See Her (Turn it Up #1)

Chapter 34

34

MAYZIE

A nnie talked me into dressing up and heading out for a night of dancing. She has a special degree in All-Things-Mayzie, and while I was reluctant at first, I felt a bit more motivated after she put me in a dashing blue dress and full makeup.

Once we were both satisfactorily decked out, she proceeded to take us to a midtown nightclub, got a few drinks in me, and was my bodyguard while we danced in the dark but dazzlingly euphoric atmosphere.

The alcohol helped dim the loneliness, and the endorphins helped chase away my somber mood just enough to keep it on the outskirts of my personal orbit. My only complaint was that the bitch took away my phone so that I wouldn’t keep checking it for calls from Jack. She promised to let me know if it rang, and another shot or two had me worrying less about it.

Now, however…

Now, my thoughts towards Annie are that she’s Satan.

Okay, in all fairness, I vaguely remember her putting me to bed with water and aspirin, but it’s her fault I needed that turn-down service.

She meant well, trying to get my mind off things for the night, but as I lay here with my head plastered to my pillow, my mushy brain matter can’t seem to decide if it was worth it. Probably not.

After a lot of psyching myself up, two failed attempts at sitting up, and tripping over one of my discarded heels, I’ve made it to the kitchen and finally, my remedy is currently brewing, percolating and dripping torturously slowly into the pot.

The dogs are whining and pawing at me, and I’m so weak from my excursions, they almost knock me over. After letting our two beloved canines out to pee, I unceremoniously pour kibble into their bowls, spilling little nuggets all around. I should not have gotten up. I lean across my counter and start scrolling through my phone to pass the time until I can pour coffee into a mug.

I immediately see a missed call from Jack last night that looks like it came in around the time Annie and I were in the car on the way to the club. I want to get pissy at her for not telling me, but a potent little memory breaks through the fog of her confiscating my phone and throwing it in her purse without looking at it.

After dialing my voicemail, I listen to the deep, velvety rasp of my husband’s voice.

Hi, sweetheart, it’s me. Just wanted to be able to talk to you some more. It was kind of a shitty night on stage and I’m just missing my girl. Also… I’m not feeling good about what we talked about earlier, and I’m a little worried that’s why you’re not answering. Call me back when you can so we can talk about it. I love you.

I let out a long sigh at his message before disconnecting voicemail. His words make my heart ache in both happy and sad ways. I would call him back, but he’s most likely asleep at this early hour. I’ll let him know later that we will work through it.

I know as long as I can feel his love for me across the miles, it will be okay.

After taking another cleansing breath, I go back to perusing my social media. A radiant photo of Annie and me decked out last night pops up in my feed, posted by the demon herself, and it mak es me quirk a half smile. Despite my current state, I like knowing that I was out enjoying myself for a night.

More photos of friends and random celebrity news continue to fly across my phone screen as I continue scrolling and swiping when an image catches my eye, and I quickly swipe back to it. When it’s centered back on my screen, I notice instantly why it caught my attention.

I study the unexpected photo of my husband with both my mind and vision still fuzzy, but when it comes into focus, I feel every blood cell in my veins slow to a stop as my stomach drops and I feel momentarily dizzy.

Clumsily setting my phone down, I take a moment to rub my eyes and get the room to stop spinning.

I’m hungover, and who knows, probably still half-drunk. I didn’t really just see what I think I did…

After taking a few deep breaths and centering myself, I pick the phone back up to further examine its context.

In what is quite obviously a hotel hallway, a voluptuous bleached blonde groupie-looking girl with pink streaks in her hair is using a key card to swipe the lock to her room… while my husband leans against the wall a couple of feet behind her. He doesn’t look happy or excited, but he does look… expectant. His eyes are hard set on the card swiper like he’s eager for it to blink green.

What the hell could that mean…

There’s a hyperlink just below the photo, and though I know it leads to an inevitable breakdown, complete with tears, and dark, sickening heartache, I tap on it without a thought. I need to find out if I have something to worry about here.

The headline reads:

Turn it Up settles into their new wild life on the road with The Shock Wave.

