Softer Than Steel (A Love & Steel Novel) by Jessica Topper Page A

cheek to the screen.
    “Anxiety isn’t a sign of weakness, Rick.” Kat paused a moment, then quietly added, “I’ve been told it’s a sign of being strong for too long.”
    He didn’t feel strong. He felt wiped out. It was as if all the miles logged had suddenly caught up to him, and he couldn’t fathom taking another step.
    “Maybe you should take—”
    Rick cut her off at the pass. “No drugs, Kat. No way.” He had made it through raising three teenagers on his own without “mother’s little helpers”; he certainly wasn’t going to start taking anything now as an empty-nester. He was only forty-four years old; wasn’t this supposed to be the prime of his life?
    “I was going to suggest taking a
class
. Meditation, Tai Chi, yoga, something. Find an outlet.”
    Rick smirked. “It used to be as simple as finding a wall socket and plugging an amplifier in.”
    “Promise me you’ll look into it?”
    “Yes, I promise.” He rolled his eyes. “In all my spare time, I will look into it.”
    “Speaking of time, you’ll know about that date in twenty-four hours, right?”
    “Less, actually.” Hence the sweating and the trembling panic.
    “I’ll give you your Garden date,” she began, and Rick braced himself for the conditions.
    “If?”
    “If the other band holding the Garden drops out and you get first hold, we will pick another date for the wedding,” she stated simply. “The world won’t end.”
    Rick nodded in agreement, grateful for the ability to breathe naturally and think clearly.
The world won’t end. Fancy that!
    “But—”
    Ah, but here’s the rub,
Rick thought. Behind every rock band, there were usually a half dozen women who thought they could run the show better than the myriad of agents, managers, and publicists hired for the very job.
    “But whatever date we end up with, you need to support him. And I need him home. No touring before the wedding,” she advised.
    “No problem there. We’ll be in the studio all summer.”
    “And no touring right after the wedding, either.”
    “Kat, we are releasing a new album. A street date’s all but set. We’ll need to tour it. I can’t promise you that.”
    “Then I can’t promise you the Garden date.” She hugged herself tight. “I’ve waited a long time. I can’t let the road take him.”
    He saw loss dulling the luster of her emerald eyes. It occurred to him that she, too, was versed in cruel and unusual punishment. For how could she not help but wonder whether each kiss good-bye to Adrian before a tour might be their last? Kat’s first husband had boarded a train for a quick business trip that ended up ripping a hole through her and Abbey’s hearts and well-being.
    “Deal,” Rick heard himself saying. “But I have one condition. You cannot tell Adrian about my panic attacks.” Kat raised her brows at his use of the plural. “I know you two probably share everything, but I beg of you. Please keep this to yourself, all right?”
    She gave him a small, tired smile and reached to squeeze his hand. “Deal.”
    “I think I’m going to sleep on the lanai tonight, if that’s all right with you.”
    Kat yawned and unfolded herself from the futon. “It’s all yours.” She paused at the doorway, turning back to look up at him. “I sleep out here sometimes, too,” she admitted. “If you really quiet your mind and listen, you can hear the lake. It’s no ocean, but . . .”
    “It’ll do.”

Sidra
    Fighting Words
    Sidra carefully closed the quotation marks with two more strokes of the paintbrush and leaned back on the stepladder to observe her work. Not bad:
    “In life you only need to journey twelve inches.
    That is the distance from your head to your heart.”
    She had given the yoga room a sunny wash of pale yellow paint last month, with flowing pale green accents and trim. Now she was adding various quotes she had gathered over time to the walls for inspiration.
    If only twelve inches were necessary, why did she