watch.

“Have you ever been in love?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer or even act as if he heard me.  I’m about to repeat my question when he closes his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?”

“There’s such a depth of feeling in your songs.  Even when I thought Anthony was the composer, I couldn’t see how someone so young could know so much.  Then to find out about you…” I shake my head in disbelief.  “Your music, your words suggest you’ve have the experiences of several lifetimes—like you’ve wanted love, gotten it, lost it, cherished it, threw it away—everything.  The same goes for your hope, happiness, grief, anger…lust.  There’s also the commentary on society, your longing for simpler times, and even the burning hatred of the conflict inside you.  It was always a stretch for me to believe that anyone could infuse such raw passion into their work without having felt it themselves.  But you…you’re my age, and with your social anxiety…I mean, if you stay in all the time…how could you know about relationships—about love…”

Those last faltering words sting my lips, and I want to snatch them back.  In my selfish desire to discover the inspiration behind the music, I ignore tact and insult a man who hides his identity to avoid prying people like me.

“Shit, Em, I’m sorry.  That was so rude and insensitive and just plain terrible of me.  Fuck.”  I lower my head in shame.

“It’s a valid question, though,” he says, his voice gentle.  “Maybe the years of being isolated from ‘normal’ social interaction have strengthened my imagination.  Or maybe they intensified feelings that were already there.  Perhaps by looking so far inward, I was able to see outside myself.  In any case, I’m lucky that my expressions of the different facets of who I am resonate with so many.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” I murmur, awed by his insight and humility.  “It’s not even simple talent.  It’s just…you.  You’re an amazing person, Em.”

“Bella,” he breathes, his eyes bright.  “Thank you.  I can’t tell you how much that means to me.  I wish that you knew—“

His words are cut off by the echoing crash of a microphone ricocheting off the floor. 

“What the fuck, Ty?” Anthony yells.  “How many times do I have to tell you that I changed that measure?  The leading note never resolves. The chord is implied but not played.”

“That sounds like utter shit,” Tyler argues.  “I don’t get why you’re trying to fix with something that wasn’t broken.  It was fine how it was…the way we’ve done it hundreds of times before.”

“Well, now we’re doing it this way.  Everyone else has got it down.  What’s your problem?  Can’t handle the late nights?  Maybe if you spent more time concentrating on the band and less time fucking everything with a pulse…”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Tyler retorts.  “I’m not the one couldn’t stop bragging about banging four chicks in one night.  Fucking hypocrite.  Literally.”

Anthony shoots me a pained look and then turns his rage back onto the saxophonist.  “What I do in my free time has never affected my performance in front of an audience.  Can you say the same?  Remember Toronto?  Philly?”  His hands are clenched into fists.

“Knock it off, guys,” Jake interjects with authority.  “We’re wasting time on stupid shit.  Tyler, are you going to play it right, or do you need to sit out of that section?”

“It was ‘right’ until a few days ago when Anthony the Great decided to change shit for no reason,” Tyler mutters.

Anthony storms over to Ty’s seat and gets in his face.  “I don’t need a goddamned reason!  I can do whatever the fuck I want with my music.  If you don’t like it, you can—“

I don’t see Jasper’s approach, but he somehow appears between Anthony and Tyler, who is starting to get to his feet.

“Let’s calm down, alright?  I know a lot of the tension has to do with me, and again, I’m sorry about my shitty timing.  How about we all take ten and get some coffee or something?  My treat.”

Tyler snorts.  “The coffee’s free, fucker.”

“Is it?” Jasper says innocently.

“Everybody, take ten,” Jake calls out as Jasper puts a hand on Anthony’s shoulder and guides him away from Tyler.

“Damn,” Em says under his breath.  His expression is pained.

“What?” I ask.

“Anthony shouldn’t have to defend my modifications for me.  It’s not fair to him.”

“I think he can handle it.  You shouldn’t beat yourself up over Tyler’s bullshit.  Besides, I think Jasper’s right.  Anthony’s upset over unrelated issues.”

