CHAPTER 11
Wine and Cookies—Nikki
“Isn’t this supposed to be a send-off? A farewell party?” Hands on my hips, I looked at my sad-ass friends, looking like ambassadors for the Mary J. Blige my-man-did-me-wrong club. Earlier tonight, we’d all caught up on our man troubles, myself included.
Raina blew into her noisemaker and twirled her hand in the air. Kara shrugged, while rocking herself. Sienna, surprisingly, was the only peppy one in the group. She had taken her broken engagement in stride. I suspected a certain campaign manager was giving it to her on the regular, but she’d claimed she was on a man-free diet.
Bending over, I smacked the wobbly table in front of me, determined to grab their attention and break up the pity party. “C’mon, ladies! I’m leaving in two days, and I need to have some fun! I ditched my family for you.” I poked out my bottom lip, attempting to look cute and pitiful like Bria often did. Apparently, it wasn’t working for me, based on the eye rolls and dismissive waved hands.
Tonight was supposed to be a fun girls’ night in. Sienna had volunteered her new place, an apartment in the historic West End, and we had claimed the community rooftop.
“You’re right. Let me get out of my feelings.” Raina rotated her head and shook out her hands as if she were about to dive into a pool. “I don’t need Cam,” she said, voice shaky. “I’ll be just fine.”
Not without help. “You know what? I was gonna wait till later, but I think we all need this now.” I reached into my bag and yanked out a Ziploc bag containing my special-made treats. “Cookies!”
Sienna crossed her legs and leaned closer, inspecting my bag. “What kind of cookies?” she asked in her trademark cross-examination voice.
“Only the best kind.”
“What. Kind?”
“Chocolate chip.”
“And?” She arched a brow.
“Herbs. Of the green variety.”
Sienna gave me a wide-eyed look. “Jesus, Nik. You’re gonna get me kicked out of my apartment. I’ve only been here a few months.”
“No you won’t. And it’s not like we’re smoking a blunt. We could all use a cookie.”
“I’ll take a cookie.” Kara’s alto voice broke the stare-off between Sienna and me.
“What?” Sienna snapped her head toward Kara.
“I’ll take a cookie. And wine, please.” Kara cleared her throat. “The Cabernet Sauvignon.”
“Fuck yeah!” I pulled out a stack of plastic plates. “You deserve two cookies after what you’ve been through.”
Kara smiled, took the plate, and then took a large bite of the cookie.
“Slow down there, champ. This is a marathon, not a sprint.” I shook my bag of cookies. “Raina?”
“Girl, you don’t have to ask me twice. But I’ll take just one. I’ve gotta get up and write tomorrow morning. I need this book advance so I can get out of my ma’s house ASAP.”
“You can stay with me.” Kara chimed in, still munching on her cookie. “I’ve got a spare bedroom, and besides, Darren is moving out in a week or so.” Kara’s voice lowered to a pathetic whisper.
Too bad the weed didn’t work fast enough to alter Kara’s mood. “C’mon, chronic.”
“What?” Kara asked.
“Nothing.” I wasn’t supposed to say that aloud.
Raina rolled her eyes, most likely on the same crazy wavelength as me. “Kara, I will happily take you up on your offer. I appreciate Ma’s help, but I’m tired of her asking me about Cam.”
Sienna sighed. “I’ll have one, too.” She reached out her hand.
I decided not to give her shit and gave her a cookie instead.
“Turn up the music, girl!” Raina yelled to Sienna.
“Any requests?” Sienna asked, digging into her carryall bag for her portable speakers.
“‘Hotel California’!” I yelled, breaking off a small piece of the cookie. Although I was ready to party, I had a long day tomorrow, and I wanted to have my head screwed on straight for the last night with my hubby and babies.
“No, ma’am.” Sienna shook her head. “We need Ms. Badu.”
I shrugged, popping a piece of cookie in my mouth and then swallowed. “I can get down to some Erykah.”
After a few songs, everyone was feeling loose. “On and on and on and on . . .” Raina and I danced and sang to each other. Kara, with a silly smile on her face, shimmied in her seat.
Raina slapped my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Look at Sienna’s high ass.”
A bubble of giggles rose in my throat when I saw Sienna, patting her hands against her chest and slow winding in a circle.
“Here goes the African princess, he-heeeee!” Kara slurred from her seat.
