Page 65 of For Eva

He winked at me as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed me his business card. “Do me a favor and keep this. Because if you ever wanna come back to LA, all you gotta do is call me.”

“Deal.” I held the card tight in my hand. “And whenever you're on tour in Chicago, you better look me up. And score me the best seats in the house.”

“There will always be a spot beside me backstage for Eva Holloway,” he said, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time since we’d sat down.“Always.”

TWENTY-NINE

Eva

September 1989

The rain splattered in large drops on the windshield as I pulled into a parking space at the rehab facility. I shifted the car into park and inhaled deeply, gripping the steering wheel and closing my eyes. The breath did little to stop the pounding in my chest. My nerves had been on fire since the night before when I realized I was going to see Eric for the first time since he’d collapsed on stage.

I’d talked to him briefly on the phone a week after Keith checked him into the center. He spoke softly, almost mumbling at times, his voice tinged with sadness. I promised I’d see him the next Sunday and immediately burst into tears after I hung up the phone, unable to erase the memory of that night from my mind.

Taking one last deep breath, I opened the car door and hurried to the front of the building. The lobby was far less institutional than I expected. Modern furniture and tall plants were placed throughout the expansive space, reminding memore of a spa than what I’d imagined for a rehab center. It smelled faintly of lemon and peppermint.

I fumbled with my car keys, trying to shove them in my purse as I walked toward the woman at the reception desk. “Hi, I’m here to see Eric Stratton. I’m Eva Holloway.”

She flipped through several papers on her desk, then smiled up at me.

“No problem. They’ll take everyone back to the community room in a few minutes.” She pointed to my purse. “I’ll just need your handbag. We’ll keep it locked away up here while you’re visiting.”

“Of course,” I said, passing it to her.

“Feel free to wait over there,” she said, motioning to a small group of other visitors, some standing, some seated in the area to my left.

I nodded and walked over to an empty spot on one of the off-white leather couches and chewed on my thumbnail as I watched water droplets race down the large glass windowpane, wondering how in the hell I’d ended up here.

I’m just Eva from Illinois, I thought to myself, remembering what Eric had called me my very first time at band rehearsal.

My stomach churned as the double doors behind me clicked open, and I turned my head to see a man in jeans and a polo shirt walking toward the group.

“You guys ready to go back?” he asked, clapping his hands together in front of him.

We all filed toward him, as he led us through the doors. My mouth was dry, and the churning in my stomach ramped up as we walked down a brightly lit hallway. I swallowed hard, trying to contain the emotion building behind my eyes.

We turned the corner and entered a large room with a couple of couches, tables, and chairs scattered throughout. A giant TV playing the Rams game sat against one of the walls, and therewas a kitchenette with a refrigerator along another. As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on long dark-blond hair partially hanging over the couch in front of the television. Eric turned his head and surveyed the room, his gaze finally landing on me. His lips slowly shifted into a smile, and I pressed mine together to keep them from trembling.

He pushed himself up from the couch and started toward me. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and for the first time in a long time, there was color in his face and life in his eyes. I threw my hand over my mouth, a wave of relief washing over me. My shaky legs carried me across the room, and I crashed into his chest, throwing my arms around him as the floodgates I’d fought so hard to keep closed broke open.

He held me close, placing his chin on my head and chuckled softly. “Good to see you, too.”

I choked out a small laugh and wiped my cheeks.

“Sorry,” I managed, rolling my eyes. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” Eric said, looking down at me. “We feel a lot of shit in here.”

He winked and gave me a tender smile as I brushed at the damp spots my tears had left on his shirt.

“Sorry again.”

“You’re forgiven,” he said, laughing and motioning to a glass door across the room. “You wanna go outside? There’s a covered patio.”

I brought my eyes up to his and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Hang on, I have to get a light from the staff,” he said, pulling a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket and placing a cigarette between his lips. “You want one?”

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