Myrna parked her car behind the Lied Center in Lincoln, Nebraska. The throbbing sounds of the concert rattled her dashboard. The drive had been long and uneventful, but she was tired. Driving four hours after a full day at work and an insane amount of packing wasn't advisable. She climbed from the car and headed for the end of the barrier fence. She'd just wait for the band on the bus and send a roadie after her luggage.
A security guard in a bright yellow shirt stopped her from entering the area in front of the waiting buses.
"I'm with the band," Myrna told the guard. He had a six-pack stomach. The kind produced by consuming a six-pack of beer every night.
"I've heard that before," he said. "You can't go past the barrier."
"So I'm just supposed to wait here until the band comes out and validates my story."
"That's the only way you're getting past me."
She sighed loudly, too tired to be patient. "Are there any roadies around? They know me."
"Promising roadies favors won't get them to lie for you."
"Ugh! I could strangle you. When does the show end?"
He checked his watch. "Forty minutes or so."
She might as well sit in her car. "When Brian or any of the other guys blow through here, tell him Myrna Evans is waiting in her car. And she's not very happy about it after driving for four hours."
"You're Myrna?"
"Yeah."
"ID?"
She shuffled through her purse until she found her driver's license. She handed it to him. He inspected it carefully as if she were some fifteen-year-old trying to sneak into a nightclub.
"All right," he said finally, handing her license back to her. "That guitarist guy kept coming out here asking if anyone had seen you before their show started."
She smiled. Eager to see her, was he? The guard shoved the metal fence piece slightly so she could squeeze between two of the barriers. "Thanks for keeping my guys safe." She patted him on the cheek and walked the inside of the barrier toward the building. Several fans milled near the back door, waiting for the band to come outside. Maybe now would be a good time to do a preliminary survey for her research.
Nothing formal. She didn't have her survey questions set yet, but she could do a few informal interviews to get a better idea of how to ask questions. The hardest part about studying psychology was getting the questions worded properly to avoid leading the subject or introducing her personal bias.
She approached a young scantily clad woman.
"Hello," Myrna said to the woman. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"
"How did you get on that side?" she asked.
"I'm with the band."
She glanced at the security guard and whispered to Myrna, "Can you get me backstage?"
"No. Sorry. Why do you want backstage?"
"So I can meet Trey Mills. Why else?"
"He's a great guy. Incredibly talented," Myrna said. "What do you know about him?"
"Uh, everything. His birthday is June 9th. He has seventeen tats and twelve piercings. His real name is Terrance, which he hates, so he goes by Trey. His middle name is Charles. Trey was born and raised in Los Angeles. His best friend is Brian "Master" Sinclair, who he met when he was eleven and they started a band called Crysys in 8th grade. He had a dog named Sparky when he was a kid. It got hit by a car. You know their song, "Good-bye Is Not Forever?" Trey wrote that about his dog. He—"
"Okay, you do seem to know everything about him. Why do you want to meet him?"
"Duh. He's Trey Mills."
"Yes, I know who he is. Why do you want to meet him?"
"I love him. I want him. I need him." She clutched her hands in front of her chest and rolled her eyes for emphasis.
"And what do you hope comes from this meeting?"
She laughed. "A baby. Are you a reporter or something?"
"No, I'm just curious. So you want to have sex with Trey Mills?"
"Yeah, of course. Don't you?"
Myrna laughed uneasily. "I have other interests. Have you had these feelings for any other men? Study their lives in detail, think you know them, profess to love them, and try to have intercourse with them?"
She shrugged. "Just other band members."
"Let's say that Trey isn't interested in you, but Jace Seymour invites you to the tour bus for sex, do you go?"
Her brow furrowed. "Yeah, I'd do Jace. He's hot. He might introduce me to Trey. A win-win situation. You know what would really be awesome? A threesome with Trey and Master Sin—"
Myrna lifted her hand to silence her. "So how do you act toward regular men? Ones who aren't famous."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you regularly engage in promiscuous sex?"
The girl stared at her for a long moment. "Are you asking if I'm easy?"
"Are you?"
"Yeah, I guess." She shrugged. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"As long as you're okay with it, it's fine. Have you ever had sex with a man you've just met?"
She looked puzzled, as if thinking hurt her brain. "On a first date, you mean?"
"No, I mean, some hot guy comes out of that door, walks up to you and says, 'Let's have sex.' Do you go?"
She scowled. "No, that's sick."
"Let's say Trey Mills comes out of that door, walks up to you and says, 'Let's have sex.' Do you go?"
"Yeah. I already said I would."
"What's the difference between the first guy and Trey?"
She paused and then shrugged. "I know Trey."
"You know facts about Trey's life, but you don't know him. You've never met him, have you?"
