Copyright 2017 Shelley Munro
Friendship Chronicles Book 2
“Fuck!” Ryan Callander stared at the paper in his hand, shock ratcheting up the low-grade headache he’d had for the last two hours. Julia wanted a divorce. He concentrated on breathing—in, out, in, out—to stem his escalating panic.
Caleb popped his tousled dark head from a bedroom of the inner-city Auckland apartment they’d shared for the past five years. “What is it, man?” He glanced at Ryan and grimaced at the envelope. “Can’t the mail wait until we’ve had some sleep? This jetlag is kicking my butt.”
God, she couldn’t do this to him. It was a misunderstanding. She’d realize once he explained everything. “No, I have to go out.”
Caleb cursed and disappeared. He reappeared with a black T-shirt in his hands and yanked it over his head. “I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Ryan snapped.
“Your memory is still spotty. What kind of friend would let you loose in the big bad city alone?”
Ryan made a scoffing sound. “It’s Auckland. I remembered the location of our apartment. I can call a cab.”
“But you didn’t recall where the mystery woman lives—the one you kept muttering about in hospital.”
“I’m going to her now.” He’d recalled more about Julia than he’d let on to Caleb, their manager and the rest of the band. The only thing he couldn’t remember was how to contact her—that and her last name. Caleb had told Ryan he didn’t have a serious woman in New Zealand, not one he cared about. Ryan knew different, but the harder he’d tried to remember the more his head had ached.
“And if your mystery woman is a groupie?” Caleb asked, his expression making his opinion clear. French Letters’ groupies didn’t warrant midnight visits from the band. “Surely it can wait until we’ve at least caught a few hours of sleep. Besides, Seymour will have a hernia if you out yourself to a groupie. You can’t visit one without full makeup or a mask. Remember the terms of our contract.”
“You can sleep,” Ryan said. “I’m going out now.” He picked up his wallet and phone, both new since the police never recovered the ones stolen from him while the band had been playing in Europe.
“Wait, damn it.” Frustration shimmered in his friend’s voice, but Ryan didn’t slow. Running thumps echoed down the hall. “Fuck, Ryan. I’m coming with you. Give me a chance to put on my boots.”
Ryan slowed. “I’ll hail a cab. If you’re not outside in five minutes, I’m going without you.” A mixture of anxiety and anger pumped through his veins. Julia wasn’t any damn groupie. She’d already seen him without his makeup. His mouth curled to a grin as fragments of memories pushed past the fog in his mind. She’d seen him in a lot less and loved the view.
He checked the street and spied a cab. Hell, luck was with him. It was a sign. He waved, elated when the taxi halted beside him, and spoke to the driver, reading the address off the formal document before jumping into the back of the cab. He glanced back for his friend.
Caleb appeared in the doorway, glimpsed the cab and cursed a blue streak. He increased his pace to a sprint. Breathless, he flung himself into the back seat with Ryan. “I fuckin’ told you to wait.”
“I intended to wait.”
“Didn’t bloody look like it. Where are we going anyway?”
“Parnell.”
“Give me more. Who are we going to see?”
“Julia.” Ryan fell silent, waiting to see if Caleb remembered her.
“Wait, Julia? Not that blonde bird we both banged last summer?” Caleb’s smirk was a toothy one. It made Ryan itch to thump him.
“Watch your mouth.” Ryan concentrated on his clenched fists instead of the urge to beat up his friend. Caleb didn’t understand. If he realized, he wouldn’t talk that way. When Caleb opened his mouth to say something else, Ryan cut him off. “Watch what you say about Julia or I’ll tell your mother on you.”
“What are we? Five years old?” Caleb stared at him in astonishment. “You sound like my sister.”
A sharp pain sliced through his head, and he rubbed it with his fingers.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Is your head hurting again?”
“Yeah.” His anxiety made it throb worse than normal. The doctors said his headaches would tail off after a while. He wished he knew when that would be, ’cause it had been months.
“I’ll help you as much as I can.”
