Page 14 of Still Her

I search his face for sincerity and I’m seeing plenty. I’m not seeing any hint of attraction in his solemn gaze, only regret and disappointment. I feel a huge weight leave my chest and tension release from my shoulders and neck.

“Thank you Eli,” I finally speak, not smiling too big, but giving him just a small one to reassure him that I feel like this has been rectified. I really feel like he didn’t mean to make me feel the way he did, and that we can all relax now. This was all so silly.

“Really, Mayzie? You’re okay?” He dips his head and searches my eyes with a genuine concern.

“Yeah. It’s okay, Eli. We’re good,” I look up at Jack and give him a smile, assuring him that I mean what I say. Jack holds my gaze for a moment, not looking totally convinced, but pacified enough.

“Jack?” Eli tests the waters with my husband. “I’m really sorry. Really. Are we cool?”

Jack finally looks away from me to address Eli. “If she’s okay then so am I.” It’s reluctant, but seems good enough for Eli.

“Thanks, man,” Eli says appreciatively. “Thank you both for having the grace to forgive me for this.

“No problem,” Jack says trying to sound reassuring, but he’s still stiff as a board as he squeezes my hand. “Listen, we have that after-party appearance, so we’ve got to go get ready.” He changes the subject to one that will end this interaction.

“Of course, absolutely. I’ll let you get to it. Thanks for taking a moment, guys. And listen, there’s a fundraiser happening on one of your nights off in Jacksonville that would be good for you guys to attend. I’ll send Ron the info.”

“Great. We’ll catch you next time then.” Jack shakes Eli’s hand and leads me out of the room.

He waits until we’re out of the building and in bus city to start talking. “You sure you’re okay with all of that? What he said?” He leans in close while we walk.

“I am,” I say, giving him a nod. “I’m okay, really. I believe him. I think it’s going to be fine from now on.”

“Yeah, but the seed’s already been planted. I already know that he digs my wife and I don’t like it.”

“It’s not personal, I’m sure. He digs anything that moves. It’s not me. Even if it were, he’s got a roster of willing females to get him over it.”

Jack looks over at me, taking me in for a minute like he’s trying one more time to make sure I’m okay. When he’s satisfied, he finally faces forward again. “Alright, but I’ve got my eye on him. And what I said before still stands. If it continues, you tell me.”

“Of course,” I affirm, bringing my other hand to his so that I’m holding his in both of mine. And then I start giggling.

“What’s that about?” he asks, one corner of his mouth turning up as he surveys me. I let go of his hand and run a few feet ahead of him and start breaking into a dance, sashaying and twirling.

“You’re playing the SUPERBOWL!” I gleefully howl.

8

Mayzie

Uggggh.Dear. Lord.After parties can suck it. Last night’s affair involved yetanotherVIP section inanotherclub, withmorepeople getting drunk out of their tree, onmorecreatively named shots. Last night’s special were calledGrenades. I don’t know if the name is for shock value or because you wake up feeling like biological warfare has taken over your body.

We normally try to keep it low key at these things, at least Jack and I do. We’ve learned that in this lifestyle, it’s best to keep your faculties about you and have your guard up, but I admit we were all pretty stoked about the Superbowl news, and celebrating seemed like a must.

Yeah, I can tell you I took three Grenades last night. Jack and I both kept it to that number. Matt didn’t have any, Josh had four, and Chris… well, he was still alive when we left him in the trenches, i.e., on the bathroom floor of his bus, so there’s that. He was snoring and drooling, and I covered him with a couple of towels to keep him warm. Jack wanted to Sharpie his face, but I had Chris’s back.

Now, to take stock of my own condition and surroundings. I have to pry my eyelids open, but they do function. Two arms, two legs. Head is still attached even if it feels like Styrofoam, and there’s a rock star passed out next to me. Everything seems in order. I dare moving my stiff body into a sitting position, and am relieved to find the act doesn’t make me toss my cookies. Thank heaven for all the water I drank between drinks last night. I need coffee, a shower and yoga, stat. I just don’t know in what order.

I decide that if I don’t want to face plant in the shower, coffee should get first priority. I throw on a pair of leggings and zip up my hoodie before shuffling out of the bedroom, careful not to wake the sleeping Jack. I swear, the clouds open up and shine a light down on the Keurig before me when I near the kitchenette. But as eager as I am for my lifeblood, I stop in my tracks when I see Matt sitting in one of the lounge chairs with his back to me. He has an acoustic five-string instead of his bass draped over his lap and is gently strumming out a tune, obviously trying not to be too loud as he sings. This isn’t a common sight, and the lyrics coming out in his deep, gravelly voice are what have me rooted to the spot.

You torture me

With every postcard

Can’t you see

You’re making it so hard

You’re the one who up and just ran away,

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