Author's Note: WAHHH! I'm sorry! Life's been super busy and my time management skills have completely gone to shit. I apologize. I hope to update with regularity again soon. I'm not gonna lie, though...I had a bout of writer's block and then the reviews stopped coming and I put the story down for a while. But I'm sick of never picking things back up and I love this story, so never fear. It's not dead. Won't be dead. I will finish before I start my next endeavor (which, by the way, is in the planning stages as we speak).

You know the drill. Feed my ego and there will be more chapters. Also an option, lambast me for being lame and not updating, tell me you hate this chapter, or suggest something you'd like to see. All extremely available options.

Lurve!

Reflect on Roving Solo (Cover of Rolling Stone)

December 28, 2008

"Liam Welch looks as if he's traveled a thousand light-years to arrive in this hotel just outside Munich to give this interview. He is the only one of his band who looks the least bit tired, and he's also the only one who chose to sit beside the fireplace in their suite, warming his bones by the brick hearth while the others chatter on about what I'll probably want to know.

"His attention only shifts over to the group after I've asked a few preliminary questions—my journalistic courtesy kicking in, making sure I don't step on any toes, bring up any painful topics. Their manager, a stern woman with her arms folded, pretending she isn't watching over me like a hawk, snorts when his head whips around at the word 'Michigan.'

"The others find it a good time to give him a proper ribbing and point fingers at him cajolingly, accusing him of falling in love with a Yankee. He turns a brilliant red, disappearing amongst the bricks for a moment, and holds his hands back out to the flames before giving them the ole two fingers.

"'Liam,' I ask, unable to help my natural curiosity, 'does this mean you're off the market?'

"His response is measured, heavy, as if he really dreaded opening up his first major interview with something like this. And then, after glancing up at his manager petulantly, he answers, 'Yeah, I s'pose it does.'

"This simple response sets the tone for the rest of the interview. I realize about twenty minutes into the entire thing not even the boys care to talk about themselves—this is the first time they've gotten Liam to say two words about this girlfriend of his without the addendum 'I'm off to visit her now.' They're jealous, curious, and completely shameless. And poor Liam, so obviously shy about all this, squirms by the fire until we all relocate to join him.

"'She's some American girl—a real looker from Michigan of all places! Not even Detroit." The drummer, tapping his hands on his thighs soundlessly, grins at Liam with a lop-sided toothiness. "She's a dancer, innit she?"

"Liam grumbles into his arms as he carefully hides his face away and then releases a sigh, leaning across me for the fire poker. As he readjusts some of the logs so the heat is pouring out over our laps, he makes eye contact with me at long last and fixes me with a level but nervous stare. 'For now, I'm about the music. That's all it should be about. No one should give a flying fuck about all this, but I know you do. So yes, she's a dancer. She's from Michigan and she's beautiful. And I love her, so these fucks should all be careful what they say.'

"I try my best not to smile, but it's clear how embarrassed and proud he is. I ask for a picture, promise not to make a copy, and he digs a print from his wallet, grumpily handing it over to me. She's a startlingly pretty young woman, short and slender with a dancer's physique. She's laughing in the photo, her head on his shoulder, and I can see the look on his face. He's a shy, pacifist and she brings out the best in him. Except for that feral look in his eye.

"No, Liam's never gotten in a fight. Well, not since secondary school, anyroad." Jeff, the bass player, laughs outright at the question. "We all used to get in scraps back then. Liam's brother would get a lot of shit sometimes, totally unnecessary shit. We'd all do our best to keep him from getting weighted down by their idiocy."

"From the look on Liam's face, I can tell he doesn't want to talk much more about this, so I steer us toward a different topic only to have all the limelight thrown back on poor Liam, who has brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tighter.

"'Hell yeah he wrote songs for her! Dincha, Liam?' Jeff elbows Liam a little bit.

"Finally, after a couple of insults are tossed around and it looks like Liam might transform into a lobster, the boys allow a discussion of their music. They give all the credit to Liam, who tries futilely to spread the love around, and lay out for me the way a song is written when the Smirking Poppies get together.

"'Liam brings us a couple of bars of music, teaches it to us, and we practice. He adds a couple of bars. We learn them. He writes us a few words, we harmonize them. He finishes the words—always a piece of art, that—and we run the song a few times.

"'You all give me way too much credit.' Liam protests, but has no answer to Kurt's rebuttal: 'Lad, you know we couldn't have done any of this without you. It's all on you.'

"We've only scratched the surface."

January 3, 2009

My cell phone rang bright and early and I stared at it a moment, forgetting I could answer it now that I was back in Quail Lake. Wincing, I leaned away from my side table briefly to check outside. Since we'd arrived back in town there'd been a small vigil just beyond our long, dirt driveway; they were mostly neighbors and community members I'd known since I was in diapers, but a few were news reporters chasing down a lead. I had spent last night taking down each of my Facebook pictures containing evidence of me and Jude interacting with one another, but the damage had been done. My dance videos, leftover records of my victories at various competitions, were playing on the local news and, in a twist of horrific fate, on E! Entertainment Television. My name, not cleverly hidden in anagrams, was commonplace. We'd unplugged all the phone jacks in the house and I'd been careful about leaving my phone on, but it was useless.