This time I full on laughed. Whenever Sienna got drunk or high, she’d get super in touch with her African roots. The second-generation citizen hadn’t set foot on the Motherland.
“Both of them are high AF,” Raina snorted.
“I’m not high AF, I’m high as fuuuuuck!” Kara twirled a hand in the air and then studied it for a full minute, as if it were a sculpture at an art museum.
“Slang lesson, Kara,” Raina yelled as if she were at a football game. “‘High AF’ means ‘high as fuck.’”
“Oh. Then you’re right!”
It could be argued that all three of them were high AF.
Raina stumble-walked to her seat. She slapped her thigh. “We gotta start. It’s time for the mind meeting. Meeting of the minds.” She snapped her fingers. “No, that’s not it.”
“Meetings of the masters!” Sienna yelled, still dancing in the corner.
“Mastermind meeting,” I supplied. “Damn, y’all can’t hold your liquor or your high.”
Raina rolled her eyes. “Whatever the hell. You know what I meant. Anyway, let’s do it.” Raina slapped her leg again, as if her hand were the gavel in the courtroom. “I’ll go first.” She drew a deep breath. “So, fuck Cameron Jeffries with his three-point-five-kids, having me chained to a stove, barefoot, breastfeeding a little crumb snatcher ass.”
Well, damn. “Um, I’ll try not to get offended by your lack of enthusiasm for motherhood.”
“Girl, you’re a cool mom. You’re going on tour with your ex while your husband takes care of your kids. Winning!” She raised her hand for a high five. The guilt that warred at me before turned on full blast.
“I’m not abandoning my kids. I’ll be back in a few months.”
“Girl, yeah.” Raina lifted her glass to her mouth. “We know that.”
“Okay, what about the book stuff?” I asked Raina.
“My second round of edits is due to my agent in a few weeks. Book will release early next year.” Raina waved a hand like it was no big deal. “You know what I won’t be doing next year?”
“What?” Kara asked.
“Fooling with Cam’s ole baby-soft ass. Maybe I’ll go on a book tour in another country, find me a fine-ass man, and have a fling.” She tilted her head and sipped her wine. If there was a class offered in the art of being petty while drinking wine, Raina would be a gold-certified instructor.
“Right!” Kara encouraged her. “This time next year, I’ll be touring the world. I’ll be a master Somm and work as an ambassador for a vineyard.”
“Oh, and you can have a fling with a guy named Francois!” I teased Kara. “Nothing gets you over a guy faster than being underneath another one.” I nudged Sienna. “Ain’t that right?”
“Please. I do not have time to get into another relationship.” She crossed her long legs. “Is Chris fine? Yes. Does he have me clamping my legs together every time he gets too close and I smell his cologne? Yes. Does watching his strong hands fly across the keyboard and watching his chest heave up and down under his suspenders give me hot flashes?”
“Yes!” Kara, Raina, and I answered for her.
“Right?” Sienna nodded as if we could follow her direction. “But, anyway, I’m too busy running for office—”
“And ruining Keith’s life,” Raina cut in.
“Yep!” Sienna popped the “P.” She shrugged. “Chris wants me to walk the straight and narrow, to stick to the facts and focus on my strengths as a leader. I’m cool with that, but I still want to drag that asshole through the mud.”
I shook my head. “What happened to my sweet and innocent friend?” My tone was teasing, but I was concerned for my girl. She had gone from sweet girl Rihanna circa 2005 to the RiRi we all know and love today.
Sienna sipped her wine. “I’m just tired of doing the right thing. Besides, relationships are a scam. Especially with these triflin’-ass men in Atlanta.”
“Not all men are trifling. My husband, for example.” Though he was acting like an asshole at the moment.
Sienna shrugged. “Fine. Not all men. But most men are con artists. They steal your youth, your optimism. They steal your power. Not only from the women they are cheating on, but from the ones they are cheating with.”
“Sienna,” I interrupted.
“No, think about it,” Sienna interrupted. “When someone cheats on you, what’s your first thought? What’s the first thing you do?”
I tapped my fingers on my thighs. “Google how to shank someone without killing them. Look up the jail time in case he presses charges. Which he better not.”
“Watch a few CSI episodes.” Raina shrugged. “I need options.”
