Chapter 11: Nice Guys Clean Up Their Messes

Adam

I pace my suite.

Beer in hand.

Fuck.

I want to go back to Mac.

But no good is going to come of it.

Not right now. We both need time to cool off.

So I pace my suite.

Beer in hand.

Four-ish beers disappear, and in that time I have two epiphanies.

The first epiphany is key. What I did—losing my shit like that—I had absolutely no control in that moment. I was only reacting. Not thinking. I fucked everything up, reacting like that, and I didn't mean to do what I did. I think I have a little more empathy for Mac when she loses it, now.

The second epiphany is horrifying: I just threw Mac's right to self-determine out the window. Also...

A half million fucking dollars, in a little blue box.

Fuck.

You gotta fix this situation, Heartley.

I know I have to do at least two things.

The first is the hardest.

I call up Riley.

"Heartley," he answers in greeting.

"Hey, where are you, man?" I ask. I tried drinking these beers in Trace's suite, but he's not there, so I figure Riley might be out-of-pocket, too.

"Kat Ballard's kitchen," he says dryly. "She made me Lipton's tea to drink—which is not tea at all, but something akin to grass in a coffee filter..."

"Oh damn," I laugh. Feels good to laugh.

"Precisely. What's up?"

I chug half of a fifth beer and burp.

"Are you drunk, Adam?" Riley sounds amused.

"Shit. Not. Nearly. Enough."

Riley makes that fucking British twitter-laugh, that makes a guy both admire and want to punch him.

"Adam, if you are calling me because Trace won't answer, he's upstairs in his teenage dream's boudoir, probably fucking the bejesus out of her..."

"No, Riley...I need to ask you a favor."

"Shoot," he says lightly.

"Okay, but I need you to ask no questions."

"No problem. If I need answers, I have other means..."

Fucking little British stalker shit. I have no idea why everyone likes him, but we all do. Including me. "How do I get a prescription for the morning after pill? You know...without the girl seeing a doctor?"

He laughs. "You don't need a prescription, Adam. It's over the counter."

"Are you fucking serious?" That is brand new information to me.

"Mmmmm...yes." Riley sounds bored with my lack of knowledge on emergency contraception.

"Wow, didn't realize. Okay, man—thanks—"

"Heartley, you can't waltz into the drug store and pick up Plan B. TMZ will have it by sun-down. And you will be answering alot of uncomfortable questions to Marcy," He sighs, his burdened British sigh. I grin, cause I know a boy is gonna help me out. "Therefore, I have to go back on my previous statement about not asking questions  and clarify a point..."

"I'm not sayin' I'm gonna answer..."

"Then I'll frame it in a way that doesn't involve the Lovely Lady Lawson, which we both know this is a-fucking-bout. Can it wait until we get to New Orleans? Late tonight or first thing tomorrow?"

"That works," I sigh, all but admitting my Mac-shame. Not that I'm ashamed of her. Just that I'm telling tales to Riley.

"Consider it done."

The little British prick hangs up on me before I can even say thank you.

I finish the beer. And another.

The next thing I have to do is not that hard.

I take the elevator. Bodie's suite is the next floor down.

When he answers, I simply say, "On a mission. Need a wing-man."

Bodie laughs heartily, taking in the six pack of beer in my hand. "I'm intrigued. Do tell."

"On the way."

Ten minutes later, Bodie and I are scoping out the club across the street from our hotel, because that ring I chucked off the balcony? It's on the roof of the Lunar Lounge.

I know, I know...it's only money...but...

It's a half million fucking dollars, baking on that club's roof in the Atlanta sun.

It's not even noon. This club is nowhere near open yet. Doors locked.

"Fuck it. We're doing this," I say, already examining the windows for breakability.

Bodie slaps me on the chest, pointing to a sexy brunette crossing the street from the parking garage in a Lunar Lounge T-shirt and hot pants. "Hold up. No need to engage in B&E. Sweet young thang with probable keys at nine o'clock..."

"Oh my god...I heard you guys were stayin' over there..." her eyes are wide as she jerks her head at our hotel.

"Yeah, you heard right," I assure her. "Listen—" I check her name tag, "Marley, we really need your help..."

