Better Man

Four days after Caroline first visited the hospital, Mike was finally allowed to be discharged from the hospital; given a list of things to refrain from while he recovered properly at home and that he should start taking one aspirin a day to keep the risk of another heart attack at bay.

Billie Joe played the best friend and picked the bassist up from the hospital, drove him home and made sure the lanky man needed anything. Staying for about two hours longer, the shorter but older man even did the unthinkable and cooked for Mike, which surprised the bassist quite a bit.

He couldn't remember a time when Billie Joe actually cooked. The extent was probably roasting marshmallows or popping a big ass bowl of buttery popcorn. But, here Billie Joe was, standing in Mike's kitchen, whipping up a garden salad, spaghetti and then topped the meal off with a glass of red wine.

Mike was sitting in the living room when Billie Joe carried everything out on a tray and set it before his friend.

"Holy shit," Mike exclaimed. "I was wondering what the fuck you were doing in my kitchen...and then I smelled the sauce..."

Billie Joe grinned proudly. "You like?"

Mike was still in awe as he nodded. "I'm...surprised," he muttered. "Since when did you become a chef?"

The green-eyed guitarist shrugged. "You know all those times between touring, when we're home with nothing to do but mope about the house or get ourselves in trouble whilst going stir crazy?"

"Yeah?"

"I found watching the Food Channel soothed my nerves some. And have you ever watched Emeril? BAM!" Billie Joe laughed. "He's fucking great."

Mike shook his head with a smile and began to dig in. "You never cease to amaze me, Billie," he muttered with a mouthful of spaghetti.

"I know. It's scary how fucking super I am."

"Oh, right." Mike rolled his eyes. "I almost forgot about your God Complex."

"It's better than having a Peter Pan Complex."

"But you have a Peter Pan Complex," Mike insisted. "You still act like a kid. Fuck, we all do."

"Anywho," Billie Joe sighed, stretching a bit. "If you want, you can leave all the dirty dishes here and I can stop by to clean them up tomorrow if you want. 'Cause your doctor said to ease back into physical activity."

Mike frowned. "I don't think putting dishes into my dishwasher and turning the damn machine on will kill me," Mike muttered.

"I was just saying..." Billie Joe trailed. "So, uh...do you still want me to stay or will you be fine on your own?"

Sitting up a little straighter, Mike picked at his salad with his fork. "Nah, go on home. I'll be fine," Mike assured. "I promise that if I go into cardiac arrest, I'll speed dial your number."

Mike's comment didn't get a laugh or even a faint smile out of his best friend. The raven haired punk rocker held a solemn gaze as he folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the bassist.

"That's not funny, Mike. We almost lost you. And, according to what you said the doctor told you, we did for two minutes."

"Sorry," Mike mumbled. "I just don't like playing the weak card."

"Which is understandable, but considering you are in fact weak right now, you have to accept our help so you can get back to one hundred percent. Or, at least, ninety-five."

Mike slammed his fork down on the tray and sat back against the couch pillow behind him and stared up at his best friend. "You wanna know what will make me stronger, Billie? Hmm?"

"Mike, chill..."

"Do you want to know?" Mike continued.

Billie Joe sighed, pursing his lips. "What?"

Mike dipped his head and placed his right hand over his eyes to keep the shorter man from seeing the tears that began to well. "Caroline," he responded, finally. "She only visited me the one time at the hospital, and I understand she's been rehearsing with her band and...dealing with everything as well...but I miss her so much. And it's only been a few days."

Knitting his brow, empathetically, Billie Joe sank down onto the couch cushion beside Mike, folding his hands between his knees.

"How do you explain that, Bill?" Mike added, still not removing his hand from his face.

"How do I explain what?" Billie Joe wondered. "Why you miss her?"

Mike nodded.

"Because you love her," the older man deducted. "When I can't be with Adie all the time, I miss her insanely. I could blink and I'd miss her as if I hadn't seen her in a hundred years." Billie Joe reached over and placed his hand on Mike's back, patting it affectionately. "You'll be okay, man."

"What makes you think that?" Mike snipped a little, but it didn't seem to faze the guitarist.

"Allow me to quote the movie, Empire Records,'" Billie Joe began. "'Who knows where thoughts come from. They just appear.'"

Mike couldn't help but smirk at that. "That was a good movie."

Smiling, Billie Joe removed his hand from his friend's back and nudged their shoulders together, briefly. "Caroline loves you, man. And, yeah, it's obvious she also loves Tre and, yeah, things are a little hard right now, but whatever happens, happens. You know? If she goes back to him, then oh well. And if she doesn't, c'est la-fucking-vie," he commented. "You can't force her to make a decision. She has to figure things out for herself and placing any pressure on her is only gonna drive her away."

"I don't want to lose her," Mike muttered.

"Then give her the distance she needs."

Mike finally removed his hand and sat back up, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes and glancing briefly at his friend of nearly twenty-five years. "Did I ever tell you that you're a really good friend?"

"I dunno," Billie Joe shrugged mischievously. "Tell me again to play it safe."

Mike laughed. "You're a really good friend, Billie."

The guitarist grinned, leaned forward and took a slice of tomato out of Mike's salad bowl. "Yeap," Billie Joe sighed, content with himself. "I know."

* * *

March 13th had finally arrived and The Sinners were sitting in their very own, swanky tour bus, which was parked in a special location at the Tacoma Dome in Washington.

That night was the first night of the tour and the foursome had just finished their sound check, and were so fucking amazed at the size of the venue because they'd never played a place that large before. And to say they were excited would be an understatement.