Kara raised her hand. “I think about what’s wrong with me. I compare myself to the other woman.”
“Exactly.” Sienna sliced her hand in the air. “Am I too skinny, am I too fat, in my case, I put weave in my hair because Keith said she had long hair and a big booty. How crazy is that, huh?” Her voice rang in the air. “And in the end you change yourself to look like someone else. You change yourself for a man after he did you wrong. That’s the biggest scam of all. I lost myself and I lost my power with him, and I want my power back. I used to be strong, confident. And I’ll be damned if I give another man a piece of me.”
She shook her head. “I sat on my virginity and didn’t give it up until I met Keith and what did he do? Tossed it away. Tossed me away.” She pointed to her chest. “I’ve always wanted to go into public office, I told him straight up when I first met him, and he agreed. But then he and his precious family convinced me to set aside my desires and stand by my man.” She snorted. “What a damn joke. So, yeah, I want to tell all. I want all the women he’s ever dated or plans to date to know he’s a scumbag. And quite honestly, if his dick fell off, I wouldn’t shed a tear.”
“I get it,” Kara whispered. “I so get it.” She cocked her head. “Listen to the song.”
We all went silent, listening to “Bag Lady” by Erykah Badu.
“That’s who we are,” Kara continued. “We take on all the baggage from other people. Our jobs, our men, our family. They pile it on until our backs break. And what do we have to show for it?”
“Not a damn thing.” Raina shook her head. “We’ve gotta let that shit go!”
“You’re right.” I pointed to Kara. “James is still giving me hell about going on tour. Yes, I’m a mom, but I’m not dead. I can do both.”
Sienna nodded. “And you’ll show James you can do it. You have to show men, show the world, that we shouldn’t have to be the ones to sacrifice everything. It’s time for our men to pull their own damn weight.”
Sienna lifted her wine glass. “To dumping the baggage.”
We lifted our glasses, answering Sienna’s challenge. “To dumping the baggage!” we toasted.
“I’m gonna miss you, Mommy.”
I scooped up my baby girl and squeezed her tight. “I’m gonna miss you, too, Bria-bree.”
James, stiff in his body and lips, held Junior tight. My mother’s arms were crossed. I settled Bria on the ground.
“Give Mama a hug, baby boy.” Reaching for my baby, I met resistance from James. I damn near had to pry my son away from him.
JJ wiggled in my arms. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he swung his head from me to James, as if his toddler radar told him that Mommy and Daddy were not okay.
The horn blared from behind me in three long, dramatic honks. “Move your ass, Hardt!”
Fucking Trent. My ex was determined to drive a wedge in my marriage. I knew it. Hell, even my former best friend and drummer, Davey, had warned me to stay away from the flirty front man.
Bria tugged the hem of my sundress. “Ooh-weee! He said a bad word, Mommy.”
“That’s the least of her worries,” Mama not-so-quietly mumbled under her breath. James did his best nosy-church-lady impression with a mouth twist and a whispered, “Mm-hmm.” All that was missing was a small green New Testament Bible gripped in his hand.
“Guys, please.” I looked down at the kids, who volleyed their attention around the three of us like we were in some sort of weird tennis match. “Mama, can you look after the babies for a minute? I need to speak to James.”
Mama nodded. “C’mon, precious.” JJ leaned close to reach for Mama, and Bria grabbed her other hand.
“Let’s talk over there.” I jerked my head toward the back of the bus. James followed me to the back, still stiff, and still the asshole he’d been for the past three months.
“Babe.” I turned my back toward the harsh rays from the sun, forming a visor with my hands. “I don’t want us to leave on bad terms. Can we, can you . . . ?” I licked my dry lips. For the first time in a long while, I was nervous.
“Can I pretend that I’m happy that you’ll be spending day and night with your ex?”
“No, it’s not like that.” I shook my head. “It’s business. I’m hanging with Davey, Drew, Ethan, and the roadies, but I won’t be spending personal time with Trent.”
“Right, Nik.”
“I’m serious. I love you, only you. And besides, Trent will be too busy with his skanks to be thinking about me.”
“Jealous?” His brown eyes glinted.
“Are you kidding me?”
He shrugged. “I just don’t have a good feeling about this, Nik. I feel like . . .” He sighed, taking a few steps back. “I feel like I’m losing you.”