“Still…”

“Hey, you two.  This is a nice surprise.”  Anthony is walking down the steps leading from the stage.  He points a finger and moves it back and forth between Em and me, a questioning expression on his face.

I glance at Em and tilt my head, indicating that I’ll let him decide what to tell his brother.

“Bella heard me playing in my trailer last night.  I, um, invited her in, and when she saw the setup, she figured…it out.”  He gives his brother a significant look.

Anthony’s head snaps toward me in surprise.  He stares for a moment and then returns his gaze to Em.  “Wow.  That’s kind of huge.  Are you okay?” 

“Yes.”  The words are spoken with confidence.

Anthony nods.  Hunching down in front of me, he takes my hands in his.  “Babe, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what a nightmare it would be for us if the public finds out.  I hate to even ask, but would you sign a nondisclosure agreement?  Irina had us all do it, even me.”

“Of course,” I agree without hesitation.

“That’s not necessary,” Em insists.  “Bella’s not a risk, and I’d prefer if Irina didn’t find out.  You know how nervous she makes me feel.  I don’t want to deal with her about this.”

Anthony raises his eyebrow but nods.  “If you’re sure, Em.”

“I am.”

Standing up quickly and pulling me to my feet, Anthony draws me in for a deep kiss that leaves me breathless.  When he finally releases my mouth, I need a moment to gather my wits.

“Every time I think you can’t get any more perfect, you surprise me again,” he hums in my ear.  “You must be some kind of magical being to have cast your spell over my brother, too.”

My eyes dart to Em, who’s now hunched over in his seat and making an obvious effort to avoid taking in our display of affection.  A confusing pang of sorrow stabs me in the heart, and I have the urge to go to him.  Strange.  I take a step back from Anthony.

“Everything okay?” he asks me.

“Yeah, it’s just…”  I shake my head and attempt to redirect his attention.  “More importantly, what about you?  You didn’t get much sleep, and with Tyler being a shitbag just now—are you holding up okay?”

“I’ll be fine, babe, but thanks for looking out for me.”  He drops a kiss on the top of my head.  “I need to get back up there.  We’ll grab lunch after this, and I’ll fill you in on everything that’s happening.”

When rehearsal starts up again, Tyler is grudgingly contrite.  He apologizes to Anthony and the rest of the band for his tantrum.  The run-though proceeds smoothly after that.  True to his word, Em offers up a few insights as the group plays a couple dozen measures of each song on the set list.  He seems much more subdued that when he arrived but denies that anything is wrong.  I don’t buy it for a second.

Anthony wants to take me to a nearby café after rehearsal.  I ask Em to come along, but he declines.  Before we leave, however, he pulls his brother aside and talks to him for a few minutes.  Anthony repeatedly glances at me during their conversation, his brow deeply furrowed.

“So, what do you think about my big secret?” Anthony asks in between bites of his Reuben sandwich.  He’s trying to sound casual, but I can tell it’s forced.

“It was a shock,” I admit.  My own turkey wrap sits largely untouched in front of me.  Between Em’s unexplained change in demeanor and Anthony’s obvious distress over Jasper’s imminent departure, which he had just finished telling me about, I don’t have much of an appetite.

“You know how incredible Em’s music is.  I’ve always agreed with him that it should be available to the public, but he wouldn’t put it out there himself.  He’s too damned afraid of rejection.”

I frown.  “Do you think that’s what it is?  He mentioned his social anxiety…”

“That’s a convenient excuse,” Anthony mutters.  “If he’d taken credit in the beginning, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.  I mean, how many people pay attention to who actually writes the songs that popular bands perform?  Maybe he’d be wanted for a couple interviews here and there, but that’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe it is to him.”

Anthony gives me an apprehensive look.  “You stick up for him a lot, but that only makes things worse.  Look, I love my brother, and other than my aunt, he’s the only family I’ve got left.  But Em’s never going to get over his issues if people baby him.  Jasper, Alice, Jake, Seth…they all handle him with kid gloves.  It just feeds his dependence.  He needs to be pushed instead of coddled.”