Below the headline are two photos, side-by-side. One is the nightmare of Jack standing by as some bimbo groupie is unlocking a hotel room, and the other is of Josh, possibly in the same h allway, with several scantily clad ladies hanging off him like Christmas ornaments while the smug asshole grins, obviously eating it up.

Below the photos, is a simple caption:

Jack Krasinski and Josh Nolan of the new smash rock band, Turn it Up, were seen living it up at an after party at the Westin, Dallas. – Photos courtesy of @rocknfangurl95

That’s all there is.

I’ve forgotten all about the full pot of coffee that’s finally brewed as my eyes brim with tears. The smell does nothing for me as my vision blurs, and I feel the sting behind my closed lids. I feel a sob trying to crawl its way up my throat and I clench my jaw against it, refusing to let it surface. If I submit to this feeling, I might never recover.

I’m on total autopilot as I snatch my phone back up and immediately dial Jack.

Sleeping or not, I’m playing the wife card. I want him to explain this, right away. I want to know I don’t have a damn thing to worry about, immediately. I’d rather find out that I’m certifiably hallucinating than know that what I’m seeing in that picture is real.

Without a single ring, Jack’s voicemail picks up.

His phone is off.

That’s so… fucking convenient , I think to myself, despite how hard I try not to. I just feel so fucking vulnerable and helpless that there’s photographic evidence of him being with a girl, possibly more, just last night, while I was here trying to keep from missing him. And now I can’t reach him.

My old, insecure self starts swirling to the surface, even though I know I should be fighting to push her back down. But I’m hurt and scared, and therefore can’t seem to help being very reactive right now, and so she wins… I power off my own phone.

Two can play that game , I think to myself as I fight off another wave of painful tears .

As if to signal to me that I’m not alone, the dogs paw at the back door to be let in. Absently dropping my phone back to the counter, I venture over to open the door for them, but instead of running straight for their food bowls, they both fawn all over me, rubbing against and pawing at me, whimpering, and trying to give me kisses.

After letting them love on me for a few moments, I let them enjoy their breakfast as I head to the shower.

As I hold myself under the spray, I feel more like I’m trying to hold the pieces of my soul together.

Jack

Week-old shit rotting in the tread of an eighteen-wheeler’s tire after an all-night haul on the interstate… that’s what I feel like as I stomp onto the bus after speed brushing my teeth, splashing water on my face, and cramming everything in my bag.I don’t remember much after my third drink of the night, and I can tell why by the pounding in my head that feels like a twenty-inch subwoofer. I grab a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and down it on my way to my bunk where I immediately grab my phone out of my pocket and sit down. All my foggy brain can think about is calling Mayzie, but all I get is a dark, dead screen. Perfect.I pull my charger out of my bag and plug it into the bunk’s outlet to charge.Unable to take being vertical anymore, I pull last night’s shirt over my head, and lay back to shuck my cargos off.I lie back on the pillow and close my eyes.Hangovers don’t usually happen to me, so I can only guess at how much I had to drink last night. I hate that I don’t remember anything, and it makes me feel uneasy as I very restlessly doze off.

When I wake up, it’s to the feel of the bus rocking me. I have no clu e when we got on the road. Once I blink a few times, I immediately grab my phone and power it on.When the home screen comes up, I see that it’s two hours later, and there are still no texts or voicemails from Mayzie.

Dammit, that’s not a good sign.The tour extension was tough news on both of us, and I hope she’s not withdrawing.

I lay back and dial her number, pushing a hand into my hair as I listen to her voicemail pick up.

“Baby, it’s me,” I sleepily rumble into the phone, my heart sinking at the fact I’m talking to her voicemail again and not her. “Could you call me back when you get this? I’m starting to get worried. I love you, and I miss you.”

I end the call and drop my arm holding the phone at my side as I let out a deep sigh. I could really stand to hear her voice right now, hell, at the very least; especially after yesterday. I’m not sure how she’s doing, but I know I’m pretty much a wreck if you’ll recall my mental state last night.

After scrubbing my hands over my face a couple of times, I finally decide to make an effort to get up rather than lie here in my misery all day.

