by Cari Quinn
She started singing Elvis again, louder and louder until she was screaming the words that only a while ago had made her giggle and dance around the room. Now they burned her throat as she shouted them, tears pouring down her face, anything to drown out the sounds taking place behind her.
Stupid cunt, you did this. You.
“Jazz, baby, are you okay?” Gentle hands smoothed over her back and she shrieked and rolled away, pressing herself to the wall.
“No, no, no. Don’t touch me.” She sang louder, rocking faster, anything to block out the hands pulling at her. She couldn’t feel them. They couldn’t hurt her now. Her knees banged the wall as she tried to ball herself up to make herself too small to be seen, but it didn’t work. He was still there. His hot breath still blew over her skin. She shuddered and pressed her arms together. Smaller, smaller. She was tiny. She could disappear.
“I’m here. It’s me, baby. Jazz, it’s Gray. I’ve got you.” He scooped her up and she turned into him, following his voice through the darkness that had claimed her.
“Gray,” she whispered brokenly, clinging to his neck. A seeping wound marred his forehead and cheek. She touched the blood and shrank back at the sight of it on her skin. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t let go.”
“I won’t. I won’t, ever.” He buried his face in her hair and rocked them both. “Oh God, I’ll never let him hurt you again.”
She lifted her head, blinking through the haze of tears as Mrs. Duffy bolted into the room. “What happened?” She pinned Jazz with her accusing gaze. “What did you do?”
And just like that, the last of her dreams crumbled through her fingers like sand. She’d never had a chance in hell of anyone wanting her to be theirs anyway.
She was on her own.
Thirty-Six
Now
Backstage at Trix, the venue for that night’s show, Nick gripped Jazz’s hands. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m about to puke.”
“You’re not going to puke. We ran through the entire setlist back at the cabin and you only flubbed a few notes. Completely unnoticeable notes, I might add. With me beside you, everyone’s going to be too busy admiring my fingerwork to even notice yours.” The smile he flashed her didn’t do a thing to mitigate Jazz’s nerves.
She flexed her fingers and tried not to think about how she was holding Gray’s beloved Epiphone. She tried not to think at all, period. That was the only way she was going to get through tonight.
As soon as the show was over, she could—and probably would—collapse. But right now, she had to do this for Gray. She would make him proud of her and offer up every song she played tonight to whatever god happened to be watching out for them. And in every spare moment, she would continue to pray as she had since that afternoon.
Please take care of him. Please let him know how much I love him. Please bring him back to me.
Every hour that passed without contact from him increased her dread. There was no universe where Gray would’ve gone this long without calling her. He would never miss a show.
So he must not be capable of contacting her. That didn’t mean he had OD’d. Once she’d realized he had taken Harper’s catering truck, she’d started weighing other scenarios. It could’ve been a car accident. Not a fatal one—God, no—but one where he had to deal with cops and other drivers and damage. Maybe his cell phone wasn’t working. Dead battery. He might’ve run a light and gotten a ticket and fought with the police. Even imagining him in jail was preferable to any of the other scenarios scrolling through her mind.
Deak strolled up beside them and lifted an eyebrow at Jazz wearing Gray’s guitar. “So you’re our second guitarist tonight, huh? And the Brooklyn Dawn chick is filling in on drums?”
“Yes,” Nick said, answering for Jazz. “Jamie. She’s really good. Plus, she’s super hot. Jugs for days, man.”
As usual Deak ignored their guitarist and his sexist commentary. “And what’s this about Gray borrowing Harper’s truck? She’s meeting with a new client tomorrow—”
“He had a family emergency and wasn’t able to get back in time,” Jazz said, reciting the speech that she and Nick had settled on. “He’s really sorry for the inconvenience and promises to pay her for any loss of business. It was unavoidable.”
“Another family emergency, hmm? Can we talk alone for a minute?”