"I do know him," she spat. "I love Trey. And as soon as he meets me, he'll love me back. Understand?"
"Yeah, I think I'm starting to understand, actually. I really appreciate your talking to me."
"So can you introduce me to him?"
"I'll put in a good word for you."
She smiled. "That would be awesome!" She pulled a tube of lip gloss from her tiny purse and applied several coats.
Myrna talked to several other young women while she waited for Brian to finish his show. A trend emerged among them. They all had similar attitudes. She even found a girl in love with Brian. Talking to her was weird.
"How long have you been in love with Brian?"
"He prefers Master Sinclair, actually." The girl rolled eyes surrounded with far too much blue eyeliner.
Myrna knew for a fact that he didn't, actually , but let Fan Girl think what she would.
"Um," the girl continued. "I saw him live a couple of years ago, before the band got really famous. Have you seen him on stage?"
"Yeah."
"Isn't he sexy?"
"Yeah. He's definitely sexy."
"And when he fingers his guitar, like…" She wriggled her fingers in rapid succession. "It's like, oh my God, I want him, you know?"
"Yeah. I totally get that. How do you know you're in love with him?"
"I think about him constantly. I have every picture of him ever taken taped to my wall. I watch his videos in slow motion."
Creeped out, Myrna didn't bother suppressing a shudder. "Isn't that obsession, not love?"
"No, it's definitely love. I'd do anything for him."
She couldn't stomach talking about Brian with obsessed fans any longer. "Thanks for talking to me."
"Can you hook me up with Brian?"
Fuck no. She smiled at the girl. "I don't think he's interested, honey."
Maybe she should stick with studying the rest of the band's groupies, but avoid Brian's.
The back door swung open. Brian emerged, steam rising from his skin as the cool evening air hit his sweat-drenched body. He raced toward her and wrapped her in his arms, seeking her mouth for a welcoming kiss. Camera flashes went off. Something slammed into the back of Myrna's head. Hard.
She jerked away from Brian, rubbing her scalp. "Ow."
Brian looked down at her. "What's wrong?"
"Something hit me," she said, her eyes watery with tears. "It really hurt."
He retrieved a black ankle boot from the ground. "Who threw this?" he demanded, scanning the congregated fans.
Only one girl stood beyond the barrier with a matching boot on one foot and nothing on the other. Brian approached the girl and shook the boot in her face. She flinched. It was the same girl who had claimed to be in love with Brian minutes before. "Did you hit my girlfriend with this?"
"Your girlfriend!" she wailed.
"Your girlfriend?" Myrna murmured.
Myrna rubbed the lump on her head, stunned more by his words than being clobbered in the back of the head.
"I'm sorry, Master Sinclair," the fan girl said. "I love you. I love you."
"And you think hitting someone I care about in the back of the head will get positive attention from me?"
"I didn't mean to," the girl cried, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me."
He shoved the boot into the young woman's chest. "Get out of here!"
He looked at the back of Myrna's head, fingering the lump there. She sucked a pained breath through her teeth.
"Are you okay, baby? I think this is bleeding." He looked down at his fingertips for signs of blood.
The rest of the band exited the building then. Sed paused in front of Myrna, who looked up at him, still grimacing in pain.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Some bitch hit her in the back of the head with a boot." Brian touched the lump on the back of her head again. She wished he would stop already.
"What is this?" Brian asked, fingering the back of her head again. "A scar? What—"
She twisted away from him. "It's nothing."
"Come on, let's get out of here," Sed said. They ignored the group of fans who were growing in number by the minute and went directly to the bus. Sed told the girls following him to wait outside.
Brian directed Myrna to a seat at the dining table and treated her scrape with peroxide from a first aid kit. The entire band was looking at her like she'd been in a horrible accident and was expected to die at any moment.
"I'm okay," she insisted.
"You've got to be more careful, Brian," Sed said. "You know what some of these fans are like."
"I wasn't thinking." Brian tossed a wad of wet gauze on the table and kissed Myrna on the back of the head. "I was just happy to see her."
Sed grinned. "Yeah, I get it. But be happy to see her in private. Okay? We don't want her to get any death threats."
"I don't know how you guys deal with some of this stuff," Myrna said.
"What stuff?" Brian asked.
"The fans. They honestly believe they know you. That chick who hit me knew more about you than I do. They say they're in love with you and they mean it. It's pretty twisted. They've never even met you."
"It gets us lots of pussy." Sed grinned.
Myrna chuckled. "I guess so."
"Are you going to party with us, Myr?" Eric asked.
"Not tonight, Eric. I've had a long day. I think I just need to go to bed."
"I agree," Brian said.
"We'll just leave you two lovebirds alone." Trey grabbed Eric by the arm and pulled him out of the bus.
