She grabbed her wig from the coffee table and climbed the stairs to the bathroom. Pulling off the scarf, she put the fake hair back on her head. Robbie had helped her pick it out in early February. They’d spent nearly an hour in the wig shop as she tried on every color, length and style offered. Robbie had tried to talk her into going radical, picking out a bright red wig with short curls that would have made Little Orphan Annie jealous. She’d refused that as well as the Cher-styled one he plopped on her head. She decided to get even by pretending to love the blonde wig. The hairstyle looked exactly like his former girlfriend Jessica’s hair and they both knew it. He tried to diplomatically lead her to a different wig before she cracked up and told him she wasn’t about to go blonde. In the end, they’d found a wig very close to her natural color and style.
Once she brushed the wig, she reached for her make-up case, reapplying her mascara, some blush and lipstick.
Robbie came back in as she descended the stairs.
“Damn. Where did this sexy mama come from?”
She laughed as she struck a
Vogue
pose.
“What’s up with the wig? Thought it made your head itchy and hot.”
She always ripped the thing off the moment she stepped through the door, opting for soft knit caps or baseball hats or scarves at home. Today had been no exception.
“Thought you might be tired of seeing me look so raggedy.” She wanted to put her best foot forward. Not because he cared how she looked, but because she wanted to be pretty for him.
“Raggedy, huh? Well, there’s nothing frayed about this lady.” He took her hand and she spun a couple times. He pulled her close and kissed her. “You know we could just say fuck it to dinner. I’ll pull the steaks off the grill and we’ll take this party upstairs.”
She ran her hand along the front of his jeans, dragging her fingers over his obvious erection. Then she moved away, giving him a wink. “We have all night. I’m not about to rush anything.”
Robbie groaned. “Tease.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” She turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll make the salad while you finish the steaks.”
She hadn’t taken two steps before Robbie grasped her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Before she realized what he was up to, he slipped his fingers down the front of her shorts. She leaned against him as he toyed with her clit, applying just enough pressure to rev her engine.
Then—in true tit-for-tat revenge—he released her with an evil chuckle. His smile was brighter than she’d seen it in ages. “Now we’re even.” He swatted her ass playfully and walked out the back door.
“Shit,” she muttered, trying to batten down the arousal he’d awakened. She should have taken him up on his offer and dragged him to the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she put her sexual needs on the back burner. Dinner first. Then sex. All night. Hell, maybe she’d call in sick tomorrow and they could spend the entire day in bed.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard and the salad fixings from the fridge. As she worked, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen Robbie so happy.
“The tour,” she said to herself. His face tonight looked just like it had when his manager had called to say he’d landed them a huge gig as the opening act for The Traffic. It had been one of the hottest tickets in rock music, and they’d known that night that Express Train was on its way to the big time.
His smile had been so wide that night, it was infectious. He’d walked into the house with huge steaks, just like he had tonight, and told her they were celebrating.
A year and a half earlier
“What are we celebrating?”
Robbie tossed the groceries on the dining room table and joined her on the couch. “We got the tour.”
“What?”
“We’re going on the road with The Traffic.”
Zoey’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. No way.” The Traffic had hit it big nearly a decade earlier and their popularity had only continued to grow. A lot of music critics declared them the Rolling Stones of the younger generation.
Robbie’s smile grew. “Do you believe it? We did it.”
She laughed at the amazed wonder in his voice. She’d always known Robbie’s talent would take him far. She could only assume his surprise stemmed from the seeds of doubt his father had planted back in high school. “Of course I believe it.”
She reached for him, hugging him tightly. Robbie returned the embrace, holding her a second longer than usual. She tried to ignore the feelings he ignited in her body. This was Robbie. Attraction wasn’t part of the deal. Or, at least, it hadn’t been in the past.
Robbie released her, telling her a million wonderful things, one after another. He took her step-by-step through what was obviously one of the best days of his life, starting with when his agent told them about the gig, the responses of the other band members and ending with all the cities he’d be seeing while on the road.
“Wow. How long are you going to be gone?” The question had been pounding in her head since he started listing the concert venues, but she’d managed to hold it in until he finished.
“About eight months. Then I’ll come back here, write new music for the band to record and God willing, we’ll land another big tour, maybe one where we’re the headliner, not just the opening act.”
He’d made it. Robbie had spent years of his life working toward this goal, this dream. He was there and she felt like she’d had the rug pulled out from under her. A terrible sense of the beginning of the end wafted through her. She dismissed it, chiding herself for being overly dramatic.
Robbie’s gaze dimmed a bit. “Will you be okay here by yourself that long?”
Express Train had gone on mini-tours for years, couple weeks here, couple weeks there. A few times they’d hit the road for a three-month stint.
Damn. She’d given something away with her face. She shook her head quickly, painting on an exaggerated grin. “Are you kidding? Eight months of not having to pick up your smelly socks. Of no half-eaten bowls of cereal left in the sink. Of—”
“Okay,” Robbie said with a laugh. “I get it, you evil minx. Do you think you can deal with all that at least a few more weeks? We don’t leave for another month.”
So soon?
“I suppose so.” She released a feigned sigh, pretending to be severely put out.
Robbie laughed, then kissed her on the cheek. His enthusiasm was too much to ignore. Zoey shoved her selfish thoughts aside. It was Robbie’s night. He deserved this moment. “Why don’t you fire up the grill and I’ll bake us a couple of potatoes and open a bottle of wine? We’ll celebrate in style.”
