Raw Deal(9)

Yeah, and neither are fighters with voices that can melt your panties off. Stop it.

Savannah rolled over, hugged her pillow, and hoped the only sweet dreams she had tonight were about fluffy bunnies.



"What do you think of this one?" Rowan placed another carpet swatch on  the dining room table. It was barely indistinguishable from the one  beside it.

"These are different?"

"Duh. One is toffee and one is amaretto. Focus."

Savannah nodded. "Pretty. I still think it's a little too early to  decide on a color, though. You won't find out if it's a boy or a girl  for a while. Are you sure you wouldn't decide differently once you  know?"

Rowan shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. But it keeps me busy."

Which was a blessing in itself. Rowan had completely thrown herself into  the planning stage, and she excelled at it. A project for the house was  exactly what she'd needed to make her feel a little better, and  decorating the nursery was perfect.

"Naturally, I'll pick a color scheme for a boy, one for a girl, and then  one in case I do decide to go gender-neutral like these." Naturally.  "Which is always a possibility. I love this sage over here too. What do  you think?"

"I like it all."

"You are absolutely no help whatsoever." Rowan shot her an aggrieved  look and got up to go to the kitchen for more drinks: water for herself,  sweet tea for Savannah. While she was gone, Savannah twirled her empty  glass in her hands, rattling the ice, and debated.

Mike's offer had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for a week. She  was running out of time. And even though she'd decided on the best way  to approach the situation, she still hadn't worked up enough nerve to do  it.

"What's with you lately?" Rowan called from the kitchen amid the sound  of pouring tea and crackling ice. "I'm usually the one down in the  dumps. I actually feel okay today, and now you're the zombie."

"Yeah," Savannah replied, gazing through the dining room window at the  bright pink azaleas blooming outside Rowan's house. No time like the  present, right? "Um, Ro? I have something to tell you."

Rowan reappeared with two fresh glasses and placed them on the table. As  usual, she looked beautiful, even with her blond hair in a sloppy bun  and without a trace of makeup. Pregnancy had given her a glow that her  grief wasn't able to touch. The light was gradually beginning to come  back into her green eyes. "What is it?" She sat and began picking  through her swatches again. Savannah noticed her fingernails looked  freshly manicured, so there was another small return to normality.

She sipped her tea, feeling her heart thud heavily in her chest. "What  if I told you"-she took a fortifying breath-"that you have a real chance  to meet the singer of August on Fire?"

Rowan's hands froze. Her gaze flickered up to meet Savannah's through her dark lashes. "I would say you're joking, of course."

"Well, you do. All access in Houston, or really wherever you want to go until the tour ends."

"Have you lost your mind? There's no way."                       
       
           



       

"There is. I am absolutely not joking."

"No way. No freaking way."

Savannah chuckled as each of Rowan's protests ratcheted up a notch in  urgency. "Look, I'm serious. I wouldn't mess with you about something  like this. And I can go with you, if you want."

"All access? Like, I would get to meet him? For real?"

"That's my understanding."

For perhaps five seconds, Rowan simply sat and stared at her dumbly, and  then she erupted with a shriek, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my  God, Savvy! How?"

"Let's just say . . . I know people?"

"Who in the hell do you know who can pull this off?"

This was the part she dreaded, but there was no going back now. Not  telling her who'd made this offer would be unthinkable, practically a  betrayal of some sort. She pushed the words out in a rush, keeping her  gaze downcast. "I really don't know how you're going to take this, so  I'm just going to blurt it out. I met Mike Larson for coffee after  Tommy's service just to hear him out. He mentioned the fact that the guy  who was with him at the cemetery was his brother." Now she looked up at  Rowan's blank face. "His brother being Zane Larson."

"That was . . ." Horror dawned in her eyes. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I don't think it's well publicized that they're related. I didn't know, either."

But Rowan's mind was apparently going in a completely different  direction. She placed both hands flat on the table and shot several  inches up out of her chair. "You're telling me," she began slowly, "that  was Zane Larson and he saw me act like that?"

"I'm sure he understands you were upset-"

"Fuck! Savannah!" Rowan's sloppy bun became even sloppier when she  dropped back into her seat and shoved her hands into her hair in  exasperation. "You haven't said a word about this in all this time!"

"I didn't know what to do! But I talked to Mike again, and he made this offer thinking-"

"Wait, you talked to him again? How many times have you talked to this guy?"

"Just once more, I promise. He's trying to help, Rowan. I told him you  were a big fan of his brother's, and he said he could get us in anywhere  and fly us there too, but the tour wraps up in Houston, which would be  closest for us. He said we don't have to see him at all."

Her face unreadable, Rowan looked down at her swatches and blindly  fiddled with them for a moment before dropping them and leaning back in  her chair. "Wow. Wow. I don't know what to say."

"It's totally, totally up to you, okay? I really don't even like their  music." She chuckled and drank her tea, letting Rowan stew for a while  in all of this shocking new information. At least none of the explosion  had really been directed toward her. Yet. Give her time to think about  it.

"What if he's an asshole?" Rowan blurted out after a couple of minutes.

"Then I guess you'll know, at least."

"They say to never meet your idols."

"Oh, is he an idol now?"

"He always has been. His music has really gotten me through a lot of  stuff; I thought you knew that. He must have had it pretty rough himself  growing up, given some of his lyrics."

"I kind of got that impression from some of the things Mike said. I don't know."

Rowan snatched her phone up from the tabletop and typed furiously for a  few seconds. "The last show is in three weeks. Let me think about it. I  mean . . . this is something we probably couldn't tell your parents  about. They would go apeshit if they knew I was traipsing off to a rock  concert in my condition."

"Your condition? You're pregnant, not dying. I'm sure it'll be fine, but  no, I wouldn't tell them anything except maybe we're going away for a  girls' weekend."

"Even that would probably freak them out, the way they're carrying on. God! I feel like I'm totally dreaming right now."

She's going, Savannah thought to herself. She might not like it, but  she's going. Her relief at having her confession out there was so strong  it was practically a weight in itself.

"But Savvy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd really rather Zane's brother not be there."

"He'll be there, but like I said, he said he'll stay away."

"Good."

"Rowan-"

She put a hand up to stop her. "I appreciate what he's doing for us, but  I'm not ready to have to face him. I don't know if I ever will be.  Please thank him for me, but I don't want to see him. If that's a  problem for him, then I guess I'll stay home."                       
       
           



       

She wouldn't even say his name. She hadn't said it once throughout this  entire conversation. Savannah sighed and picked up the amaretto swatch,  determined not to argue. Rowan felt how she felt, and she had every  right. Nothing would change that. "I like this one."





Chapter Five


Sweat stung his eyes. His muscles screamed. Every jab to the bag jarred  up his arms and every kick had the entire force of his body behind it.  Mike wasn't sure if his training was more about maintaining his fitness  or exorcising his demons lately, but when faces from his past began to  drift across the heavy bag, he amped up his blows. Fuck you, and fuck  you, and fuck you, too . . .

Until the images changed and Tommy Dugas stood glaring at him in a  defensive stance. The roar of a crowd in chaos echoed in his ears. Mike  backpedaled, his arms dropping. "Time," his coach, Jon, called none too  soon. Mike stripped off his gloves and unwound his hand tape, breathing  hard. "Are we done?" Jon asked him, raising an eyebrow.