Chapter 73 : Drummer Boys Remember Cocktail Waitresses

Bodie

"Baby, why you gotta be like this?" I murmur soft into the phone to Arabella.

"I told you, I don't do well alone, Bodie," her voice is pure venom over the music wherever she is. "I told you...you should have come with me."

"You know I couldn't do that. Soundcrush has to play the Call-Out. We'll be back together next week when your acting gig is over and you come back on tour. Come on, don't make me crazy, messin' around with other guys."

"Bodie, you're asking for too much! You are so selfish!" she yells, and the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone. Huh, this is why people throw these things. That girl is fuckin' with my head hard.

So much for our "romance." She's been gone twenty-four hours and pictures of her raising hell with movie stars and randoms are all over her Instagram, and rumors of our "break-up" are already spreading like ebola over the internet, and Marcy is already on my ass because Moran is already on hers.

Marcy told me I need to make keeping my "girlfriend" happy in our "relationship" my "number one priority." Which is code for—Moran doesn't want his ex-Disney princess looking like a little hoochie on six guys at once, and I'm somehow supposed to shut that shit down. What can I do from Martha's Vineyard when Arabella is filming in New York?

Fuck Marcy and Moran anyway.

They think this shit don't hurt?

I thought Bells and I were workin' up a good thing. It's been a little crazy, sure, but I've been trying to dial back the party this past week. As best I can.

Bells is just crazy fun to be around, so it's hard to dial back very much.

Yeah, we got that crazy love, I guess. The actual lovin' between us has been pretty fucktastic—hot and sweet. Well, what I can remember of it. The nights are sometimes a blur. She's also got a pretty voice I like to hear singing in my shower—what I can remember of it. Mornings are sometimes a blur. Not to mention she's not a bit damn hard to look at—all made up, or without a stitch of makeup. Well, to be honest, most of the time she doesn't have makeup on is...yep, you guessed it...a little bit of a blur.

But I know...for sure...she smells really pretty in my bed. That's not blurry.

Yeah, Bells suits me fine, and I haven't had a special girl since we started this crazy Soundcrush ride—and I thought...hell, I thought Arabella and I were already past the "fake" part.

I know we're not Madam or Traykat, but I thought we were workin' on gettin' real, at least.

Maybe not. She won't listen to a damn word I say. Bells wants what she wants, when she wants it. Right now, she wants to party, or maybe she wants to punish me. Fuck if I know.

God, I wish Adam was here. He'd know how to talk to her. I pretty much just tease, tickle, and screw her.

I stare out at the beach, wandering what the fuck I should do now. Part of me feels like...just cut her loose. Easy come, easy go. But Moran is expecting something from all of us in the Save Soundcrush-from-a-six-figure-lawsuit-deal, and being Bells boyfriend is my part of the bargain.

I sigh and dutifully call her back.

She answers immediately. "What?" she snaps. The front door bell in the rental mansion is ringing but I ignore it. Someone else will get it.

"Don't be like that, Baby. It's fucking with me, you there and me here. It hurts when you hang up on me," I tell her.

She softens a little. "I just miss you, Baby...and I get crazy sometimes..."

"I know. We all get crazy sometimes," I tell her. The doorbell rings again. I twist from my spot on the deck and look through the open door into the living room and through the foyer. Eight people in this house right this minute, and where the hell is everybody? I rise, and kick the sand of my feet as I make my way barefoot through the house.

"Baby hang on, somebody's at the door..."

"Why do you have to answer the door when we are trying to make up?" she wines.

"Nobody else hears it, Bellerina," she likes it when I call her that.

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps. "It makes me sound like a little girl."

Okay, scratch that. She liked me calling her that two days ago. Christ, her moods are like a wrecking ball. Swift, massive, devastating.

"Okay, Sexy. No little girl shit for you," I try, and she harrumphs, so I take that as good sign.

I open the door, and the last person I would ever have expected to see is standing there. The girl with the straight long dark hair and pretty, very lightly freckled tan skin. Dark eyes with lightly smoky shadow—the only part of her face made-up. The girl with the kind of smile that screams sympathy before she even opens her mouth.

Well, to everybody but me. For some reason, she and I didn't hit it off, the first time we met. I know why we didn't hit it off. She reminds me of a girl I used to know a long time ago. She even sounds a little bit like her. That girl? She did me wrong. I guess that's why, when I met Marley at the Lunar Lounge, I acted like an arrogant rock star douche.

