Ella glances up through her long eyelashes, her gaze skimming over my black jeans, my studded belt, and my Pink Floyd T-shirt, and then she bites her lip. “You look good, too.” She closes the journal and sits up. “Trying to impress anyone in particular?”
I roll my eyes and kick a shirt out of the way as I stroll into my room. “Only you.”
“Yeah, I might know that.” She looks down at her hand as she flexes her fingers in front of her and the diamonds and black stone of her engagement ring sparkle. “But unlike me, you don’t have a ring on your finger branding you as taken.”
“You could always give me my ring,” I tell her. “I’ll wear it.”
She shakes her head, climbs off the bed, and tugs the bottom of her dress down, a dress that looks a lot shorter now that she’s standing. “No way. You’re not going to see that until the wedding.” She pauses, putting her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t matter anyway. If any girl hits on you, I’ll just kick her ass.”
“That’s my feisty girl.” I give her a deep kiss and then hold up a finger as I get an idea. “I got it.” I back toward the door. “You go out and start having fun and I’ll take care of the ring problem.”
She looks perplexed but follows me out of the room. She joins the small group gathered in the living room as I head to the door. I slip on my jacket as I step out onto the porch and into the snow. Christmas lights flash from the house across the street and I can hear the thumping of music from somewhere down the street. I trot down the stairs and hurry into the garage, flipping the light on. I pull a box down from the top shelf and set it on the counter. As I’m sifting through the car parts, my phone rings from my pocket. When I take it out, my producer’s name, Mike Anderly, flashes across the glowing screen. I press talk and put the phone up to my ear.
“It’s a little late to be calling,” I tell him, balancing the phone against my ear as I rummage through the box.
“I know, but I couldn’t wait until morning to call you and tell you the news,” he says, sounding way happier than he normally does. Usually, he’s all business and kind of cranky.
“What news?” I pick up the metal ring from the box, smiling at my clever idea.
“That you got on the tour.”
I nearly drop the ring. “The Rocking Slam Tour?” I ask. It’s the tour I’ve been trying to get on for months, the one that has a ton of my favorite bands, musicians I idolize. The one where I’ll have to be on the road for three straight months.
“That would be the one,” he says cheerfully. “So get your ass over here so we can celebrate.”
My mouth turns downward. “I can’t. I’m in Wyoming, getting ready to get married. I told you this last night.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” He sighs. “Well, hurry and get that taken care of so you can get back here and celebrate. You leave in just a few weeks anyway and we have to finish recording.”
Shit. “Yeah… I’m not sure I can go.”
“What the hell do you mean, you’re not sure you can go!” he exclaims. “We’ve been trying to get you on this tour for months.”
“I know that,” I tell him. “But I didn’t really think it was going to happen, and now I’ve got stuff going on.”
“Well, it did and you’re going,” Mike says sternly.
“Look, I’m not saying I won’t. I’m just saying that I need to talk to Ella first. She needs to be okay with my being gone for that long.”
“And what if she says she’s not?” he asks, astounded. “Then what?”
“Then I won’t go.” It hurts to say it, but it’s the truth. She’s more important to me than anything, and if she doesn’t want me to be gone during our first few months of marriage then I won’t. It’s that simple.
Music starts playing from inside the house and I quickly slip the metal ring on my ring finger, which will hopefully alleviate some of Ella’s worry. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you in a week when I get back in town.”
“You better not say no,” he grumbles and I hang up the phone before he starts ranting, something he does a lot.
Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I go back inside the house, wondering how Ella is going to react to the news. I can see her pretending like she’s okay with it but deep down not really wanting me to go. She hides her feelings well so if I’m going to do this I need to make sure she’s completely and utterly okay with it. Any doubt and I’ll stay. Besides, as much fun as the tour would be, our little life in San Diego is good and why ruin a good thing?
Because being part of this tour is my dream.
Frowning at the thought, I shut the back door behind me as I step inside the kitchen. Ethan is sitting on the table, drinking from a red plastic cup and Lila is laughing at something he says while she pours herself a drink over at the counter. There’s another couple chatting in front of the kitchen sink. I used to go to school with them, but I can’t remember their names. I wave to them when they say “what’s up” and then I head for the living room.
“Bottoms up.” Ethan lifts his cup as I pass by him, toasting to something, and then he throws his head back and guzzles the drink.
“Are you wasted already?” I ask. “Because you’re supposed to play the drums in, like, ten minutes or so.”
“Nah,” he says, but his bloodshot eyes suggest otherwise. “I’ve got this. Besides, I can play the drums when I’m drunk perfectly fine.”
“Micha, do you want me to make you a drink or pour you a shot?” Lila calls out with a bottle of orange juice in her hand.
“No, thanks,” I tell her, scooping up a beer from the cooler near the doorway. “I have to stick to beer.”
She nods knowingly as she sets the juice down on the counter beside the row of vodka, tequila, and Bacardi bottles and a stack of plastic cups. Ever since Ella called me out on my asshole drunken behavior about a year ago, I take it easier on getting trashed, usually sticking to only a few beers. It was hard at first, but now it’s comfortable.
I pop the top off as I stroll into the cigarette-smoke-filled living room, letting the wonderfully potent smoke settle in my lungs. Even a couple of years after kicking the habit, minus a few slipups, it still gets my mouth watering.
Earlier, Ethan and I shoved the couches aside to make room for his drums, which we picked up from his house during our drive back from the grocery store. My old guitar is leaning against a taped together microphone stand. There’s also an amp and a bass guitar in the corner beside a small plastic Christmas tree decorated with red and sliver ornaments and tinsel. I haven’t figured out who’s going to play the bass yet, but I put it up there just in case. I know a lot of people who play the bass and it’d be nice to have a good sound even if it’s just a party. I sort of feel like I’m saying good-bye in a way because in a few days I’ll be married, my life with Ella will finally start, and this life can hopefully become a memory of everything we shared that got us to that point.
I start to go over to my guitar when I spot Ella sitting on the back of the sofa with a red plastic cup in her hand. A tall, scraggily looking guy whose name I think is Brody is standing in front of the sofa, staring at her legs and cleavage while yammering about something. I walk over to her and hop up on the back of the sofa beside her. Then I drape my arm around her shoulder. I know I’m being territorial and I know she’d never do anything with anyone but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to let some guy look at her like he could eat her up. He’s lucky I don’t punch him. Ella’s mine and he needs to walk the fuck away.