"Take good care of her, Brian," Sed said. Jace nodded. They followed Trey and Eric out. The fans cheered their return.
"I'm really sorry about this, Myrna."
"It's not your fault."
"I shouldn't have kissed you."
"It was worth it. What I really wanted to do was tell that girl you were mine and she better turn her obsessive attention elsewhere."
He smiled broadly. "You did?"
"Yeah. Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything?"
"Go wash off your eyeliner. I want to be with Brian right now. Not Master Sinclair."
"Can Master Sinclair have a kiss first?"
"I'm not sure. I think my boyfriend might get jealous."
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. She clung to his shoulders as he plundered her mouth. When he pulled away to gaze down at her, her heart throbbed with excitement. "You're right, Brian is a little jealous," he said. "But he's stoked that you called him your boyfriend."
She shrugged. "Boyfriend I can handle. It's that m-word I can't tolerate."
"Magical?"
"No, magical is fine. It's that other m-word."
"All right," he said. "Brian promises not to ask for a massage after a show any more, even though he really, really enjoys it and was hoping you'd indulge him in a few minutes."
"You know what I'm talking about. Why do you keep asking me to marry you? It really bothers me that you joke about it."
"Who's joking?"
Her heart skipped a beat. "I hope you are."
Brian lowered his gaze. "It figures the first woman I ask to marry me thinks I'm joking."
Her breath caught. "The first?"
"Yeah, the first. Only."
He moved away from the table and went into the bathroom. Water splashed into the sink. Myrna took a deep breath and climbed to her feet. She had assumed he was the type to ask every girl he liked to marry him. Was she honestly the first? She still didn't want to get married—not ever—but she knew she should be more sensitive to his feelings. He couldn't understand why she kept turning him down. She should probably explain it to him. She fingered the lump on the back of her head and then the long, thick scar beside it.
She followed Brian and stood in the bathroom door, watching him scrub off his stage makeup.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought… I didn't realize you treated me specially."
He looked at her. "Why wouldn't I? You are special."
She snorted. "Brian, you could have any woman you want. There's nothing special about me at all."
He shook his head in disagreement. "You sell yourself short, Myr. You're wonderful. And I don't want just any woman. I want you, but I guess you're totally against the idea of marrying me."
"Brian, I'm not against marrying you. I'm against marrying anyone. Besides, we barely know each other, how could you even contemplate such a crazy idea?"
"Sometimes you just know."
"Know what?"
"You know when it's real. This. You and me. This is real. I've never had anything that felt so real."
"And to me it's not real at all. It's like a fantasy."
He looked down at the sink. "Okay, that hurt."
"I'm sorry."
He looked up at her and smiled sadly. "Don't apologize for your feelings, Myrna." He approached her in the doorway and touched her cheek. "I think I know what it is. Tell me about your ex-husband."
She flinched and turned away from him. He moved behind her and circled her waist with his arms, drawing her up against his body. She didn't realize she was trembling until his steady strength settled behind her.
"I don't like to talk about it." Her trembling increased as flashes of memories assailed her.
"I've got you," he murmured. "You're safe."
Safe.
Brian did make her feel safe. And for that, she'd tell him a little so he would understand there wasn't anything wrong with him. It was her. "Jeremy was a good man when I married him. He just drank sometimes, and when he was drunk, he became a different person. At first, he got belligerent every couple of months. And then, every couple of weeks. At the end, he was drunk every night. He'd accuse me of things, things I'd never done, never even considered doing. He thought I was having affairs. He was paranoid. Cruel. When I denied it, he'd—" A broken sob cut off her words.
She dashed away her tears. Why was she crying? She hadn't cried over Jeremy in years. She'd left him in her past. He couldn't hurt her anymore. But even she recognized that as a lie. He hurt her every day.
Brian turned her around and held her against his chest.
She wrapped her arms around him, drawing on his strength. "He'd threaten me until I admitted doing whatever he accused me of. Fucking some guy. Touching or flirting with or even looking at some guy with too much interest." Myrna looked up at Brian and his face blurred behind her tears. "You have to believe me, Brian. I never. I would never. I didn't cheat. Not once. I never even considered it." Her fingers curled into his shirt.
Brian's arms tightened around her. "I believe you." He rubbed his lips against the side of her head. "Did he hit you?"
She shook her head. "No, not while we were married. Strange as it sounds, I sometimes wish he had. It would have made it easier to leave. He mostly yelled. Made me doubt myself. Sometimes I can still hear his voice, screaming at me, calling me a whore. If our problems had stayed between us, I might have been able to deal with it, but Jeremy confronted several of my male coworkers and accused them of seducing me. He even got several of their wives involved. I had to leave my first faculty position because of it."
"Why did you stay with him?"