Turns out Marley is not quite so sweet or as young as she looks. Cocktail waitress is her second job. She just finished grad school and got licensed in family counseling. She is by far the most serious and sincere cocktail waitress I've ever met. She barely lets us in the door of the Lunar Lounge. Bodie's plan to bamboozle with a little flirtation isn't flying.

"So, look, I really can't let you guys on the roof," she says. "What if you fall off or something? The owner will fire me."

"Marley, baby," Bodie puts an arm around the girl, "We are Rock Stars. We know how to handle ourselves. We always keep our shit straight," he assures her.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs off Bodie's arm. I sit down at the bar, and swig beer, considering how to play this. Fuck me—I was relying on Bodie's sexy shock and awe to charm Marley, and she's not having it.

"Marley, please," I say. " It's really important, and you would be doing me a huge favor," I beg. "You'll be my special friend for life, ok?"

She frowns at that a little. I see she has an engagement ring on her finger. "Not that kind of friend," I assure her. "I mean, like the kind that gets free tickets and backstage passes and Christmas cards from the band. Congratulations, on your engagement, by the way," I mutter, gesturing at her ring.

"Thanks, I just got engaged last month" she beams, her big brown eyes warm with excitement, thinking about her impending nuptial happiness.

See Mac? Not every woman thinks marriage is the Seventh Circle of Hell.

"We're getting married next year. I'm super happy."

"Happy is good. We all want to be happy," Bodie agrees. "Don't you want us to be happy, Marley?"

She shrugs, "Sure."

"Then let us on the roof, baby. That's what will make us happy," Bodie's smile is megawatt even in the darkened bar.

"Why do you need to get up there so bad?" she asks.

Bodie's smile drains away. He looks at me. "You know what, Marley? That's a damn good question."

Marley laughs. "You don't even know?"

Bodie shrugs. "Adam's my brother. He said he had a mission. That's all I needed to know."

Marley and Bodie both look at me expectantly.

"It's...complicated," I say to Bodie. He nods. He decodes that correctly to mean it has something to do with Mac.

"And I can't tell you either, Marley."

Marley pulls her dark brown hair back into a ponytail and shrugs as she wipes the bar. "Then, no can do. Sorry, fellas. Have a great tour."

I give Bodie the nod. He picks up what I'm laying down and wanders off muttering about a bathroom, but I see he goes out the back door to wait on me. Bodie is a good dude. A no questions-asked kind of dude. I wish Marley had his attitude.

"Look, Marley, the reason is personal. And you seem like a really nice person, but you can imagine in my line of work, given that I'm sort of..."

"An incredibly famous celebrity," she supplies helpfully as she restocks mixers.

"Well yeah, that being sort of famous—I don't tell my business to strangers in bars. But believe me when I say, this is important."

"I appreciate that, Adam, but I need this job. It pays really well—being across the street from the nicest hotel in Atlanta. Rich guys like you come in here all the time and leave me nice tips. My fiancee is a teacher, I'm a mental health counselor—we aren't rolling in money from our day jobs. Right now we are working extra jobs to pay for our wedding and buy a house..."

I pull out my wallet. "Okay, how much is it going to take to buy me roof access?"

She glares at me a little. "I'm not trying to extort money from you. If something happens while you are up there, I'm going to get fired—that's all I'm saying."

"Look nothing is going to happen. It's a flat roof, and it's not like I'm..."

"Drunk? Cause you are a little bit."

"I'm a little buzzed. I'm not going to fall off the roof."

"You are really serious about this, huh? This isn't just some drunken rock star escapade?"

"No. Look, I threw something off a balcony over there, and it landed on the roof of the Lunar Lounge, and I need to get it back."

Her nose crinkles as she smiles. "That sounds like a drunken rock star escapade to me."

I laugh. "Okay. Maybe you are right."

"What was it—your favorite guitar pick or lighter or something?"

"It is a drunken rock star escapade, but it's not a guitar pick, okay? And I don't smoke. The thing that's up there...let's just say it would be really wasteful of me to leave it there. I literally threw a lot of money out the window for no good reason."

She rinses out the bar cloth while she considers. "Okay, how about this? What if I go up there, and get the thing you threw?"

I shake my head. "I don't think that's going to work."

"Why?" she looks curious.

