One night she returns Mick’s raising of an eyebrow (curious, disbelieving) with a grin, one that Karen would label ‘smug’, maybe even ‘shit-eating’. Whatever it is, it feels too good to see the drummer snort in reaction, his laugh as loud and gregarious as the rest of him. She presses a soft kiss to Lindsey’s cheek and wraps an arm around his waist possessively, not even bothering to act like this is mere friendship anymore. They’re backstage, after all, and everyone here knows the drill - don’t speak, don’t tell, don’t spill. Or it’s over. It’s been strange being back on the road again with him after a long period of separation. Last time they’d had a schedule like this, had been onstage together like this, had been fifteen years ago, a lifetime really, and most of her memories include copious amounts of drugs, a good helping of anger, and sneaking away to his hotel room late at night.
This time they’re sharing. It’s much better. Everything is.
She can see Christine watching them from in the hallway. Carefully. She should probably appreciate that her friend is looking out for her wellbeing but at the moment she just wants to tell her to go away. Yes, her and Lindsey had had one of their worst fights last night and yes, she’d said in front of everyone that if he ever touched her again she would call the fucking police. So she understands any concern. But right now she just really wants Lindsey naked and under her and how the hell can she get him to agree when people keep sticking their heads into the room upstairs where they’re supposed to be ‘discussing the running order’? She could lock the door but she worries Mick and John will break the thing down after wildly speculating that Lindsey and her are having some kind of knock down fight. Handling those two gawping at the sight of her and Lindsey sweaty and having sex is not ideal, to say the least…
They just don’t seem to understand that the need and the desire and the love, actually, will always outweigh the arguments and bitterness. The latter are usually just a result of the former anyway. It’s so obvious to her and she’s curious whether one day everyone else will grasp that too.
She wonders if it’s actually possible that Carol Ann doesn’t realize and the thought makes her giggle. Some people can be staggeringly blind if they put enough effort in, apparently. The phone had rung late in the afternoon, a worried sounding girlfriend on the other line. She’d been lying naked on the bed getting a gloriously relaxing massage from her lover when they’d been interrupted. They’d considered letting it go to voicemail but had been struck by an unusual fit of conscience. Carol had been beside herself, wondering if Stevie maybe knew where Lindsey was. Well, of course she did. “Haven’t a clue, sorry,” she’d said. Liar liar, fucking pants (if she’d been wearing any…) on fire.
Resting her head against Lindsey’s bare chest and taking a drag, she laughs in his face when he suggests he should go home. Not now, not yet. He’s getting fidgety and so she reaches for him, strokes him, tells him she wants him right now. Carol can survive a night on her own; Stevie needs him.
When Chris cries on her shoulder, tells her the divorce has come through finally, she pats her gently, holds her, comforts her as best as she can. She understands - this is something Christine needed and wanted but it still hurts like a bitch. The other woman tells her that it’s strange thinking that everything’s over and doesn’t Stevie agree? She does. But it’s different with her and Lindsey because she knows in her heart of hearts (and in her aching joints because god, he’d been passionate and eager last night!) that with them, everything won’t ever be over. Of course, she doesn’t say this; probably not the best time to admit that her and Lindsey’s break-up wasn’t and probably isn’t permanent in the way everyone thinks it is. Because Carol Ann is very much in the picture now and they’re actually trying to be somewhat discreet.
Still, Stevie wonders how Chris doesn’t know better when, only last week, Lindsey had just managed to pull his jeans back up and she’d only just gotten off the floor before the rest of the band entered the dressing room.
Sometimes she thinks that he knows that she loves him. Surely it must be clear in the way she looks at him, the songs she writes about him and the way she ‘accidentally’ touches him all the time. Occasionally, she catches him watching her during rehearsal, his gaze appreciative and warm, and she has hope that he feels the same way. One night as he drives her home, he talks to her about his insecurities, the fights he’s been having with his father, how maybe he’s going to dump his girlfriend. She’d been unable to stop from reaching for him when he’d hesitantly brought that up; her fingers had slowly caressed his cheek and she’d told him everything would be work out for the best. He’d been going to kiss her that night, she was sure of it. His breath had been shallow as he’d pulled back from where his lips had been mere inches from hers, his hands tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He’d said goodnight haltingly and Stevie had wanted to tell him he didn’t have to say goodbye, the night didn’t have to be over. Probably a bit forward, though…
A week later, Stevie discovers that Lindsey likes forward but, more to the point, he likes her. His kiss is hot and eager and her shirt is on the floor within minutes of her telling him that she wants him. Afterwards, they lay on his bed, sated and sleepy, her head resting on his chest as she plays with the dark curls there. He’s a beautiful man. His words are beautiful too and when he tells her he loves her, she tells him she knows. It was easy to see.
Completely transparent. They both are.