"I was stupid; I kept forgiving him. He'd say, 'I love you, Myrna. I love you. I love you. That's all that matters. I love you.' I believed it for so long. I don't know how many second chances he earned by bastardizing those three words. Hundreds. I can't even stand to hear them now. Those words repulse me. Remind me of my weakness. My stupidity. I think the worst part was, as a psychologist, I knew what he was doing to me—I knew —and hated myself for taking him back over and over again, but I couldn't break the cycle. I wanted it to work. But…"
Having already said too much, she bit her lip and fell silent.
His hand brushed over her hair and he kissed her temple. "But you left him, right? So you're not weak. You broke away."
"Yeah, I finally left him, but it didn't matter. If anything, it got worse. He stalked me. I thought he was going to kill me. I got a restraining order. He ignored it. They'd arrest him and he'd be out of jail almost immediately. He was a well-respected man in the community. Wealthy. Old money. Highly educated. Charming. Most people had no idea what he was really like. And those who did were too afraid of his family's affluence to do anything. After I left him, he followed me everywhere for months; his footsteps always echoed mine. I'd often find him standing outside my house. Watching. Leaving little love notes in places he knew I'd find them." She shuddered. "But because he never hurt me physically, they wouldn't do anything. Verbal and emotional harassment don't carry the same weight as physical abuse. I understand why, but it didn't make it easier to live through it."
Brian stroked her back and her preferred numbness returned. Why was she telling Brian all these things? She'd never told anyone the full extent of her terror.
"The divorce," she whispered. "The divorce was horrible. He refused to sign the divorce papers, so we had to go to court and I relived the entire ordeal in front of a judge. The accusations. The things he said to me. How he humiliated me in front of people I wanted to respect me. Thank God the judge believed me and pushed the divorce through, even though Jeremy contested it. The day I was legally free of him, the day our marriage officially ended, was the best day of my life. I never want to be trapped like that again—by the word love or the institution of marriage."
"So after the divorce he finally left you alone?"
She shook her head. "He refused to accept it. He kept stalking me. Continued to refer to me as his wife. When I started dating again, he snapped. In his mind, I was cheating on him. I'm sure Jeremy slashed my date's tires while we were having dinner. Then one night he broke into my apartment and waited for me to come home. I don't remember much of it, just waking up in the hospital two days later." She took his hand in hers and lifted it to the uneven ridge on the back of her head. "This scar. He gave it to me. Hit me with the fireplace poker, knocked me out cold, beat me within an inch of my life, and then the idiot called an ambulance."
"Jesus Christ." Brian pressed his lips to her temple.
"He confessed to the whole thing and went to jail. I changed my last name, moved, and covered my tracks, so he'd never find me again." That's why she'd been so scared when Brian had found her so easily. She reminded herself that Brian had known to look in Kansas City. Jeremy would not. He couldn't find her. He couldn't . He didn't even know her name. But the flowers… Jeremy knew gladiolas were her favorites.
"Thank you for telling me," he said. "I understand a few things about you that were bugging me."
She bugged him? "What kind of things?"
He hesitated. "I… Well, I notice you tend to freeze up for a few seconds when we try something a little kinky."
She flushed. "You noticed that, huh?"
"It's like you, the real you, is this uninhibited, open, sexual being, but something makes you feel it's wrong. It's not wrong, Myrna. It's wonderful."
"Somewhere in my head I know that, Brian, but I'm damaged."
He squeezed her. "No. You're perfect." He kissed her temple again. "Perfect."
Her breath came out in a gasp and she tried to pull away, but he tugged her closer. "Please don't make it impossible for me to live up to your expectations, Brian. This is too much. Too soon. I can't handle it. I feel… trapped. Don't…"
Brian tilted her head back and gazed into her eyes. He kissed a stray tear from her cheek. "I'm not that guy, Myrna. I accept you for who you are."
"I know," she whispered.
"I would like to kill that guy, though. Do you have his address?"
She shook her head. "I have no contact with him. I haven't seen him in four years."
He held her quietly for several moments and she reveled in the feel of his strong arms around her. So safe.
But still scary.
He tugged her back by her shoulders and stared down at her. "So I guess what you need most from me is emotional space."
"Yes."
"And time."
"And patience," she added.
He nodded. "I'll try to give you what you need, but it won't be easy. I'm pretty into you, Myrna."
She smiled, staring into his warm brown eyes. "I'm very much into you, Brian."
"I guess you wouldn't like me to use the l-word then."
"Not unless it's lips." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily.
"Lips is a very good l-word," he murmured.
"Yeah, so is lust." She pulled his shirt off over his head and flicked her tongue over his nipple. "And lick."
"I'm particularly fond of let's go." He took her hand and tugged her toward the bedroom.
She laughed, following him. "That's two words."
"Semantics."