She was getting the Jasmine Jones blow-back.

Before I even realize what I'm doing I look her up and down. Somehow I expect a mental health professional to wear more than a tube top and frayed jean skirt.

"You came on a plane like that? Jesus, girl," I blurt out, and the smile twitches to a frown. Ah, there I go again. I can't remember what I said the first time I met Marley, but it was probably something like that.

"Who's there?" Arabella says with concern, in my ear.

"Uhhh, a girl Adam knows," I say, "Imma have to call you right back, okay baby?"

Arabella sighs. "Fine. I think I see Harry Styles in the VIP."

"Give him Leed's number. Leed loves that David Bowie tribute shit he does," I murmur, opening the door wider and letting Marley in. I automatically try to take her carry-on bag strap and she wrestles me for it.

"Give it," I say testily.

"No, I'm not even staying," Marley replies hitching it back on her shoulder.

"Bodie!?!?!?" Arabella yells at me through phone.

"I thought we were done, Bellerina," SHIT! I forgot.

She growls at me. "Sorry, sorry," I say hastily.

Marley looks uncomfortable standing here listening to my conversation. "I gotta go, baby. Gotta figure out what to do with Adam's...sidepiece," I joke. Marley flushes up a little bit and gives me a narrow look. I shrug at her and mouth, Just playin. Damn. She rolls her eyes.

"It's fine," she says, and I'm not sure if she means it or not. "Call me back later."

"Sure baby. I already miss you. Be good?" I try.

Bells just laughs evilly, and I sigh heavily. She hangs up without even saying good-bye.

"Sorry bout that, Marley."

She waves a hand to dismiss the phone I'm pocketing. "It fine. Actually, I'm kind of surprised you that remember me, Bodie." She looks serious, just like the last time I met her. It's like her eyes are trying to tell me something her words aren't.

"Baby, I remember all the girls that tell me no. It's so rare that it happens."

She looks super angry all of the sudden. "You remember the rejections, but not the ones you sleep with."

"Uhmmm--I didn't exactly mean it like that--"

Before I can figure out what the hell she meant, Trace is barreling down the stairs in board shorts and sunglasses. "Marley! What are you doing here?"

My head snaps between them. "How do you know Marley?"

Trace hops to halt in front of us. He raises his sunglasses and shakes hands with her. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"Likewise," she says.

"How do you two know each other?" I repeat, suddenly getting why Leed hates being out of the loop on things.

Trace shoots me a side-eye, slides his shades back on, and tucks his hands in this armpits. "I've been talking to Marley."

"You've been talking to Marley!?!?" I nearly shout. "What the fuck happened to I-was-made-for-Kat!?!?!?"

Trace tags me hard, in the chest. "Not like that, dumbass. Like I've talking to her about my childhood shit. She's my therapist. We Facetime."

"Ooooooooh," I say. I look at the pretty brunette. "How come we don't Facetime, Marley? I got childhood shit. Like you wouldn't believe."

"Yeah, we can all see how much it traumatized you, Bodes," Trace says.

See, that right there. I love Trace, but damn. Just because I try to laugh through my pain, my rich white brother over there gonna act like he's childhood shit is worse than mine. I never got smacked around by dad, but that might have been because I never knew him.

But I let it go, cause I guess it's not exactly a contest anybody would really want to win.

Marley is putting her hands out, like she wants to say something. "Uhhhh, listen, is Leed here? And Riley?"

Trace and I exchange a look. "Yeeeeaaaaah," Trace says slowly, but do you even know them?"

"No, of course not, but Adam sent me. He called from the plane and I was already at the Boston airport, because he comped me some tickets to come to the Call-out. I waited on him at the airport and spoke with him briefly, and he wanted me to come out here and share what he told me."

"Adam and Mac have already landed?" I frown. "Why aren't they here?"

Marley presses her lips together and nods her head, "I think if you could just get Leed and Riley..."

"Something's wrong," Trace says at once. "What's wrong?"

Marley tilts her head, her expression suddenly ten times more serious. I don't like that look on her face worth a damn. I'm bounding up the stairs before she can cover her concern. "Leed, get your ass down here. NOW!"

Not even ninety seconds later, introduction have been made and Marley is standing in front of us with her hands clasped. "Okay, the main thing that Adam wants you to hear is to stay calm, because they really know nothing yet."

"It's the baby," Leed says at once. "What the fuck happened?"

