“I know.”
“She’s only got a week or two at most.”
There was nothing I could say.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat from his face dampened my skin. He was bare from the waist up and the room was cold, the air-conditioning working overtime for some reason. Not so necessary this time of year.
“Let’s get you hydrated,” I said, grateful for anything I could do for him. “Find another T-shirt for you to put on. Okay? You’re going to cool off fast in here.”
“’Kay.”
“Stay with him,” said Ev, her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll go.”
“Evvie.” Mal looped his arms over my head in an awkward hug, still holding the ice to his hand. “Hard stuff.”
Her forehead creased.
“Scotch or something,” said Mal. “Please.”
With a sigh, she turned away, headed off into the growing crowd. Worst damn timing for a party ever.
“We better go over,” said Mal, turning to face his parents.
Neil perched on the arm of the couch, an arm around his wife. Lori’s lips were pinched with worry.
“Hey, Mom,” said Mal, keeping me tight against him. “Glad you guys could make it. Had a little accident with my hand.”
“Are you alright?”
“Oh, yeah. No worries. ”
The guys stood nearby, holding back spectators, keeping industry and other types at bay from our corner of the room. Soon, Sam arrived with another black-suited guy and took over this duty. Ben and Jimmy kept close, talking to people, doing their job, and socializing. But their gazes kept returning to Mal.
Ev must have run, because she returned with a Stage Dive Tour shirt for him to wear, a bottle of Smirnoff vodka and another of Gatorade. “They didn’t have scotch.”
“It’ll do.” He handed me the sopping wet ice pack while he pulled on the shirt. It had a big candy skull on the front. “Thanks, Evvie.”
“Son,” said Neil. There was a lot communicated through just the one word.
“Dad, all good,” crowed Mal, suddenly switching mood to exuberant. It didn’t give me a good feeling. “This is how we roll after the show. You know that!”
Neil said nothing. The latest Stage Dive record and the chatter of a hundred or so party people filled the air instead. Mal downed half of the bottle of green Gatorade. Then he passed it to me to hold and downed big mouthfuls of vodka.
Ah, shit. This was going to be like watching a car wreck.
“Baby,” I said, slipping my arms around his waist, drawing him closer. “Just stop and breathe for a minute.”
“You called me baby.” He smiled.
“Yes.”
“You called me sweetheart the other day.”
“You’re the one that wanted a stupid romantic nickname.”
“Yeah. My Anne.” He rubbed his cheek against mine like he was marking me. Stubble scratched my skin and my whole body glowed like embers. The emotion was too much, completely overwhelming.
“Mal.”
“Don’t frown, there’s no need to worry. Do me a favor and go talk to Mom okay?” he asked. “Keep her happy. I can’t, ah … I can’t talk to her right now. Not yet.”
He put the bottle to his lips again, tipped his head back and drank, while I swallowed hard. The booze was him self-medicating regarding this situation. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me just the same. His eyes popped wide open and he exhaled. “That’s better. That’s f**king better.”
“I think Adrian’s going to get someone to come check your hand,” said David, sidling up next to us.
“No need.”
I tried to clear my sore throat. “Let him look at your hand, Mal.”
“Pumpkin–”
Enough of this shit. “You want me not to worry? You get your hand looked at. That’s the deal.”
His gaze ever so slowly sized me up. “I love it when you get all hard assed on me. Okay. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll let them look at it.”
“Thank you.”
Another big swig from the bottle.
Ev situated herself beneath David’s arm, both of them watching him with anxious eyes. There was strain and stress on everyone’s faces and Mal just kept right on drinking. Bottom of the bottle, here he came. For some reason, it just made me mad.
“That’s enough.” I tugged the bottle out of his hand. He obviously hadn’t been expecting it because he didn’t put up a fight. Big green eyes blinked at me, then narrowed into anger.
“What the f**k?” he said in a low voice.
“Find another way to deal with this.”
“That’s not your call.”
“You really want one of her last memories of you to be watching you get drunk?”
“Oh, please. Mom’s been around since the beginning. She knows what parties are like backstage, Anne. She wants normal? I’m giving her normal.”
“I’m serious, stop this.”
He gave me more of the angry stare. No problem. If he wanted to do glaring competitions all night, fine by me. I’d said I had his back. It meant protecting him even from himself if need be.
“Look around you,” I said. “They all just watched Jimmy go through this. They’re scared shitless for you, Mal.”
“It’s not like that,” he growled.
“Not yet.”
“Not your job to tell me what to do, pumpkin. Not even remotely.”
“Mal–”
“We’ve been together what, a week? And you know best now, huh?” He looked down at me, his jaw shifting from side to side. “Yeah, Anne’s in charge.”
“Ah, for f**k’s sake,” said David, stepping forward. “Shut up, you dickhead, before you say something you really regret. She’s right. I got no interest in watching you go through rehab too.”
“Oh give me a break,” said Mal. “Rehab? A bit overdramatic there, Davie.”
“Really?” asked David, getting right up in his face. “You’re getting so drunk you’re accidentally kicking your girlfriend in the head. So mad you’re putting your fist through walls. How’s that sound to you, hmm? Sound like someone who’s got it all under control?”
Mal flinched. “Stuff is happening.”
“I get that. We all get that. But Anne’s right, you f**king yourself up every other night isn’t the answer.”