He avoids you for days. You know why, but it's killing you. You shoot daggers at him onstage like it's 1977 and he pretends you don't exist, which makes you even more angry. Christine takes you out after the show, sensing that you're about to kill someone. Before you even realize it you've each put away a bottle of wine, and you've almost forgotten him. For a minute, anyway.
"What did he do this time, Stevie?" You heart starts to
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You all but screamed at him onstage tonight. He obviously did something."
"It's nothing, Chris. We're... we're as fine as he and I ever are." She knows you're lying, but she drops it. Now you're thinking about him again, and you should probably go before you start to run your mouth. It's not your place to tell anyone what's going on with him.
"Stevie? Earth to Stevie."
"I'm going to go," you say, quickly. "Thanks for hanging out with me tonight," you say, standing up. She stands with you and you give her a kiss on the cheek before you gather your things.
When you get to your suite, Lindsey is sitting on the floor. He's clearly been there for a while, and you approach slowly, kneeling in front of him. He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and pressing his palms against yours. "Where have you been?"
"Downstairs with Christine."
"You're a little drunk," he says, amusement creeping into his voice.
"So? What are you doing here?"
"Come home with me."
"What?"
"My flight is in two hours. I'm so tired of making this trip, and I think there are things she isn't telling me about Stella..."
"Is that a good idea?" Your words are slightly slurred, but you're trying to sound as collected as you possibly can.
"I don't really give a shit. We don't have to tell anyone. It's a private plane."
"Lindsey..." He waits, uncharacteristically patient, his fingers winding around yours.
"Fine. But we're staying at my house and we can't be seen."
He just nods, helping you stand with him. He looks relieved. You fumble with the key and open the door, feeling his hand on the small of your back as he guides you inside.
He leans against the door and watches you, and you're still unsure about the way he's looking at you. This is probably a huge mistake, but you know he'd do it for you. At least you like to think he would.
You should say no. This is definitely not your place, and you know how risky it is. The way he's looking at you has totally destroyed your resolve, though, and your thoughts of resistance are fleeting. He needs you and you know it. You're not going to leave him.
You turn and look at him, signaling that you're ready to leave. He looks completely lost, standing awkwardly with his hands jammed in his pockets, but he tries to give you a smile. You cross the room hug him tightly, trying to offer whatever strength you have to give him. "Thank you," he says, kissing the top of your head. He holds you for a while, and you decide to let him be the one that lets go.
"Help me carry this stuff," you say as he finally loosens his grip. You grab your purse and let him haul your bags out of your room, hurrying through the empty hotel to the waiting car.