I rolled back over and answered the unknown call, knowing I shouldn't. "Hello?"

After a long pause, a soft voice, sounding a little hazy, whispered, "I'm so sorry. You probably want to kill me."

I sat up on my elbows, unable to help my smile. "Jude! No, not really." After a pause, my smile fell. "Well, I'm a little...it's annoying, but it'll work out. How are you?"

He sighed. "Tired. Annoyed. Lonely."

"Where is everyone?"

"The other room." He sighed again and I knew he was drunk. "I just...I'm done with all that tonight. I've been out of me head every night this week and I just want to go home and visit me brother. When you get back to Chestwick, would you go see him? He's so pissed he's still there."

"Of course I'll go visit him." I bit my lip but couldn't contain myself. "I miss you."

"I miss you so much." He sounded really peeved now. "I've had a dream about you almost every night, Astrid. And the minute I get a drink in me I start to miss you even more, so I have another and it goes away a bit, but then it comes back, and I'm just a mess and I was never a mess before I met you and I sort of hate it but more than that I just want to hold you right now and you remember what the Japanese said after they attacked Pearl Harbor? I feel like I know exactly how they were after that because I just...I just woke up this sleeping Jabberwocky and nothing makes sense anymore."

Taking a deep, slow breath, I slowly whispered, "You fear you've awakened a sleeping beast?"

"Don't get me wrong, I know you're an intelligent girl of many talents, but I'm only interested in the one talent at the moment and I feel pervy and awful, but Astrid..." His tortured voice, slurring his words ever so slightly, dripped out of the phone like honey into my ear. "I want you. I would fly to Traverse City tonight if I thought I could be back without Karen noticing I'd been gone."

I squirmed beneath the sheets, my legs pinching together tightly to keep me from wrapping them around the nearest pillow and squeezing until the feathers burst out the seams. "Jude..."

"I can't even ask if that's normal behavior because I know it is, it's just so awfully juvenile, isn't it? I mean, I'm a smart lad, I'd like to think. We've talked for hours about all sorts of things. I was the perfect gentleman for a long time—much kinder than you were to me, I might add. But, and I risk sounding like a madman, I just see every place like you might be here with me, and that invariably leads to these awful fantasies that make my skin crawl in the best and worst ways."

My cheeks were hot against my wrists as I curled into a tight ball in my bed, forgetting at once the terrible price I'd paid for this love. Just hearing his voice, hearing his earnestness as he confessed all this to me...it erased every inconvenience. I loved him without mercy—he would have to voluntarily cut himself free if he ever wanted out now.

"I mean, I went into the laundry area in the hotel, just for some peace and to have a smoke without being bothered—I smoke too much on the road, love; it's disgusting—and I must have stared at the dryers for half an hour, just imagining us having a bit of a...go at it. Isn't that awful?"

I let out a little half-moan and immediately became very embarrassed, turning it into a breathless call, praying he'd understand without getting his claws into my soft underbelly. I didn't know what to do with all my air, so I just sort of sighed out, "Julian..."

He swallowed loudly on the other end of the line. Over the transatlantic connection I heard a faint crackling and then, he swallowed a second time, clearing his throat quietly. "Used to be...only me mum used me full name. And only when I was in major trouble."

I was breathless, panting, unable to comprehend what this boy was doing to me without even trying.

"I rather like it when you say it, though." He was panting, too. This was going to turn into phone sex very shortly and if it weren't just about to be that time when my father came rapping at my door, asking me how I'd like my eggs this morning, I might have taken that alley instead.

Just as I was about to apologetically hang up and dart off for a cold shower, I heard someone banging on the door in Jude's hotel room. A moment later I gave a start as my father drummed his fingers quietly on my door.

"Sweetie? Luke and I are going ice fishing. You want to see if you can get Quinn and Linnea up?"

"Just a moment!" Jude and I yelled simultaneously and our attention immediately fell on each other again.

"When do you go back to school?" He demanded.

I thought a moment and quickly spit out, "The tenth. I'll be back the tenth, classes start the thirteenth."

"Are your parents coming with you?"

"No, they can't afford it now. I'm going to spend the next few days at Grosch with my housemates since school won't be back in for them, either." I swallowed loudly. "Do you have any days off, love?"

"No, but we'll be in Madrid and that's a real short flight for you. I'll send a car--"

"Jude, no!" I protested.

