"What's your hurry?" Marsha asked as Meatloaf unlocked the cargo bay beneath the tour bus for us.

"I just wanna get my luggage, check into the hotel, shower and make it to the venue early enough to snag a spot close to the stage."

"That's a lot of reasons. One I might have bought. All that rambling makes me think you’re deflecting.”

A friend like Marsha was the best thing in the world most of the time, but right now at six in the morning hung over and sleep deprived, probing at a topic I didn’t want to talk about, it didn't feel that way.

Avoiding her supposition and her gaze, I pulled my suitcase out from the bay praying Lucky hadn't wakened. He had made his observations last night, surprisingly accurate ones for someone who didn't really know me all that well. I had confessed truth I couldn’t take back, but I had also said my piece. Now I needed to stay away from him. Continue with the plan. Only sex with guys I could walk away from. Sex without emotion was safe sex for me.

I hitched the chain on my clutch higher on my shoulder and turned around to get the lay of the land. The Newark hotel we had booked was miles away from Madison Square Garden, but it was the best in its price range and also thankfully far from the Midtown location where the Dragons were staying. The details of their accommodations had been taped to the refrigerator door along with their daily itinerary.

Throwing me a peeved look, Marsha retrieved her own suitcase and joined me on the sidewalk a moment later. We thanked the driver for dropping us off and headed inside the chain hotel. My flip flops snapped loudly on the marble in the lobby. I felt self-conscious in my rumpled clothing and bed tangled hair. A man in a business suit stood at the reception desk picking up a stack of room key cards. Recognizing him, I grabbed Marsha's arm and pointed, not so subtly using a couple of head jerks.

"Holy shit!" She grabbed both of my arms and I adjusted my stance so I could grab both of hers, too. "It's Ian Vandergriff, the 2 Rows Back road manager.”

“I know, which means..."

"They're here. In this hotel. Where we're staying. Ahhhh!!!" she squealed bending her knees like she might launch herself into the air.

"They probably just got in like we did." I held her to the floor. "So they'll sleep till noon. Workout, eat lunch here probably then go to sound check at the Garden in the early afternoon.”

"So we do the same. Right? Try to run into them. Get some autographs. Tell them how much we admire and respect them."

"Hell, yes,” I agreed.

We stepped up to the front desk after the band manager finished avoiding his eyes, but I could tell he was giving both of us the once over. As subtle as I thought we had been, I think he was on to us. I gave my credit card to the clerk since Marsha's card hadn’t been re-activated yet. I handed over ID and completed the necessary paperwork to check us in before we headed to the closest elevator.

"I chatted up the bellman while you were occupied,” Marsha said. “He told me there’s only one elevator to the lobby from the guest rooms and that celebrities usually take a side door directly off of it to exit the building. So how about we order room service and hang out right down here afterward." Her eyes were bright, her hair and clothes mussed and her speech was slurred with excitement as if she were high on drugs. And I knew I looked just like her. It was no wonder the tour manager had given us such a wary look.

* * *

Breakfast, yes. Shower certainly. A nap, not even.

Because my dad called.

"Raven Elizabeth Winters." I shared the middle name with his mother. She was no longer with us, but she had been a saint. Reliable. Dependable. A paragon of virtue. Everything I wasn’t. That he invoked the long version of my name usually meant I was in big, big trouble.

"When were you planning to tell me you got fired from your job?"

Shit. "Suspended pending investigation..."

"I saw the YouTube video. One of my students forwarded me the link." He let out a long breath. I could imagine the two deep vertical creases between his brows and his gaze brimming with disappointment. If I had been home I wouldn’t have been able to maintain eye contact.

"I’m sorry. I know you're disappointed in me. But even if they hadn't fired me, I would have quit. I just can’t do it anymore."

"Do what? Work hard? Earn a respectable living? Have a family? Save for retirement? Make me proud? Be responsible like Hawk was."

I squeezed my eyes shut. He'd hit me where I would never heal.

"Raven." Marsha sank down beside me, putting her arms around me. Apparently, somehow she hadn’t yet figured out how utterly worthless I was as a human being. I grabbed onto her like she was my only life line.

She would be from now on.

I had bowed to my father’s wishes and expectations for years. I would never measure up. I realized that now. It was time to stop trying.

"Daddy, I can’t be who you want me to be anymore." I spoke each syllable slowly and scrupulously prying them out of the tangled and twisted wreckage inside of me. "I’m going to hang up now. You can pretend I don’t exist anymore, just like Hawk. I’m going to try to do the same thing about you."