Instead of taking the hint, Donnie turned back, scowling. “I’m not scared of you, bitch.”
Nell took a half-step forward and smiled as he shrank back a little. Big words from a pathetic excuse of a person. “Do I need to put you on the ground again?” she offered, almost hoping he’d give her a reason to do it.
“Nah, this tour has gotten boring anyway,” Donnie mumbled. “Sad day when all the guys have turned into pussies, but whatever.” This, he said in the kind of undertone that was meant to be overheard.
“Get out of here, Donnie. Don’t come back,” Eamonn told him.
Donnie was almost out the door when he turned back a final time. “I don’t get it, man. You lived to party with the boys…” And then, faced with stony glares from both of them and not a fragment of forgiveness, he was gone.
Eamonn sighed, turning to Nell. “I guess that’s what it looked like to everyone — and I thought I did live to party with them.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful, regretful. Much as she liked looking at him in just the towel, Nell decided it was time for him to either get dressed or get naked, and he didn’t seem in the mood for making out. She grabbed a t-shirt and boxer briefs from his bag, meaning to toss them into his lap — or at his head if that would shake him out of his mood. The expression on his face stopped her, though, and then he kept talking. “I was trying to hold onto something I’d never really had. Like I was reaching for starlight, only to discover I was grasping at a reflection in a puddle in a gutter.” He shook his head. “I should have been looking up. I should have — how didn’t I see? I only needed to do better.”
“That’s a song, man,” came a deep, raspy voice. Blade stood in the doorway, with Angel beside him. The pair of them looked like darkness and light, Blade in black jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, Angel in a tight white t-shirt and pale faded jeans. “You need to write that down.”
“Oh, hey, guys,” Eamonn said, standing up and looking down at the towel he still wore. “I, ah, need to get dressed…”
“No, really, Easy,” Blade said. “Write those lyrics down before you forget. Please? I can feel the chords for them.” He paused, with a hesitant look at the damage he’d done to Eamonn’s face. “If you’d consider writing with us, that is.”
Eamonn stared at them, sinking back down to sit on the bed with disbelief written in every line of his face and body, and it was Nell who found a hotel notepad and pen on the writing desk and brought it over to him. She saw how his hand shook as he wrote down the words, and realized he didn’t answer Blade because he couldn’t trust his voice not to wobble. “Believe in yourself,” she said softly, for his ears only. “Funny that it’s happening now, after everything, but let it happen.”
“Equal split of the songwriting credits?” Angel offered, his tone warm and encouraging, when Eamonn held out the scribbled sheet of notepaper for him and Blade to take. “It’s what we always do when we’re writing together — better than arguing over who did how much or what’s creation versus arrangement and production.”
“I’m confused,” Eamonn muttered. “I thought we were still at the apology part, and now we’re writing together?”
Blade grimaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry I hit you, man. Still working on my temper.”
“No — no, I deserved all of that—” Then Eamonn interrupted himself with a glance at Nell and a half-smile. “I mean, I need to learn to duck. But the apology, that’s from me to you. I knew you were getting clean and I… it was selfish and wrong of me to ruin that for you. Been ashamed ever since. I’m sorry.” He said this with such sincerity that Nell felt almost embarrassed to be standing there, witnessing what should perhaps have been a private moment between him and Blade. She looked over at Angel and their eyes met; he looked a bit uncomfortable too, but moving away could break the spell of the moment.
“It’s okay, Easy. Bygones, and all that.” Blade held out a hand and Eamonn took it. The handshake seemed suspended in time for an instant, everyone in the room holding their breath as the moment of forgiveness and healing took place.
“Maybe I needed that last blast and the fallout that came from it to really be sure my dance with heroin was over for good,” Blade added, with a little shudder. “We’ll never know. But — did you know Crys and I got engaged the next day?”
“You what?” Eamonn launched himself to his feet in surprise, then grabbed at the towel that threatened to slide off his hips. “Congratulations! I saw something about that, but figured it was just another bit of Kin’s public engineering.”
“We have a few things to tell you, I think,” Angel said, with a dry laugh. “Including the part where we severed our ties with Kinney Wicks PR. Come along to my suite when you’re dressed, Easy. It’s number 27, near the other end of the walkway. Bring your bass; we’ll jam a bit before dinner, maybe see what this turns into.” He held up the paper with Eamonn’s lyrics on it. Then he turned to Nell, giving her a kind smile and eye contact to assure her she wasn’t an afterthought. She recognized the professional technique when she saw it; he must have been taught how to make people feel special at meet-and-greets and