“Never,” I harshly whispered above the lump in my throat. “Don’t you trust me? I’d never, ever cheat on you.” I stepped closer. “You’ve gotta know that.”
“I do. I trust you. But sometimes with the band, you don’t make the best decisions.”
I snapped my head back. “That’s not fair. The last time I was in the band was ten years ago.”
“And you were wild, crazy. I loved that about you, but now. . . now things are different. We have a family. We can’t just go barhopping all weekend. We can’t break into someone’s lake house and go skinny-dipping at midnight or smoke weed for a Sunday Funday.”
I grimaced, remembering the cookies I’d taken to girls’ night. Whatever. Weed didn’t have an age expiration date.
“And why can’t we? Just because we have children doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. Sure, we have to be responsible, and we can’t act willy-nilly, but we can plan fun trips with just us or with our friends. We have your parents and my mama—they adore our kids.”
James stared at me for a moment and then sighed. “Come here, Nik.” He opened his arms. “I love you, baby. Just promise me you’ll be safe. Be smart.”
“I promise,” I whispered into his chest, tears pressing against my eyelids. “I’ll call you and the kids every day. I’ve got to teach Bria the rest of the song. I’ll be back for the talent show.”
“Okay.” He squeezed me tighter. The python squeeze across my chest that had plagued me for the past few months loosened. We were finally breaking through the icy fortress that had surrounded our marriage. I stepped back, taking him in. Fear and love swirled in his honey-brown eyes. We stared at each other, nothing else said, but I knew that he loved me and I loved him. We had a beautiful family, and maybe he wasn’t convinced at the moment, but we could have it all.
Another rude honk from the bus interrupted our moment.
James rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Let me walk you to the front of the bus.” He grabbed my hand. I gave him a shy smile, that old yet familiar feeling of excitement and uncertainty filling my chest.
On the way to the front, I caught a glimpse of Trent making kissy faces in the window. James gripped my hand tighter. Arriving at the door, we walked onto the bus, pausing near the driver’s seat.
I needed to make a statement to James, to Trent. I was a married woman, this was business, and I was following my dreams. No silly-ass feelings of jealousy or slutty exes would get in my way. “Kiss me,” I demanded.
His lips, strong and soft at the same time, pressed into mine. Good gracious, this man made a move on my heart.
After he kissed the soul out of my body, he wrenched himself away. It felt as if I were carving out a piece of my heart.
James cleared his throat and walked me to my seat. “Davey!” he yelled over my head. “Take care of my girl.”
Drumsticks in hand, Davey stopped mid-twirl and saluted James. “Ten-four.”
“Masters.” James nodded to Trent, who was slumped over with his guitar in hand.
“Yeah?” Trent shook the shaggy blond bangs from his eyes, an amused expression on his face.
“Twenty-seven.”
Trent shrugged. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“That’s the number of bones in your hand. Touch my girl and I’ll break all of them.”
Davey snorted and Drew full on laughed.
Drew leaned over his seat and patted Trent’s shoulder. “Dude. If I were you, I’d keep that guitar in your hands. That way you’ll be covered.”
“Fuck off,” he growled at Drew, but stared at James. “Can we leave now?”
I nodded and hugged James. “Kiss my babies again for me.”
“Goodbye, baby.” He walked backward, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Not forever. Just for now,” I whispered.
“Just for now,” he agreed. Finally, he turned and walked off the bus.
“Yippee ki-yay!” Trent whooped. “Time for Nikki Hardt to play.”
I shook my head and pushed the window down. I leaned out and yelled, “I fucking love you, James Grayson!”
James stopped in his tracks, turned around, and grinned. “And I fucking love you, Nikki Grayson.”
I winked and gave him a grin.
A little farther out, my mom, Bria, and JJ waved.
“Bye, babies! I love you. Be good!”
Bria rushed toward James’s open arms. “Bye, Mommy!” she yelled and then wiggled out of my hubby’s grip. The driver cranked the engine, and the bus leaped forward. Bria jogged beside the bus. “Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you to the moon and back, precious.”
“Forever and ever?”
“Forever and ever!” I waved and she waved until we couldn’t see each other anymore.
* * *
“We love you, Cleveland!” Trent shouted into the mic.
