as big as my thighs. He towers over me by almost a foot. Crew watches the men retreat. He looks deep in thought. I’m grateful that Brett’s here. Maybe he should come to every show.
“I ordered drinks for everyone,” Brett says.
Jeremy finds us and says he’s taking off after Bruce gets our equipment loaded. The rest of us sit around a table, Brett and Crew flanking me.
“I’m glad you’re all here,” Crew says. “I need to talk to you about something.” Brett tries to get up, but Crew stops him. “This includes you. Sit.”
“What’s this all about?”
You could knock me over with a feather when, right here in the nightclub as we drink whiskey shooters and beer, Crew tells my brother and all the band members what happened to Abby. He doesn’t give them the details, saying only that she was kidnapped and died as a result, and that’s why he acts the way he does.
Garrett and Brad don’t know what to say, but it’s obvious none of this is news to Liam. Makes sense. They grew up together. Brett isn’t surprised either. I told him everything this morning when he got off shift. I think it’s one of the reasons he pushed me to come tonight. Brett has seen a lot of messed up stuff over the years because of his job, and he has a soft spot for survivors.
“Shit, Crew,” Garrett says. “That’s messed up. I’m sorry, brother.”
Brad nods. “Same. I mean … damn.”
“I didn’t share this with you so you’d feel sorry for me. I want you to help me get out of my head when things happen.”
“What kind of things?” Brad asks.
“Like when strangers come up and talk to Bria, you can keep me from losing my shit. My therapist said I need to rely on those closest to me to help.”
I put my hand on his, but then quickly take it away, remembering we aren’t a couple. “You’re seeing a therapist? Since when?”
“Since today. I found one who took emergency weekend appointments.”
I look at him through narrow eyes. “You’re serious about this?”
“Whatever it takes,” he says evenly.
“How can we help?” Garrett asks.
Crew snorts. “I haven’t exactly gotten that far. I’ve only had one appointment. But I was thinking you could warn me when I get too protective of her.”
Brett clears his throat. “As the big brother, I’m not opposed to you being a little protective.”
Crew laughs. He’s laughing about this. I have to believe that’s a step in the right direction. “Yeah, but I need to know when I cross the line between being a little protective and batshit crazy.”
“How do we do that?” Brad asks.
Garrett slaps the table. “We should have a safeword.”
Everyone looks at him like he’s lost it.
“You know, a safeword,” he says. “Like when you want to do a chick in the ass, but she doesn’t want to, so she yells ‘pineapple’ or some shit like that.”
The five of us simultaneously break into laughter. Oh, how I love being back with them.
“Or,” Crew says, when the merriment abates, “you could just tell me I’m crossing a line.”
“Fuck that,” Liam says. “I’m going with ‘pineapple’.”
I’m having so much fun that I don’t want to leave, but Brett just got off a twenty-four-hour shift. He needs his sleep. When we get up to go, Crew corners me. “I’m glad you’re back.”
I smile. “I’m glad too.” I kiss him on the cheek, because that’s what friends do. Don’t they?
“Text me so I know you got home?” he asks sheepishly.
I contemplate telling him that’s what a boyfriend asks his girlfriend, and I’m not his girlfriend anymore. At least I don’t think I am. It’s all very shades-of-gray at this point. But he’s taken many important steps in the last day, and it’s the least I can do for his peace of mind.
“I can do that.”
Chapter Forty-four
Crew
After rehearsal, Bria shows us lyrics she’s been working on.
“Damn, these are good,” Garrett says. “Maybe you two should break up more often.”
Liam hits him on the back of the head.
“Too soon?”
Liam swipes the notebook from Garrett and studies her songs. “Garrett’s right. These lyrics are good. I wish I could get out of this slump I’m in and write some goddamn music for them.”
“It’ll happen,” Bria says. “You’re waiting for your inspiration.”
She looks at me like I’m her inspiration. God, I hope so.
“I’ve never needed inspiration in the past,” he says. “Shit always just comes to me. It’s kind of a gift.”
“But apparently not the kind that keeps on