The same selfish feelings returned now. Her chemotherapy was over. If all went well, the cancer would be gone and Robbie could return to the career he’d put on hold for her.
His voice drifted through the screen door. He was singing an old Beatles tune. She smiled at the sound. He sang all the time when he was writing a new song, strumming his guitar, but the music always came in starts and stops as he paused to write down the lyrics, the chords. Tonight, he was singing not as part of his job, but simply because he was happy.
Zoey grinned and picked up the chorus on “She Loves You” when he walked into the kitchen with the steaks.
He placed them on the counter, then took the lettuce she was tearing from her hands and tossed it into the bowl.
Still singing, he started spinning her in a fast-paced jitterbug. She twirled and laughed. When the song ended, he pulled her closer for a slow dance as he sang “In My Life” to her. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, his strong voice filling her heart as well as the room.
When the last line of the song died away, they stopped swaying, but didn’t let go of one another.
“I’m going to miss you so much when you leave.”
She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, to dim the moment with future loneliness.
Robbie took a step back. “Where am I going?”
“Back on the road. You said yourself the recording sessions were almost over. I know you won’t admit it, but I sort of suspect you’ve been keeping the band from leaving sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you. I was being a coward, trying to hold on to this moment for as long as I could. God, somewhere along the line I’ve turned into a clingy, selfish bitch. I swear to you, that’s all going to change.”
Robbie’s brow creased. “You’re not clingy or selfish or a bitch…much,” he added with a grin. She gave him a playful punch on the arm. “I’m not going out on tour, Zoey. Not now. Not ever.”
It was her turn to frown. “Why not? Did something happen?”
“Yeah. I guess you could say that. I quit.”
She blinked, trying to understand his too-brief explanation. “Quit what?”
“I left the band.”
An ache began in her chest. “No. Fuck no. Tell me you’re kidding.”
He shook his head, but his face didn’t reflect the sadness she expected to see there. “Sorry. No joke. Dropped out about a month ago. Actually—” he glanced at a tiny magnetic calendar she’d hung on the refrigerator, “—the guys are set to hit the road again the day after tomorrow.”
“And you’re going to be on the bus with them.”
“No. I’m not.”
She closed her eyes as a wave of pain rolled through her. She thought she’d hidden her feelings about him leaving, but somehow he’d known. She shouldn’t be surprised. It was Robbie. He read her like a book. And now he’d quit. Because of her. Because of her fucking cancer. She’d never forgive herself. “Please don’t do this. Not for me.”
Robbie tilted his head, his smile fading. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want this. Don’t want you to quit because you think I can’t stay here by myself. Dammit, Robbie. That’s
your
band. You started it in tenth grade. How could I live with myself if I knew you walked away from your dreams because of me? How long do you think it will take before you resent me for that sacrifice?”
Robbie lifted his hand to cut her off. “Wait. You think I quit for you?”
She stiffened, confused. “Didn’t you?”
“No. I mean, yeah, maybe a little, but—” Robbie sighed, “—actually, no. I quit for me.”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “You don’t have to say that. Don’t lie to make me feel less guilty.”
Robbie ran his hand over his short hair. She’d finally convinced him to stop shaving it a couple of months ago, insisting they didn’t both have to be bald. “It’s not a lie, Zoey. I got my dream. Traveled all over the country touring, performing for huge crowds, singing my songs night after night. And you know what? I hated it. Pretty much every part of it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The night I got back, you told me about your cancer. Jesus, Zoey. How could I dump my own stupid problems on you knowing what you were facing?”
She’d been so lost in her own fears and anxieties, she’d failed to recognize Robbie was going through his own personal hell.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to me, like you couldn’t tell me what was going on in your world.” She’d always been his confidante. Zoey didn’t like that he didn’t feel he could come to her and talk about his problems.
“That wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I shouldn’t have hidden what was going on.”
“It’s not like I was asking you about the band. God. I’ve been more selfish than I realized.”
“Stop it.” Robbie took her hands and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a strong hug. “Both of us have been dealing with some pretty crappy stuff this year.”
“But I made it all about me. I never bothered to ask if you were okay. Never offered you the same shoulder and support you’ve given me.”
“That’s bullshit. You did help me, Zoey. Maybe not with words, but definitely by your actions. I’ve watched you hold your head high for months. Seen you endure some really nasty shit. You got knocked down hard, but you got right back up. It was your strength that gave me the courage to take a risk of my own.”
“Yeah, but quitting the band? I can’t believe that’s really what you want.”
“I know. I’ve spent a lifetime walking in one direction, never bothering to explore other paths. I pushed and pushed Express Train forward with a single-minded focus that was completely short-sighted. Going out on the road opened my eyes to that.”
“It did?”
He nodded. “The truth was I was relieved to be home, happy to miss those last few concerts. What have I always said was the best part of being a musician? Think about it.”
She didn’t have to think about it. “Writing the music. That’s your favorite part. You say it all the time.”
He grinned. “I found a way to make a living as a songwriter.”
“How?”
“When we were out on the road, I played some of my stuff for The Traffic. Sang some of the songs we hadn’t released yet. They loved them. They introduced me to their producer. We talked for a long time. This guy’s big time. He asked me if I’d be interested in writing songs for some of his other acts. I told him I’d think about it. When I came home, I started tinkering, writing some different stuff in addition to the songs for Express Train.”