The crowd yelled their approval. Thank goodness the audio equipment cut through the screams. Tattered Souls had a strong following, more than I’d first thought. Davey had assured me it wasn’t always like this, but rather the viral sensation with adding me to the band.
“Did you guys enjoy our girl Nikki?”
Louder cheers and whoops exploded from the crowd. I raised my guitar and then took a bow. The crowd began to chant my name. The energy from the audience gave me a buzz on top of the one I had from my three vodka shots that I’m sure I sweated out during the concert.
The band and I did one last wave and the lights switched off, a signal to our fans that the show was over.
“We. Are. On. Fucking. Fire!” Trent grabbed my waist and twirled me around.
I laughed like a maniac, still high from the gig. “Put me down, Trent!”
“Fuck yeah!” Drew grabbed a bottle of water and sloshed it over his purple Mohawk.
Davey and Ethan brought up the rear and bumped arms with each other, the same shit they’d been doing since we first formed the band.
Trent lowered me to the ground with his hands on my ass.
A flare of anger hit my chest. “Watch it, Masters. My husband meant what he said about breaking your precious hands.” I speed-walked to the green room and pushed open the door. Trent was hot on my trail, and the rest of the band soon followed.
“Yeah, yeah. He’s so tough shuffling papers around for his rich clients.”
Davey snorted. “You didn’t say that shit when he was in front of you a month ago. Don’t get all brave now.” Davey squeezed my shoulders and walked to the bar. Drew and Ethan, who’d settled on the love seat in the room, kept quiet, as usual.
“Whatever, man. What trouble are we getting into tonight?” Trent slapped Ethan’s shoulders. Long, dark hair tied in a man bun, full beard, and sea green eyes, Ethan got a lot of attention. He had an insatiable appetite for men and women, and I dare say he may have surpassed Trent’s whorish tendencies. Panties and boxer briefs were permanently wrapped around his fans’ ankles. Occasionally, at the same time.
Ethan rubbed his hands together, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Did you see the brunette with the huge tits?” He mimicked the size with his hands a foot away from his chest. “I’d motorboat the fuck out of ’em.”
“Yesss. I was hoping you were in the mood for women tonight!” Trent gave Ethan a high five. “There was this blond chick beside her. Killer face. Decent rack.”
“Please spare me the details of your orgy.” I grabbed my phone, which was charging on the glossy vanity cabinet with a large mirror.
Trent leaned down, his eyes focused on me in the mirror. “Just say the word and I’ll dump Ethan and those chicks for you.”
“I like my vagina disease-free, thank you very much.”
Trent’s cheeks reddened. “I got checked out before we toured.”
“And you’ve fucked at least a dozen women since we’ve been on tour.”
“So you noticed.” He waggled his eyebrows and made a beeline to the mini-fridge.
I rolled my eyes and focused on my phone. James had sent a goofy pic of himself and the kids at the park. JJ had lost a tooth and stuck his tongue through the opening. I rubbed a hand over my chest.
“Drink, Nik?” Trent asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“I got ya.” Trent returned with a plastic cup filled with a heavy pour of vodka and a splash of cranberry juice.
“Just how I like it.” I saluted him and tossed back my drink.
“Another?” he asked.
“Yup!”
One, two, three . . . five. I lost count of the drinks I’d consumed. Didn’t matter. My alcohol tolerance was legendary, and this former stay-at-home mama still had it.
Still, the drinking didn’t stop me from thinking about James and the kids.
I glanced at the clock. It was only eleven at night, and I was in the same time zone as Atlanta.
Send me a pictuuure. A dirty one.
I ended the text with a winky smiley or whatever the hell it was. After a minute or two of silence, I sent him another one.
Hello???? You there? I need a picture of you naked! If you don’t send one in zero-point-eight seconds I’ll hate you forever.
Still no answer.
OMG. I hate you.
Just kidding, I love you. A lot, a lot. I must love you a lot because Trent is always tryna get in my pants. But I always say NOOOO!
James finally replied back.
I snorted.
I typed back my response. What did he think I was? An amateur?
Yes, you are. The last couple of texts you’ve sent me have been belligerent. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please be sober.
I focused on the last word and rolled my eyes.
Technically I wasn’t sober, but I wasn’t operating a vehicle, upchucking, or running around with my clothes off. I’d done that a few times in my younger days. I was way past that stage.
I loved James, but he was being a hater.