“There’s no need for that,” Nick began.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” She shot Nick a calming look and led Deak a few feet away. Before he could speak, she held up a hand. “I know it all sounds weird, but please, Deak, just bear with me tonight and let’s get through the show, okay?”
Evidently, he heard the plea in her voice because he nodded and pulled her into a hug. “I hope like hell that whatever’s going on doesn’t get you hurt,” he said gruffly.
She hugged him back and forced a smile as she stepped away. “Me too.”
“You sure you’re okay to play tonight? That’s a lot of material for you to learn when you’re used to being behind the kit.”
“I started on the guitar way back when. It wasn’t that hard to pick it up again.” It had surprised her how easy it had been to play, especially since she’d had Nick at her side instead of Gray. But maybe he was helping her from wherever he was. He’d always given her a little extra boost, so why should tonight be any different?
So what if she didn’t know where he was? He was out there. Okay. He had to be. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to function. She would know.
“All right, if you insist.”
“I do, thanks.” She patted him on the arm then headed toward the stage, where the ladies from Brooklyn Dawn were trying to get her attention.
As always, Jamie wore a kickass outfit—lots of leather and denim paired with thigh-high boots and huge silver hoops. On another night, Jazz would’ve been jealous of her killer style. Tonight all she could do was lean in to give her a quick hug and a quiet “thank you.”
Jamie was more of a guitarist than a drummer but Nick had said she’d offered her help without hesitation. Lindsey, Brooklyn Dawn’s keyboardist, had done the same. The pretty blonde wore a less flashy ensemble of an off-the-shoulder top and fitted pants but her beauty turned the ordinary into extraordinary. Nick had suggested Lindz add some piano accompaniment to a couple of their songs to make it seem more like a joint band collaboration, and Jazz had agreed. Why the hell not? Maybe if they crammed more people on the stage, she would stop looking at the spot beside Nick where Gray should be.
The spot she would be filling soon.
“Thank you too, Lindz,” Jazz said, giving the blonde a quick hug as well. She hadn’t talked too much to either of the girls before, but from the sympathetic looks they were giving her, she had to wonder how much Nick had told them about her missing fiancé.
Not that it mattered. They were there to help get them through the show. The rest had to wait until she’d put this night in the rearview mirror.
“No problem at all. We’re excited to jam with you guys.” Jamie slipped behind the kit without removing her boots and Jazz did a double take.
Wow, she was going to play in those? That chick was no joke. Many of the drummers Jazz had known over the years were like her and preferred to play barefoot. But Jamie appeared supremely confident so Jazz had to assume she knew what she was doing.
“Absolutely. This is going to be one hell of a show. We already know a lot of your classics, so to get to play with you is incredible.” Lindz squeezed Jazz’s hand and moved off to take her spot behind the keyboard.
Jazz dampened her dust-dry lips and looked down at the guitar she wore. It was too big for her and she’d probably be sore from playing by the end of the night.
But nothing could touch the numbing pain in her chest. It was slowly moving outward to encompass the rest of her body. She wasn’t even nervous about what she had to do anymore. Her only thought was Gray.
When Nick joined her onstage, she struggled t
o give him a smile. He’d coached her through this, and someday she’d thank him for all his help. Right now getting through each minute taxed her to the point that speech had become impossible. She had no idea how she was going to sing.
“Jasmine, look at me.”
She looked. She couldn’t do anything else.
“Gray’s going to watch this tape later and be so fucking turned on by watching you kill it on his guitar that he’ll probably nail you in ways I haven’t even thought of,” he said, surprising a laugh out of her when she’d been sure the laughter inside of her had run out.
“I needed that. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, show me up. I’ve never dueled with a girl before. Sounds fucking hot.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the house lights went down and Simon swaggered on stage to greet the crowd. “How are you beasts doing tonight? A little cold out there, so we’re ready to make it hot up in here!”
