Page 67 of Still Her

The next morning, Jack has cooled off some, and the conversations between him and Melanie are a little more amicable. Christmas is now only two days away, and Jack makes no bones about the fact that if she doesn’t tell their family, then he will. Thankfully, she borrows my car to go visit Sarah later that day.

“You know,” I wonder out loud as Jack and I sit in the garage and I watch him do some fine tuning on his dad’s Harley, which has pretty much been his the last two years. “Maybe we could offer Melanie the chance to stay here while we’re back on the tour.” Jack’s cranking motions on the socket wrench halts as he looks up towards the ceiling, considering this. “I know she isn’t owed any favors right now, but having some space to herself might help her get her head on straight.”

“Like she hasn’t had enough space already?” he asks cynically as he resumes tightening the lug nuts.

“True,” I concede, “but if she’s staying in your sisters’ pool house while she’s trying to find work and an apartment and all that, she might feel stifled and it might be counterproductive. Plus, it would be good to know our home is being looked after.” Jack starts nodding with every point I try to make, and I try to lighten the mood. “And who knows, the locals could see her and it might throw them off. They could think we moved.” I hold my hands up and give him a goofy grin that earns me a chuckle and a dimple sighting.

After a Christmas with the whole family that started off super awkward, but had eased up by the New Year, we packed up the dogs and our essentials and got back on the road with the guys and the crew, making our way across the Midwestern states.

The rest of the tour is kind of a pain in the ass as we have to occasionally fly to and from New York from wherever we are to attend one court proceeding or another, so that the guys don’t have to postpone any shows or disrupt the tour in any way. It technically only has to be me that shows up to most of them, but you know Jack. He’s not going to let me deal with any of this alone.

Besides, it’s worth it in the end when our case against Eli does indeed go to trial, and by then, fourteen women have added to the mounting pile of complaints against him.

It’s crazy how, when I find myself sitting in board rooms, and eventually court rooms, with Eli only feet away from me, I don’t feel scared or nervous. I just want to laugh. Instead, I manage to keep my face an emotionless mask when I’m addressed and questioned. I think the only time it slips a little is when I have to recount his attack on me, but just like every time I’ve had to, relief settles back over me once it’s over.

If I thought lavish charity dinners were bad, they are an amusement park compared to sitting in stuffy courtrooms, listening to legal jargon being spewed out by some sleazy lawyer trying to defend the world class douche that harassed me and, ahem, fourteen other women, some of which are hanging out in the pews behind us hoping to see Eli get his. Before the proceedings, I was even introduced to Lola, who made a point to be there, seeing as how Morris had to be, and she is one of Eli’s accusers.

At least I get to see Jack dressed up, even though the poor guy hates wearing ties and usually gets away with wearing a suit without one. He sits with his body turned toward me most of the time while staring daggers into the back of Eli’s head.

When I’m called to testify, he leans in to whisper that it’s going to be okay and that he’s right here, before kissing the spot right beside my ear. I nod as I rise and make my way to the stand.

* * *

JACK

I don’t know who’s worse – my ex-agent or his low life lawyer that’s going after Mayzie right now. The fucker is ruthless, almost to the point of badgering. My hand is gripped in a fist so tight my knuckles ache as I watch the shit-show he tries to put on. The DA has called several objections during his cross examination. Obviously, they try to go after her for using self-defense against Eli, but the recording from Mayzie’s wire along with the ball-busting DA we have on our side shut it right down, not to mention Mayzie’s cool, unwavering demeanor and refusal to be bullied. On the inside, I know she’s freaking out and screaming for a shot or six of tequila, but she’s holding it together so damn well on the outside in the face of these assholes. She does well following the DA and Mike’s instructions to keep her answers clear and concise, simple yeses and no’s unless she’s asked to elaborate.

She lets out a long, heavy breath when she sits back down next to me and my arm immediately goes back around her. I’ve never been prouder of her, especially when some of the women Eli has harassed in the past come up to her as court adjourns to show their appreciation. A lot of numbers are exchanged, and I would not be surprised if some of their accounts pop up in her next book. Once the conversations have waned out, we make our way out of the back of the courthouse to an SUV that will get us to a plane so we can get back on tour. While home would be preferable, the tour bus is some sense of normalcy, and far away from this hell.

* * *

MAYZIE

Shortly after the sting, Mike and a couple of his colleagues were able to determine Turn it Up’s contract with Eli became voided, and they were free and clear to sign with Excel PR. They decided not to enlist Rachel as their agent as she already represents The Shock Wave, and no one wanted any reason for conflict between the two bands that have such a healthy friendship. Instead, one of her colleagues, David, has taken on PR for the band, and so far has proven himself to be ambitious, efficient, and has a healthy respect for boundaries. He was also able to get in touch with the pro football commissioner who was able to confirm that he had in fact signed the band to do the halftime show. That said, Ron, and all the guys in the band agreed, it wasn’t their time. Not through Eli’s power of persuasion. They wanted to earn it in a way that had nothing to do with the sweet talking, deal making and coercion of whatever sort that Eli had employed to get his way. They would wait patiently for their time to come. Besides, The Shock Wave had more time and albums under their belt, and so David subtly recommended them as their meeting with the commissioner concluded.

In between trips to New York and stops on the tour, I tidy up my Little Demon Fucker Eli piece into a few well-rounded pages and submit it to Mike, who contacts a couple of entertainment lawyers to look it over. After a few tweaks and contracts, I was clear to publish it. No, not as a tell-all book; Eli doesn’t deserve a book written all about him, no matter the content, but I’m totally okay with smearing him around a little bit in a chapter ofRock Wife, Volume II.

Needless to say, this tour has been chaos, and the fact that it’s beginning to wind down now is more than welcome.

Matt seems a little distant. Anytime Jack or I mention it, he seems to snap out of it and act as if nothing is amiss. He plays the part well, and though I can tell something is weighing heavily on his mind, there’s no way he’s going to tell either of us if he doesn’t want to. And he sure as hell doesn’t seem to want to.

Early February finds us back home. Finally. This tour was a long and difficult one for sure, and being back in our own home is a kind of relief I can’t describe. I wake up easily to the morning light coming through the window, and give myself a delicious stretch before looking over to Jack’s side of the bed to find it empty. That’s… odd. He’s normally the one to sleep in of the two of us. I reach down to the floor and find the white t-shirt he had on yesterday and pull it on. I’m just about to scooch out of bed when he strolls into the bedroom, looking tired but completely at ease. He’s in his running pants and a Henley and carrying his guitar by the neck.

“Hey,” I greet him with a curious smile.

“Hey,” he smiles back and leans down to kiss my cheek.

“What are you doing up?” I ask as he gets comfortable beside me, drawing his guitar across his lap.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he informs me, dismissing my question.

“Hmm… what could it be?” I tease, eyeing his guitar, and he chuckles, his hair falling in his eyes as he starts tuning it and picking at the strings.

“Do you remember that song I was playing when you walked in, the morning after the sting?”

“Yeah,” I nod. I remember some of the lyrics, but more so the way his singing and playing made me feel. His voice delivering those words with that melody warmed my soul and made it glow that morning. “I remember,” I quietly affirm when the memory washes over me.

“Well…” he starts explaining, as he continues his tuning, looking between me and the task. “That song is about you, and… our love… and how we get through things together. And I’d like you to hear the whole thing.”

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