Give Me Love (36 page)

Contrary to popular opinion, the fact that my calls kept going straight to voicemail told me that Jared was not going to fight for me. As I picked up my phone, I flopped across my bed sideways and wondered how long it would take for the anvil to go away.

Deciding not to try ringing again, I sent off a text message instead. I thought it fitting really, like the circle of life. We began via text, we finished via text. Sort of like live by the sword, die by the sword, only less dramatic really.

E: Current popular opinion is that I am a daft idiot. This is not news. I was the one talking about trust, and in the end, I didn’t trust what you and I had together. I’m sorry.

I left off the clichéd “maybe one day we can be friends” part. In some part because that would’ve turned my whole message into lame rubbish, but mostly because I wasn’t sure I could handle friends with Jared after everything that had come before. I would likely bitch slap the next girl he started seeing into next week, and that would just be embarrassing and awkward for all involved.

Because our flight left at a cringe-worthy time in the morning, I switched off my phone, set my alarm, tucked Peter into the sheets, and drifted to sleep listening to the song
Africa
by Toto. I liked to listen to this song on repeat under times of great distress because it was better than a shot of Berocca. It was one of my most embarrassing and best kept secrets, along with my love of Rupert Grint from Harry Potter.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning I woke looking hideous enough to earn myself a best actress Oscar. Charlize Theron from Monster was staring back at me in the mirror, only with darker hair and more of it. The only way to pull off the Oscar was to transform back to golden swan in the blink of an eye, so there I was at dawn, once again pulling out my arsenal to perform magical deeds.

After much pounding down of the bathroom door, a minor scuffle over the last two slices of bread between Mac and Henry, another chewed stiletto unearthed from the lounge, forcing Peter to run from Mac’s laser death stare, and another scuffle between Jake and Mac for the front seat (Jake won), we finally hit the road to the airport by way of Steve and Jenna’s place to deliver Peter. I was driving, Frog, Henry, and Cooper were in the back with Mac unhappily wedged between Frog and Henry. Peter was on Jake’s lap, head stuck out the open window, ears flapping like Dumbo and mouth wide open because he was trying to eat air.

Peter was being dropped off at their place for the duration of the tour before we hit the long term airport car park, meeting up with Coby and Travis, my personally designated security for the tour. Jimmy’s messages hadn’t died off, but they hadn’t escalated either. No recent attempts on my life led me to believe that he’d either given up or was just happy to drag the process out to epic proportions, but the wait for something to happen was mentally exhausting.

Handing over Peter was a bit traumatic; the past two days of emotional vulnerability had secured our bond. Jenna, obviously up to date with the whole “it’s over between us” Jared situation, kept eyeing me with grief-stricken disappointment, clearly stuck in the throes of a major grandparentdom setback. I offered her reassuring nods and smiles, a giant box of Peters things (Peter didn’t travel light), and a long list of instructions for his care. Peter was fussy and liked routine. Offering a quick goodbye and a teary cuddle with both Jenna and Peter, I rushed back to the car, and we squealed off to the airport.

Later that morning found the eight of us touching down in Perth, the other side of the country along the west coast of Australia. As we leisurely coasted down the street in a black limousine towards the stadium we’d be performing in that night, a long line of people already snaked down the designated pathways. Spying the limousine heading for a side entrance, the crowd started squealing and shouting. Clearly it was a major quandary as to whether they should risk their head start in the line and attach themselves like barnacles to our car or keep ferociously to their line, thus securing the best standing spot in the mosh pit later that night.

Mac and I giggled and I lowered the window offering a wave so they would know to keep to the line, and it was just the support act. I was startled when I heard shouts of “Oh my God, that’s Jamieson!” and “Evie!” and “That’s Hottie Henry!” People started to surge and I paled. Inside, the limo went silent in shock, so I hastily put the window back up. Everyone eyeballed each other in disbelief.

“Holy shit,” Henry muttered.

Mac tittered. “Hottie Henry?”

My eyes were wide. “How do they even know who we are?”

“Who cares? Did you see how hot those girls were?” Cooper’s eyes were still glued to the window. “Perth is the fucking shit.”

From then on, we were introduced to the world of touring and waded through the thousands involved in putting together such a massive production. There were tour managers, production managers, stage managers, engineers, guitar techs, lighting techs, pyrotechnic techs (basically about four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-nine different types of techs, give or take). Then there were the engineers, security, merchandise crew, and caterers.

We pulled up and piled out to the sounds of Sins of Descent doing their sound check. Mac said ours would be last so we could keep our instruments set up on stage since we were opening the show.

Gary arrived and started walking us to our backstage area. I asked about the fans outside.

“Evie, did you see the giant billboards?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know how you missed them. They were from your photo shoot. We’ve been advertising your band for this tour the past three weeks very seriously. Did you know your YouTube festival appearance views have gone up over one thousand percent already? People are going to start recognising you now. Speaking of which, we need to talk about your contract. Jettison is keen to have it signed and are getting the papers drafted as we speak.”

I stopped short and felt Mac smack into my back. Gary, not realising we were no longer behind him, kept on walking along.

“Mac, did you hear that?”

“Yes. God! We knew it was coming, but holy shit!”

In a moment of situational elation, I was still a daft idiot operating under a pile of emotional grief and Mac was still the bitter third party and festering ill will, we managed to come together in an excited hug.

“Evie!” Gary shouted from further down the way.

“Oh, Sandwich,” Mac muttered, gently brushing a rogue curl off my face and tucking it behind my ear just like Jared always did.

I gave Mac a bittersweet smile before I turned, rushing to catch up to Gary. He was waiting to introduce us to the sound engineer for our sound check.

