She searched his expression. "Dash?"
Spooked by several sets of eyes watching him, he jerked back like a slingshot. "What the hell's going on? Why are you guys staring at me?" He patted his body with anxious hands, looking down at himself as if he were the emperor in new clothes.
Skylar’s heart hadn't slowed its pace, but she had to keep up her composed façade. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel fine," he answered. His eyes were full of questions. "Will somebody tell me what the fuck's going on?"
"You fucking checked out on us, man." Ian was back to his cocky ways. He bounced a pointed index finger against his temple, his bottom lip swollen from their earlier altercation. "Stopped dead in the middle of your solo."
"You're lying." Dash's expression hardened. He looked around for confirmation of Ian's comment and found it in the eyes of everyone around him. Ignoring Ian, he sought Skylar, helplessness bleeding into his expression. No matter what, she had to keep it together.
"One of the guys is making arrangements to take us somewhere. There are too many people and too many unanswered questions."
"Where?"
"I'm not sure yet, but it will be better than being here."
Dash gave her a silent nod just as the security man approached.
"I've got a car waitin' fer ya, and a new place to stay. Me sista' does one of those Airbnb rental fings wif her carriage 'ouse. No one's usin' it right now. It'll be private."
"Thank you." Skylar was touched by the gentleman's care for their situation, issuing him an appreciative smile. She turned to her husband, careful not to let worry dig her fingernails through his hand. "Let's go, babe.” She kept her tone calm, but fear clawed up her spine. “Once we get somewhere quiet, I'll tell you everything that happened. Promise. Then we can figure out what to do."
Chapter 32
Dash didn’t remember much from the night before. For as much as he wanted to understand what had happened onstage, nothing made sense. He’d dismissed the previous occurrences as exhaustion or merely mixing up words. Until last night he hadn't given them much notice. Now other, smaller incidents came to mind. He felt like a kid playing connect the dots, all the while knowing the total picture wasn't going to be pretty.
"You were so tired when we got here that you fell into bed. Can you remember anything?" Looking at Skylar, he felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t signed on for this. He didn't know what "this" was, but it wasn't the way he’d planned to spend the first part of their marriage.
"I wish I could." He felt like he was sinking to unknown depths as he thought of smaller incidents. The latest one that came to mind had happened while he’d been brushing his teeth. Though he’d dismissed it at the time, the memory now seemed ominous. The alarm had gone off at 7:30. His typical morning routine was to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and shave. Although he recalled putting the toothbrush away and rinsing his mouth, the next thing he remembered was looking at himself in the mirror. Finishing the routine, he’d returned to the bedroom to get dressed. He’d been a little blindsided that the clock showed it was nearly nine thirty.
Where had the time gone? He’d chalked it up to being lost in thought. Whose mind doesn't wander before coffee, but for nearly two hours? Though he’d dismissed it at the time, he couldn't any longer. What should have been a private problem was now a public circus.
Skylar sat quietly beside him. It was just the two of them. His eyes were locked on his hand, trying to hide yet another spasm. Were these things connected somehow?
"You know I love you, right?" Her tone was warm and tender. Her expression equally so. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
Anxious thoughts had him twisting inside as he gave her a hesitant look. "It isn't much. The last thing I remember was playing our encore on stage, but not much after. Things are kinda hazy."
Though Sky tried to hide her concern, he read the signs of worry. She held her bottom lip prisoner between her teeth. Her usually bright blue eyes had grown dim and unsettled.
"It was as if someone pulled the plug on you. You just stopped playing."
Dash dropped his head in his hands. Wiping them over his face and running them through his hair, distress filled his thoughts. He looked up at her through worried eyes. "And there's fallout, I suppose."
Sky nodded. "Yes. Vince has been sending me messages. It's all over the internet."
