He didn’t want it, he wanted to live a quiet life with his wife and see his girls grow up happy. So that’s what he did.

That was Floyd and that’s a lot of the reason why I loved him.

At first, he pushed me to be more than I wanted to be, saying not only did I have the talent for it but I had a stage presence that “knocks your socks off” (his words).

I didn’t want fame and fortune, stadium gigs and my picture on the cover of Rolling Stone. I didn’t write music, I played it. I didn’t play music for the money; I did it for my sanity. The only way to escape my shit life growing up was by entering the hundreds of little, dizzyingly cool worlds of notes and lyrics of the songs I played.

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy The Gypsies had local success. We demanded top dol ar, free drinks, a percentage of the door and our cover charge was nothing to sneeze at. It paid the bil s and let me live the music. The whole band knew we weren’t going any further because I had no intention of taking us further. I’d been approached by some scouts, more than once, but for me, it was about the band. For the scouts, it was about me.

It was unspoken but Hugo, Pong, Leo and Buzz al knew the heart of the band was my guitar and my voice and the soul was Floyd’s piano. The other band members were good but they weren’t ever going to be great.

good but they weren’t ever going to be great.

They looked great, al handsome guys up there with Floyd and me and they were better players with the band than they’d ever be on their own. They needed The Gypsies to stay together for them to be anything at al and part of me knew that was the only reason The Gypsies d i d stay together. We were always fighting and in danger of one of the hot-headed ones (Hugo and Pong) or the dramatic ones (Buzz and Leo) losing it and walking out the door.

I needed us to stay together and I needed them. At first it had been just about the music but then they became the only family I had since I’d turned my back on my own. When that happened, it became al about the band.

Mace pul ed up the gravel drive at the side of the house and I pul ed myself out of my thoughts.

My van was parked by Swen and Ulrika’s Volvo.

I didn’t have to ask how it got there.

Mace.

I didn’t say anything. I was glad I didn’t have to go back to Lindsey’s to get it. I was also glad I wasn’t talking to him or I’d have to say thanks.

He parked and my hand went to the door handle.

“Don’t get out until I open your door for you,” Mace ordered, bossy as al hel .

I sighed but didn’t answer. He got out, skirted the hood, eyes scanning and he came around and opened the backdoor. Juno bounded out. Mace grabbed the workout bag in the back, slammed the door and opened mine. I exited the vehicle with a lot less enthusiasm.

Mace crowded me in a protective way and didn’t waste any time getting Juno and me in the house.

This played havoc with my already tattered guilt. I may not have wanted to be back together with Mace but it didn’t go unnoticed that he was taking care of me and he was being very serious about that task. It also didn’t go unnoticed that this was not because I was someone to protect but because I was his someone to protect.

Effing hel .

We walked silently together up the stairs and Mace made me stand in the hal after he unlocked my door (I’d never asked for my key back, this would have necessitated me cal ing him which might have descended into me begging him to come back which was not something I wanted to do, nunh-unh, no way, therefore I let him keep the key).

He walked in my place, I heard some weird beeping then I heard him doing a walkthrough of the house and final y he cal ed Juno and me in.

We walked in, Juno turning left, probably to hit the bed in order to take the al important Big Dog Nap Number Fifteen for the day.

She skidded to a halt on the stairs, stumbled a bit and stared ahead of her in confusion.

I stared too.

The room was dark, blinds I hadn’t owned when I left two nights ago were pul ed low. The bed was moved over to where my guitars were. My guitars were now in the middle, the couch where my bed was.

“What the –?” I started.

Mace closed the door and tossed the bag on the platform where the couch now resided.

I stood staring as Mace went up the platform and turned on a light then came back to me. His hand in his pocket, he pul ed out something that clinked.

He got close to me but pointed at the door.

“New deadbolt, chain, peephole. Use the last two when you’re in the house. Always use the first one. Not just during this situation, al the time,” Mace ordered, handing me a key.

I took the key but stared at my door which now had three locks and a new peephole.

Effing, bloody hel .

Mace grabbed my hand and pul ed me two steps to the side of the door.

“Alarm panel,” he announced, dropping my hand, pointing at a new box on the wal and flipping it open. “This is your combination. Memorize it.” He handed me a slip of paper.

I looked at the paper, read the numbers, read them again, repeated them in my head and made a wonky, only understood by me mathematical formulation of them (something I did when I had to memorize numbers).

“Got it memorized?” Mace asked.

I looked at him and nodded, not speaking because I couldn’t find my voice, not because I wasn’t talking to him.

At that juncture, I kind of forgot about my latest plan.

He took the slip of paper from me, bal ed it in his fist and shoved it in his pocket.

“You come in, you got thirty seconds to punch in the code then hit this button.” He pointed at a button. “You go out, always set the alarm. You got a minute to get you and Juno out the door. You set it the same way, same code, same end button. Yeah?” he asked.

I nodded again.

“See this button?” He pointed to a red button.

Again, I just nodded.

“Panic button. You hit that, a signal gets sent to the police dispatch, they know it, they don’t f**k around; they send a car with sirens. Then a signal goes to the control room at the Nightingale offices and we know you’ve been compromised. Don’t hit that button unless you know you got a situation. Hear me?”

What was going on?

“Mace –” I started.

“Do you hear me?” he repeated patiently.

He seemed pretty intense so I decided to nod yet again.

“Both of your phones have the Nightingale control room on speed dial, hit button one then pound. That way, you can’t get to the panic button, you can grab one of your phones. Yeah?”