He growled and I shut my mouth instantly, worried this beast he'd spoken of was really vicious like he'd warned me. "I have to see you, Astrid. I want to apologize proper, I want to feel like a human being for a few hours. And I want to see you're all right after the rough week you've had. And I can't know any of this unless I get to see you. And I will see you."

"A car will come and collect me?" I prodded, feeling a little fearful and excited all at once.

He released a calmer breath. "Yeah. It'll take you to the airport in Heathrow, you'll get to Madrid, another car will take you to the hotel. Um, I'll get you a fake name, love. A performance name. Just..."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked in a very neutral voice.

"So sure." He let out a tortured sigh. "I have to go, baby, but I love you and I'll see you soon."

"I love you, too!" I grinned and said goodbye, hanging up quickly as my dad opened my door a crack and smiled at me through his mustache.

"Morning, sweetie. We're packing up some breakfast for the road. Fishing!"

"Are the perch biting this time of year?"

"Just the fur-bearing perch. We're after the other stuff." He leaned against my doorframe. "How you feeling, slugger?"

"Like I played one too many hands of euchre last night and had an extra gin and tonic to match it." I rubbed my eyes. "When we leaving?"

"Half an hour."

"I'll be ready but I won't have time to wake Quinn and Linnea."

He grunted. "I figured. I'll get them."

"Thanks, Daddy!"

I spread-eagled back on my bed, panting again. And suddenly, despite the fact my chest was still a little raw and I could hardly think about the upcoming week without wanting to see my housemates, I wanted to be with Jude.

January 8, 2009

"Oh my God I've missed you, Astrid!" Matt moaned into a bite of pancake filled with chocolate chips. I grinned to myself as I flipped the last bit of breakfast I was cooking and looked at the plate of bacon, which was quickly disappearing.

"You're coming here for Spring Break, right?" Carl demanded, leaning back in the office chair we always kept in the kitchen. "Tell me you're coming here. No more of this gallivanting across the goddamn globe with this boyfriend of yours shit. We haven't even approved of him!"

Shooting him an amused and irritated look all at once, I tossed the freshest pancake on his plate. "I have two older siblings, thanks, and they both love him."

"Well, what would Luke know about you and boys?" Duncan, the youngest member of the house, demanded. He'd taken my room while I was abroad and, as far as I could see, hadn't changed a single thing. He hadn't even stuffed my Beanie Babies into the closet to hide them. All my Red Wings, Beatles, and Tiesto posters were intact. "I thought you said he was always so uninterested."

Someone hugged me from behind and I turned, smiling broadly as I hugged the boy back. It didn't matter who. I was so blessed with these boys—it really was like having a big family of overprotective brothers. When I'd been mugged half a block from my house last year, they'd launched a man-hunt, caught the punk responsible, and gotten back my wallet plus a few dollars. If I so much as alluded to Jude hurting my heart, he'd be dead.

Jack bit into an apple, refusing to touch the pancakes at his place. "Do they know him as Liam or Jude?"

Carl fixed me with a piercing gaze and scratched his new beard—I couldn't help but wince. The boy had very fine blonde hair, and a blonde beard gave him this odd, transparent feel. Ignoring my look, Carl frowned. "That's right, you said you were dating this dude named Jude, but now he's Liam and I see that all over the news."

I swallowed, then smiled very thinly. "Don't go blabbing to everyone and their mother, but Liam is...a stage name. Jude is his proper name, he just doesn't want all the attention so he uses a false one."

"Cor!" Matt laughed, pouring himself a pitcher of milk. I rolled my eyes; we went through gallons of milk like some people went through Tic-Tacs. "She sounds like a limey, don't she?"

"Hey, I'm all Michigan and I'll win at euchre until none of you can deny it." I retorted proudly.

Jack stood up and discarded his apple core, leveling a cool, detached gaze just above my eyes. "Just remember we were your friends first, Astrid." He turned and left, darting down into the basement for whatever reason and I couldn't help but clank some pans around as I cleared the stove to wipe it off.

Ted entered not long after and held out his brand new copy of Rolling Stone, looking pretty smug about it. "I see you made quite the impression on an intrepid journalist."

"Yeah, well..." I shrugged, scrubbing too enthusiastically at some baked on macaroni and cheese remnants. "Sometimes I think people care too much about what celebrities do on their own time. They already get to have all the music, all the stage presence, all the promotion in that regard. Why do they insist on knowing what color is his favorite, who he's dating, where I'm from? There were paparazzi at my house. My house. Quail Lake."

As if on cue, Ted started to wail to the tune of one of Lady GaGa's songs—probably the apropos "Paparazzi" and I wanted to punch him.

Two more days of bonding with my boys, the ones I'd lived with for a year, laughed, cried, hated, and loved for a year and some change, and then it was back to Chestwick, back to Cynthia, Johan, Dr. Bentham, Cam, Mac, Tess, and Jude. And this time, I focused on the future and ignored Ted's pitch-perfect (disturbingly perfect, I'll add) rendition of the GaGa track, I'd visit Jude's parents. I'd ask them to take me to visit Mac and put in some face time. I was ready to face it all—I wanted to take the bull by the horns.