"Well, it's small. I would have to tell you what the thing is, for you to know what you are looking for..."

"So?" she prompts.

I remain silent. If I tell her what's up there, she has a story to sell. And she just told me she needs money. "Look, how about this. If you'll sign an non-disclosure agreement, then I'll tell you."

She considers. She nods firmly her dark ponytail bobbing. "Okay. But only because you seem like a nice guy. You do realize that at this point I could ask you to leave and go find whatever is up there myself that's worth a lot of money, right?"

Huh. I actually had not thought of that. I must be drunker than I realize. I pull out my phone to call Dawes. He doesn't answer. Shit, Riley is out-of-pocket, and so is Trace. Obviously I can't call Leed or Mac to ferry me over an NDA...and I don't want involve any of the crew. My last shot is Tams...she doesn't answer either. Where the hell is everybody?

"Okay, I need to send Bodie back for the paperwork..." I rise, jerking my head toward the back door. "This is going to take a few minutes...well maybe a while..." Bodie will have to figure out how to pull a NDA down from the lawyer's past emails or something and find a printer and shit. We've all gotten pretty clueless when it comes to managing our band business. Damn I wish Riley were at the hotel.

Marley looks at the clock behind the bar. "Other people are going to be here soon..." she squints at me, closing one eye. "Tell you what...you got any cash on you? Like five bucks or something?

I grin a little sheepishly as I lay a hundred on the counter. She rolls her eyes and mutters, "Of course."

She reaches for her messenger bag. She pulls out a packet of paperwork. "Sign here, here, and here," she says.

"What am I signing?" I frown. At the top I see her Professional Disclosure Statement and her name—Marley Watkins—followed by a bunch of letters that don't mean much to me. Degrees and licensing and shit.

"You're engaging me as a counselor," she smiles. "Much better than an NDA for you. If I break confidentially, I could lose my license."

"That works," I shrug, and sign where she tells me too. She puts the hundred in her pocket.

I send Bodie back to the hotel and half an hour later, Marley and I have covered about half of the roof, and I have pretty much finished the Misadventures of Madam that have brought me to the point of scouring the Lunar Lounge rooftop in the hundred degree heat today.

Marley has nodded and interjected a few questions, but now she is silent. "Well?" I ask. "What do you think I should do?"

She wipes the sweat off her brow with a clean cloth she took from the bar as she straightens up from checking around the bottom of an A/C unit on the roof. "Oh, you want actual advice? Not just help looking for the ring?"

"I'm paying you, aren't I?" I grin at her. I like this chic. She reminds me of my sister Reagan—the one only two years older than me. The one with only two kids, so far. My two older sisters have five kids apiece. It's like they are in competition or something.

"Well," she sighs, "Without having met Mac, but strictly going on what you've told me, I would probably say...it's not really about you, Adam. There's not much you can do to assuage her fears about relationships. She has to do that work."

I laugh bitterly. "Great, thanks. Marley, don't take this the wrong way, but don't quit your night job."

She laughs easily—a soothing sound. "You are a funny guy, Adam, and you probably have a lot of other good qualities, too. All you can do in any relationship is be genuine and kind and express your needs, and work to address the other person's needs. And it sounds like you have clearly done the first three. It also sounds like what Mac is telling you, is that she needs you to back off."

"I've been backed off. For a year."

"And she initiated the reconcilation, right? That's good, but now you have to start over again. You can't go from renewing a tumultuous relationship one day to buying an engagement ring the next. That's a rock star escapade, not a real-world kind of move."

I suppose Marley is right about that. "Yeah, but how can I just pretend like the other part—the maybe-baby—doesn't exist?"

"Adam it doesn't exist. At least not yet. Not in any confirmed way. It sounds like you and Mac are making incredibly huge assumptions about this potential pregnancy. Even people trying to conceive don't always get pregnant with the exact right timing. The fact that you both are behaving like she's pregnant—I think it speaks to your desire and her fear. So don't you think you should back way down and address those things before you try to make decisions like whether or not you should get married or whether you and Mac or ready to be parents?"

"So you are saying...she should take the pill?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying you should examine the underlying reasons why you bought an engagement ring right after Mac kicked you out of her suite for proposing. And she should examine the reasons why she seems reluctant to take the pill— why she wants to prolong the potential that she might be pregnant with your child. You have to open a dialogue. Rock star gestures don't seem like they are working for you two."