"Apparently, Mac is having some bleeding—"

A mix of curses fly around the large foyer of the room but Marley raises her hands and shouts us all down. "It started mid-flight, it doesn't seem to be getting worse, and she's not having contractions or cramps, so according to her care provider that's good news. But obviously, it's very concerning. Adam said that her doctor said that twenty five percent of women bleed at some point during a pregnancy, and about half of those will miscarry. So, it's serious. She and the baby may need immediate medical attention. She and Adam went to Brighams & Women's Hospital."

"Mac can't go to the damn hospital. It triggers her PTSD!" Leed shouts, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Adam."

"That's not a good idea," Marley plucks the phone right out of the Lion's hand and without thinking he makes a deep sound in his throat and steps forward toward her to take it back. Marley doesn't know Leed and he can be intimidating to strangers I guess. Her shoulders hitch uncertainly but she stands her ground, putting his phone down my her side. I slide in between and  put a hand on Leed's chest, force him a step back from her, giving her a I-got-you nod.

Marley continues. "Mac absolutely wants to go to the hospital to be treated. She knows that what's best for the baby. Adam's only concern right now is being there for Mac," Marley says calmly. "He doesn't want his attention to be called away from her for anything. Adam has asked that you don't call or text. He will call you as soon as Mac has been evaluated and he's sure she's in a good place emotionally."

"Yeah, okay, that makes sense, right Leed?" I say nodding at Marley. She hands Leed's phone to me.

The Lion rakes his hair restlessly. "Well what the fuck are we all standing here for?"

"My thoughts exactly," Trace growls, looking at me. Fuck, I'm one hundred percent with him. We all know who's fault this is. When Adam called earlier and told us Dawes had been giving Mac natural speed and slipping her Valium to "manage" her, we almost jumped on a vengeance plane then. But now, we're all thinking the same thing: Dawes caused this problem with Mac's pregnancy. And he needs to pay.

"Riley," Trace says curtly. It's all that needs to be said.

"Right, checking flights," Riley says, already on his phone. "I don't suppose there's any way at all I could talk you out of this? I love Mac, too—very much—but this is not a good idea. Dawes is still awaiting a bond hearing for assaulting her. And he's already injured from the rapper having a go at him. What are you going to do—wait for him to leave his bond hearing and pummel him again on the court house steps?"

"Sounds like it will save time to me," I say. "We kick the living shit out of him, the cops arrest us, we will already be where we need to be for you to bounce us out."

"Damn straight," Trace growls. "There's no fucking way he's getting away with this."

Leed grabs Trace by the collar, "Listen, I can't go to LA to fuck Dawes up for this. I have to go the hospital. You leave that son of a bitch alive, do you hear me? Because if something happens to Mac's baby, I'm going to fucking kill him with my bare hands."

Marley bag thuds against the floor-hard-and we all look over at her. She's frowning at us in confusion. "I can't believe Adam was right. He said you would all react this way. He asked me to make sure... no one goes anywhere. He asked me to make you see reason. Mac and Adam need you all right here...just for a few hours...just until they know what's going on, and what comes next."

I throw an arm around her. "Marley, baby, you don't understand..."

She tosses my arm off her shoulder. "I understand you are all a bunch of hot-head lunatics!" Then she nods her head at Riley, "Except maybe you, but you aren't even trying to make them see reason."

He shrugs. "Honestly, Dawes deserves permanent damage for this. I'd join them in giving him a good toss, but someone has to take care of the bail..."

Marley rolls her eyes "I see I'm going to have to speak your language." She puts a hand up to Riley, "No fucking bail! No fucking flights to LA!" She points at Trace, "No goddamn rock star revenge escapades!" She elbows me, "No dumbass wingman duty, and..." she opens her hand to Leed, "No hospital, Lion. Adam's got your sister. Just take a fuckin' beat and chill."

I rub a knuckle over my lips. Marley is kinda sexy when she speaks Rock Star.

She points to living room. "Go! Sit!"

"We can't just sit!" Leed growls. "That's my sister!"

"Our Priestess." Trace says softly.

"Our girl, and our boy, and their baby," I put my hands over my eyes with a soft groan, thinking of Adam and what he must going through.

"I know," Marley says softly. "I know." She pats me on the arm. "So let's go sit, and let's talk about it. I'll tell you exactly everything Adam told me."

We nod, and move to the living room. This is not our style. None of us like it worth a damn, but Marley is right. All we can do is wait.