January 10, 2009

I had gone out for a cigarette and a bite to eat immediately after I'd finished unpacking from the plane. Now, having finished packing for two days in Madrid, I wanted to call the whole thing off, if only for my sanity. The jet-lag was already kicking my ass; I didn't know what to make of a flight to and from Madrid over the next three days.

But Jude had called me just before I'd left this morning and reminded me there would be a car. He didn't have many details, he sounded drunk again, and miserable, but he allowed a little excitement to trickle through and no longer sounded quite so lost.

I went out for another cigarette, annoyed and anxious, and saw Johan hefting a new armchair into his sitting room, his brother scratching his head at the new arrangement.

"Astrid!" Johan exploded, dropping the chair where it was. He ran over and I coughed as he clapped me into a tight hug and kissed my cheek. I hugged him back when I could feel my arms again and laughed when he babbled in a sort of Swenglish, unable to help it.

"For the holiday, my parents purchased ticket for me to visit family in Chicago for Spring Holiday and see Red Wings game!" He grabbed my arms and laughed. "Hockey in the United States, Astrid! How was your holiday?"

I grinned. "Not as good as yours! I got to see all my family, though."

"Cousins?"

I didn't have half as many cousins as Jude or Johan, but I had seen them all, so I didn't split hairs. "Yeah, them too. I was going to stay here but I had a funeral to attend, so I went home. It was nice, though."

"I heared your name on news yesterday." Johan teased. "You must have wonderful holiday with cameras park outside your home every morning. They only catch you coming and going, though."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't we all need a life?"

His booming laugh was comforting to me; I hugged him again, hugged his brother, helped them drag the chair into place, and hurried outside for nicotine. I bounced, shivering by myself, and saw a sleek black car pull up and park. An older man with a thick white mustache got out and leaned against the low roof of the car with a hidden smile.

"Good afternoon, Miss Shanahan. Care to join me?"

Eyeing his attire, I felt a strange stab in my stomach before nodding and fetching my things. I would sleep the whole way there. I had to, for my health and sanity. But I would see Jude, and that would erase the tiredness immediately.

I expected the ride to feel impossibly long, but before I had finished counting one hundred sheep to ease my troubled mind to sleep, I felt the tires of the plane touching the asphalt in Madrid and I knew I'd arrived safely.

A young man picked me up outside the airport, chatting with me in Spanish all the way to Jude's swanky hotel. I only knew enough of the language to make extremely shallow small-talk with him, but he seemed to appreciate the effort and even helped me with my pitiful overnight bag, accepting my tip with an enthusiastic, English word of gratitude. Waving him off, I approached the desk, asked for someone who spoke my language, and waited while they fetched Isobel, the on-site bi-linguist.

I stared at paintings of fruit in wooden bowls for a bit, and then jumped when a well-manicured hand complete with blood-red nails dripped onto my shoulder. I spun, hiding a gasp terribly.

"Hello, Miss Shanahan. I'll give you your room key and tell you the number if you just join me over here, please." She held out her other perfect hand and I wondered why I thought she looked so out of place. Cautiously I followed her into a back lounge area and she ducked me behind a movable wall to a huge, brushed steel wall and jabbed a button with her thumb.

"This is the service elevator. You will use this to enter and exit the hotel—the basement level will take you directly to the parking garage. This is the only elevator that takes you to the top floor of the hotel where your friends are staying." She fixed me with a hazel stare and lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Any questions?"

I stuttered, "W-what room did you say Liam and the boys were in?"

"2288." She leaned into the elevator as the doors finally opened and pushed the 22nd floor button for me. "Wonderful to have you stay with us, Miss Shanahan. Enjoy your time in Madrid."

Taking her none-too-subtle hint, I stepped into the brushed metal elevator with the tacky red carpeting and stared wordlessly at my reflection all the way to the top of the massive structure. Once there, the door opened with an eerie silence and I noticed only four rooms in the smallish hallway. This was the swanky part, with access only available through this one elevator and a series of locking stairwells below. Swallowing, I stepped out into the plush hall filled with small replicas of Greek statues, lavish plants, and a fountain. Shuffling around the fountain in awe, I found 2288 and lifted my hand, knocking shyly before I slid my key-card into the lock and pushed it open, disbelieving of this utter extravagance.

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered the boys playing a rousing game of beer-bong in the main suite, drunken cheers echoing loudly around the almost sterile-looking room. I glanced at the nearest sofa where Jude was bent, nursing a glass of orange juice and running his fingers over his tired, drawn face.