"Shit." Dash bent over, putting his elbows on his knees. He felt like he was physically carrying the weight of the situation on his back. "This isn't good, Sky. I wish I had answers, but I just don’t." His voice trailed off as he straightened his spine. Worry creased his brow. "Is that it? Did I do anything else?"
"The guys led you off stage. A man named Caton helped us. We aren't at the hotel. We're at his sister's Airbnb."
He shook his head. "I don't remember him."
"There’s something else. You called me Abigail again."
His heart broke as the sorrowful words tumbled from her lips. Why did he keep saying that name? He kept hurting his wife with the name of a person he didn't know. If it were possible, he would purge the name from his head.
Dash followed her expression. Though she was doing a great job maintaining her composure, anguish was evident in her eyes. And he was the guilty one who’d put it there. "I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what to say."
Sky stopped him, choosing to skate over her pain. "Dash, this isn’t about a mixed-up name anymore. We can't ignore this. Your life isn't private. One YouTube video already has a few hundred thousand hits. Even if you could ignore it, I can't. I'm worried."
He stared at the floor.
"You need to see a doctor."
His head popped up. The word no sat on his lips, but the pain he saw in her eyes made him bite it back.
"Please," she begged. "If we get you to a doctor, your publicist can spin whatever happened for your benefit. Explanation is better than speculation. You'll be able to control the information. Honestly, publicity aside, wouldn't you feel better if you got checked out?"
A check in his gut made him pause. He hated doctors. His opinion of the medical profession as a whole was questionable. Too many stories of bullshit diagnoses were out there. The last thing he wanted was to be a statistic. He gripped his thighs to stop the trembling in his hands and knees. "I don't want to go to the doctor."
She nodded slowly, but he caught sight of the determination in her eyes. "Dash, rumors follow the videos. Forget all the good things you've been able to do with your music. This will shadow all the charities you support and the foundation you told me you wanted to start in your parents' names. You'll be chasing this nightmare forever. The tabloids will ride this for every penny they can get. You can't ignore it. Everything from drug addiction to a stroke will be reported in the press." She inhaled deeply and looked away. Shifting her weight, she turned to him with angry eyes. "If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. I'm scared. Wouldn't it be better to find out what's causing these spells and be proactive?"
Skylar's shoulders slumped as she said her piece. Damn it! He hated seeing her like that. It broke his heart to think of the bullshit she’d have to put up with. If what happened only affected him, he would give it some time. One call to a lame-ass reporter for an exclusive and they’d be more than happy to run with whatever story he gave them. But this wasn't just about him now. He had a wife he adored, and, because of her status, she’d be dragged into anything that involved him.
"They know everything. Some reporter turned up our marriage license."
Skylar looked like she'd aged ten years overnight. They hadn't announced their marriage to the press, but the event last night had sent them digging. He wanted to talk to Charlie and Tommy to see how they were dealing with the fallout.
Though Skylar hadn't mentioned problems with Ian yet, he knew from past experience he would want to ride any story involving the band. He loved to talk, and when he was drunk, he did even more. If Dash were going to protect his reputation, he had to do what Sky suggested
and take appropriate action. At least if he went to a doctor, he would be protected by privacy laws. No matter what they found out, he could control the information in the press. It might take a call to someone he trusted to report more of the truth than the tabloids would, and someone at Rolling Stone was sure to be interested.
Skylar patted his hand as she grabbed her phone. "Let me show you something."
She typed in something and pulled up a YouTube video. She said nothing as it played, instead letting the impact of the recording sink his stomach. There it was. He was lost in the song, playing his heart out, and then nothing.
Seeing it was so much different than having her tell him what had happened. He lifted his gaze, suddenly drowning in embarrassment and sorrow. He couldn't watch anymore as the rest of it played out, but he could hear it. First, the silence and then the murmuring that gradually increased in volume before it cut off at the end. He didn't need Ian to make this a shitshow. It already was.
