Rage

by Michelle Pace

  He hobbled across the room to sit at her bedside. “I’m here

  when you’re ready to talk, Sis.”

  “There’s nothing to say, Ced.” She started to shrug and

  groaned at the unpleasant sensation of tugging in her lower ab-

  domen.

  “You nearly died. They asked dad if you were an organ donor. I thought he was going to have a coronary.” Her brother,

  who was typically cool to the core, looked visibly shaken. She

  had the overwhelming urge to comfort him, but a wave of nausea

  hit her. She dry heaved, and he raced to hand her an emesis ba-

  sin. She breathed through it and managed not to vomit. Probably

  for the best, since that would have definitely popped a stitch or two.

  “You know only the good die young. So I’m basically im-

  mortal.” She managed to curl her lips in a piss-poor imitation of a smile.

  His typically bright eyes looked overcast and forlorn. “Your

  baby is dead, Stephanie.”

  His words sliced through her bravado with surgical preci-

  sion. His frankness wiped the smirk from her face, and the un-

  characteristic cold delivery of his message stunned her.

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  RAGE

  “Screw you, Cedric!” she hissed, glaring up at him. He re-

  fused to flinch away from her or blink during their impromptu

  staring contest. And Steph’s expertly constructed walls collapsed with such force her monitor began to alarm. A choked sob erupted from her, and Cedric gently took her hand in both of his.

  Within moments her cheeks were drenched with tears. Her nurse

  came into the room and silenced the alarm after one look at

  Stephanie. The nurse and Cedric exchanged knowing glances,

  and then she left the room without a word.

  Her child. Phillip’s child. Gone before she even had a

  chance to feel it move.

  Steph’s creative mind had immediately constructed an im-

  age of what it might have looked like. A devious little blonde

  boy with a Harry Potter accent…a sassy redheaded princess

  whose daddy bought her a pony. Her next words came out in a

  staccato rhythm between desperate gasps. “I didn’t even know

  about the baby.”

  For thirty minutes Cedric sat with her as she released every

  jagged emotion warring within her. Neither of them spoke. Fi-

  nally she’d exhausted herself. She glanced at her cell phone for the time and saw a missed call from Cheyenne. The thought of

  Baby Liam’s little chubby legs set her off again. Finally, after she’d used a half a box of tissues, her crying ended and she hurt all over from the physical effort. She pressed her PCA button

  and felt the sting of relief again.

  “Phillip’s waiting outside. Shall I let him in?”

  Phillip. She shivered from the chilly temperature of the

  medication and blood being dumped into her. Or maybe it was

  the sound of his name. What would Phillip’s thoughts be in re-

  gard to his defective girlfriend and their dead baby? Before she could even follow the train of thought, Cedric left the room.

  Phillip rushed into the room as if the building were on fire.

  His clothes were disheveled with odd brown stains on his jacket

  and shirt. and he had a large bruise on the lower left side of his 35

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  face. He looked haggard and exhausted. His eyes swept her, flit-

  ting to the I.V.s in both her hands, and he practically screeched to a halt when he saw the blood hanging from the pole beside

  her. Steph watched expressionlessly as he took in the machines

  and alarms. When his eyes finally met hers again, she saw pity

  and fear in them. He moved around the bed and pulled the chair

  right up next to it so that when he sat, they were virtually face to face. He apprehensively took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Steph reached out toward

  his jaw. His half smile as he pulled away from her hand revealed just how painful his injury was.

  “It’s nothing. Really.” His face was an inch from hers, his

  eyes somber. “You scared the hell out of me, love. Don’t ever do that again. Thank God you only have one appendix for me to

  worry about.”

  Steph’s glassy eyes languidly roamed his face. He didn’t

  know. She exhaled loudly and set her jaw. He never needed to

  know.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault that part of you malfunctioned.” He

  smirked, and his unintentional jab stung so badly she pressed her pain med button. Phillip reached into his jacket and pulled out

  the ring box. Steph tried to roll her eyes, but had lost the muscle control to do it justice. Not that damn box again. He pulled the ring out of the box and reached across the bed for her left hand.

  Steph pulled it back and covered her eyes with it. She shook her head, unable to believe he was putting her in this position twice in one day. This day of all days.

  “Oh I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He flushed, and the con-

  cerned expression he wore fractured her already wounded heart.

  “I can’t. I just can’t,” she said more to herself than him. It

  was way too heavy and too much to process. He made way too

  many emotional demands, and in her weakened state, she felt

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  RAGE

  herself caving. She heard Cedric’s voice ringing in her ears.

  Your baby is dead.

  She felt more of those insidious tears threatening to fall. Her

  voice failed her, and she turned from him, but Phillip gently

  touched her face.

  “Steph, look at me,” he demanded quietly. The first tears

  spilled from her eyes as she reluctantly complied with his re-

  quest. She watched him shed a tear of his own. He ignored it and took her hand in his. “Do you love me?”