I take a few seconds to gather my thoughts before speaking.  “Obviously, you’ve known him longer than anyone, and it’s not my place to judge.  Still, I don’t know if his ‘issues’ are something he can just ‘get over.’”  I barely refrain from using air quotes.  “My mom’s still messed up from what my dad did.  Even therapy and medication can only help so much.  I think some life experiences can leave a lasting mark, and with what happened to your parents…well…”

Pushing his plate away, Anthony fixes me with an angry glare. “A person can’t wallow in self-pity forever, Bella.  Life doesn’t give a fuck about what happened in the past.  He’s got to stop being such a pussy and move on.  Do you think it hurt me any less when they died?  I cried myself to sleep for months after it happened and kept hoping that when I woke up, I’d find out it was all some sick nightmare.  Sometimes, I even wished I’d died in the fire, too!”  His voice is getting louder, and his chest is heaving.  He glances around, then takes a deep breath to steady himself.  “But I realized that shit happens, you deal, and you make the most of what you’ve got.”

I press my lips together so that I don’t say anything I might regret.  His story is tragic, and I have no right to criticize the way he chooses to cope.  But I disagree with his assumptions about Em.  I don’t think he’s able to conquer his demons alone, and I doubt he’s ever gotten the right kind of support, or perhaps enough of it, to make significant progress. 

Anthony is about to say something else when a fan approaches.  He barely smiles for the photo and fidgets with his napkin as soon as she leaves.  I can tell he wants to go, so I collect our trash.

Even though the Las Vegas heat is stifling, he pulls his beanie down low over his forehead and dons sunglasses.  He hails a cab but only puts his head inside instead of taking a seat beside me.

“Babe, I need some time alone right now.  You can head back to the caravan or go shopping with my card or whatever.  I’m gonna take a walk.”

Stunned, I stare at him as he shuts the door and starts down the sidewalk, his head lowered and hands shoved into his pockets.  His bodyguard, Felix, emerges out of the shadows and follows a casual 10 yards behind.  Despite his large size, he’s such a master at remaining unobtrusive that I often forget he’s around.

The cabbie waits for directions, and I mumble out the address to the caravan site. 

“Uh, Miss, was that Anthony Cullen?” the driver asks after several minutes of silence.

“Yeah.”  I don’t bother lifting my head from the seat rest or opening my eyes.

He chuckles.  “My wife has a thing for him.  Don’t matter that she’s damn near 60 years old.  Crazy woman has his picture on her computer and plays his music all the time.” 

His music.  Not really.

“You his girl?”

I have no desire to keep this conversation up, but I’m not about to piss off my ride.

“Uhh...”  Anthony hadn’t given me any guidelines on discussing our relationship with others, though he certainly didn’t shy away from PDA.

“Chin up, Miss.  In thirty-five years, me and the wife’ve had more spats than I can count.  You gotta talk it out and remember what’s important.  If the love’s there, you can get through just about anything.”

He keeps quiet for the rest of the ride, but the damage is done.  His words echo in my mind.

If the love’s there…

I’m so out of my element.

I return to the trailer and flop down on the bed.  I know I’m due for a major soul-searching/gray matter-gutting session, but my head’s starting to ache. I’d rather just take a nap.

So I do.

A ringing sound wakes me up from a deep, dreamless sleep.  By the time I’m able to claw my way out of the unconscious hole I’m in, the phone is silent.  I blink rapidly and try to figure out where the damn thing is, but it’s hard to see in the fading light of day.

Shit.

I scramble off the bed and dig through my bag that I’d dropped on the floor earlier.  My entire head feels like it’s in a vice except for one spot behind my left eye.  That part is experiencing sensations akin to angry stabs with a red-hot fireplace poker.  When I finally manage to locate my phone, I discover that it’s almost 8 p.m.  The concert was scheduled to start an hour ago.

Fuck.

I scroll through the several texts that are waiting for me.

