Now I could stand in front of a heaving crowd of hundreds of people playing Ram Jam’s “Black Betty”. What I could not do was stand in Daisy’s living room with a toy guitar in my hands and get through the length of Boston’s

“More Than a Feeling” on beginner level, which meant I only had to master three buttons, without getting “booed off the stage”.

What was up with that?

Later, Daisy sent one of the be-suited members of the big gun toting army out to get the items on a grocery list I wrote. Jules’s uncle Nick came over after he finished work and he helped me as I made herb-buttered salmon wrapped in puff pastry, potatoes dauphenois with cheese and steamed asparagus. None of the Rock Chicks offered culinary assistance, which was cool because it meant Nick and I could get to know each other and he thought everyone was certifiable too.

“They may al be kooks,” Nick said, “but they’re lovable.” Sheesh.

Most everyone loved the food (Annette: “You might be shit at Guitar Hero but your cooking is phat.”). Tex declared Nick and my meal “fancy-ass nonsense” and went out and got himself takeout chicken burritos (smothered, with lettuce and cheese) from El Tejado.

When Tex got back, we al played more Guitar Hero.

By that time, my hip hurt, like, a lot.

Indy saw the pain pinching at my mouth and leaned into me. “Lee cal ed and said if I didn’t hear from him, we’d be staying here tonight.”

This was not good news. I real y wanted to go home.

However, I also wanted my heart to be beating, my lungs to be working, my blood to be flowing through my veins and my brain to be functioning a lot more than I wanted to go home. Therefore I decided against throwing a hissy fit, going home and likely getting murdered on my way there.

I took the last two pain kil ers the doctor gave me and Juno and I crashed.

For your information, none of the Rock Chicks asked me about my tête-à-tête with Mace, mainly because they heard my side of it as I’d been shouting and they’d been eavesdropping.

This brought me up to now.

In bed. Again. With Mace.

I moved cautiously forward hoping he wouldn’t notice.

His arm got tight.

Yep, he noticed.

“Mace, let me go.”

He didn’t let me go.

He buried his face in my hair and murmured in a rough, tired, deep voice, “Christ, I feel like I’ve had ten minutes of sleep.”

This was a toughie. Back in the day (as in, the day before yesterday), if I heard that, I would have barred the door and taken down anyone who dared to disturb Mace’s rest (unless, of course, they were a member of my band).

But that was the day before yesterday.

“Mace, let me go,” I repeated.

His chin moved my hair.

“You stil use the same shampoo,” he said against the skin at the back of my neck.

“Mace –”

“Smel s like mint.”

Oh lordy be.

“Mace, I need to get up and see to Juno.”

“I wanna see your wound.”

Why on earth would he want to do that?

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “Daisy gave me some ointment that’s supposed to make it heal and help the scarring. She cleaned it, treated it and then she redressed it. It’s fine.”

“I wanna see it.”

“It’s fine.”

His arm got a fraction tighter. “I’m the reason it’s there, Kitten, and I wanna see it.”

What could I say to that?

Except nothing.

So I said nothing.

I lay there awhile, my new plan being if Mace was exhausted, if I stopped yapping, he’d probably fal back to sleep. Then when he did, I’d get up and get the hel out of there.

This plan was shit therefore it failed.

Once I thought he was asleep, I tried moving away again and his arm got even tighter.

“Mace –”

“Stel a –”

Effing, effing, hel .

“I want to talk to Buzz,” I said. I didn’t know why (wel , I knew why, because I wanted to talk to Buzz).

His body went stil for a beat then he rol ed away.

I took that opportunity to attempt an escape. I was sitting on the side ready to push myself up when one of Mace’s arms went around my waist, stal ing my progress. His other hand came up in front of me. It was holding my phone.

I pul ed in a breath then I took the phone.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He moved as I flipped it open and scrol ed down to Buzz.

I couldn’t get up because he kept his arm around me. He straddled me on a diagonal with one long thigh the length of mine, foot on the floor, his other leg stretched out beside me on the bed.

Juno was up and nuzzling the both of us, in a tizzy of excitement, not knowing who to al ow to lavish affection on her. I hit the go button to cal Buzz, put the phone to my ear and scratched Juno’s head. Mace moved the hair off my shoulder and rested his chin there.

I closed my eyes trying not to feel how good that felt.

“Stel a Bel a.” I heard in my ear.

“Hey Buzz,” I said softly. “How you doin’?”

“Not good, Stel .” The words were an understatement which, for Buzz, was a miracle. Let’s just say Buzz could be dramatic.

“I figured that,” I replied, stil using my soft voice.

Mace pressed closer to my back.

I went on, trying to ignore Mace and how good it felt, his strong presence surrounding me (another one of the seven hundred, twenty-five thousand things I missed about him most of al , FYI), “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Nothin’ to do. You got your own worries anyway. Mace told us at the band meeting yesterday.”

Erm, excuse me?

My back went straight and I didn’t have to ignore how good Mace felt anymore.

“The band meeting?” I asked, my soft voice not so soft anymore.

Mace’s arm tensed.

“Floyd cal ed an emergency meeting. Mace came with him, told us what was goin’ on,” Buzz said.

I turned narrowed eyes to Mace. His head came up from my shoulder, he took one look at me and his eyebrows went up.

Buzz kept talking in my ear. “At least it’s good you two are back together.”

My mouth dropped open and my eyes popped out.

Mace did a heavy sigh.

I looked away.