The laughter abruptly clogs in my throat. I shut off my phone without answer and stare out the window, shaking my head.

What am I doing?

I can’t let myself act like everything is normal between us when it isn’t.

As much as I’d like to pretend we’re going to be OK, I’m not sure that we are.

As much as I love her, I don’t know if I’m even capable—

I push away my thoughts. The pain in my gut twists and tightens. Perhaps this agony would go away if I could just stop thinking about Chrissie.

*  *  *

 

Three weeks later

“I’m not going on another Bataan Death March all day with Mrs. Doubtfire.”

I lift my head from my pillow and check the clock. It’s only 9:30 a.m.

Dammit.

I have a concert tonight.

I need to sleep.

Mrs. Doubtfire.

Inconveniently funny.

I roll over in bed, pushing the hair from my face. “Bataan Death March. Wrong country. That’s the Philippines. We’re in Australia. Melbourne is an interesting city. You are going today. You want to be a filmmaker—go learn something. I need quiet and sleep, so you get sightseeing today.”

I wait for the door to slam.

Kaley crosses the room and drops down on the edge of the bed. “I’m too old for a nanny. You do realize that, don’t you? Or do you just get off embarrassing me?”

I sit up in bed. I reach for my cigarettes, then remember I can’t light one in my own suite because of the kids.

“Mrs. Barton isn’t here for you, Kaley. The security detail is. It sucks being an Internet sensation, doesn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous. I don’t want to go with them. I don’t need security every time I leave the suite. Mom wouldn’t make me live this way. She’d know it was lame.”

I climb from the bed. I need coffee.

“Maybe, but your mom isn’t here.”

“And whose fault is that?” she exclaims and then flounces from the room, slamming the door.

I ring for coffee and my breakfast to be brought and then step onto the terrace and light my cigarette. Once my meal is delivered, I settle in a chair. I’m never going to get back to sleep now even though I can tell by the quiet that the kids have gone for the day.

I turn on my phone and the notifications appear. I push through them. Yep, evening text from Chrissie arriving for my morning here. Twice a day. Every day. Morning and night like clockwork even though I don’t answer her.

I don’t understand where she gets the emotional stamina to do the text thing. I see the notification and everything inside me starts to roil.

Why doesn’t she stop?

It must hurt her, too, especially when I don’t reply.

She can’t think it will be that simple to fix the fucked-up state of our marriage.

I block out the thought of her by going through my morning routine. Email. Online newspapers. Chatting on the phone. Eating. Texting. Rote activity to block thinking.

I toss my cell on the table. Four hours of nothing. I’m tired, frustrated, and I just want this fucking knot in my stomach to go away and to feel normal again.

I need to bury myself in being on tour.

Go to a party.

Get laid.

That would be finality.

Irrevocable for Chrissie.

The only woman I’ve ever chased.

The only woman I’ve ever loved.

Oh, but she’d walk away from me forever if I did that.

Then maybe the pain would stop surfacing—nagging, aching, reminding me of what I had and why I can’t forgive her. Jen is still traveling with the tour. Available. Fun. Up for anything. Maybe I should just go and get laid.

*  *  *

“OK, kids. The car is here. I’ve got to run.”

The kids are lying sprawled around the sitting room. Kaley looks up from her book, does a quick, stiff smile, and then shifts her gaze away. The boys are asleep. I drop a kiss on Krystal’s forehead.

Krystal smiles. “Why are you in such a good mood tonight, Dad?”

Those wide blue eyes fix on me, and I tense and instantly start to feel guilty.

Crap.

I haven’t done anything yet.

All I did was text Jen to confirm she was free tonight. I didn’t set up anything. OK, fuck, that’s bullshit. Texting Jen is the same as paying a hooker. Deal sealed. OK, I’m just considering it. That’s all.

At the door I look back at Krystal. I widen my eyes. “Behave.”

She laughs, and I step into the hall to be surrounded by my security team. Inside the elevator I’m feeling lighter, more upbeat, and I’m starting to get some of that performance excitement and nervous energy going that’s been mostly absent on this tour. It’s a fucking great rush when I get it.

By the time the car rolls to a stop at the arena I’m pumped, feeling the way I should before going on stage. I get another infusion of adrenaline pushed into my veins as I go from the car to the entrance.

Anything I want.

Yep, I deserve it.

Why shouldn’t I have it?

As I’m escorted down the tunnel to the green room, noise, vibration, roaring fans, and beautiful, fawning women inject me with enough endorphins that it makes getting my dick wet tonight an absolute necessity.

I’m fucking someone tonight.

Fuck you, Chrissie.

When I join up with the guys, I start drinking with them like we did in the old days. Soon we’re laughing and shooting the shit with the ease we used to. I scan the women for new, untasted possibilities. I’ve got time for a suck before I go on stage. Fuck, I definitely need it. I haven’t gotten fucked in over a month. Maybe two women later. I feel like I could fuck for a week nonstop.

Plenty of luscious options to choose from. And there’s Jen hovering where she’s always in the line of my vision.

Everything is falling into place. Everything feels fucking good when we’re ushered from the green room onto the stage. The arena is stirred up into a frenzy and so am I by the time our set is through. I run off stage and my body is beyond lit.

I make my way down the corridor. I’m just going to grab Jen and get the fuck out of here with her. She’s a great lay, adventurous and up for anything.

Back in the green room we’re swallowed up by people. Journalists, musicians from other bands, the famous, and the road whores. Twenty minutes into getting my ego stroked, I’m there, ready for my after-party. I fix my stare on Jen, she looks, and I nod. She slips out from the crowd and into the exit corridor.

I turn to Len.

“I’m heading out.”

Len grabs my arm and drags me away. “Don’t do it.”

I give him the what the fuck face. “Don’t give me that shit, Len. You fuck every cunt you can on the road.”

“Linda and I have an understanding. You fuck Jen, that’s it. Done. Over. Everyone will know. Jen will make sure everyone knows. You’ll be in divorce court before it’s wheels up in Australia.”

I shake Len off. “I don’t give a fuck. Do you hear me, Len? I don’t care.”

“Well, I do, you witless bastard. You’re not thinking clearly. When you stop being angry you’re going to care, because you fucking love Chrissie, you always will, but then it will be too late.”

“I guess that means you’re not going to give me a handful of those rubbers you carry,” I jeer and then laugh in his face for added insult.

Len glares at me, shakes his head and walks away.

Good, I didn’t want him fucking with my head anyway.

I start making my way out of the room and an image flashes in my head. A picture of Chrissie straddling me and trying to inexpertly rip open a foil square is immediately followed by flashing pictures of riding me, her head back and mouth open in ecstasy. I love the way her hair surrounds me, lightly teasing my flesh as she slowly glides up then slams hard, the way she smells—

Oh fuck.

I lean into Trey, the head of my security team. “Keep Jen off me and make sure I leave here in the car alone.”

*  *  *