Later that night, after the sound engineer gave us the “good to go” thumbs up, we caught up with Sins of Descent, which included several looks of the disgruntled variety aimed Matt’s way from Henry, Travis, and the like. Then we piled into our dressing room where the guys began getting ready, and I commenced faffing about in my robe, busily building myself into an epic state of panic. My excuse was that I was already emotionally crippled thus an easy trigger. The fact that Mac’s usual hardcore Ripley status was on the verge of desertion in her own brand of anxiety simply made me panic even more.

“Pull yourself together,” Mac wheeze-hissed.

Mac wasn’t being overly sensitive, it wasn't her style, but she knew me, and that entailed knowing any particular type of kindness right at that moment would only make my current state of mind worse.

I struggled to get a hold on my nerves. “I’m trying,”

I closed my eyes to speed along the calming process, but all I could visualise was a stadium filled with tens of thousands of screaming people. If that wasn’t bad enough, we were hitting Brisbane next, and it was sold out to over fifty thousand. Well it wasn’t bad
bad;
it was bloody brilliant, but right now I was living through tunnel vision and my only focus was the panic.

I was on my own with hair and makeup. Mac had shit to do. I finished dressing and was only ten minutes late when I arrived at the side entrance to the stage and found Mac. I couldn’t believe that I was here in this moment. I wanted to savour it but without Jared at my side, his quiet strength soothing me, his sexy eyes heating me, and his words making me laugh, it felt hollow.

Seeing tears sheen my eyes, Mac reached out and took my hand. “I’m sorry for being an asshead, Evie. I was so damn mad at you for being an idiot that I don’t think I’ve been able to see straight for two solid days.”

“It’s okay Macface, really.” My voice was soft and small. “I was the one that posed the question to Matt, so don’t bear him any ill will, okay? It’s just…Henry was right, which is scary considering he’s the retarded relationship bastard. I
am
scared of getting hurt, and with Jared's short temper, it freaked me out, especially considering Jessica. I mean, after what he went through with her, why would I expect him to trust me? I know he says he does, but sometimes his actions made me feel like he didn’t, you know?”

“Have you heard from him?”

Jared was not, from past experiences, a game player. This meant if he wanted to talk to me, he would have. I wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me either, so the fact that my phone still remained silent was both expected and devastating all at the same time. Despite all that, I still waited all day for him to call.

“No.” I let out a deep sigh.

Mac looked like she was having a light bulb moment. “Have you heard from
anyone
today?”

I stood in silence while it was Mac’s turn to give me a moment. She used the moment wisely to ogle the myriad of hot man flesh that shifted about all around us, moving equipment, speaking into those walkie talkie things. Not an ungrateful person, Mac was very appreciative of all the men surrounding us. I also noticed the men happened to be equal opportunists, and Mac should have been blinded by the searing looks being continually swept her way. Was I invisible? I offered a bright smile and a wink to the next man that walked passed us and watched his eyes widen. The man turned, walking backwards to watch me, and collided with Henry as he came up behind him.

“Dude!” Henry held up his hands politely as the man stumbled.

“Sorry,” he muttered and scurried away.

Mac narrowed her eyes at me. “What was that?”

I shrugged my shoulders innocently but then grinned. “Just seeing if old Evie still has the goods.”

Henry joined our huddle, catching my comment to Mac. “Jesus, Sandwich, if you had any more goods, that huddle over there would be thinking they'd found a new religion.” He indicated to three guys in the corner, all holding official clipboards and eyeing us. One smiled suggestively when I glanced their way.

I fluffed my hair a little. Not because I was interested, but a little bit of attention thrown my way when I felt about as wanted as pile of elephant poo on a hot summers day was a lift of the spirits. “Well, at the rate I’m going with Jared, it looks like plenty of the male population might just get their chance,” I mumbled unhappily.

“Stop going off on a tangent, Evie, and answer the question.” Mac smoothed her perfect waves. How they managed to look so perfect after her afternoon of busting balls, I didn't know.

“Tangents are good,” I offered. “They keep life interesting. What was the question?”

Mac rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”

I moved quickly out of her way as she shoved passed us. Mac was a woman on a mission as she charged away, muttering something into her headset. Many sets of male eyes stopped to watch her ass undulate its way out the door.

“What’s up with her?” Henry asked.

“What’s not up with her? What’s up with you?” I gave him a once over. “What’s up with that shirt?”

He looked down at his tight black Linkin Park t-shirt. “What about it?”

“Can it get any tighter? Can you breathe?”

Henry smirked. “I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?”

My gaze travelled further down to his skinny black jeans and returned the smirk. “Your jeans are even tighter. It’s a wonder you’re speaking and not squeaking.” I waved my hand over the ensemble. “Are you trying to communicate something with that outfit?”

Henry looked a little uncertain and ran a hand through his tousled white-blond locks. “Well, yeah. Why? What’s it communicating to you?”

“It’s saying, 'Hi. I’m Henry. I have pecs and a tight ass that won’t quit.'”

Henry paled. “Fucking Cooper.”

I laughed and leaped on him. He caught me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Kidding, Henrietta. Geez, you’re a soft touch tonight. You look hot. I’d do you. Maybe. Well, no way, but you know...”

He laughed, spun me once, knocking a random techie, and apologised.

“Gee thanks, Chook. I think.”

He set me back on my feet when Mac returned. “Hold out your hand,” she barked at me.

I eyed her with suspicion. “Why?”

She was in a huff about something and snatched my wrist with her long taloned fingers and yanked my arm up, slapping my phone into my palm. “That’s why.”