After the cheers died down, Simon tugged his old school mic up to his mouth and whispered, “Guys, I’ve got a secret. We lost our motherfucking guitarist, so we got ourselves an amazing replacement. Y’all give it up for our sweet Jazzy stepping out from behind the kit.”
The cheers and whistling from the audience made it easier for her to step forward and give a bow. She didn’t quite manage a smile, but at least she didn’t freeze. The anxiety had bled away into a dull resignation. This was her band, and she would make it work.
Nick let the first few licks of “Taste of Candy” rip, her cue to shake off the rust and join him. She allowed the muscle memory to take over and focused on just getting out the right notes in the right order, following Nick’s lead. He glanced over at her every couple seconds, almost like a papa duck checking on his duckling. It made her smile and try that much harder.
She wouldn’t let Gray—or Nick—down.
Jamie had no trouble keeping the beat on the drums, adding her own sense of flair to the rhythm. Speeding up in places, slowing down in others. She had a sense of the dramatic and made damn good use of her hi-hats, slamming on them with a vigor that Jazz had to appreciate. The girl was fucking amazing with her black hair flying everywhere and that demonic grin stretching across her face. There was someone who was enjoying herself, not just getting by and getting through.
Lindz offered her own contribution to the music, providing a texture they hadn’t had since the days Margo sat in with them on their first big smash, “The Becoming”. Lindz didn’t have the same aggressive attitude that Jamie did but she was no less showy than her bandmate, easily bantering with the crowd in the few moments that Simon took a break to guzzle water and suck on throat lozenges. Guess his “scratchy throat” complaint hadn’t been a fib after all.
Jazz just played her part, even going back to back with Nick on “Ripcord” as Gray always did. Having those firm shoulders behind her offered her a place to sag when she wasn’t sure she could go on another second. Sweat dripped into her eyes and soaked her hair. The lights seemed way too bright, hazing her vision. Her arms vibrated from the unfamiliar stress of playing, and her whole body felt sore from crying. She tried her hardest to lose herself in the music, to let the hard, driving beats of the songs she loved carry her away, but there was no song that could distract her from the montage of terrifying images rolling through her mind.
Gray, hurt and bleeding. Those beautiful eyes forever closed. When the pictures hit her, stealing her breath and a cry from her throat she couldn’t swallow back, Nick was there, dragging her through the songs with him, willing her to play. His solid form at her side helped her forge on when she didn’t think she could pluck another note. When her voice ran hoarse because she was using all of her energy to try to hold back her sobs.
“You’re doing fucking amazing,” he whispered in between songs, nudging her arm in his version of a fistbump.
She shook her head, so disappointed in herself that she would’ve been on the verge of tears even without the Gray situation. She heard every missed note and hated that her fingers weren’t as fast as they’d once been. Years ago she could’ve handled this setlist without difficulty.
Tonight she was a liability.
“You are. Keep your eyes on mine and keep playing for Gray.”
She did, because she had no choice.
At the end of the show, after they’d played their final encore and taken their bows, she rushed backstage to dig out her phone. She’d latched onto the hope that maybe he’d called her during the time she was onstage. Perhaps he’d even made it back to the cabin or their apartment. Band camp was technically over as of today, but she and Nick couldn’t go back to the apartment when they didn’t know if Gray might return to the cabin. Well, she couldn’t.
Gray hadn’t called.
She didn’t expect Nick to go back to the cabin with her but he did. As soon as the driver dropped them off, he unlocked the door and stood by as she ran from room to room, her momentary hope dwindling once again as it became clear that Gray hadn’t come back. The light she’d left on for him only illuminated that she and Nick were completely, totally alone.
She stayed an extra couple of moments in the bedroom she and Gray had been intimate in, staring at the rumpled sheets and his suitcase. She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and bury her face in his clothes, to make sure his scent never left her for even a moment.
When she couldn’t stomach looking around any longer, she wandered back into the living room and dragged the bands off her braids. She flung them in every direction, not caring where they landed. Her makeup was probably smeared from sweat and tears and she didn’t give a shit.
