Chapter 11: Work Lights

Charlotte had a big dark arena with one row of work lights left on.

They hung over the empty stage in a harsh white line, and everything under them looked like an operating table.

I stood at the edge of the stage at five in the afternoon with my hands in my back pockets.

The crew had gone to eat.

The band was at the hotel.

Jude was somewhere behind me, checking his guitar, and I could hear him humming.

"Come out here," I said without turning around.

"I'm tuning."

"You've been tuning for ten minutes."

"That's what tuning is."

"Jude."

The humming stopped.

His boots crossed the boards.

He came up beside me, put the guitar down on a stand, and looked at the empty seats stretching away into the dark.

"Fifteen thousand a night," I said. "And nobody here."

"I like it better empty."

"Why?"

"Because you're in it."

I laughed and turned to face him.

He was in a worn black T-shirt and jeans, with his hair falling in his eyes.

In the harsh light I could see every freckle.

I saw every faint line at the corner of his eyes and a small scar through his left eyebrow.

"You've been taking care of me for two weeks," I said. "Now it's my turn."

"Maggie, you don't have to."

"Sit down."

He looked at me.

I pointed at the drum riser at the back of the stage, a raised black platform with a leather throne.

He walked to it and sat down.

I followed.

I stood between his knees.

"I'm going to take you apart on this riser," I said.

"Please."

"Good."

I pulled his T-shirt up and over his head, and I dropped it on the cymbal stand.

His chest was bare and lean under the lights, rising fast.