I dropped my bag next to the couch; his head snapped up as I crashed into his half-drunk frame and squeezed him silly, fearing at the last minute I'd cause him to vomit up whatever he was trying to keep down, but he dropped the glass on the wood patch of floor in front of the gas fireplace and hugged me back just as tightly, burying his face in my hair a moment, drinking in a breath. My ego soared and I imagined him finding something in my familiar scent, some comfort or feeling of peace. Capitalizing on this new confidence, I grabbed his chin and checked his eyes to make sure it was okay for me to do something so bold in front of his friends, but he beat me to the punch, lunging in for the kill.

He tasted a bit like vodka and I wondered if his now spilled drink had been alcoholic and not a hangover remedy at all. Uncaring for the moment, I sifted my fingers through his hair and let out an uncontrollably disgusting sigh.

Breaking for air, Jude panted lightly. "Everything go smoothly, yeah?"

"Perfect." I agreed and kissed his cheek. "You look dog-tired. You wanna get a nap? I could use one—this was a lot of flying for me today."

"A kip sounds wonderful, actually." He blushed a little. "I'm a little sloshed again."

"Let's go sleep it off, then." I tugged his arm as I stood up. "I think I'll get some good sleep with you here."

His shoulders slid back a bit, and when he stood with me, a funny swagger slipped into his walk and I realized he was showing me off a bit, capitalizing on the fact they had all heard me say I'd sleep better with him near, that I wanted to immediately go off and be alone with him. For a moment my mood dragged a little, and then he seemed unable to maintain that fleeting arrogance for a second longer and he took my hand, lacing his fingers in mine, his cheeks still rosy.

He went out for my bag after I sat on the enormous, unmade bed in his portion of the suite and kicked my shoes off. He could see the look in my eye and when he returned, he dug out my travel blanket—a worn piece of cloth I took for nights in hotels and the like just for warmth and, as much as I hated it, security. It smelled like the fireplace at my house and like euchre and apple cider. Snuggling around the blanket and squirreled him away under it with me.

I woke up some time later as he extracted himself from my arms. Jeremy, I noticed, was standing by the door with an irritated look on his face, holding out a bottle of water and a shot glass. Jude took both, swigged the shot and chased it with water, shuddering. He changed quickly, Jeremy standing watch, and I watched him transform.

Jeans with holes in them. Brand new sneakers, not a crease or dirt streak anywhere. A studded belt. A flannel shirt buttoned low and the sleeves rolled back to his elbows—a brand new white wife-beater underneath. Two women came in and ruffled his hair professionally. A third came last and applied eyeliner despite his protests and foul language.

"Do you have a show right now?" I asked, feeling foggy as I sat up and patted the spot next to me, wanting to find the warmth he might have left behind.

A woman fixed me with an icy glare. "An appearance on a European music television show. Liam and Jeff are going to give an interview—the others will be making a few calls to some radio stations in LA."

Jeremy poured another shot and Jude took it, wincing and chasing it with water. They lit twin cigarettes a moment later and Karen rushed in, insisting they put the damned things out as this was not supposed to be a smoking room. Jude and Jeremy gave her a little bit of a hard time for a moment but put them out. Jeremy fed Jude three more shots, and just as I was starting to worry, Jude shuddered again, rubbed his cheeks a little, and held out his hand. It trembled a moment, but just before he could close his fingers, Jeremy shoved another shot at him and Jude sighed, gritting his teeth, but took it, too.

"For 'is nerves." Jeremy explained with a cocky grin, and I sat up, frowning heavily, clutching the blanket to my chest, a shiver racing up my spine gloomily.

Jude waved my worried stare off with a hiccup. "No worries, love. It's just because I'll make a fool of myself if I don't do something to relax."

"So take a few deep breaths or something!" I shrieked, not realizing how upset I felt.

He took half a step back from me, eyebrows raised, and then came forward, cupping my chin, looking nothing like Jude Powell. "Baby, it'll be fine. Nothing else works that I know of. Besides, I've been doing this before every show and appearance since I was sixteen."

The shiver came back and I felt one of my eyes start to squint. Whispering, I asked, "And you don't like it?"

His eyes warmed considerably and I could ignore the awful eyeliner and coiffed hair a moment. A furious blush lit his cheeks and he leaned in closer to me, taking my hands, and as the blanket fell away and the brisk air from the cracked window raced over my skin, he kissed me very lightly on the tip of my nose.

"I had a dream the other night."

"Yeah?" I let him tease me and smiled, biting my lip. He kissed my cheek. "What about?" I prodded, squeezing his fingers back.

"Well," he kissed my other cheek and we both ignored Jeremy's sigh of irritation. "You and I found this little cottage in the woods one day, while we were hiking in Michigan, up by your place somewhere. And we went inside and there was a stone fireplace and one bedroom, a small kitchen, a living room, and a big loo. So we poked around and found this note telling us where the deed was and that the house belonged to whoever found it first."

"What did we do?" I asked breathlessly as he dipped down to my neck and kissed me there, too.

