1
Mel
“I don’t like this shit one bit.”
Adam’s Hummer swerved across two lanes of traffic nearly clipping the front end of a small Toyota as we swung onto the airport exit ramp. The Toyota honked and Adam hollered a string of curses through the closed driver’s side window.
My knuckles were white as my fingers squeezed the door handle. I prayed we ended up at the airport, not the morgue.
“I just need a vacation, Adam.”
“From singing?” His derisive snort niggled under my skin.
And from snide comments like that. I had a fleeting but delightful image of my leg swinging up and the toe of my boot lodging itself in his throat.
“It isn’t right, Melody.”
Abruptly, he pulled off to the shoulder of the road and brought the SUV to a halt. An angry horn blared. Adam flipped them the bird then turned to face me with the same cross look and negative energy. “It isn’t right for my girlfriend to go traipsing off on a vacation without me.”
A furtive glance at the display on my phone told me I needed to be at the TSA gate in the next ten minutes if I wanted to make my flight. I had no time to placate Adam by listening to another of his sophomoric tantrums.
“It’s not just a vacation, Adam. I wouldn’t be going if not for my job. The band is counting on me.”
Adam shook his head. “No. I won’t allow it. I’m turning around.”
My eyes narrowed. My face contorted into a threatening glower. “Drive, or I’ll get out and walk.”
We stared challengingly at one another for several seconds. Finally, after an exasperated and overly dramatic sigh, the SUV shifted into drive and pulled back onto the road, cutting off another driver.
Adam sped toward the departures drop off area—much too fast—and didn’t say another word until his foot slammed hard on the brake pedal, sending me shooting forward with a lurch.
We were at the curb in front of double sliding glass doors where travelers catching domestic flights hugged, kissed, and said their goodbyes to friends and loved ones. Unless they were me. Or Adam.
“You’re fucking someone else, aren’t you?” Neither the harsh words nor the accusation were all that shocking coming from him. Not anymore.
I scowled. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, what the hell else would I think, Melody? You’re running off to the Keys for a gig, a week early I might add, without giving a single shit about my feelings. We’ve been together a year, and you still don’t respect my feelings. Why do I even take this shit from you?”
I don’t know Adam, why do you take this shit from me?
I searched his face, looking for something. Not quite sure what that “something” was—love, attraction, compassion, connection? Whatever it was, I didn’t find it. I wasn’t even sure who was to blame for the lack in our relationship—him or me.
Feelings of lack and lack of feelings.
I almost laughed aloud as the thought popped into my head. Fortunately, I was able to keep a lid on my giggles. Laughing right now, when all I was trying to do was get out of the car and make my flight, would be counterproductive.
Besides, how could I blame Adam for the hollowness I felt? “There’s no one else. I have a gig and I want a little extra vacation time. This is no different from the weddings, bar mitzvahs, and festivals we usually play. Ingrid and the guys will arrive in a couple days.”
He reached over and wrapped his fingers around my wrist, squeezing like a vise. “When you get back, we’re moving in together, right? We’re taking this relationship to the next level as we discussed?”
A security guard tapped the window motioning us along, but Adam merely spared a brief glance, waved him off, and focused his penetrating gaze back on me.
His grip was borderline painful.
The guard tapped on the window again. Adam ignored him. “I’ve got to go, Adam.”
“I want your answer first.”
The guard tapped yet again and raised his voice. “You need to move along, sir.”
I struggled in Adam’s grip. “Let go of me. I’m going to be late.”
The guard tapped his knuckle on the glass harder this time, and shot Adam a harsh glare. “This isn’t a parking lot, sir.”
Whipping around, Adam rolled his window down. “Listen, Robocop, I’m fucking saying goodbye to my girlfriend here. Give me a goddamn minute.”
When his grip loosened, I saw my chance and took it.
Before he could protest, I freed myself and my suitcase, leapt out of the SUV and, without a backward glance, my feet ate up the pavement into the departures terminal.
2
Mac
“Come on, dead-weight.” I hoisted my sister’s mate up and helped him into the wheelchair he’d recently started using to get around. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting fat on purpose, just to give my guns a workout.”
Warren lifted his frail arm and extended his bony middle finger. “Right here.”
I bit back a grin and leapt out of his way as he attempted to run over my toes with his chair. “You wish.”
My eyes followed him. He wheeled himself into the kitchen, and opened the fridge door. Loaf of bread, jar of mayo, pack of sliced turkey breast, one by one he placed the items on his lap.
My fists balled at my sides to keep from interfering, but I watched him like a hawk for signs of excess fatigue. He was about to fade.
Despite our verbal banter, I cared deeply for my sister’s mate. He was a damn good man. He and Heather were still madly in love and possessed a connection deeper than I’d ever seen shared between two people.
Human men weren’t built the way we were, though. Warren was fighting cancer and the chemo was kicking his ass. He looked progressively worse by the day. My heart ached as I watched the once strong, virile man wither to a bony shell. He slumped in his chair, his head drooping forward slightly.
“I veto your role as sandwich maker. You suck at it. Your sandwiches are like eating a blob of mayo with a side of bread and a meat garnish. I’d rather dine on cat turds.”
“That can be arranged.”
I snickered, sidestepped him, and slapped together a couple sandwiches for us.
“Make sure you bring the mayonnaise jar and a knife with you. Your sandwiches are as dry as the Sahara.” He slowly wheeled himself to his empty spot and, with effort, rested his arms atop the table. “Fucking hell!”
I slid his plate in front of him and followed his angry gaze. Through the window, I saw his daughter, my niece Jenny, scantily-clad and standing in the driveway draped over the latest punk in a long line of punk-ass boyfriends. “Sonofabitch.”
When she swung her leg over and climbed on the back of current punk’s motorcycle, I moved fast. I was out the door and just barely caught the back of her sweater before they took off. Jenny jerked out of my grip, growling. “What the fuck?”
I leveled a menacing glare at the current punk-ass. “Move this bike and it’s a mangled heap of scrap metal.”
“Uncle Mac, knock it off.”
I looked down at the young woman who, just yesterday it seemed, had been a sweet, innocent, bright-eyed little girl dressing up her dolls and serving me tea in her miniature china tea set. “Where’s Ame?”