"Now, there are over two million views. The last time I checked was a few hours ago." Skylar reached around her waist and stuck the phone in her back jeans pocket. She took his hand in hers. It was warm and comforting and, at the moment, it felt like a lifeline. "You don't have to listen to me, Dash, but I wish you would. Let me take you to the hospital, if not for your peace of mind, then for mine. Please."
It was a crossroads moment. Internally, Dash fought against what he knew needed to be done. The list of odd occurrences could no longer be ignored. Muscle twitches. A forgotten meeting with the band. Waking up in the middle of the night only to forget where he was. All those things had been easy to brush off as the imbalance of tour life. The public didn't see the toll it could have on a person. Being on the road and in the public eye was not for the faint of heart. Skylar might have willingly accepted him but expecting her to walk on eggshells every time she went to the grocery store wasn't fair. Her showing him the video was the slap in the face he needed. It was time to suck up his pride and do what was right—for both of them.
"Okay."
"Really?" Skylar lifted her eyes to his.
Resigned, he nodded.
Chapter 33
As Dash made calls to Charlie and Tommy, Skylar coordinated their departure from England. From what she overheard of his conversations, verbal pats on the back and good wishes were issued by Dash's bandmates. Once he was finished, she motioned to Caton. With the calm ease of a night whisper, the Englishman and three more security staff closed around them and ushered them to the car.
Skylar held onto Dash's hand. As they exited the building, their burly guardian angels hid them from prying eyes. The damp London air nipped the tender skin on her cheeks, hastening her steps. Dash's thin denim jacket didn't offer him much protection from the cold. Something about the whole situation had her on edge. It wasn't only about what had happened on stage. Something was terribly wrong. She could feel it in her gut. Call it woman's intuition, but an ominous weight had her stomach tied in knots. She could only hope her plan, which she’d thrown together overnight, could protect Dash from the damaging court of public opinion.
Neither she nor Dash said a word. Once securely in the back of the car, Caton got into the driver's seat. She caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He brought his fingers to the top of his head in a mock salute, giving her a smile that said everything would be all right. She hoped he was right.
Her mind raced. She looked over at Dash, who appeared to be lost, staring out the window. On closer inspection, she saw his eyes were closed. There was no way to tell if he was sleeping or if he’d blanked out again. She didn't try to rouse him awake or from his thoughts, and as they headed out of the city, he softly snored as his head fell to the side. He was asleep.
Feeling bewildered and helpless, she stuffed down her emotions and swallowed back her tears. This was a hard one. Just hours ago, they were looking forward to days of casual conversation and endless lovemaking. And now? Now she just wanted answers.
She resettled herself in the seat. Caton was blessedly quiet, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Although Dash had once again called her Abigail, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. It was Skylar that he’d seen. That tender look belonged to her and her alone, no matter what he called her. Something had short-circuited his brain and made him mix up words, but there was no mistaking the visual tether between the two of them. Dash clearly looked at her with love, no matter what kind of word salad he'd mixed. It was like he was existing in a ball of confusion, and what discouraged her the most was that none of it made any sense.
For the next twenty minutes, Skylar stirred a vat of speculative thoughts. They went nowhere, each more of a dead end than the one before. She played out possibilities, a ministroke, a brain infection, some weird meningitis, her mind created the most horrifying scenarios. Sometimes being a writer with a vivid imagination had its disadvantages.
The papers would print what they wanted, no matter where they were, so Caton had helped her arrange a private charter, using fictitious names for them on the flight manifest. She would have him home within twenty-four hours and being seen by someone who might be able to answer their questions.
Looking over at her sleeping husband, her bottom lip puckered. It wasn't the first time that she’d noticed the tremor in his hand. In his sleep both that and his leg shook. She bit the inside of her cheek to quell her rising panic. It took a few minutes, but she was able to swallow her fears, albeit temporarily. She might have given in. Maybe even shed a tear or two, but that wouldn't do anyone any good. Once she knew what they were dealing with, she’d have a good cry, but not before.