Anthony, 3:34 p.m.  Sorry about earlier, Babe.  It was shitty to ditch you, I just needed some time alone.  Hope you understand.  It's too late to come back now, going straight to dressing room.  See you soon.  xx

Anthony, 5:17 p.m.  Thought you’d be here by now.  You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?

Anthony, 6:52 p.m.  Fuck, Babe.  I’m really sorry.  I can’t stand you being mad at me.  Tell me how to make it up to you.  Anything you want, I’ll do it.  XX

Rose, 6:55 p.m.  where r u?  evry1 is looking 4 u. 

Em, 7:08 p.m.  Is everything okay? Please let one of us know you are safe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There are also four missed calls—one from Anthony, one from Rosalie, and two from Em.  I figure a reply would have the best chance of reaching him first and am in the middle of typing when there’s a pounding at the door.  I run to it, stubbing my toe and banging my shin in the process.

“Ow, ow, ow…oh!” I fling open the door to find a very harried-looking Em.

“Bella!” he gasps, “Are you okay?”

I sigh as I reach down to rub my throbbing leg.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  I fell asleep and didn’t hear my phone until just now.  I’m sorry to have raised the alarm over nothing.”

His shoulders relax as the tension bleeds out of him.  “Don’t worry about it.  Everyone will be happy to know the truth.  I was…I mean, we were worried something had happened.  When you didn’t text back or answer his call, Anthony had one of the crew guys knock on your door about an hour ago.”

I rub a hand over my eyes, partially in embarrassment and partially in a futile effort to ease my headache.  “I guess I was out pretty hard.  I hate that you had to come all the way back here to check on my sorry ass.”

His eyes dart lower for a moment, as if he could see said body part through the front of me. 

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says, his gaze steady on my face again.  “In fact, you probably did me a favor.  The band sounded particularly off to me tonight.  I felt like throwing something at Tyler, who either forgot the changes they rehearsed or did it the old way on purpose.”

“That sucks,” I tell him sympathetically.  “I loved the added dissonance and instability.”

A feverish light comes to life in his eyes.  “Exactly!  That’s what was missing the first time, but I didn’t get it back then.  I thought I understood, but I really had no idea.  I didn’t know—I couldn’t know what it was like…to feel…Bella, are you sure you’re okay?”

I hadn’t realized my face was twisted into a grimace until he said something.  “It’s just a headache.  Though, it’s trying its best to become a migraine.”

“Have you taken anything yet?”

“No, I just woke up a few minutes before you knocked.  I’ll be downing some Excedrin as soon as I text Anthony.”

“Hmm.  Go ahead and text him now.  I’ll get some stuff for your headache and be right back.”

He jumps down all three steps in one leap and sets off at a jog toward his trailer.  I stand there staring for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened.  Em had sounded so…authoritative and decisive.  Where had that come from?

I have the tiniest impulse to defy him, just to see how he’d react, but there’s no way I’d curb any show of confidence in him.  Plus, my head’s fucking killing me.

My phone’s still in the bedroom, so I sit on the mattress and compose a text to Anthony.

8:11 p.m. I’m SO sorry I’m missing the concert.  I’m NOT mad at you.  I fell asleep with a massive headache that’s getting worse.  Em came to check on me.  I hope you don’t mind if I take something and crash again.  xoxo

I reply to Rosalie with a simple “In bed with headache,” and flop back on the mattress, my fingers on my temples.  It’s all I can do not to curl up in a ball and whine like a toddler.

The pounding in my head does a good job of muffling sound, and I nearly scream when I feel a warm touch on my forehead.  My eyes fly open, and I’m about to jump away until I recognize Em’s face hovering over me.

“Holy shit!” I wheeze, my heart racing.  “You scared me—mmph.”  I bite down on my lip to suppress a cry of pain as my headache reaches full migraine status. 

I had turned on a bedside lamp upon reentering the room, and Em shuts it off.  I whimper in appreciation.  I’m so glad we’re hooked up to city electricity right now so that I don’t have to hear the generator noise. 

“Can you sit up to take the Excedrin and drink some tea?”

