“Sonja, this is Mia. Mia, Sonja.”
“Hi,” I said with an obligatory smile. “I like your shirt.”
“It’s a dress.”
“Whatever. Ready, Will?”
He slowly took Sonja’s arm from around his neck and stepped away from her like she was a cobra about to strike.
“Wait! Hold on. I just wanted to say thank you for opening the shows. You did a great job and…” She looked at me and smirked. “Thanks for that night back in San Diego. I won’t forget it.” She said the last part in a sultry voice.
The way Will’s eyebrows pointed together like he felt sorry for her made it obvious that she was full of shit.
Frank came barreling out the door. “You’re good to go, kid. He handed Will a disk. “She already cut a vocal track, just listen to it.” He looked at Sonja. “It’s not bad, sweetheart, but I think Will wants to debut something more original.”
“Frank, you know you can’t talk to me; that’s what I f**king pay people for. Talk to my manager.” And then she made a shooing motion with her hand before turning on her giant heel and walking away.
“Let’s get outta here, I feel like crap.” Will said, yanking me toward the car.
In the back of the town car he nuzzled against me and began trailing light kisses across my collarbone. “What do you want to do?” I asked.
“I just want to get wasted with you and find out if there is a god,” he murmured into my neck before tugging on my earlobe with his teeth.
I shivered. He moved his hand between my legs and then kissed me gently, teasing my bottom lip with his tongue. “What was last night then?” I whispered.
“Progress, but I think I need more convincing.”
The car pulled up to our hotel overlooking the Santa Monica pier. As soon as I saw the giant Ferris wheel, I grabbed Will’s arm. “We need to go sit on that thing! Now!”
“Is it safe?”
“Come on!”
When the big red bowl swooped us off the ground, Will’s grip on my hand tightened. We were silent and spellbound by the orange and white Creamsicle-like sunset taking place over the ocean. The crashing waves were like glorious movements from some unfinished musical masterpiece. We sat transfixed as the sun played the ocean like a Steinway.
We looked at each other at the very same moment and then just stared into each other’s eyes, perfectly content. “Did something happen with you and Sonja?”
“No… who is Jason?”
“An old friend. He and his fiancé came over for dinner.” He huffed and I knew it had tortured him until that moment, but just like that, things were straightened out and we were finally communicating. I was a little hesitant to approach the Live Wire subject because it seemed like he was feeling better, definitely over the fever and chills. “Are you going to sign the deal and let her sing on the track?”
Without hesitation he said “No” and then kissed me passionately, pulling me onto his lap. His mouth was urgent and his hands gripped my face like a vise. It was a theatrical display that got everybody on the ground clapping as we swooped by.
Will was avoiding the topic and it sent me reeling. We were expected to meet the Live Wire execs the next day, but Rady had arranged for Second Chance Charlie and Will’s band, the managers, and whatever friends or family wanted to join to have dinner in a rented-out restaurant that night. It was sort of the period at the end of the sentence for the two groups who were parting ways. If Will didn’t show, it would be a real slap in the face, regardless of what his decision was going to be the following day. Plus, I think everybody wanted an opportunity to work on convincing him to sign the deal, me included.
Track 18: A Violin
I explored our gorgeous suite, complete with a baby grand piano and a stone fireplace. The marble floors were freckled with ornate Persian rugs and everything in the bathroom was white and smelled like Lilly of the Valley.
“Wow, Will, I can’t believe Live Wire paid for a room like this.”
“They didn’t. It’s my way of thanking you for coming with me.”
“You paid for this?” He nodded slowly like he felt a fraction of doubt about telling me that tidbit.
“Thank you. This is amazing and you’re sweet,” I said. “I think we should go to dinner with the group.”
“Fine, but first this…”
By that point we were mindlessly removing each other’s clothes. I pushed him down on the bed and lowered myself onto him. He sucked in a breath and smiled, so I leaned down and kissed him sweetly and then tugged at his lower lip before sitting up and moving on top of him. I went slow and savored the feeling of him filling me. He met my movements with the perfect amount of resistance, one hand gripped my hip while he ran his index finger down the center of my chest, slowly inching his thumb down to the bundle of nerves above where our bodies connected. He knew exactly what to do with his adroit guitar hands and I made a mental note to thank the nurse if I ever saw her. I jerked, writhing from the intensity; his other hand gripped my hip tighter. I arched my back and let my head fall while I got lost in the feeling of Will in me and all over me as we both cried out. A moment later he sat up, still inside me, and wrapped his whole body around mine.
“I love you, Mia.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t say the words because the feeling had unearthed a new sensation that I had no experience with in a relationship… fear. It’s a plaguing, unruly affliction that clouds any happiness born from real love. It’s a fool who thinks love will set him free. Love equals a morbid and relentless fear of losing the other person. It’s a freak-accident fear, a piece of space junk falling from the sky and obliterating him, leaving nothing but his smoking boots. It’s the unfortunate-organ-defect fear—suddenly, on his thirtieth birthday, the little crack in his heart that’s been there since birth will rear its ugly head and take him in his sleep while he’s spooning you. It’s the only way to know you’re really in love, when you ask the question would it be harder to watch him die, or to know he’ll watch me die? Is there more mercy in being the one who does the watching or in being the one who does the dying? It’s when you realize what mercy-killing actually means, it’s when you actually care to the point of tormenting worry. It’s not roses and white horses, it’s f**king brutal and it can send a person running for the hills. To love is brave and Will was the bravest person I knew.