Pulling a shirt on, I make my way down the narrow hallway of bunks and into the lounge area, where thankfully, I find no one but Matt. I’m not in the mood to handle any other personalities; not before I have a cup or five of coffee in me anyway. After pouring a mug of black, I shuffle over to sit in the recliner opposite where he’s sitting in his sweats, guitar leaning against the side of his chair, his phone in his lap and his head leaning against his hand.

“Hey,” he grumbles his morning salutation. Clearly, he’s only marginally more awake than I am.

“Hey,” I grunt back as I flop down.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” I respond, plainly.

“You put a lot down last night,” he nods. “Do I need to be worried about you? ”

I wave his question away as I take a sip of the hot liquid before swallowing hard and clarifying. “Nah, I just needed a night,” I assure him. Matt worked hard to put this band together, and I won’t let him down. The fact he’s concerned is a sign that I need to get my shit together. I raise my coffee mug and add, “Just a few more of these and my head will be screwed on straight again.”

“Alright,” he nods, and looks me in the eye to let me know he believes me. “And I get it, last night’s performance was a bitch, and I know you miss your girl.”

I nod down at my lap before he speaks again.

“Have you gotten ahold of her yet?”

“No.” I shake my head, regretfully. “I’m worried about it too, man. When I told her about the extension, she seemed to take it well, but that could have been for my benefit.”

“She’ll call at some point,” he tries to console me, just as his phone chimes. He picks it up to swipe at the screen. “Ron just sent us our press coverage from the last show,” he informs me absently as he pulls his glasses from the side table to read the screen.

A couple moments of silence goes by as he reads, and I continue to get the coffee to move the blood around in my veins.

“Everything still going well?” I finally ask and he grins, letting his eyes flick to me briefly before back at his screen.

“Yeah, looks like the crowds are still eating it up,” he boasts, and I give a subtle smile which is all I can manage right now, but I’m trying.

Matt continues to read, slowly scrolling down his screen until I see his features drop slightly and his focus intensifies.

“What is it?” I ask, rubbing at the back of my stiff neck.

He releases a sigh through his nostrils while pressing his lips together. “I think I might know why Mayzie’s not answering your calls.” He looks up at me, finally, as my heart startles and beats to life at a dangerous rate.

“What?” I retort, setting my mug down and immediately reachi ng for his phone, which he hands over with another heavy exhale.

I take it from him and study the small segment on us that features a couple of photos from last night… one being of me making sure the blonde got inside her room.

I lift my shoulders and shake my head in confusion. “That girl was drunk off her ass and coming onto me. I walked her to her room to make sure she was safe and to get her to leave me alone,” I explain, but my brain must not be making the connection Matt’s is.

“I know, man.” He takes his readers’ back off and sets them down.He wasn’t even there, but he knows me and how insane I am for Mayzie. “But do you realize what it looks like?” He waves his hand, trying to get me on the same train.

I look down at the segment again. The photo is next to the one of Josh and all the groupies he almost made a night of it with. Clearly one of them shot both photos as there was no one else around. The caption alludes to it being some wild night, but I’m just standing there waiting for her to open her door, and… aw fuck!

“Fuck!” I grunt out loud this time as I drop Matt’s phone on the side table and lean over to run my hand through my hair. I don’t know if Mayzie’s seen this, but if she has, I can only imagine what’s going through her mind. I hope to God that she knows me better than that, but this does not look good. If it were the other way around, if it were a photo of her and some guy, I’d be losing my fucking shit about now.

“George and Erin were saying something about this,” Matt muses quietly as I grip at my strands and squeeze my eyes shut against the frustration mixing with the hangover. “How the press can take someone just doing a polite thing and turn it into something ugly.” He shakes his head as I grip the bridge of my nose.

The bullshit train can stop any fucking time now…

“Hey,” Matt says calmly, trying to pull me out of my spiral. “You’ ll get a hold of her and you’ll straighten everything out,” he tries to assure me as I push to my feet.

“I gotta try calling her again,” I huff, pushing past a bleary-eyed Josh who’s just emerging from bunk row.

Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I take a seat on the edge of my bunk and dial my wife again, just to hear it click straight to voicemail, making the painful need to get hold of her all the more desperate.

“Baby, please call me. I need to talk to you,” I practically beg. “You… are the most important thing in this world to me, and I need you to call me back. Please. I love you more than anything.”