Our band manager, Julia, opened the door. “Time to meet the VIPs.”
“Or as we like to call ’em, fresh meat!” Trent laughed and followed the manager out of the room.
God, these guys were the worst. Mostly Trent and Ethan. Drew was quiet and sweet and had a girl back home. Davey wasn’t a saint, but he was selective with his bed partners.
I followed the band to the VIP room and sat at the end behind a long, scuffed-all-to-hell table. The boys had a large clump of fans surrounding them.
“Of course I’ll sign your tits.” Trent winked at the girl, then looked at me.
“Such an ass,” I whispered under my breath.
“Yeah, he is.” A tall black woman with long, gorgeous twists that framed her face appeared in front of me.
“Oh, hey. Sorry! I didn’t notice you. Do you, um, want an autograph or something?”
She shook her head, her twists moving with the headshake. “Or something. I’m actually a new fan . . . because of you.”
“Really?” I raised a brow. Not that I wasn’t talented, but I was the new kid on the block, lucky to get a head nod from the groupies. The guys tended to be chattier, but I couldn’t tell if it was because they enjoyed the music, were trying to entertain themselves while their wives or girlfriends hit on my bandmates, or if they wanted in my pants.
“Yes, really. I’m Monica, by the way.” She laughed and stuck out a hand.
I found my manners and shook her hand.
“Anyway, I’m a traveling music blogger and reviewer, and since you joined the band, I plan to follow you guys around to a few cities. I would love to interview you and the band, but I want to focus the piece on you. It’s not every day you see an African American woman leading a rock/alternative band.”
I put my finger over my mouth. “Don’t let Mr. Trent Masters hear you say that. He might lose his egomaniac mind.” I pretended to shudder. “Anyway, I’d love to do an interview. I need to run it by our manager, Julia, but—”
“I already pitched her the idea, and she’s down for it.” She waved at Julia.
Julia gave me a wide smile and thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure why she was excited about a blogger following us around, but since Monica was a sister and seemed to genuinely like our music, I was down for it. “What’s the name of your website?”
“RockHop.com. I cover all music, but mostly hip-hop, R-and-B and rock. I have a few contributors, but I write most of the content. It’s fairly new, only been around for a year.”
“Okay, I’ll have to check it out, Monica.” A niggle of recognition wormed in my brain.
“Wait a minute. Are you the Monica Davis, music critic at Rolling Stone magazine?”
She shrugged. “The one and only. So, true confession, I’m doing the full-on series of articles on the blog and then a feature piece for the magazine.”
“Okay.” That’s why Julia was all over it.
“Great! Your manager told me you guys were heading on the road tomorrow at ten. I’m actually going to ride with you to the next city. I can get a feel of you and the band in your natural element.”
Trent walked past us, a girl on either side, followed by Ethan.
I shook my head. “Buckle up, Monica.”
* * *
I grabbed the weed from Drew’s outstretched fingers, took a puff, and then passed it to Davey. Monica waved away the smoke cloud and continued clacking along on her laptop. For some reason, Monica was enamored of our band and decided to tag along for the remainder of the tour. Her readers had enjoyed the initial write-up about me and our unique rock-and-soul sound.
The label had been impressed as well and paid her to follow us until the tour was over in a month.
Ethan, seated beside Monica, palmed her breast and sucked her neck.
“Cut it out, Ethan.”
Monica had been trying to hide their fling. Monica was well aware of my amorous bandmate’s hoe-ish tendencies. After she’d confirmed he was STD-free—she forced him to take a test—they went at it like rabbits.
It was damn uncomfortable. Trent, in particular, hated that his best bud was boo-ed up, but Davey and I also suspected he was upset I wasn’t giving him the time of day.
Trent and I wrote music together, played together, sang together, got high and drank together, argued together—all the things we had done when we were a couple—minus the sex.
Guitar in hand, I hummed a tune I’d been fiddling with all day. The words were being shy, so it seemed like I had to pluck them from the sky and scramble them around to make sense.
The alarm beeped and buzzed on the small side table.
“Dammit.” I reached over and cut off my alarm, then resumed my strumming.
A little over an hour later, I finally achieved the soothing buzz I usually got when I had a solid song in place. “Done!” I passed my notepad to Trent. “Check it out and pass the dutchie.” I sang the famous song.