  She felt her heart racing as she panicked. Her monitor

  alarmed, and she tried to steady her breathing. Flashes of their time together bombarded her senses. When they were apart, her

  body, mind, and soul ached for him. She counted the minutes

  until she could get on a plane to him, or he to her. And here he was, asking for her hand, for the second time in a day. Part of her wanted to act impulsively and hop on a plane to Vegas with him.

  But Steph knew she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to have a

  serious conversation, let alone make a life-altering decision.

  Her voice cracked when she spoke. “You know how I feel

  about you.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but his gaze was unflinching. “Then

  what is your answer?”

  She tried to form the sentences, to construct her many con-

  cerns and fears into coherent thoughts, but the narcotics had tak-en hold. Battling heavy eyelids, she pressed her lips tight and

  shook her head.

  His face clouded over. He wore a disdainful expression that

  she was all too familiar with.

  “Right, then.” He nodded and snapped the ring box closed

  loud enough that she jumped.

  As he vanished through the door, she tried to call out to

  him. But her sobs made speaking impossible. She felt her body

  relax. and she had no fight left in her as the morphine tide took her under.

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  40

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I mean, I think I’m a damn good man! Am I or am I not a

  good m
an?” Bret’s wild gesticulations were starting to grate on

  Cheyenne’s nerves. They’d been in the air for hours, and Fury’s

  lead guitarist had already woken Liam twice. She loved her rock

  star husband, but sometimes it felt like she was married to a

  rowdy fraternity. Nathan, who in his own twisted way was trying

  to be a supportive pal, had been plying Bret with Vodka since

  takeoff. The keyboardist put a little flair on his pour and handed Bret another glass. He accepted it greedily. Cheyenne really did sympathize with Bret; only six days earlier, his wife of 5 years had seemingly packed up the kids and left without an ounce of

  provocation.

  Nathan tossed his auburn hair out of his wicked eyes and

  sloshed more Vodka into a tumbler glass. He held the glass up

  for a toast. “You, my friend, are an absolute prince among men.”

  “I love you, man.” Bret slurred, flopping into his seat and

  guzzling his drink. Cheyenne glared back at them and pointedly

  shushed them. Nathan smirked at her, cleared his throat, and

  took a sip of his drink.

  “Do you need us to freshen up your drink?” he asked her.

  Cheyenne glanced to her right at her son and husband, who slept

  in identical positions. Liam’s first birthday would be here before too long, and he already looked exactly like Scot. He seemed to

  have her shy disposition, which suited her fine. One celebrity in 41

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  the family was plenty.

  Liam had been walking for almost a month when Scot had

  finally convinced her they needed help. Between her deadlines

  for The Sound Wave and Scot always at the soundboard in their home studio mixing and mastering the final touches for Rage,

  Liam being so mobile was downright dangerous.

  She shook her glass, and her lonely ice cubes rattled. Empty

  already and there were hours left to go before they reached their destination, Noronha. She’d seen the pictures and knew it was

  the definition of paradise, but it truly was at the far edge of the world. They’d be staying for seven glorious days of isolated

  beaches marred only by a few mandatory wedding obligations.

  Fury’s drummer David had timed his wedding to his Brazilian

  model fiancé wisely. Fury had finished Rage, and the label said

  it would drop in four weeks. Fury weren’t scheduled to start

  touring Asia for eight weeks. The band had time to celebrate

  with David and Yara and still have some down time to decom-

  press before heading back out on the road.

  Cheyenne dreaded the thought of dragging Liam out on

  tour, but the thought of Scot being away from them for weeks on

  end was more than she could deal with. Adam had been steadily

  sending her more assignments, and she’d been working like a

  dog. So if this far flung wedding meant time at Brazil’s most

  beautiful beach with her two boys, she was game. She kissed

  Liam’s cheek and headed into the lion’s den. As she stood, she

  shot an unhappy sideways glance at her twenty-one-year-old

  nanny, Kara, who was chatting up Fury’s manager and his wife.

  Kara’s Barbie doll hair and perky body incensed Cheyenne al-

  most as much as her cheerful smile and overly friendly disposi-

  tion did.

  She was still scowling when she took a seat across from Na-

  than, Bret, and Nathan’s frightening new lady friend.

  “If all the festivities are bothering you, Cheyenne, perhaps

  you should have stayed home.” Nathan cocked an eyebrow at

  42

  RAGE

  her. Cheyenne merely held her glass out to him. Time spent with

  Nathan was like breaking in a new pair of shoes. Expensive and

  always rubbing her the wrong way.

  “Shut up and pour me a drink.” Cheyenne instructed, and

  Nathan’s girlfriend sat back with a coy smile and crossed her

  impossibly long legs.

  “Ooo…bossy,” Saffron cooed, and Cheyenne barely

  glanced at her. Nathan had been running around with Saffron for

  a couple of months. Her outrageous behavior had been off-

  putting at first, but Cheyenne was starting to understand how she ticked. Saffron had a sassy blonde bob, Cheshire-like grin, and a collar that matched her studded fuck-me stilettos. Tall and commanding, she seemed to be way too “into” everyone she encoun-

  tered. It was obvious by the way he tolerated her behavior that

  she had Nathan wrapped tightly around her pinkie finger.

