Page 53 of Rock Chick Bonus Tracks

He put his mouth to hers, not releasing his hold on her gaze, and said, “Perfect.”

Stella was asleep.

Mace was awake.

It was late, but LA was a lot like Vegas, with a hazier, more laidback feel. It never shut down. You could feel the vibe of the city pulsing softly over the grounds of the Chateau into their room.

Denver was a city at the same time it was a town. It got quiet at night. Shit happened and people were out doing their thing, good or bad, at all hours.

But it wasn’t like LA.

And as he lay in bed on his back, Stella cuddled beside him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, it occurred to him that he’d forgotten how much he liked it.

He missed it.

He put his hand on hers at his chest and immediately felt Tiny’s ring on her pinkie.

He closed his eyes to concentrate on fighting the constriction that tightened his throat.

He needed a drink.

He lifted his head to kiss the top of hers, then carefully slid out from under her, making sure the covers stayed put around her body.

He pulled on some jeans, a tee, his running shoes, and headed out.

He went straight to the bar, and he was both surprised and unsurprised to see Hugo sitting on a stool, a snifter of cognac in front of him, his gaze to Mace like he was expecting him.

Mace took the stool next to him, ordered a bourbon neat and turned to Hugo.

“Feels like you’ve been waiting on me, man,” he noted.

“I have, and you took your time. Every night, been sitting here, expecting you to show,” Hugo replied.

Mace leveled his gaze on Hugo, who, like the rest of the band (save Floyd), could do stupid shit, but even so, he was less prone to it.

If Mace had to call it, he’d say Hugo would give it five to seven years to get the wild out. Then he’d find a good woman, start making babies, and become the band’s new Floyd, working with Stella to keep their shit tight and their train—which had more than enough power, it never had to meet its final destination—on the rails.

“You know what you gotta do,” Hugo said.

The bartender put his glass in front of Mace. He picked it up and threw back a healthy shot before setting it back to the bar, his fingers still wrapped around.

He kept his gaze on the back of the bar.

“Take her with you,” Hugo encouraged. “First, she needs to go. She needs to be there with you when you go. But she also needs that connection. And second, it’s always gonna kill, but with her there, it’ll lessen the pain.”

He knew exactly what Hugo was talking about. What he didn’t know was how Hugo knew to talk about it.

Maybe Stella had shared with him. Maybe Floyd had a conversation with him.

But Mace reckoned this was all Hugo.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted to the bottles of liquor behind the bar.

“You can. You need to. The concept of closure is bullshit. There are some wounds that never heal. This is one of them.”

Mace turned his head to Hugo.

Hugo kept talking.

---