Page 15 of Sustain

What the fuck was that?

I’m still not feeling any pain, thanks to the residual morphine from the IV I had. Unless I move, then I really feel it all the way up to my hip. So, it looks like I’ll be stuck in this position on the couch for the foreseeable future.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Ian asks in a gentle voice. “Are you hungry?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you cook too. I may propose again.”

He chuckles, his chest shaking with laughter. “Ok, I won’t tell you then.”

I sip my cocoa, keeping my gaze fixed on the fire. I can’t help my own smile, though. “Of course, you do.”

“Now, what does that mean?” he asks, feigning defensiveness. “You just told me not to tell you. What’s a poor cooking sod to do?”

His smile catches me off guard again as I glance at him. He really is too perfect. From what I know of him, anyway. Which isn’t much.

We met several years ago at the Raven in Las Vegas when Murderous Crows were still nobodies. Ian was instrumental in getting them signed along with Eliza Kerr, one of the major label executives. It was a long process with Blackmore, since the band kept fucking up showcases, and singer Jake’s getting arrested and wrongfully charged for then drummer Andy’s death in a tragic car accident. It hasn’t been an easy road to get where we are. But we wouldn’t be here at all if Ian didn’t believe in them, in us. He’s been one of our biggest cheerleaders.

We owe him a lot.

As he sighs heavily and stares into the fire, I take advantage of the chance to examine him a little closer. With his knowledge of the music industry, I’ve always found him attractive. He’s always good for a stimulating conversation. And he seems to be ready with a joke or something to lighten the mood whenever things get too heavy.

Like in the hospital.

If he wasn’t there to lift my mood, I might have spiraled with anxiety. But he was calm and cool-headed in an emergency. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t stopped on the slope and saved me, either. For all I know I could still be on that mountain, freezing to death. I was extremely lucky he was there.

“Thank you,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper.

He gives me an odd look. “You don’t have to keep thanking me for the cocoa. I’m beginning to understand that you have a thing for chocolate.”

“No, I meanthank you,” I reach over and place a hand on his arm to show I’m not kidding around right now, “for saving me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come bywhen you did. And, letting everyone know I was okay, bringing me here, giving me shelter, taking care of me...It means a lot.”

He seems taken aback by my gratitude and makes a face. “I just did what anyone would have done in the situation. You don’t have to thank me.”

I shake my head at his naiveté. “On the contrary, in my experience, general kindness and willingness to get involved in someone else’s shit is fucking rare.”

He shrugs, and his long bangs fall into his green eyes. He’s quick to push them back in a well-practiced move. The tattoos on his bare forearms dance in the firelight. “Well, I’m sorry that’s been your experience thus far.”

“I mean, sure, there are nice people in the world, but most of them don’t work in this industry.”

He eyes me thoughtfully for too long, and I have to look away. It’s too intense. “You’re awfully jaded, aren’t you?”

I don’t even have to think before answering. “I definitely am.”

“Then why do you do it? Why stay in a business that you view so negatively?”

Tilting my head to the side as I think, I start to twirl one of my long braids; one of a few habits I’ve had forever when I think hard about anything. “Just because others are assholes, doesn’t mean I have to be one. It’s all ego. I can handle ego.”

He turns to face me directly, curling a leg under him and stretching an arm on the top of the couch behind me. “But why would you want to subject yourself to that kind of environment voluntarily? I’m not seeing the attraction for you.”

“Well...” I try to think how I can explainwhyI do what I do. I don’t usually get this introspective about it. I just do my job. “Because I’m responsible for the livelihoods of a lot of people. And not just the band. There are a lot of people who count on me to keep this train rolling. I can’t just walk away from thatbecause some asshole hurts my feelings because he doesn’t think a woman can do what I do.”

“Do you think you’re that important?” he asks, but it’s not mean. He’s genuinely curious.

And that question hits me right in the heart. Right where I’ve made my job my entire personality. My entire life. I want to think I’m indispensable, but as he’s proving with Chaos Fuel, I’m not.

I open my mouth automatically to confirm that, yes, I’m essential to keeping this whole circus going. I’m the glue, the backbone, the master strategist behind the scenes. They’d be lost without the ‘Rock Band Dragoness, Mackenzie Roberts’ calling the shots.

But the words turn to ashes on my tongue. Self-importance is now a pet peeve of mine. Do I still really think of myself as some savior they couldn’t survive without?

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