“Yeah,” I grunt and push myself upright with Anthony’s unsolicited assistance.  I swallow the pills and take a careful sip of the offered hot liquid in a covered mug.  I can taste lemon, honey, and something sort of spicy.

“Is there ginger in this?” I ask.

Em nods as he digs through a plastic container about the size of gallon of milk.  “I get nausea with my migraines, and ginger helps.  Even if it’s not something you experience, ginger’s good stuff.  Here, have one of these.”  He wraps a peppermint candy and gives it to me, then places a handful on the nightstand.  “Some people claim to get relief from the smell of peppermint.  It can also help with nausea.”

“Are you big in to homeopathy or something?” 

He chuckles softly.  “No, just big into minimizing pain.  I’m worse than a baby when I feel sick.”  Pulling a small bottle out of the container, he gives my neck area a critical onceover. “You’ll need to take off your shirt.”

“Um, excuse me?” 

His face instantly turns crimson as the side of Em I know best shows up in full force.  “What I meant was that you’ll be a little, uh…slick, and you probably don’t want to get your clothes messy…if you want me to do it, that is.  I-it always helps me feel better.  Of course, it’ll be easier to do…you…than myself.”

Given the bottle in his hand, I think I know what he means, but as usual, I can’t resist.

“You’re going to do me?” I say with huge, innocent eyes.

“Yes…wait, no!  I mean…”

I’ve got to put him out of his misery.  “You mean you want to give me a neck massage?  I’d love that.  Sorry for messing with you, Em.  I give Anthony crap about it, but I’m no better.  Let me get a towel out of the bathroom.”

“I’ll get it,” he says and leaves the room to fetch it.

I wait until he returns with the large towel.  I spread it out over the comforter, turn my back to him, and pull off my shirt.  It’s not that I’m modest in any way, but I know it’ll make Em more comfortable than if I undress in front of him.

Soon, Em’s oiled hands are working tension out of my shoulders that I didn’t even know was there.  He’s thoughtful enough to stay low on my neck and away from my still throbbing head.  For propriety’s sake, I stifle my moans of pleasure, but it isn’t easy.

One thing I can’t stop myself from doing is comparing Em’s massage to Anthony’s.  There isn’t a single bad thing to say about either, and both rank at the top of my all-time favorite massages.  Still, there are obvious differences between the two.

Anthony’s soft, smooth hands were skilled and consistent; every one of his movements was purposeful and precise. I could tell he’d had plenty of practice on others.  His goal was to give an incredible massage, and he accomplished it.

Em, however, seems to be going by instinct.  His fingers are slightly rougher, especially on his left hand where he has callouses from guitar strings, but they still feel amazing.  He takes his time working across my upper back, as if savoring the feel of my skin.  Though I’m trying to keep still and not react, somehow he’s able to sense what I find most enjoyable and dedicates his efforts to that.

It isn’t until the intense ache in my head subsides that I realize I have another much lower down.  I shift my thighs, and—fuck!—there’s a fair amount of dampness between my legs.  What the hell?  I’m confused about my reaction, but I have enough sense to know it’s not appropriate.  I can’t let it go on.

“Thanks, Em,” I say hastily, clutching the towel to my chest as I practically jump out from under his touch.  “I feel so much better.”

His hands are frozen in midair, and he’s wearing a startled expression.  I don’t blame him.  I surprised myself with that one.

“I, um…I’m just going to hop in the shower to clean up.  Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

He stares at me as I hurry to grab a change of clothes and escape out of the room.  When I collapse on the closed toilet lid after locking the door behind me, my stomach is churning.  Rushing around like that probably wasn’t the brightest idea.

I take a deep breath and start the water, turning it as cool as I can stand.  It’s uncomfortable, but it’s exactly what I need to clear my mind. 

First things first, I tell myself it’s completely natural to get turned on while receiving a massage, especially such an incredible one.  It has nothing to do with the giver.  I’m sure I’d feel the same way if a wrinkly old lady was working me over.

Right.

And so what if I am a little attracted to Em?  He’s really good-looking, sweet, and a freaking musical genius.  There’d be something to worry about if I didn’t find him appealing.  As long as I keep everything platonic between us, there’s no harm in it.

