This Story Might Save Your Life(42)

“Get your money back,” Xander said. “We have a sound check.”

Benny raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like, testing one two three?” We didn’t do sound checks. And this supposed sound check was more than twenty-four hours in advance.

“They said it was necessary,” Xander said.

“Can’t we reschedule?” I asked.

“It’s too late. I said we would be there.”

I tried not to make a face, but I made a face. Xander was being ridiculous, and I wanted Benny to be happy. Needed him to be happy. Also, I love ghost stories. “Do we all have to go?”

“Meaning?” Xander crossed his arms. He knew what I meant.

“It’d be good fodder for our show if Benny and I did this.”

We didn’t need permission. There was no point in all of us showing up to tap a mic. But it wasn’t about reason at this point. We waited for his answer like two children begging their parents for ice cream money.

“Go, then,” Xander said, surprising us all.

So we did. We rode bikes in the rain, pausing between tales of hangings and yellow fever to drink beers in cursed taverns and haunted pubs. It was the most fun we’d had together in ages. We were in beautiful Savannah. Life was good. Superb. We were the luckiest people alive. By the time we returned to the hotel, soaked and happy and a tiny bit drunk, I was ready to show Xander how grateful I was for making all of this possible.

But he wasn’t in our room. Nor was he in the bar downstairs or the business lounge or the rooftop pool. He also wasn’t picking up his phone.

I knocked on Benny’s door and he answered in his towel. “Oh. I thought you were room service.”

“This is how you answer the door for room service?”

“This isn’t how you answer the door for room service?”

I looked him up and down. “Have you lost weight?”

“Since you last saw me ten minutes ago?”

“You know what I mean.” He usually wore baggy T-shirts, which was probably why I hadn’t noticed, but he was definitely leaner than usual.

He shrugged. “Food poisoning.”

“I had food poisoning too.” I gave one of my love handles a dramatic squeeze. “Touring is supposed to make you fat.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get the memo. Maybe you can ask Xander to resend it.”

“Speaking of. Have you seen him? He’s not in our room.”

Benny shrugged. “Nope.”

The elevator dinged and a man came out pushing a silver cart. He stopped at Benny’s door. “Room service?”

I followed the attendant inside and watched him set up the plate on Benny’s table. Salad, cheeseburger, french fries. It smelled good.

A signature. A tip. The cart rolled out, and Benny slipped into the bathroom with a pair of shorts. “You’re eating my fries, aren’t you?” he called over the whirring fan.

“No,” I said through a full mouth.

He was still shirtless when he joined me at the table. I smiled as he cut the cheeseburger and handed me half.

“I love you, Benny,” I said around my first bite.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You know I love you too.”

We finished the food, and I shuffled happily across the room to turn on a home makeover show.

“When’s Luna joining us?” I lay stomach down on his bed, facing the TV. “I thought you said she’d visit when we hit the East Coast.”

“I said that, yeah.” He set the tray outside the door and joined me on the bed.

“And?” We were both propped on our elbows. I bumped my shoulder against his and he bumped back.

“And I don’t think she’s gonna make it.”

The way he said it made my eyebrow shoot up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it work? She can’t get away?”

“That’s part of it.” Again, that tone.

“Did you have a fight or something?”

His head bobbled ambiguously. Yes. No. Maybe.

I tried to remember the last time I’d seen her. She came to our LA shows, but it had been a while since we’d hung out socially, all the way back to when Xander first brought up the tour, after which there’d been months of scheduling and hyping and planning and selling of tickets, and then more planning. Benny had mentioned she was busy a few times. Lots of new clients, lots of messy divorces.

“Dude.” I wasn’t going to let up until he gave me more.

He consulted the bedspread. “I guess the time away has gotten her thinking, and she wants to use these last few weeks to reevaluate.”

“Reevaluate what?”

“You know.” He averted his eyes. “Marriage.”

“The institution?”

“Specifically ours, but yes.”

I was floored. How had I not seen this coming? How had I not noticed something was off? Had he said anything I’d misinterpreted? Anything I’d ignored? I racked my brain but found myself at a loss. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, no.”

“That wasn’t supposed to be a question. What I meant to say was, talk about it.”

He looked at me then like I was a kitten who’d scratched up his favorite chair. Cute, but annoying as hell. I was fine with that. “Tell me everything,” I said, “or I’ll keep nagging.”