“Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Jesus.”
“It’ll be okay, Marek.” Mabel reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I’m sure she’s okay. You’re right, that totally would have been the headline if something happened to her.”
I nod, slowly, about ten times, as I accept that.
“You need a drink.” Benny stands and walks over to the kitchen. He pulls a bottle from a cupboard and then three glasses, and pours shots of tequila.
“Thanks.” I take a sip. “Bring the bottle over here.”
“Don’t forget we have a practice tomorrow.”
“Optional,” I remind the team captain who will 100 percent be there.
“True.”
This isn’t shooting tequila, it’s smooth sipping tequila, but I toss it back and help myself to more. “This might be the only way I sleep tonight.”
“Maybe you should tell us more about what happened in Las Vegas,” Mabel says.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
A hurt look passes over her face.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that it was… personal.”
“I think we can imagine,” Benny says dryly, shooting Mabel a glance.
Can they? Maybe. They think they can. But they don’t know how magical it was. The connection between us.
Which I just gave up on ever experiencing again. It’s been nearly a year. Maybe it wasn’t that magical.
We sit in silence for a few minutes as I think my thoughts, drinking tequila.
I am totally overreacting. It’s true—I don’t really know her. I thought I did and I wanted more, but that’s clearly not going to happen. I need to calm the fuck down.
8
NIKKI
I’m home.
I could cry at the relief of it.
I haven’t shed a tear. I’ve been putting on a brave face. Staying strong. Keeping my chin up.
I’m home. I’m safe. And I’m finally alone.
I wander around my Upper West Side apartment in the quiet. I’ve decorated this place to be my sanctuary. It’s mostly white, with light-colored hardwood floors, creamy-colored upholstery and natural wood furniture, lots of candles, soft throw blankets and cushions, and a plush wool rug in shades of ivory, taupe, and sand. Just being here soothes me.
I look out the window overlooking 70th Street. It’s just getting dark. The tree branches are stark black and bare against the overcast sky. The snowfall yesterday has left the roads wet and slushy, which had me on edge all day, constantly checking out the window. Overall it’s a gloomy, gray January scene.
I give the cream-colored curtains a yank across the windows to close off that view.
Everyone’s gone now. Blake, my manager, was here. Harper, my booking agent. My parents just left to go home to Connecticut after staying with me yesterday and most of today. Tiana offered to come stay with me. Lita called. My backup band members called. They’re all worried about me but I assured them I’m fine and I just want to be alone to rest and process everything that’s happened.
What they’re really worried about? My ability to produce.
I sit on the couch. I could watch TV, but I’m enjoying the silence. And the last thing I want to see is news about the accident. I get a rolling feeling in my stomach at the thought.