"Okay, that makes sense, sort of," I concede.

"Good, I'm glad—-Ah!" she exclaims and darts a few feet away, scrambling back in seconds with the tiny Tiffany's box in her hand.

"Thank you, Jesus—and you too, Marley!" I give her a quick hug as I swiftly pull off the lid. The inner velvet box looks intact, but I slide it out, just to check.

Marley's breath catches at the sight of the ring. "Uhhhhm, Adam?"

"Yeah? I ask, trying to not to chuckle as Marley ogles the diamond. I hope she's not negatively comparing her own somewhat more modest but very nice engagement ring. I'm sure her fiancee dropped a burdensome amount on it.

"Speaking strictly as a woman, and not as your counselor...that girl's a fool." She laughs again. "Nice job on the ring. I hope you get to bring it back out again someday." She pats me on the arm as I open the roof access door for her.

As I prepare to leave, while Marley is busy cutting limes, I swing around at the last second. "Thanks again, Marley—you were so helpful in a crisis."

She winks at me. "It's sort of...my job. My other job," she grins.

I walk back over to the bar. "Hey...can I uhmmm...get your number?" I ask, wincing at how weird that sounds. "I mean, for professional reasons...in case I need more advice."

She gestures for my phone. "Okay, but if you need to talk, text me for a time, ok? Don't just call. I don't keep rock-star hours."

"You bet. Thanks again, Marley."

When I return to the hotel, I have to pack quickly. Mac deliberately takes a different SUV to the airport than me. When we get on the plane to New Orleans, I think about what Marley said, and I find a separate seat from Mac.

She glares at me for about fifteen minutes, but she can't keep it up.

Eventually, she comes to sit beside me. "I saw you on the roof, you know."

I nod. "I figured."

"I'm glad. That you found it."

"Me too. That was a dumb thing to do. I'm sorry I lost it and yelled like that. I'm sorry I threw shit. I'm sorry I walked out."

She nods. "I know. I'm sorry, too. For going into your room, your safe without asking. For attacking you like that. I heard what you said—that you know I'm not ready for...marriage."

"I do know that, Mac. Listen, I'll replace the other thing I threw out, when we get to New Orleans."

She doesn't say anything about that. Instead, she blurts out. "Who was the girl?"

It takes me a minute. "Oh, on the roof? That was Marley. She works at the Lunar Lounge. I was lucky she was there to prep for opening. I had to talk her into letting me on the roof."

Mac's makeupless golden eyebrows arch. "Marley? Should I be jealous?"

I smile. This is Mac's way of restoring the status-quo, I guess.

"You have no reason to be jealous of her. She just got engaged."

"God Adam, really? I'm trying to apologize here." She turns away from me in her seat. Realizing what I said, I'm barely able to grab her by the arm. "Mac. I'm sorry. I honestly didn't mean a thing by that. I just meant...we weren't flirting or anything. I wouldn't do that—not with us, doing whatever we are doing right now. And she wasn't flirting with me because she's got a man. That's all I meant."

"Maybe, but maybe your subconscious meant more," Mac's voice is low.

"Well what does your subconscious mean, by not taking that pill?" I counter calmly. Leed is glaring at us. I let her arm go.

She stills, like she hadn't thought of that. She twists in her seat, uncomfortably but she reorients her body towards me again. "I don't know," she says quietly.

"Well, maybe we should...figure that out," I say, thinking about what Marley said.

"That's not the only thing we have to figure out," Mac sighs, watching Leed watch us. "There are still the band issues. Leed will go nuclear when he finds out we are sleeping together again."

"Are we? Still?" I ask, with raised eyebrows.

"I guess, as long as I never see or hear about that ring again," She smiles her sweet lip-glossy smile that makes my heart pound and makes my cock stiffen uncomfortably in my jeans.

I'm kind of shocked at Mac's attitude. I thought we might be on a break again after this morning, or at the minimum we'd have weeks of difficulties. We keep doing this these last few days, fighting—and then ignoring that we had a fight. I'm not sure this is healthy. Maybe I should ask Marley about this part of our relationship...

