Page 45 of Still Her

“I thought she’d end up being a red-head like you,” I tell Erin, as I hand her phone back.

“Oh it’s adorable that you think this is natural!” She jokes, pushing her long auburn ponytail off her shoulder, and I elbow her in response as we sit side-by-side on one of the couches in her suite. Theirs is spacious and swanky, and came equipped with a pool table that the guys are playing with now, while we kick back with a glass of wine. I can see them from where we sit, talking quietly as they amble around the table.

“Are you okay?” she asks with an uncertain look on her face as she brings her glass to her lips. When Erin and I met, Turn it Up was opening up for George’s band, The Shock Wave, and Jack and I were total babies in the industry. Erin and I became fast friends on that difficult first tour, and she immediately took me under her wing. That set the tone for our friendship, which means she’s always got a hint of a protective vibe over me. But I don’t know if I want to tell her what’s going on. I consult my wine glass but it doesn’t take long for her to prod again. “Maze, George talked to Jack before we came out here.”

I look up from my glass and freeze. “What did he tell him?”

“Nothing. But George could tell something was going on… just like I can now,” she says in a coaxing tone.

“Just… trouble with the band’s agent,” I say, trying to be evasive, but she can see that I’m wiggling like a worm on a hook. Thankfully, she doesn’t call me out on it.

“Oh. So is that why Jack asked who represents The Shock Wave?”

“Yeah,” I nod, and sit up straighter. “They… might be needing new representation soon.”

“Why? What’s he done?” Erin asks, her face contorted in confusion.

I lift one shoulder and wave my glass as I answer, “He’s… just a douche.”

“Pretty vague reason to break contract, Maze.”

“He’s the douche to end all douches?” I offer. I might be getting a little tipsy.

“Stop deflecting,” she says sternly, tossing a throw pillow at me.So that’s why they call them that. It hits my face, making my hair stick to my lip gloss. I make a big show of puffing and sputtering to get it out of my face, but she’s not biting. “What’s going on?” she presses.

“What’s going on is that you’re almost spilling my wine,” I huff, still trying to put her off. The only reason I’m foolish enough to think that I can do that is because it’s my third glass. “That’s straight up alcohol abuse,” I accuse her as I lovingly stroke my glass. She takes it carefully out of my hand and sets both glasses down on the nearby glass coffee table before scooching close to me and taking both of my hands in hers. She levels her face with mine. Her expression is hard but non-threatening, letting me know she means business, but is here for me at the same time.

“Mayzie.” My name is one heavy statement from her lips, Erin’s eyes never wavering from mine.

“Erin,” I say back at her. “I promise to tell you. I just don’t feel like I can right now, it’s all so complicated.” She nods encouragingly, but doesn’t break eye contact, as if she’s waiting for more. “I just…” it’s so hard to find the words to tell a good friend that you just don’t want to talk about something, even though they want so badly to help. It’s even harder when you feel the relaxing buzz of pinot noir growing stronger by the minute. But if I tell her that the band’s agent has been harassing me and God knows how many other women, and that I plan to suit up and go into battle in order to get the proof to bring him down… I’m not sure what she’d do to be honest, but I can’t risk her trying to intervene. She cares enough that she just might. Oh, how I want to let her in.

“Really Erin,” I struggle to reassure her, “I will tell you when we’re not so in the thick of it. I just really don’t want to go into detail right now. Okay?” I’m doing my best to sound sober; I need her to take this one thing I say seriously. She continues to glare before slowly nodding.

“Just tell me this,” she gently proceeds. “Are you in danger?”

I try not to take too long to respond so that I don’t alarm her. When an image of Jack with Detective Morris in the background forms in my mind, I answer.

“No.” And I’m telling her what I believe to be the truth.

“Okay,” she says quietly. Her heavy exhale lets me know that she’s letting it go.

“Can I have that back?” I ask, nodding towards my neglected wine glass.

She gives a curt nod, clearly disappointed that I haven’t opened up to her, but obliges by turning to pick it up and handing it to me.

“Really Erin,” I start off after taking a healthy sip of smooth alcohol infused goodness. “He’s just a douche.” Another sip. “A big douche.” Erin is nodding and rolling her eyes as I take another sip and hold my hand out, flexing my fingers in the direction of the bottle. “A giant douche,” I affirm, as I empty my glass.

“Mm-hmm… okay,” Erin humors me and picks up the wine bottle to top me off. She sets it down and takes a sip from her own glass. She settles in and lets me yammer on about Eli and his infinite douche factor. He has officially driven me to drink. “Easy there, killer,” she chides me as I knock back another gulp. I’m feeling really good right now.

“It’s like if there were this land of douches, he’d be their king. That’s all I’m saying…”

* * *

JACK

“How’s dad life?” I ask George as I lay down my pool cue across the table and take a drink from my tumbler, enjoying the relaxing burn it sends to my chest.

A shit eating grin spreads across his face as he blows out a breath before answering me. “I’m in love,” he declares, shaking his head. “Didn’t know that could happen twice in my life, but here we are.”

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