The next night they would be in San Francisco and Tre said he would be there, but, in all honesty, Caroline wasn't looking forward to that.

She wanted to be able to focus on the tour, the concert, without having to think about Tre watching her from backstage, his eyes on her as she performed. Because then it made her think about their situation, and the last thing she needed was to fuck up.

But, alas, she gave in; not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

At the moment, however, she was going to try her best to keep her mind on the show at hand: Tacoma, Washington.

And that's just what Caroline and the guys did.

At half past seven, the four of them went out onstage in front of the sea of people, and rocked the house for a half hour. After performing and thanking everyone for coming out and more or less taking bows, they went back offstage and retired to their dressing room and got to chill with The Killers for the next half an hour wherein the roadies and whatnot took down their set and prepared for The Killers' set. While the more established group performed for two hours, The Sinners basically dicked around; checking email on their laptops, listening to their iPods, talking on cell phones, watching The Killers from backstage, playing pranks, eating and drinking.

Eventually, however, the first night of the tour came to an end.

They all went to their separate buses and drove through the night to the City By The Bay, sleeping in the small bunks the tour bus allotted them. When they woke up in the morning, they had already pulled into the venue.

After showering and getting dressed, The Sinners went out for the earlier part of the morning, hanging out at Dave's condo in the city, where Tre showed up.

Long story, short: Tre left spent some time but then left.

There was that bit of awkwardness. Caroline had to explain that she appreciated his support for her and the guys, but she still needed her space. And, fortunately, he understood; but also saying he would still come to the show, which Caroline agreed was fine.

And that's what he did.

Tre came to the show, watched them perform but, when the foursome walked off stage, Tre was nowhere to be found, even though members from The Killers said he'd watched them perform.

Afterward, Caroline felt slightly guilty about not wanting Tre around after the concert, and called him on her cell, but she simply got his voicemail.

Sighing, she put her phone away without leaving him a message, retired to the bus and called it a night.

As she went to sleep, she laid on her side, closing her hazel eyes and thinking about how long the next two months were going to be.

* * *

As March came to an end and April rolled forth, Caroline seemed to be opening up more and acting more freely. She didn't seem to be distracted anymore by the problems she'd been dealing with. She connected more with her band and even hung out a lot with The Killers; both bands having a grand ol' time.

What was a little disheartening for both Tre and Mike was that she hadn't called either of them since the tour started.

It wasn't that she'd forgotten about them with the excitement of touring. She was doing it on purpose.

She wasn't trying to be a bitch; she had a method to her madness.

If she had contact with them before the tour was over, it would defeat the purpose of working everything out on her own terms, on her own time. If she talked to one, and then another, or talked longer with one, she felt like she'd be playing favorites and at that point, she wasn't sure if she'd be doing the situation any good.

Right?

* * *

Estelle's tenth birthday arrived, and Mike took her to the movies because he already knew she was going to have a party with her friends on another day, and he wanted to spend some one on one time with his daughter. And what with the health scare he'd had a month prior, he wanted to cherish every possible moment with his little girl.

After the movie, he took her to dinner at whatever restaurant she wanted to go to, but she simply requested his diner.

When they arrived, they sat at the usual table and Estelle ordered her favorite meal. Whereas Mike stuck to a salad because, admittedly, he'd become a little paranoid about what he ate, worried that if he ate the wrong amount of something, he'd have another heart attack or something.

"Dad?" came Estelle's voice, breaking his train of thought.

"Hmm?"

"How come you don't talk about Caroline anymore?"

"How come--what? What do you mean?"

"You never talk about Caroline anymore," she repeated. "Even if you were just talkin' on the phone with her or talkin' about how she helped fix my room with you." Estelle shrugged a little, holding her hamburger in her hands. "You're kinda sad now."

"Daddy's just tired lately."

"'Cause of your heart attack?"

"Uh, yeah," Mike nodded. "You gonna eat those fries?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah," she replied. "But you can share."

"Gee, thanks."

"When're you gonna see Caroline again?" Estelle continued without missing a beat.

Mike stared across the table at his daughter, narrowing his gaze. "What's up with you asking me all these questions about Caroline?"

Estelle gave him a smile that was eerily similar to the one he wore from time to time. "'Cause your eyes smile when I say her name and your eyes never smile anymore."

Mike frowned. "Yes, they do."

"No, they don't," she insisted, popping a ketchup-y fry into her mouth, kicking her feet back and forth off the edge of her chair. "D'you love her, Dad?"

God, when are her questions going to end? he thought.

"You can tell me. And if it's, like, a secret or something, I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Mike couldn't help but smirk as he grabbed one of her French fries and popped one in his mouth; suddenly having a flashback to a year before when he sat at this same table with Caroline, eating French fries, and having a 'ghetto lingo war.'

"Yes, I love her," he admitted eventually.

"Does she love you?"

"I suppose."

"That's not a yes or no, Dad."

"You didn't ask for a yes or no answer," Mike pointed out.

Estelle rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. Does she love you, yes or no?"

"Last time I checked, yes, she said she loved me."

"Even though she's Uncle Tre's girlfriend? Was she dating both of you?"

"Estelle," Mike snapped, then calming down almost immediately. "Could we please change the subject, honey?"

The ten-year-old nodded, dipping her head sheepishly as she pulled her cup full of Pepsi to her lips and sucked the liquid up through her clear straw. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," he insisted. "You're just curious. It's okay. But, considering it's your birthday, I think we should stick to talking about you and not me, 'kay?"

Estelle nodded and smiled. "Okay, Daddy."