Fix You (13 page)

“Come on,” she said at last.

“What?”

“Zoey can’t miss happy hour without sending someone to represent her. You just volunteered.”

Rob chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t really expect me to step into the Estrogen Den, do you?”

Kristen grinned. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to drink wine too.”

“I’m a beer guy.”

“Don’t care. We drink wine. Get your ass moving.”

Rob wasn’t sure why he stood. The last thing he wanted to do was spend an evening drinking wine with a bunch of women. But then again, these women were the closest friends Zoey had. He’d fucked things up tonight. He needed help figuring out what to do next.

He walked with Kristen in silence until they reached Laura’s place. Her townhouse was three down from his and Zoey’s, while Shelly and Josie lived across the grassy common area on the other side of the block.

Kristen didn’t knock. Instead she walked in, stopping in the kitchen for a knife and plate to slice her cheese on. He could hear the voices of the other women laughing and talking in the living room. For just four women, they were awfully loud.

Kristen gestured for him to precede her once she had everything she needed. Obviously she could see his desire to cut and run.

“Look who I found out on the street,” Kristen announced when they entered the room.

The women fell silent. Rob couldn’t tell if it was because they were surprised Kristen had brought a man into their midst or because he was at happy hour and not Zoey.

Josie was the first to recover. “Hey, Rob. What’s shaking? Where’s Zoey?”

He started to give the standard “she’s tired” line, but the lie wouldn’t come. “She’s, I’m, uh…we…God, I think I fucked up somehow.”

Laura rose and offered him her chair. “Sit down. Shelly, pour Rob a glass of wine, unless—” Laura gestured to the kitchen, “—you’d prefer a beer. I have a six pack of Heineken in there.”

“Heineken?” Kristen asked. “Since when do you drink beer?”

Laura ignored Kristen’s question, handing him the glass of wine Shelly offered. “What do you mean you fucked up?”

“I came home from the studio and found her in the bathroom.”

“Sick?” Georgie asked, her voice laced with concern.

He shook his head. “Another nosebleed.”

“Ah, damn things.” Georgie sighed. “I know she hates them.”

“She’d burned dinner while trying to get her nose to stop bleeding. She was just, I don’t know, in a really bad mood.”

Laura laughed. “Is that your nice way of saying she was in full-out bitch mode?”

Rob had to admit Laura’s description was way more accurate than his. “She accused me of hovering, said she wanted to be alone. Next thing I know we started yelling some nasty names at each other.”

Laura gestured for Josie to scoot over to the middle of the couch and sat down. “Finally.”

The other women nodded, apparently understanding something he was struggling to grasp.

“Finally what?”

Laura leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You two picked a hell of a time to decide you were in love with each other. Starting a relationship is hard enough on its own. Throw in cancer and it’s damn near impossible. Zoey’s emotions are all over the scale, but she fights like the devil to hide the bad stuff. From you. From us. She loves you and I suspect she feels guilty as hell for derailing your career and casting you in the role of caretaker.”

No. Rob shook his head. That couldn’t be right. “Zoey doesn’t need me to take care of her. She’s so independent. Sometimes it drives me crazy because she won’t let me do more for her. She’s still working as much as she can, tidying the house, cooking most nights. I tell her to sit down and relax, but she won’t. She just keeps moving.”

Kristen had perched on the edge of the coffee table during the conversation. “Funny. I bet if we asked Zoey, she’d claim you had to do
too
much for her. You drive her to all her chemo appointments and sit with her. She complained once that she hated the chairs they put in those rooms for family members. Said she wished you had a more comfortable place to sit.”

Rob’s forehead crinkled. “I don’t mind the chair. For God’s sake, she’s the one sitting there with tubes and needles sticking in her.” He rubbed his head wearily. “I don’t know what to do. She’s sick and I can’t help her. I’m just so fucking tired of feeling helpless, useless.”

Shelly crossed the room, kneeling beside his chair and taking his hand. “You’re not useless. Zoey loves you. Every Thursday, you’re all she can talk about. How Robbie did this or said that. You’re so good for her. And to her. She’s lucky to have you and she knows it.”

“But today—”

“Today, the kettle boiled over,” Laura interrupted, finishing his sentence for him. “She’s human, Rob. She was probably worn out from work, then she got the bloody nose, burned dinner. You walked in and she lost it. Usually she’s pretty good at keeping her emotions in check, but it sounds like tonight you offered her something a little different than the norm.”

Georgie leaned forward and placed her wineglass on a side table. “You were her punching bag.”

Laura nodded. “It’s like kids who behave in school, then come home and act like holy terrors with their mothers. You’re home to Zoey. Today she needed to blow off steam and you’re the only person she feels comfortable enough to do that with.”

Rob felt the tightness constricting his chest begin to loosen. What Laura said made sense. He didn’t mind taking the brunt of Zoey’s anger. Shit, she had a hell of a lot to be pissed off about. “You really think that’s all it is?”

Kristen nodded. “In fact, if I know Zoey at all, I bet she’s been kicking her own ass ever since you left. Feeling about
this big
for being so nasty.” Kristen pinched her forefinger and thumb together, leaving no space between the two.

Rob started to rise. “Fuck. I should probably go check on her.”

“No.” Shelly put her hand on his arm, holding him down. “Not yet. I think you both need time to cool off. Drink.” She gestured at the wineglass still in his hand.