“Yeah, I know.” He and Caleb had been best friends since they were five. It was weird how he recollected everything about Caleb and growing up together. He even remembered the words to their songs, yet his time with Julia remained blank. Those precious snippets of memories had taken weeks to return to him after the mugging, and even now his mind contained frustrating gaps.
The cab slowed and came to a halt outside a new apartment block. He didn’t recognize it, but he and the rest of the band had been in Europe for almost a year, much longer than they’d originally planned. Now that he was here, nerves slid through him. His heart beat a little faster. He paid the driver, grimacing at the faint tremor in his hand.
Caleb watched the taxi drive off. “Are we going to be here a while?”
“Depends.” Ryan strode to the apartment entrance and checked the directory on the wall. Julia Maxwell. Only her Christian name seemed familiar while the surname could belong to anyone. He pressed on her apartment buzzer, keeping his finger down for long seconds. He waited. When nothing happened, he stabbed the button again.
“She’s either a deep sleeper or she’s not home. Maybe she’s out on a date.”
Ryan’s gut twisted, a sharp pain of protest. “No,” he whispered, appalled at the idea.
Caleb’s dark brows rose. “Just because you’ve given up dating and become a monk, it doesn’t mean the rest of the world should follow your example. What’s so important about Julia?”
Ryan sighed. He pushed the bell one final time, and when nothing happened, turned to his friend, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Ryan, I don’t get it. Why is it so urgent for you to see this Julia?”
Ryan’s chest ached in tandem with the throb at his temples. “Julia is my wife.”
“What?” Caleb grabbed his arm, pincher fingers digging into his biceps. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“The time never seemed right. My memory was patchy, so there was nothing to tell.”
“Fuck, she must have been worried sick when she didn’t hear from you. Why didn’t she ring?”
“She probably tried,” Ryan said. “They took my phone. Even if she managed to get in touch with Seymour, he wouldn’t have believed her. And because the mugging happened between concerts and we only had to cancel one, she most likely thinks I abandoned her.”
“You should have told me, man.”
Ryan tried not to let the pain inside him gain momentum. “At first I couldn’t remember her name. Everything was so foggy I decided my memory might play tricks on me. Besides, Seymour would have had a cow.”
“The ‘no serious relationships’ thing? There’s no reason we can’t get married if we want.”
Ryan snorted. “That’s not what management says. You’ve heard Seymour’s lectures.”
“Doesn’t mean we have to follow his advice,” Caleb said. “It’s not a formal clause in our contract.”
“Is that your year of law talking?”
“Fuck you,” Caleb said, giving him a one finger salute for emphasis. “I was humoring my parents. When did you get married anyhow? How did you do it without me noticing?”
“You attended your family christening over Anniversary weekend. Julia and I flew to Fiji for a four-day break and married while we were there.”
“Congratulations.”
“She’s served divorce papers on me,” Ryan said with a snarl, anger warring with the jagged knife slicing into his brain. He loved her, damn it. “I’m not letting her go without a fight.”
Caleb’s grin lit up his face. “And I worried a three-month break might bore me.” He rubbed his hands together. “This should be fun.”
“There’s nothing funny about a divorce.”
The amusement quit Caleb. “I know that, man, but I understand you. Julia won’t stand a chance. She’ll be putty in your hands again in days. I’ll be your wingman.”
Ryan’s hackles rose and his fingers balled to fists. “You won’t be putting your hands on my wife again. That was a one-time thing.”
Caleb raised his hands in surrender, his gaze steady, reassuring, and some of the tension seeped from Ryan. Caleb was his friend, not the enemy.
“Why don’t we go back to the apartment, grab a few hours’ sleep then stake out her place. You can confront her when we run her to ground.”
It was a sensible solution, despite his need for immediate action. He hesitated before admitting to his exhaustion. The damn headache had taken hold, and his skull thumped like the crazy beat of Neil’s drums during a solo spot. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”
Down but not out. Julia was his wife. His woman, and soon no one would doubt it, least of all her.