“Come here,” Nick said from the couch. “You look like you’re going to fall over. You’re too fucking pale.”
She sat next to him, mainly because her feet felt like blocks and she doubted she could make it the few feet to the armchair.
“Have you eaten today?”
“No.”
“You need to. I can make you a sandwich.”
“Not hungry.” Truth was, she was starving. It felt like her body was attacking her stomach lining for sustenance.
“If you faint on me, you’re only going to piss me off. Give me five and I’ll make you some bologna and fucking cheese.”
“Nick.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’re going to have to call the police.”
When he swiveled his head to look at her, a sound broke from her throat. “It’s heading toward twenty-four hours. I’ll have to file a m-missing person’s report—”
Saying nothing, he hauled her into his lap. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with dry sobs. She’d reached the point where she couldn’t even cry.
“It’s going to be okay. You have to believe me. My sister said she’d see what she could find out—”
“From her druggie friends. She’s digging through all the popular gutters, right?”
She hated the judgmental words tumbling out of her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to hold back the rage that was geysering up in tandem with the gut-curdling panic and misery. She didn’t want to think the worst. The very idea of Gray getting high in some random place—or worse, overdosing—made her want to scream. But what else was she supposed to think?
He’d walked out on her and left her alone in their bed. Naked. Wearing his ring. He’d promised her forever and then he’d gone off to be with someone who offered him something she couldn’t. Probably that blonde babe, Cricket, who smiled so prettily while she was sharpening the knife to hold at Gray’s throat.
Nick’s hand moved up and down her back as if on auto-pilot. “She’ll figure it out. She knows Cricket—”
A thump from the doorway had Jazz lifting her head just as the door burst open. A guy wearing the clothes Gray had left in that morning stumbled through, his head tilting just right for her to glimpse the bloody gash that curved from his temple to jaw.
Horror bolted her in place. She
couldn’t be seeing what she thought she was. His torn, bloodied clothes were barely hanging on his body and his face was more black and blue than its usual color. There was so much blood. So much.
But when he managed to raise his head and fix his eyes on the scene on the couch, the racking laugh that left him sounded all too familiar. “Isn’t this cozy?” he mumbled through cracked lips.
“Oh my God, Gray.” She stumbled up, her paralysis finally giving way to action. She’d made it halfway to him with Nick right behind her when Gray barked out a command.
“No. Don’t fucking touch me. Fucking liar.”
She stopped so abruptly that Nick crashed into her back and almost toppled her. He grabbed her hip to right himself and Gray laughed again, the sound so agonizing that Jazz covered her mouth.
“I fucking dragged…myself back to you, and you’re here…with him.” Gray sagged against the wall, his eyes closing. “Hope you’re fucking…happy.”
“Happy?” she screamed, unable to stop herself. Relief rushed through her veins, mixing with something far more dark and destructive. “What the hell happened to you? Where did you go this morning?”
It was only when he shifted that she noticed the unnatural bump on the top of his shoulder. At her gasp, Nick grabbed the phone off the side table and pushed it into her hand.
“Call 911,” he said.
“No,” Gray whispered. “No cops.”
Nick moved forward to offer his support to Gray. “She’s not calling the cops, man. You need a doctor. Your arm’s fucked up—”
“I said no fucking cops.” Gray jerked back from Nick hard enough to crash into the wall. Jazz swallowed a moan at the pain that telegraphed across his face before he slid down to the floor, his ass hitting the carpet almost as hard as he’d hit the wall. “I just need to sleep it off.”
“Sleep it off? Are you crazy? You’re barely conscious.”
“Oh, I’m conscious.” Gray’s bleeding lips stretched into a macabre pantomime of a smile. “I’m conscious of what brought me to…this goddamn point. Never fucking changes.” He coughed, his shoulders heaving.
