Decades

Crash

Lindsey sat in the car for a solid fifteen minutes before walking to the door. This sinking, familiar feeling that things were about to end badly with Stevie had taken root in his body. He worked hard to control his breathing and his erratic thoughts.

By not going to the door right away, he felt like he was simply postponing heartbreak. Maybe he had heard too much about Stevie's visions for so long, and she was rubbing off on him.

He mustered up the courage to walk to the door, hoping that the things he was dreaming up weren't as bad as the reality. What he thought he knew now was that she was very sick and another man had spent the night with her. She wasn't answering her phone or calling to let him know what was going on, so he knew it couldn't be good.

He braced himself and briskly walked up the stairs. When he reached the door, he only hesitated for a second, steeling himself against whatever this was that he was dreading so, and rang the doorbell.

When he didn't immediately hear movement, he moved to the window beside the door and peered back toward the living area. He could see Stevie on the couch with her head in someone's lap. A man's lap.

After a beat, he heard heavy footsteps approaching and quickly stepped away from the window. The door opened, and Don Henley stepped outside. "How's it going, man?" Henley extended his hand casually to Lindsey. Lindsey shook his hand and greeted him, trying to swallow his upset.

"Is Stevie around?" Lindsey tentatively asked, kicking himself for even being there. Of course, she had been with Don Henley. Of fucking course.

"Yeah, but she's not feeling well at all. I just got her to sleep, poor kid. Waking her up would be a bad idea," he cracked the door a little and gestured to the couch where an ashen, sleeping Stevie had her legs drawn up to her chest in a tiny ball, with her fluffy robe wrapped around her. She looked like a child, a really beautiful child to Lindsey. He wanted badly to go to her.

Don closed the door back so as not to wake her. Lindsey had been with her, in this house, every day for over a month now, and yet Don had breezed in here and was acting like he was the man of the house, the man of Stevie's house, all of a sudden. Lindsey felt his temper flare at the idea.

"I think she might need to see a doctor," Lindsey offered, reaching for the door, "I can call the band doctor. He makes house calls."

Don clutched the doorknob, holding it in his possession, making it clear he controlled the situation and who would come and go. And Lindsey wouldn't be allowed entry.

"She's seen the doctor. She has strict orders to take it easy for the next 72 hours. And I've promised I'd take care of her and make sure she gets plenty of rest, is fed and watered, gets her medicine, and isn't under any stress."

"What's wrong with her?" asked Lindsey.

"She'll have to tell you about it when she's better. Patient privacy and all that." Don shrugged as if it were the most foreign concept on earth. "I'll tell her you came by. Did you need to leave her a message?" Don asked.

Lindsey shook his head in the negative and turned to leave. "Tell her to call me if she needs anything." And then he made it to his car and sped away. The whole way home, he worked on swallowing this confusion and raging anger he was experiencing. What had happened? She loved him, she'd said. He'd felt it. Why did she have Don there when she was sick and in need?

Could he just have been fooling himself? That was a real possibility where Stevie Nicks was concerned. He'd told himself she loved him before with far less evidence than she'd given him lately, only to have his hopes doused.

—-------------

Lindsey left feeling powerless. Powerlessness was a feeling he truly hated but had experienced more often than he'd like to admit with Stevie. He could never control things with her, meaning he'd applied more pressure to her in an effort to gain control, which was the perfect way to chase her away. He only saw it in hindsight, though.

As for tonight, he couldn't check on her. She hadn't even told him what was happening, hadn't bothered to give him the courtesy of a call, and she had Don Henley guarding the door. His mind raced. Was she able to call? Why hadn't she?

He was frustrated and worried. He decided to go home. Dealing with Carol Ann in the mood he was in would not be easy. But, at home, he could stay near a phone so she could reach him when she called. When, not if.

Devastatingly, the day and night came and went with no word from Stevie.

—-----------------

The next day rolled around, and Lindsey fought the temptation to go over again. He had been awake all night, checking the phone occasionally to make sure there was a dial tone.

Later that morning, he put Christine up to calling Stevie. They spoke briefly, and Stevie told her she was very sick and would phone her back when she could. Christine said she sounded very out of it.

In fact, Stevie was heavily medicated. The doctor who performed her abortion gave her some potent painkillers and something for anxiety, as well as something for nausea. She wished she could just go on sleeping so she didn't have to face any of what was happening in her life. She had so many mixed feelings right now it would be easier to remain in a pharmaceutical haze.

She'd spent another night beside Don. He'd been a comfort. They both experienced a combination of sadness and relief at having gone through with the procedure. She appreciated not being all alone in her misery.

On shaky legs, she'd wandered downstairs, where Don had made her breakfast and later lunch, which she pushed around with her fork, hardly taking a bite. Don was staying on top of her pain meds, making sure she had a dose at the right time.

To manage this, she needed more than the prescribed amount. So, she slipped back into the kitchen when Don was making a phone call and took an extra pain pill. In no time, she had fallen into a dreamless sleep on the sofa again.

Don slipped behind her on the sofa with his arm loosely around her. He watched television as she slept soundly all afternoon. He was determined not to let her feel alone in this, though she was so out of it and disconnected from everything that he didn't think she'd remember much. Still, he wanted her to know he'd been there and he wasn't going anywhere.

He coaxed her into eating a few bites here and there and made sure she stayed hydrated. When she startled awake, he was there to soothe her back to sleep. She felt so thin and fragile in his arms. He wished he had protected her from this.

—---------------------

Meanwhile, Lindsey was climbing the walls. He'd gone to the studio and tried to work, but hearing playbacks of Stevie's voice and remembering how she'd looked when they'd recorded them was overwhelming his thoughts. Was she alright?

He poured himself a drink, which he quickly downed. So, he poured himself another.

The afternoon turned into night, following this pattern fairly closely. By late evening, Lindsey was drunk. He'd ridden by Stevie's house, and Don's vehicle was still in the driveway. His temper had never been a small thing, but it was escalating quickly. Goddamit, Stevie. If she wanted him to fuck off, she could just tell him.

He screeched into the driveway, blood boiling. Stevie owed him answers, and Don Henley wasn't going to stop him from getting them.