But right now, I don't want to fight with Mac. I want us to be on the same side.

"What ring?"

"Thank you," she murmurs, her soft long fingers playing over my arm, where Leed can't see. "But what about Leed?"

"Mac, I'm sure he already suspects—so do the others. Hiding what's going on between us might end up causing just as much turmoil as being open about it. I think we should at least be upfront with the guys with where we are at."

"Adam!" she hisses. "You mean tell them I might be pregnant? No fucking way!"

"No, that's none of their business. But everybody's on edge, wondering what the hell is going on with us, and everybody's on edge, wondering what the hell will happen with Trace's media shit-storm, and we need to take something down a notch. If we say that we are..." I trail off. I'm doing it again, pushing Mac to define us as something. "Shit...let's just admit we've been sleeping together, and we don't know exactly where we are going, but that we've been trying things out again. That's honest, and Leed can rant and rage and get over himself instead of pouting at us for keeping secrets from him, like he's doing right now." I nod toward Leed, who is giving me the stink-eye from behind some new-age self help book he's reading.

Mac throws an airplane pillow at Leed and he bats it down with his book.

"Maybe you're right about being honest. It seems stupid to keep sneaking around like this. We are adults and it's not really Leed's business, who I sleep with...and so far, the band has managed to survive despite our ups and downs, so maybe..."

"Maybe that's not the real issue, here?" I ask gently.

"Maybe not," she concedes. Suddenly she gets a devilish look. She wets her lips. "But I really don't want Leed to be mad at you for fucking my brains out."

Her breath against my ear is not the only thing getting hot. But we can't play like this. Not here, not now. If we start dirty talking, we will both lose our minds and end up in that little private area in the back of the plane. We are still waiting on the damn tarmac, for Trace's late ass. As soon as he makes the plane, we'll be taking off. No way do I want runway-sex interrupted by a fasten seat belt sign.

Maybe we should play a different kind of game.

"Well what if I make it so Leed is mad at you for seducing me, instead?" I tease her.

"Psshhh," she says. "You can't turn my brother against me," she leans against my shoulder slightly. Mmmmm, she's smells good. Like citrus and vanilla.

"Oh, is that a challenge, Ms. Lawson?" I want to touch her, but I know she'll pull away under Leed's watchful gaze. "I bet I could. I bet I could make it happen on this flight."

"You're on. I bet there's nothing you can say that makes Leed more mad at me than at you," she agrees.

"Should we make a wager?"

Mac considers, twirling a stray sea green strand tendril from the back of her neck. "Hmmmmm, how about, if I win, you can't say the "l" word anymore?"

"Ever?"

"For three months."

"Okay, but if I win...not only do you have to go to dinner with me tomorrow night, you have to give me ten minutes of talking about your feelings. About us."

She points her manicured finger at me. "That's dirty."

I shrug, "That's the wager. Take it or leave it."

Her mouth draws into an adorable pink pout as she considers, and then she grins evilly, showing her perfect teeth. "Doesn't matter. There's no way Leed will flip on me."

I put my hand out, and we shake on it. "I can't believe we are really going to do this—tell everyone about us," she whispers. Mac's killer cat eyes glisten with mirth. If I had known all it took to get Mac to confess our relationship was the idea of punking her brother, we could have done this years ago.

"Oh it's on, Shortcake, it's on—as soon as we get airborne. But remember—I get to make the big announcement and try to make Leed irritated with you."

"Fine, but you are going to crash and burn, Adam."

This is going to be an interesting flight.

Ahhh, so do you remember who wins the bet? You can refresh your memory in Chapter 22 of EPIC (Rock Stars make the Mile High Club). It's pretty funny, how from Trace's POV in EPIC it seemed that Mac was angry that Adam announced their relationship, but in reality, she was expecting Adam to announce that and she was just irritated that she lost the bet. Nothing is ever quite like it seems from the outside, is it? Of course...she does pretty seem pretty upset in New Orleans, so I think this whole house of cards Mac and Adam are building is still quite shaky!!! What will happen that leaves Mac and Adam break things off again at the "band meeting" in Chapter 29 of EPIC, or sobbing in the sauna and confessing her misery to Tamara and Kat in the hot tub in Chapters 30, 31? It's not good...