He took a sip. Then he took another one. Conversation drifted to other things as the women proceeded to keep his wineglass full. He was surprised by how interesting and funny they were. They included him in all their discussions, never making him feel out of place. After two hours, his shoulders had lost all their previous tension. He was relaxed and less anxious than he’d been in weeks.

For the first time in a long time, he felt peaceful. Between worrying about Zoey and trying to figure out his future, he’d been running on empty. Zoey wasn’t the only who’d needed to blow off some steam. His emotional state hadn’t been much better than hers. No wonder they’d come at each other like runaway trains on the same track.

Soon the women began to rise, cleaning up and preparing to leave. Rob carried the empty bottles to the recycling bin as Josie and Shelly washed the wineglasses.

Laura walked to the door with him. “You’re doing fine, Rob. Honest. Just keep being there for her. Everything will work out. I promise.”

He nodded, then surprised both of them by leaning forward to give Laura a hug. “Thanks.”

She patted him on the back before releasing him. “We’re not just Zoey’s friends, you know. You ever need someone to talk to, come find one of us.”

He smiled, grateful for her offer. This morning he would have thanked her for the invitation, while never dreaming of accepting it. Now, he didn’t know if he’d be able to resist it. They had helped him. More than he could ever say.

He walked back toward his house feeling more hopeful than he had in a long time. Zoey was almost finished with her chemotherapy. For better or worse, he’d nailed down his career plans. The future was about to begin.

He climbed the stairs quietly. The house was dark, so he assumed Zoey had gone to bed early. He found her lying on her side of the bed. He undressed slowly, then crawled beneath the sheets.

Zoey rolled over, the moonlight streaming through the window, lighting her face. His heart ached. She’d been crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

“Oh damn, baby. Please don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

She pressed closer. “No, it’s not. I was horrible to you and you didn’t do a damn thing to deserve it. I don’t know why I yelled at you like that.”

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “It doesn’t matter why. I think it’s safe to say we were both stressed out and we took it out on each other. I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t,” she said, raising her face to look at him. “Don’t you dare apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. All me.”

He cupped her face. “Zoey. It’s done. Forgotten. I swear. You don’t have to say you’re sorry and we never have to talk about it again.”

He hoped his words would soothe her, but the tears continued to fall. “I’m just so tired of feeling this way, looking like this. I want to be me again. I want us to be
us
again.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him. He couldn’t help but wonder which
us
she was referring to. What did it mean to her? Were they friends with benefits? Lovers? A true couple building a lifetime together?

Now wasn’t the time to ask. She was emotionally overwrought. Hell, so was he. She had one more month of chemo. He’d hold off on the hard questions until then. Give her time to finish one chapter before he asked her to open another.

“I know you’re tired. You’ve been such a trooper through all of this. You make it look so easy that sometimes I forget how hard it is for you.”

“I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you too.” He kissed her, intending it to be just a peck, a gesture, but her lips lingered, softening beneath his. “I love you so much.”

She reached for his face, stroking his jaw, rough with a day’s growth of beard. Neither of them sought to advance the play. Instead they simply kissed, touching each other’s faces, their gazes connected.

For tonight, it was all he needed.

Chapter Eight

Zoey stretched her legs out in front of her and sighed. It was a perfect summer day. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot. She had shed her wig as soon as she got home, replacing the itchy thing with a scarf. She’d tugged on some shorts and a tank top, grabbed a bottle of water and a lightweight pool lounger and headed straight for the common grassy area in the center of the townhouses on Losers’ Lane. She was anxious to get a bit of color on her face, tired of looking so pale all the time.

Her chemotherapy sessions were over. She’d gone to the center for the last time two days earlier. She was free. At least until the doctors told her whether or not the treatments had been effective.

The idea of getting rid of the port and actually growing her hair back felt too good to be true. However, there was another niggling fear that, tired of being relegated to the background, had pushed its way to the forefront. Now that all of the cancer stuff was over and done with—
please God let it be over
—Robbie would be free to start touring again.

The band had gone into the recording studio over a month ago to lay down new tracks of the songs Robbie had written. She’d been his best friend long enough to know that once the songs were recorded, a tour wouldn’t be far behind. The night before last, he’d been on the phone with his manager, Pete, for nearly two hours. While she’d been upstairs and only able to hear his voice, not his words, she feared they’d been setting up concert dates and venues. When he came to bed, she’d rolled over to ask him what was up.

He’d dodged her question. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time because she’d been so tired from the chemo treatment, but now that she was fully awake and fretting, she could see his answer for what it was. A non-answer. He’d simply said he and Pete were talking about some new songs.

She’d accepted that response at face value, but known it wasn’t the truth. Was Express Train ready to go on tour now? Robbie’s manager had been in negotiations with other bands for months, working hard to set them up with a killer headlining act like the one they’d landed with The Traffic. If they got one of those gigs, they could leave at any time.

What would she say if Robbie told her he was leaving? She’d put off thinking about her future for months because things had been so uncertain, so up in the air. Now she was forced to acknowledge that she was in trouble. She loved Robbie and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

But he was a musician. She would never take that life away from him, even though in her heart she would struggle with him being away for months at a time. She wanted to get married, have a family, a normal life. If cancer had driven home one thing, it was that life was short. She’d already wasted too much time holding on to hidden feelings, refusing to—as her father would say—piss or get off the pot.

Suddenly her reasons for never telling Robbie she loved him crashed down on her. She’d kept her heart’s desire a secret because he couldn’t give up his music and she couldn’t live with his lifestyle. She’d needed him when he came home in January, so she’d grabbed on to him tightly with both hands, not considering the consequences.