“But music has always been the thing that saved me. I believe music can be that thing for a lot of kids. The way many kids are saved by sports or by learning to write about their experiences. And those kids who are saved that way—they go on to do important things. They change culture and history and politics. They make our world a better place.”
His blood thrummed with it, that feeling. He was doing something that mattered. He was telling the truth. His truth.
“Bid high,” he said. “Bid frequently. For the kid I was. For all our kids.”
The applause was thunderous. He shook hands with Becca and began his descent from the stage. He saw Cindy first, coming toward him to congratulate him.
Right behind her was Haven, beaming at him as she crossed the floor, date in tow.
All the joy drained out of the moment. Oh, God, he was going to have to meet Mr. Whoever and make nice talk. All the while knowing—
Knowing what? What did he know, really? Haven had told him she would bring a date to this, hadn’t she? What claim did Mark have on her? Haven had had sex with him, had enjoyed herself in ways that were unusual for her. But he didn’t know why or what it meant to her or whether she wanted anything more to ever happen between them.
Even though he did.
He wanted to be more to Haven than a novelty, more than a plaything, more, even, than part of her journey of sexual self-discovery.
He wanted Haven in his life, because Haven had made so much in his life feel right, and real.
She was getting closer, and there was so very, very little to her dress, so much bare, smooth, curvy Haven. His hands were twitchy with the need to touch her, and his mouth was watering. His heart felt tight with the need to tell her what she meant to him.
Her date placed a proprietary hand against the center of Haven’s bare back and Mark felt something deep and ill-defined snap inside him.
“Mark, that was brilli—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish, didn’t let her introduce the man with the wandering hand. He just grabbed her arm and murmured, gruffly, “I need to talk to you.”
She looked startled for a split second. Then she gently removed her arm from his grasp and smoothed her expression out, bringing her polished social self to the rescue. “Well, hello to you, too,” she said sweetly, ignoring the urgency in his low whisper. “Don Dormer, this is Mark Webster and Cindy Sheldon...”
Haven continued her suave introductions—Cindy would of course be familiar to Don as the singer on that amazing Christmas album that was so popular last year, Don was the president of an up-and-coming sports cable station...
“Great speech. Really great speech,” said Don, putting out his hand. His shake was firm. He looked Mark in the eye. There was nothing anywhere in his demeanor to indicate anything other than the greatest ease and comfort in this situation, and Mark imagined you could drop this guy anywhere and he’d be exactly the same. Totally in control, totally on top of the world. Mark hadn’t been privy to Haven’s conversation with Elisa when she arranged this date, but he could imagine it. Yes, someone who fits in perfectly at a fund-raiser. The kind of guy you don’t have to watch out for or worry about whether he’ll do something embarrassing...
Mark didn’t want Haven anywhere near this guy. Or any other guy. Not for the duration of the tour. Not for a few months, a few weeks, a few days, or the few hours it would take before this fund-raiser ended and they could all go home. He wanted her to be his right now, and his alone.