I’m with Anthony right now, and we’re good together.  After all, he’s an international celebrity with a sinful voice, a killer body, and a fun personality.

Why does it sound like I’m trying to convince myself?

I get out of the shower and grab my phone.  It’s almost nine—the band should be breaking for intermission soon.  As if on cue, I get an incoming message.

Anthony, 8:56 p.m.  So relieved you’re not mad and I don’t have to sleep on the couch, haha.  Sorry about the headache.  xx

My massage-induced high now gone, I dress slowly in shorts and a tank.  Em is waiting for me in the living area when I leave the bathroom.  I’m not surprised to see that his fingers are tapping furiously against his leg.  He stands up as soon as he notices me.

“Bella, I’m sorry.  I never should have—“

I hold up a hand as I interrupt.  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Em.  You helped a friend fight a nasty headache, and now she feels a hell of a lot better.  I’m the one who should apologize.  It was rude of me to rush out on you like that, and I’m sorry.  The best explanation I can give is that today’s been a bit messed up, and my head’s not quite working right, in more ways than one.”

There’s plenty of space on the couch where Em’s standing, but I choose the armchair to sit on.  After my body’s involuntary actions a short while ago, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

I have no idea where to go from here.  It seems like Em’s in the same boat.  But I hate uncomfortable silences, and it happens far too often with Em and me. 

“Did you know that Seth’s parents wanted him to play football?” I blurt out.

“Uh, really?”  Em glances around as if he expects to see the missing part of the conversation lying in a corner somewhere.

“Really.  They were hoping he’d fill out his tall frame and be a running back—why don’t you have a seat, too?—but he couldn’t catch a ball to save his life on the Peewee team.  They tried soccer next, but they had to bribe him to practice by getting him piano lessons.  His dad was so bummed when the piano teacher told him that his child was gifted.”

Em, who was once again sitting on the couch, began to chuckle. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.  Seth’s a great kid. I’m gonna miss you guys once this is over.  It’s been like something out of a dream,” I say wistfully.

“What do you mean?  I thought you were staying with Anthony.”  There’s a strange edge to his voice.  Is it panic?

“I don’t know, Em.  This whole thing is crazy.  I’m just a regular person who doesn’t belong in you guys’ world of screaming fans and exclusive clubs.”

“It’s not my world,” he mutters.

“You know what I mean.  Sure, I like fun and adventure, but I’m also looking forward to starting a career, putting away money to buy a house, maybe get married and have a dog or something.  I’ll have to get back to you about kids, though,” I laugh.

Em’s serious expression never changes.  “You don’t see that happening with him?”

Wow, talk about putting me on the spot.  It’s been the burning question on my mind for a while, yet it’s also the one I’ve avoided thinking about the most.  I decide to evade by turning it back on him.

“You know Anthony better than I do.  Can you see him happy with someone who isn’t going to follow him on the road and party with him every other night?  Someone with her own career and her own circle of friends?”

“Honestly?”  He raises an eyebrow.  “Yes, I can.  Anthony’s pretty easy to please and is great at making the best of any situation.  But those aren’t the questions you should be asking.”

I’m annoyed at how easily he’s getting to the heart of the matter and making me face the big issues.

“Why don’t you enlighten me, then,” I grumble like a spoiled child.

“Sure, if you’d rather hear it from me,” he shrugs.  “You need to decide if you’ll be satisfied having a partner who has an inconsistent schedule, may be gone for several months at a time, and is always in the spotlight.  There will be many times when you’ll be under the microscope, too, and if you do ever have kids, they may have to deal with the same sort of thing.  On a positive note, though, you won’t have to save for a house, and he already has a dog.”

I almost laugh until I realize he’s not joking.  “Oh god, I sincerely hope you don’t think that money’s a factor in my feelings for him.  Neither is his status.  The more I learn about what it’s like to be famous, the more I think the negatives outweigh the positives.”  I have to clear my throat to loosen the tightness there.  For some reason, I feel a sense of dismay over Em believing I’m that shallow.