I placed the guitar back in my case. Thankfully the bus pulled to a stop. We had a gig in Reno, and tonight we got to stay at a decent hotel.
Monica closed her laptop and rubbed her eyes. I took a puff of my blunt and sighed. “Want a hit?” I asked, knowing she would say no. She didn’t drink or smoke.
She shook her head, looked at her watch, and then froze. “Weren’t you supposed to call your husband and kids tonight?”
My heart sped up. “No, I don’t think so. I set the alarm this time, so I wouldn’t—”
“You mean the alarm you turned off?”
“Shit!” I checked my phone. I had two missed FaceTime calls from James. It was ten thirty p.m. on the East Coast—well past my kids’ bedtime, but I could probably catch James.
“Dammit! I am the worst mom and wife ever.” I scrambled for my phone.
“Why don’t you get settled into your room and give him a call?” Monica squeezed my hand. She knew how hard I struggled to be a mom yet maintain my rock-and-roll schedule. After we settled into our rooms, I rushed to dial James.
After a few rings, he picked up the phone.
“Hey, baby!” The nervous tremor in my voice couldn’t be contained. “You’re up.”
“I’m in bed,” he said, his voice cold and clipped.
“Oh, okay. Caught you at a bad time, huh?”
“If by bad time, you mean bedtime, then yes. It’s a bad time.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m starting to hate that damn word.”
“What word?”
“Sorry.”
“Sor—” I caught myself. “Apologies, baby.”
A heavy breath rattled through the receiver. “That doesn’t hold up, Nikki. Our child, your mini-me, waited an hour past bedtime because Mommy promised to call this time. She’s nervous as all hell about her talent show, and there’s a riff in the song she doesn’t have yet . . .” He sighed. He sounded tired, resigned. “Look, I’m out of my depth here. I’m just going to hire someone to help her with another song.”
“No, you don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. You’re too busy reliving your youth to give a damn about your family.”
“That’s not true!” I paced the worn carpet of my hotel room.
“Have you been drinking?”
“What?” I stopped pacing. “Why do you ask me that every time we speak?”
“I dunno, Nik. Maybe because your words are slurred half the time.” His voice had turned putrid.
“No, I haven’t been drinking.” Much. I had two or three shots of whiskey. One to loosen myself up for songwriting, and the others after I came up with a fucking awesome pre-chorus and tweaked the hook.
“Knock, knock!” I heard a light rap from the door.
“Who the fuck is that?” James’s deep voice commanded.
Shit. I do not need this right now. “Not sure.” Total lie. It was Trent’s thirsty ass, trying to get into my panties for the umpteenth time. That man was gonna get his ass kicked one day, by me, not my husband.
“One sec!” I yelled at the door. After pressing the mute button on my cell, I rushed to the door and then cracked it open, the chain lock still in place. “What in the hell do you want, Trent?”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Then drink warm milk or count some fucking sheep. I’m busy.” I slammed the door in his face.
I turned off the mute button and put on my sweet voice. “Hey, baby. I’m back.”
He didn’t respond.
“You there?”
“Yeah.” He sighed into the phone. “Look, I’m beat. I’ll talk to you whenever you decide to make the time.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll call you tomorrow, before the gig. I promise I’ll have a long conversation with Bria.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“What do you mean? You just told me she waited up for me. Of course she wants to speak to me.”
“She told me to tell you that she doesn’t want to speak to you anymore.”
“She doesn’t mean it, and, besides—”
“I got the distinct impression that she does mean it.”
“I’m still calling her tomorrow.” I could hear the determination in my voice. My baby loved me. She would forgive me.
“Fine.”
“Kiss my babies for me.”
“Sure.”
“I-I love you.”
“Good night.” He hung up.
“Dammit!” I smacked my palm to my forehead. I loved the music and being onstage again. Deep in my heart, getting a taste of this life, I knew that I could never not perform or create music again. I loved the energy, penning the perfect song. The high when I hit a note that had the crowd screaming for more.
Another knock sounded at the door.
Fucking Trent Masters. The man was driving me crazy. I jumped from the scratchy cover on the bed, marched to the door, slid the lock, and yanked it open. “What?”
Monica raised a hand. “Girl, my bad! I’m just checking in on you.”
My anger dissipated and I stepped back to let her in. “Sorry. I thought you were Trent.”
