Page 14 of All That Remains
"Yeah.”
“He’s mental,” he said, eyeing Alan in the distance, who was now shadow boxing Rome’s security guard.
“Yep. But he’s a good bloke. Missed him.”
“Same.”
“How long’s he here for?”
“Til May. Til we head for Wales.”
“Right. Makes sense.”
“Yep.” There was a pregnant pause. He wouldn’t look at me.
“Hey, uh…got a minute?" I ventured, mesmerized by the flare of the cigarette cherry.
"Depends…”
“On what exactly?”
“Whatever you have in mind.”
“I just wanna talk.”
“I’ve got no time for that, mate,” he scoffed, starting away.
“Please,” I grabbed his chin, making him lock eyes with me. “Just for a minute, Rome. I’m begging you.”
Already he was aware of how the conversation would play out. This owing to months of rehashing the same vague dialogue sansa solution. The discussion ultimately entailed his resignation. The email had been drafted months ago, ready to hit the desk of the record label’s president once the UK leg of the tour began. Less than a month away. I lived in trepidation of that day, having fruitlessly tried to dissuade him since I became aware of his desire to leave. I suppose my body language was a dead giveaway by now.
“Five minutes,” he said, and it was understood this was not up for negotiation.
“Fine.”
He snuffed the cherry on the cigarette and slid it back into the pack. I followed him into the stadium, watching as his shirt buffeted around his gorgeous ribcage. Inside, he found a backstage storeroom lit only by a window overlooking the parking lot. Outside, the bus was the main attraction. The crew skittered around it like cockroaches, loading our equipment.
Roman moved to sit atop a desk lining the wall; one boot planted onto the seat of a metal chair. The space was musty, reeking of damp cardboard and mold. Stacked ATA boxes and pallets crowded the floor, hardly sparing room for two bodies.
At a loss for how to begin, I fell into him, forcing him to catch me. He laughed for the first time in forever, crushing me in his arms.
"Little shit-starter..." he muttered, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Sorry for being a dick.”
“No,I’msorry,” I croaked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msosorry—”
“No…” He planted his hands to either side of my face, thumbing my lip. “What’ve you got to apologize for, gorgeous? It’s all me.”
“It feels wrong when I don’t say it…”
He kissed me brutally. I could taste the cigarette. I didn't know what to say. I only wanted to apologize more—mortified for nothing in particular.
"Rome..." I quavered.
He kissed me again, tonguing me so deeply I couldn’t stand upright. I set a knee to the chair, exhaling against his mouth.
“Rome…”
“You’re always on my mind…” he whispered, snaking a hand up my shirt, stroking the humid flesh.
