“You think you’re such hot shit,” she sneered. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“Yes, I do. And I don’t play around with used goods.” He pushed her away. “Now get out of here.”
She stamped along the floor in the wake of the others, twitching her ass as if Marc would in any way find her movement appealing.
“Come on.” Rick clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got important business to discuss. Good business. Let’s get the band taken care of. Tomorrow we’ll see if there’s a way to find your Music Lady.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emma couldn’t ever remember feeling as bad as she did. She cried enough tears for ten people, her eyes and throat raw and painful. She was thankful she was alone so no one had to see her misery or force her to interact with them. She managed to call the human resources number at work and leave a message on the machine she was taking a sick day. Maybe two. The sun was coming up by the time she pulled off her clothes and threw them on the floor. For some perverse reason, she dug out the Lightnin’ T-shirt Marc had given her and slipped it on, his scent invading her body, and then she crawled into bed. Still cold, she hauled the covers up tightly and tucked them beneath her chin, wondering if she’d ever be warm again, and curled up into a fetal ball.
This is the worst birthday I’ve ever had in my life.
She’d looked forward to it with such expectations. Tonight she would have told Marc what her name was, all about herself, and they’d have a big celebration for her birthday and the success of the concert appearance.
Yeah, right. How dumb could I be?
She was convinced she wouldn’t be able to sleep but eventually sheer exhaustion claimed her.
The telephone woke her, dragging her up from what felt like a vat of cotton balls but she chose to let it ring. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to talk to. Certainly not her folks, who would be calling to see how her birthday went. The phone rang at least six more times until Emma managed to stumble out of bed and unplug it from the wall. If it rang in the kitchen, at least, it wouldn’t be so loud.
Emma drifted back to sleep only to be disturbed by someone ringing her doorbell and banging on the front door. When even pulling the pillows over her head didn’t blot out the sound, she pushed herself out of bed and staggered down the hallway to the front door.
This better not be dipshit Andrew. It would be just like him to show upon my birthday with flowers and chocolates and think he could make nice with me.
But when she peered through the peephole, what she saw was even worse.
Annie. In full attack mode.
Oh, hell.
“I know you’re in there,” Annie called. “You better open the door or I’ll get someone to break it down.”
She sighed, brushed the hair out of her eyes, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
“Enter at your own risk,” she muttered and headed back to her bedroom.
“Holy shit!” Annie trailed after her. “You look like hell. Worse than that. What happened? I thought last night was the big celebration?”
“Yeah. Some celebration.” She crawled back into bed and yanked the covers up over her head.
“Emma? Honey?” Her friend sat down on the edge of the bed and gently tugged the quilt and sheet down, resisting Emma’s efforts to hold onto them. “Jesus. What happened?”
That was all it took for the tears to start again. As she buried her face in the pillow, Annie’s soft hand stroking her hair, she wondered how she even had any moisture in her eyes left. She was sure she’d cried enough for an entire family yet still the waterworks came and came.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“Oh, sweetheart, if not me, then who? Can you tell me what happened? Did Marc turn out to be a rat bastard after all?”
She just nodded, unable to form the words.
“Emma, Emma, Emma.” Annie’s sigh was so heavy Emma could practically feel it. “I am just so very sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she mumbled. “My own stupidity.”
“Turn over and let me get a look at you.”
Emma just shook her head.
“Come on, now. You’re making yourself sick like this.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to get out of bed again.”
Another sigh, then Annie brushed the tangled hair away from her face. “I know. Been there, done that. But trust an old hand at this. Hiding under the covers won’t do you any good.”
“Will, too,” she said stubbornly.
Annie laughed softly. “I know it seems that way but it won’t.”
“I think I’ll burn the clothes I wore last night. And this stupid T-shirt, too. How pathetic am I that I actually put it on and slept in it?”
“No clothes burning. I’m giving you an order. Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
When Annie returned she had a warm washcloth, which she used to bathe Emma’s face. She then went back to the bathroom again and this time, returned with an ice cold cloth. Emma shrieked when Annie placed it over her eyes.
“Just for a couple of minutes, to help with the swelling. I’ve got some of those little sterile tears vials in my purse. I use them when my eyes get dry during the day. In a minute we’ll rinse out those awful red eyes with one. Then I want you to get up and take a good hot shower and wash your hair. No, don’t give
