Page 129 of To Belong Together
John thought the headache had eased, but pain drilled him when he shifted to retrieve his phone from the nightstand. Eyes clamped shut, he rolled flat onto his back.
When the pounding subsided from full-on-marching-band to obnoxious-kid-with-a-drum level, he moved more slowly to his feet. With the phone in his hand, he went in search of pain meds. The nearest bathroom only had bare necessities, so he ventured farther.
Squinting as he walked, he checked for notifications.
Nothing from Erin.
He’d taken measures to make his gift anonymous, but he’d still expected her to have suspicions. If she had any inkling the money had come from him, why hadn’t she reached out?
Maybe she’d gotten what she’d wanted—money, as much of it as she’d ever get from him—so she was ready to leave him alone now.
So why come to the show?
The ache surged. If he didn’t get some medicine down right away, he’d be incapacitated the rest of the day. He gave up his fruitless questions about Erin and resumed his course. Thankfully, the bathroom off the kitchen had a stocked medicine cabinet.
He fumbled with the cap of the first over-the-counter pain medication his hand touched.
Philip appeared in the doorway and crossed his arms. Because of his kids, he probably hadn’t spent the night, but enough Awestruck people were in town that it made sense for the bassist to have returned to Gannon’s. “Torn in Two could’ve set you up so you wouldn’t have to feel anything for a month.”
Torn in Two had opened for them last night. Though John had hardly interacted with the band, he’d seen enough to know they were into some serious drugs.
The top popped off the medicine bottle, and a handful of pills spilled into his palm. He dumped all but two back. He squinted at Philip, staying still so the headache would allow a moment’s focus. “That’s not what we stand for.”
“I know.” Philip gave an unenthusiastic smile. “You just look desperate.”
John swallowed the tablets with water from his cupped hand.
“Erin’s gone, I take it?”
John wiped his mouth with his wrist. Was he really that transparent?
Apparently so. Philip gave a knowing nod. “Work helps.” He put a hand on John’s shoulder, then turned away. “Some.”
Philip had seen more than his share of hardship, but he’d coped by working? The strategy sounded about as helpful as over-the-counter painkillers to treat the headache. Slow-acting and incomplete.
He laid low for twenty minutes, until the headache had loosened its grip, then found Gannon and Tim in the living room. Large windows next to their chairs afforded a sweeping view of Lake Superior. Thankfully, clouds dulled the light.
John dropped into a seat.
Tim plunked his fingers against John’s shin. “Everyone’s talking about the show. We lined up a few interviews for you to keep the buzz going. The first is this afternoon.”
Awestruck’s drummer ought to be game for an interview, but he lacked the will to nod.
“One o’clock work for you? In the studio here?” Tim rose without waiting for an answer. He patted John’s shoulder on his way past, probably headed to arrange details.
John sighed and closed his eyes.
“Not in the mood?” Gannon asked.
“Did you see Erin last night?”
“No. Did you?”
John let his frown answer for him.
“You sure she wasn’t a figment of your imagination?”
The first glimpse he’d caught of her, John had wondered the same. But no. He must’ve focused on her a dozen times over the course of the night. Either his brain was in worse shape than anyone knew after the accident, or she’d really come to the show.