He made a noise like he didn't remember, kissed me once more, and leaned up to my ear. "I don't know what we did right then, next thing I remember we were..."

I felt his cheek get a touch hotter and I smelled the whisky on him, but he seemed to sober when I caught his mouth for a quick kiss. Smiling at me steadily, he bit his lip for a moment and whispered so breathlessly I almost missed it, "We were watching two beautiful children playing in the yard."

"Ours?" I could hardly believe the excited little flutter in my chest that spread to my stomach when he tugged me in close and hid in my hair, nodding wordlessly.

Not knowing where to hide, I just grinned over his shoulder, hugging him back, at the crowd waiting for Jude to pull himself together and go to this interview. After a few more long seconds, Karen's icy face thawed and she walked over silently, touching Jude's shoulder.

"Liam, dear, the cab is waiting. We better get going."

He drew back an inch or so and kissed my temple. "Won't be long, love. I'll take you out to dinner when we get back—sound good?"

I wasn't quite hungry yet, but I felt like I ought to be eating something. With the leap forward in time, my early-morning departure, and then this flight to Madrid, my body's time was something like the late afternoon while the actual time was coming on eight or nine. Nodding, I figured it would just be nice to have him completely to myself for a while.

I didn't release him right away, but pulled him in for one last kiss. It was a good one, full of all the right movements and little touches to really make a girl like kissing. When we finally did have to break away, I managed to sneak in a little something just for him, whispering, "I love you, Julian."

He took one last shot on the way out and shuddered again, pulling on his coat with a bit too much of a bounce in his step. He'd be thinking about me the rest of the night. I spread back out on the bed and decided to take a bath in a few minutes, luxuriating in the idea of Jude thinking about me, loving me.

Ian leaned into the room as I sat back up and tried to locate the bathroom. "Oy, Astrid?"

"Yeah?" I paused, wondering if I was about to walk into a closet or Narnia.

"Does he really hate the band?"

The three of them who hadn't gone to the television interview crowded around the door suddenly while I, my jeans unbuttoned, barefoot, blinked at them owlishly.

"Well?" Paul pushed, sounding annoyed now. "Does he?"

"That's between the five of you, isn't it?" I shrugged the question off and turned, taking the hem of my shirt in my hands. "Go on, before I tell him you all tried to get a peek."

They ducked away as I yanked the shirt over my head and tossed it aside. Taking their absence as an opportunity to explore the suite a little more, I managed to find the bathroom door and took two huge white towels inside, gasping at the enormous bathtub inside.

In a little less than an hour, when I'd finally dragged my bones from the water in the tub and evaluated my pruning situation, I realized I was totally alone. With a heavy heart I gathered my purse, secured some spending money leftover from Christmas, and zipped my vest over a hooded sweatshirt I'd gotten at Chestwick at the beginning of the year.

Sighing, I locked up behind myself and took the service elevator to the ground floor, staring around in awe as I exited the hotel and noticed all the people rushing around in the chilly weather, heads up, smiling at me as I cautiously walked around. I'd forgotten this wasn't England. I'd forgotten I wasn't in America, in fact. I'd sort of thought I'd step outside and be in Chicago, or New York city. Disoriented, I walked to the nearest boutique and let myself in, instinctively stopping to stomp snow and salt off my shoes despite there not being any.

A saleswoman greeted me warmly in Spanish and I managed to reply I was having a good day, blushing when she smiled back, realizing I wasn't so good at the language. The clothes were expensive, though predictably so. I found a clearance rack and scanned it for something pretty and mindless. A beautiful scarf later and I was stuck in the shoes section, lusting over the out-of-season strappy heels.

I wasted maybe two hours on my own, shopping, but figured I still had time before I had to return to the silent hotel. I checked the time in the next boutique and tried to figure out when was late enough to still be dinner without it also being some version of "Fourth Meal."

Around nine thirty I finally gave up trying to waste time and got back to the hotel, proud of myself for not getting lost. In the lobby I pumped a pay phone full of euros and checked my apartment phone's messages, wincing when I heard my father's worried voice asking where I'd already gone on my first day back in England. He'd forgotten Jude had planned to whisk me away.

Dredging my phone card up from my wallet, I dialed the hundred or so extensions to get an American land line, calculated the time difference, and punched my home number. After two rings, my father picked up.

"Madrid!"

"You remembered?" I frowned.

"No, the caller ID said this was a Spanish number. You're in Madrid, right?"

"At a hotel with Liam."

My father's silence told me he didn't remember I had to call Jude another name when anywhere in public, but after a pause, he grunted and relaxed. "How is it there, sweetie?"

"I'll have to poke around the city more tomorrow, after I get some more sleep. This jet lag is going to kill me." I rubbed my face. "Went shopping today and got a designer scarf on clearance. Tell Mom."

"She'll be thrilled, I'm sure." He chuckled. "And your boyfriend?"