  When they were first boarding the plane at Heathrow, Saf-

  fron’s fingers had been wandering all over her husband, Scot.

  He’d been stowing his bass in the overhead compartment, and

  Saffron had been murmuring softly to him about his instrument.

  Cheyenne plucked Saffron’s hand off her husband’s chest.

  “Keep this to yourself if you’re attached to it,” Cheyenne

  instructed her in an icy manner. When she looked to Scot for

  support, he simply shrugged and flashed his crooked toothpaste

  commercial smile. At the time, Cheyenne had wanted to back-

  hand him. Now Saffron’s attentions seemed to be focused on

  her. Cheyenne repositioned herself so her knees were out of arm’s reach.

  “Where’s Phil? Phillip! Kersey!” Bret shouted toward the

  back of the plane. Phillip’s head poked out from behind the

  seats. As always, he was in the back row. He yanked off his sun-

  glasses and ear buds, curiosity dominating his bronze features.

  “Bret, would you kindly shut the hell up?” Cheyenne mur-

  mured as she gestured to Liam and Scot. Bret stared at her wide

  eyed, his mouth forming the shape of an O.

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  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  “Oh…shhhhh…sorry!” he stage whispered and turned back

  to Phillip. “Come have a drink, Phil!”

  Phillip waved a non-committal hand at him. He ran a hand

  through his thick, short hair, readjusting his ear buds and resum-ing his antisocial position out of sight.

  “Do you remember when he used to be fun?” Nathan re-

  marked, and Bret nodded emphatically.

  “Yeah. You used to be fun, Phillip. He used to have long

  hair, too.” He continued in his ridiculous stage whisper. He

  looked at Nathan’s hair with sad eyes. “So did you. Why does

  everything have to change?”

  “Bret. Maybe you should lie down and take a little nap,”

  Cheyenne suggested. She was on the verge of grasping hold of

  his “long” ponytailed hair and swinging him around by it. Maybe

  that would get him queued up for a haircut as well.

  “So what’s with tall, blonde, and broody back there?” Saf-

  fron nodded her head in Phillip’s direction. Cheyenne, Bret, and Nathan all exchanged knowing eye rolls. Saffron noticed immediately and leaned forward.

  “I sense a yummy story. Well, go on, then. Spill it.” She

  pressed them, and Nathan snorted and topped off his drink again.

  “Let’s see.” He thoughtfully tapped his chin, and his green

  eyes twinkled with mischief. “Where to begin?”

  “Phillip’s pissed because Yara and David invited his ex-

  girlfriend to photograph their wedding,” Cheyenne stated in a

  fairly diplomatic tone, all things considered.

  “Ha!” Nathan exclaimed, shaking his spiky red streaked

  hai
r. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

  Bret cackled drunkenly from beneath his blanket.

  Cheyenne downed her drink suddenly and slammed the

  glass down on the table in front of Nathan. “I’m gonna need an-

  other if we’re going to tell this story.”

  Nathan winked at her and topped off her glass while Saffron

  settled back into her seat. “It’s been what? About a year ago that 44

  RAGE

  Phillip proposed to Stephanie and she turned him away?”

  Cheyenne nodded and Nathan proceeded. “Phillip didn’t

  take it well.”

  “No. That is the understatement of the century,” Cheyenne

  retorted.

  Nathan ignored the interruption. “He pulled a vanishing act.

  I’m talking Elvis-style. We were in the middle of recording

  Rage, and no one had any idea where he was—not even the tabloids. His security team went mental. His family did too, think-

  ing he’d gone out somewhere and offed himself. They hired a

  private detective. He found nothing. The label execs were posi-

  tively rabid! I think they thought we were covering for him.

  Then a few weeks later, he turns back up with all his hair buzzed off and a new tattoo on his chest. He had a stack of new songs

  and was ready to work. No explanations, no excuses. The only

  reason we even knew he’d proposed at all was because Scot told

  us.”

  “Then he went psycho backstage at that Toxicity concert for

  no apparent reason.” Cheyenne tossed her long brown hair over

  one shoulder as she mixed a splash of orange juice into her glass of vodka. Nathan nodded cheerfully and clapped his hands.

  “Oh yeah. Now that was a sight to behold. Phillip took

  down three of Clive Richards’ body guards to get at him. Clive

  pissed himself in front of everyone backstage. It was classic.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would Phillip go after Clive

  Richards?” Saffron’s eyebrow twitched curiously.

  “You don’t know any of this? Where have you been? Liv-

  ing in a cave?” Nathan looked genuinely surprised. Cheyenne

  couldn’t argue. Every paper in the U.K. had featured either Phillip or Stephanie’s picture for months during their ongoing feud.

  “That tone is unacceptable, Nathan Clayton. Apologize to

  me.” Saffron’s deadpan expression as she scolded him made