“Just what are you feelings for him?”  He leans toward me, his eyes dark and piercing.

I almost cringe away from his intensity but force myself to meet his gaze.  There’s an insistent part of me that wants to tell him it’s none of his fucking business.  Instead, I give an honest answer that’s also a copout. 

“I don’t…I’m not sure.”

He makes a sound low in his throat and frowns as if upset.  That’s understandable.  I basically admitted that I’m screwing around with his brother’s emotions.  Great.  Now he’ll think I’m a gold digger and a tease.

“Is your headache still bothering you?” Em suddenly asks, his expression now neutral.

It takes a moment for me to switch mental gears.

“It’s almost gone, actually.”

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?”  He says it in a very off-handed manner, as if he doesn’t care what my answer is.

“You’re not going back to the arena?”

“No.”

“Ah.  Well, okay then.  How about you turn on the TV?  I’m going to grab some food.  Want anything?”

A few minutes later, I return from the kitchen to find “Happy Gilmore” on the screen.  Em is elated.

“Can you believe our luck?  This is classic!” he says with a bright smile.  It’s as if the past hour never happened.

“Yeah,” I agree carefully, not quite sure how things are between us at the moment.  I set his soda and chips on the coffee table in front of him.

“That chair doesn’t have a very good view of the TV.  Come sit over here.”  He flashes an alluring crooked grin that looks very much like his brother’s.

It’s a little disconcerting.  I give him a guarded look, which causes him to laugh. 

“You know I’m harmless, Bella.  Have a seat.”  Now he’s full-out smirking.

If it were any other person on any other night, I’d be jumping on that comment and making all sorts of sexual innuendos.  But after the unusual behavior today from both Anthony and Em, all I can do is nod and sit on the couch beside him.

It takes me a few minutes to get into the movie because my thoughts are so scrambled.  Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at Em with his body slouched against the cushions and his feet up on the coffee table.  He looks so relaxed and at ease with himself—a shocking contrast to the way he acts in public.

Adam Sandler is able to draw me into his comedy, however, and soon I’m quoting lines along with Em.  We both shout gleefully “the price is wrong, bitch!” when Bob Barker nails Happy in the face.

The movie is just finishing when I get another text.

11:16 p.m.  Didn’t want to call in case you’re sleeping.  If awake, want me to pick up anything for you on my way back?  We’re leaving in about 30.

“Concert’s over,” I tell Em.  “If you need something from a store, I can have Anthony get it.”

“I’m good, thanks,” he replies, sitting up and gathering his trash.

“You don’t have to go right away.  They won’t be back for at least an hour, and we’re not scheduled to hit the road until two-ish.”

“Actually, I’m pretty tired.  The nap I got this afternoon wasn’t long enough to compensate for missing a night of sleep.”  He stands, throws his trash away in the kitchen, and heads to the door.

“Oh, that’s right.  You must be exhausted.  At least the long drive to Denver should give you a chance to catch up.”

“Yeah.”  He clears his throat.  “Well, um, hope your headache stays away.”

“Me, too.  Thanks for everything you did tonight.  You were a lifesaver.”

“Anything for you, Bella.”

There’s an awkward pause as we both stand by the open door.  Em’s got that intense look in his eyes again, and I suddenly feel like shivering. 

Not good.

I reach out and take his hands.  “I’m glad we hung out again tonight.  You’ve become a really great friend, and that means a lot to me.”  I hope the slight emphasis I put on the status of our relationship will help us both keep things straight between us.

“It means a lot to me, too,” he says softly, giving my hands a squeeze.  If he’s offended or disappointed, he doesn’t show it.  “Good night, Bella.  Sweet dreams.”

“’Night, Em.”

--------------------------------------------

Okay, I lied.  This is going to be longer than 30k words and 3 parts.  There will be one more "part" that I post here, probably in the next few days or so.  On Dec. 3, I'll begin to post the story on fanfiction.net/~winterhorses and continue on to the end! 

----------------------------------------