I smiled, proud of my dad for not overreacting in his typical paternal way. "Good. The tour's gonna take its toll on him, but he's pretty good right now. He's actually giving an interview right now, I think, or maybe he'll be getting back any second now."

"Well, that's good. I won't keep you any longer. I know you planned to spend your winter vacation with him, so go get some time." He cleared his throat, sounding a little wistful. "And you can bet we'll meet him under some better circumstances this spring. You said he might have some time to visit Quail Lake while you're home?"

"If I come home." I reminded him gently. "That's a lot of money flying back and forth, especially since I wasn't supposed to come home for the winter break."

"You realize your mother and I will have to come visit you in England if you don't come home, right?"

"You'll get to meet his parents, then." I replied softly.

My dad chuckled again, but it was desperate sounding. "You're pretty serious about him, huh?"

I swallowed, but smiled. "I guess. I'm trying to take it one day at a time without being too...nihilistic."

"That's a good idea." I could picture him winking at me, a twinkle in his eye. "All right, go visit while you can. Love you, sweetie."

"Love you, too, Daddy." I hung up, my hand lingering on the pay phone receiver for a few moments longer than I'd intended. Tucking my hands into my pockets and bending for my bags, I spotted the back doors where I could find the service elevator and started toward them. As I rounded the desk, four women, all in their mid to late twenties, pointed at me and started whispering behind manicured hands. I glanced over, startled, but heard the telltale sounds of English.

"...dating that Smirking Poppies singer, Liam Welch! I swear, Nina, that's her!"

I plunged into the hall behind the desk and found the elevator, pushing the button for the 22nd floor, resting against the back aluminum wall with a tired groan. When the doors opened some moments later, I tiredly dragged myself into the brightly-lit hallway and found the door, curious to find it a crack open. When I pushed it gently, it swung at lightspeed and a wild-eyed Karen seized my shoulders.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Astrid! Leave a note, would you? He's inconsolable!"

I blinked, trying to apologize, and she shoved me into the nearest room where the others were crowded around a closed door, trying to pry it open with coat hangers.

"She's here, man!" Jeremy called, sounding amused, annoyed, and perplexed all at once. "I'm not lying, open the fuckin' door!"

Dropping my bags gently on the floor and discarding my purse, I walked cautiously to the closet door they were yelling at and cleared my throat carefully, surveying the crowd gathered. "Jude?" I asked cautiously, praying no one was in the room I couldn't say this in front of.

The door fell inward and Jude, looking none too steady, swayed, his lips pulled thin. After a moment looking at me, deciding whether or not I was real, he let out a little laugh-cry and yanked me inside with him, wrapping me up in a tight hug.

"I'll leave a note next time. I thought I had more time before you got back, that's all." I mumbled, embarrassed, and he laughed again, shaking his head against my neck. Patting him gently, I kissed his cheek and swallowed. "Is that it?"

He laughed once more, still sounding detached, started. "I was convinced I'd lost you in some foreign city and I don't...I don't know any Spanish and..."

"Just like when I thought I'd lost you in Stockholm?"

He laughed once more, but this time it sounded genuine. "Yeah, I guess it was just like that, right? I'm glad you're all right, love. I felt terrible."

"I'm sorry." I stroked his hair carefully, glad I couldn't see the others' incredulous faces. "No need to feel terrible, though. Let's go get some food and forget about this, huh?"

"Right, sure." He drew away slowly and kissed me once, relaxing his shoulders as he took in the sight of me. My body tingled and I took his hand, smiling sheepishly as he led me from the closet and ignored the four boys' disgusted expressions.

I tried once more to apologize, but they dispersed, shaking their heads. I had to agree with the sentiment; it just wasn't like Jude to be dramatic. Some small piece of my ego wanted to say that was because it was me we were talking about, and he loved me. But no, I'd seen him upset, and he got quiet. He sipped on a beer and mumbled, scratched the back of his neck. He didn't lock himself in closets and refuse to open the door.

In the cab on the way to dinner, we talked. A good, real talk like one we hadn't had in ages. Philosophy! Books! Movies! Sex! I was really enjoying myself, honestly. He was sobering up at an alarming rate, his eyes relaxing, his legs calming, his hands not so clammy. I could feel a surge of happiness flow through me, making it much more disturbing when I realized the little wrench in my gut was doubt.

I wasn't so sure we were going to pull through on the other side of this tour in one piece. Why I felt this little wrench was hazy. My mind blipped from one moment to another, touching on Jack, Jude, my housemates, my parents, his parents, Mac, my classes, my senior year at Grosch, graduate school, my career, his career, our life together, our potential break-up, Johan...

"National Coalition for what?"

I snapped back to attention. "Against Censorship. Not for."

"Right, so what sort of event will it be?"