The hum of tires on the road lulled her into a few minutes of rest. There weren’t many other cars on the road, but then Caton had told her he was taking the back roads. Giant trees parted beneath the breeze, allowing the sun to filter through the smoked windows. As she looked out, the morning’s cloudy sky had given way to patches of blue. Normally a scene such as this would invite her outside for a walk, but today the muscles in her neck and back tightened the closer they got to the airport. She could only pray the press wasn’t waiting for them.
Her cell phone buzzed, vibrating in her lap. Ian.
"Yes?" She cupped her hand around her mouth and the phone. She was in no mood for his games.
"Where are you taking him?" Ian's voice was heavy with demand, making her jaw clench. She chose not to answer him, her silence speaking volumes while proving her to be an equal match for his aggression.
"Goddamn it, Skylar! Tell me!"
She felt her cheeks flush with anger. It took all she had to stay composed but, again, she gave him nothing. Ian was a child, always expecting to get what he wanted, on demand. To him, she was a nuisance, not that she cared what he thought. Thus far, he’d never behaved like an ordinary person, but his grandiose opinion of himself didn't hold any weight with her. She was Dash's wife, and thankfully so. Who knew who would have made medical decisions for him if they hadn't gotten married? His doctor, perhaps? At least she now had the legal right to insist on immediate care at one of the best facilities in the world: Johns Hopkins. No matter Ian's inflated ego, now that she and Dash were wed, he had no leverage to usurp her authority and manipulate people. That was probably the only benefit to their marriage being outed by reporters. The whole world knew.
Exhausted, Sky was about to hang up on Ian and dismiss the call but leave it to him to manage to get in one more dig.
"Don't play games with me, Skylar. You can't keep Dash away from us. I have ways of finding out where he is—oh, and just so you know, I'm not the only one who thinks there's something fishy about you snatching him away. You're too much of a bitch for a nice guy like him."
Her eyes flicked to Dash to make sure he was still asleep before she freed her tongue and unleashed on Ian. It was time to cement her position. She had no time to deal with a man-child.
"Listen carefully to what I have to say because I want you to understand me clearly. Dash's well-being
is not your burden. I'm getting him the help that he needs. I have that right and responsibility. I don't care what you think of me. I don't care what you think of what I do. You are not my concern, Dash is."
"I'm his best friend," he screamed.
"In your mind," she countered. "You think your friendship overrides your asinine behavior? Consider this to be advice as well as a threat. Grow up, Ian. Take some damn responsibility for your actions and your life. If you want to live your life in a haze, so be it. But if you try in any way to come near Dash when you’re high or stoned, I’ll have you arrested. Live your life the way you want to but stay out of ours."
Chapter 34
Dash hated the sterility of hospitals. The bland walls, the smell of disinfectant and alcohol, and the uncertainty of his test results had put him on edge. At least the view from his window was interesting. There weren't too many places in the United States that had kept the cobblestone streets.
The weather today was as dreary as his mood. A chill held his body. Whether it was the actual temperature or fear, he couldn't determine. He’d been at Hopkins for a week. Skylar had never left his side. Though he’d asked her to climb into bed with him, she'd been sleeping in a chair bed the entire time. Hopefully, today was the day they’d get some answers, and by nightfall, they’d be home.
He looked over at Skylar. She was looking down at her phone, gauging the interest of the press. Luckily, some of the stories had died down. Seemed some Wall Street executive with ties to a Hollywood mogul had been caught in some kind of a sex trafficking scandal. News like that was far more interesting than a zoned-out rock star. Leave it to the fickle public to feed on tragedy.
With Skylar at his side, he’d been admitted to Hopkins under the name of a fictional character. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and it added just a little humor to the situation. He’d let Skylar pick the character. He was Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. Of course, she’d pick him. That whole fairytale revolved around a girl who loved books who tamed a beast. Then, like all fairytales, they lived happily ever after. He could only hope for the same.
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