“Say no more.” She walked into the room. “So, you talked to James.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And he doesn’t get it.” I flung my hands in the air. “He doesn’t see me busting my ass writing music, the hours upon hours of practice, and the energy it takes to perform. He has it in his head that I’m drinking all day with the band. Not to mention Bria, my baby girl, doesn’t want to speak to me anymore.” My chest squeezed. “Anyway, I know when you met me, you thought I was some superwoman, but in reality, I’m a hot mess.”
Monica chuckled. “Girl, I know that.”
“Huh?”
“Spotted it a mile away. The first night I met you, you drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney. I’d originally planned on doing an exposé, but then . . .” She sighed. “Then I got to know you. And I couldn’t do it. But, girl, you’ve got to get it together. You’re a mess.”
“So I drink a little and smoke weed.” I shrugged. “That’s rock-and-roll.”
“A little?” Monica tilted her head. The look she gave me—twisted lips, hands on hips, and a don’t play me glint in her eyes, reminded me of Mama.
My cheeks burned. “Seriously, I’m good. Trust me. I’ve been around alcoholics.”
Monica clapped her hands together. “Okay, then tell me this: Would you feel comfortable drinking this much if your husband and babies were around? Imagine Bria watching you stumbling around—sweaty and drunk and high.”
I didn’t imagine myself, but I remembered Daddy stumbling around the kitchen, making a mess, toppling over chairs and breaking dishes.
Heat prickled my neck. I loved Daddy so much. He was a genius. He had a good heart. He was the best daddy in the world when he didn’t have a bottle clutched in his hands.
“No,” I finally answered, shame weighing down my voice. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“That’s the first step.” Monica nodded. “Can I give you some advice?”
I snorted. “You ask me now?”
She remained standing, hands clasped in front of her. Waiting, I guess, for my answer.
I nodded.
“As much as I love the band, love—I mean like Ethan, you may need to leave them.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t suggested that I ruin my career and go back home.
“Leave them?”
“Yep.” Her eyes serious. “For your own good.”
I threw my hands up. “I can’t go back to being a stay-at-home mom. I’d die of boredom.”
“I’m not suggesting that.”
“Then what?”
“Do it on your own.”
“Do what?”
“Music. Listen, the music is good, and you guys are on fire, there’s no denying that. But you could have a stellar career without the guys. Ethan’s said it, the label knows it, and Trent damn well knows it. The size of the crowd has nearly doubled because of you. They aren’t chanting Trent’s name as much anymore. They’re shouting for you.”
I tapped my heels against the carpet, considering her observations. At the beginning of the tour, I was just a glorified backup singer, but now, we were playing more of my songs. Just last week, the record label tried to get me to sign on permanently.
“Let’s be real,” Monica continued. “You don’t seem to like the traveling part. You light up when you sing, but more so when you write lyrics and compose the music. That’s where your talents lie.”
“So, I should just go solo? What about Davey, Ethan, Drew . . . Trent?”
“They survived without you before, they can do it again. They have an audience, a solid following. They may never make it to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but they’re hot and make good music. With strong management, they can make it work for the long haul.”
“Still, I’ve written like five songs for them. I’d feel bad to just leave them high and dry.”
“You can still write the music. Just don’t record the songs and perform. For your career, work with a smaller or indie label where you can have more freedom in your contract.”
“You are so right!” I rushed to hug her. “You are my new best friend. Thank you, thank you, and thank you!”
She chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
I stepped back from her embrace.
“But, um, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“You really need to lay off the drinking. I . . . I hope you don’t take this wrong, but I do think you need some help.”
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks. “I think I—”
“I’m speaking from experience.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a purple and gold-plated medallion. “Three years sober. I was hesitant to join you on this tour. I was afraid of being tempted, and it’s been hard. Damn hard, but I’ve been going strong.” She rolled the coin in her fingers. “I know I dumped a lot on you, but when you’re ready, we can talk.”
Monica paused at the door. “I know everything seems overwhelming right now. And the addiction, it wraps its scaly skin around your body and squeezes and chokes and robs the life out of you.” She exhaled, a faraway look in her eyes. “You feel like you can’t move, can’t breathe.” She refocused on me. “But you can fight it. You can win, and nothing is sweeter than a clear mind and a clear heart.”