"A benefit dinner of some kind, to raise awareness and promote intellectual freedom." I cracked a smile, knowing I sounded like a pamphlet. "America is beautiful in the ugliest ways, isn't it?"

He cracked a grin back, looking like himself for a moment. "Oh, I dunno. I mostly just like the girls, personally."

I raised a hand to swat him.

"I didn't mean in general!" He squealed, covering his stomach. "It was meant to be a compliment!"

Relaxing, I leaned across the little space between us in the cab and kissed him soundly on the mouth, sighing in satisfaction as the car stopped in front of a remote restaurant near a river of some kind. Jude paid the cabbie, who didn't seem to care who we were or why we weren't bothering to speak any Spanish, took the money and tip, and sped off as we sauntered to the door.

The hostess had a conniption fit, which made us both feel very awkward. We were shoved ahead in the line and seated immediately which, while convenient, was terribly uncomfortable. We were underdressed like a couple of college kids with too much money, and we ordered food we ended up not liking. After a bottle of nice wine, however, we were ready to stick our chins out and do our regular thing.

I found the McDonald's before Jude even had a chance to mention for the hundredth time he was still hungry. Several cheeseburgers later and it was back to the hotel, where we were promptly photographed and screamed at. My eyes were burning from flashbulbs as we got into the elevator and Jude, looking tired but somehow very attentive, nudged my ankle gently with his foot.

"The nap...help?"

I felt that little nagging wrench in my gut subside, which I didn't like since I was immediately assuming he was asking if we were going "to be intimate," as Quinn would say. Still, I replied, "I could stay up a bit longer, yeah. You?"

"Yeah." He smiled at his feet and I warmed significantly when his cheeks turned a lovely pink color. Leaning, I kissed him chastely on the temple and waited while he mustered up the courage to reach for my hand.

Rather, his hand slid around my wrist, past my waist, and right to my butt, pulling me close despite the fact we only had three floors before the doors opened and our hideout was revealed. A little boldness crept from him and I picked up on it, liking this slight change as he took charge and kissed me with every ounce of energy he had. My body tingled and I wanted to press myself against every available inch of him, but I couldn't. I heard the bell toll and the others' voices were ringing in the hall already. Peeling myself away, I watched the doors open and the boys, drunk and sweaty, turned and stared. Ian pelted them with styrofoam darts from a Nerf gun and I had to shake my head.

Still, as Jude and I disappeared into his room and quickly stripped, I as glad for the ruckus. I made him double-check that he'd locked the door before my bra was even unclasped, but once he'd humored my request, we got down to business.

It's an awful and cute thing to notice, but I could tell immediately Jude had been on the absolute straight and narrow. It made me smile, but I thought he might have been too busy and too distracted the past few weeks to even take the edge off himself. While it was far from the best sex I'd ever had, I was with the man I loved and he seemed to enjoy what time we had, even if he looked a little embarrassed.

I rubbed his shoulder as comfortingly as I could. "Don't beat yourself up, please. Your expectations are ridiculous sometimes, Jude."

"I know, it's stupid." He sat up and let his feet dangle over the side, his bare back facing me as he hung limply over his knees, staring at the carpet. "I spent all day thinking about this right here and it was not what I expected."

My pride twitched inside me, a little peeved, but I knew I was reading too much into it. "Redemption is sweeter."

He looked over his shoulder at me, smiling, reaching for the lamp. I objected with a sound and he hovered a moment before uneasily standing up, searching for the trash basket. I watched him wander a moment, shamelessly admiring what was mine. He came back and crawled into bed, sighing as though frustrated. I sighed back and sniggered when he pinched my arm gently. My brain seemed to jolt a bit when he kissed my neck and moved as if to smother me in affection again, but I didn't feel smothered. I turned my face away to let him shower me, my happiness far outweighing my exhaustion, and my awakened mind produced an ingenious plan.

I waited for a really good kiss, one that truly sent shivers up my spine; goosebumps erupted over my body and I felt him carefully rest his weight across me. He wasn't pushing me—he never did, blessed boy—but he was sort of asking. I felt a throb go through my veins and I inhaled sharply. I should have easily been able to keep myself composed and known I needed sleep, but when I closed my eyes, I could damn near feel him making love to me again and I knew just what he was missing.

He got very tense when I said his name this time—I'd drawn out all the syllables and felt my voice shake, letting him know it wasn't too late. And he fumbled with the drawer he'd stashed the condoms in, turned on the lamp, taken care of the situation, and turned the lamp back off by the time I'd collected myself.

I was glad I didn't get much sleep. I was so glad I'd groaned out that name he didn't even let his parents call him anymore and found that sleeping monster in him. I had felt my world come crumbling down and hadn't cared at all—I'd been dead a moment and felt nothing but waves of empty air around me. And when I felt him curl up behind me and drape and arm over my chest, pulling me close, I reconnected with everything on Earth again. And he, mumbling he loved me, made the nagging twist in my stomach return.