“We’re here,” Myriah says, leading me to our end of the table. I sway for a moment when we stop, having to concentrate hard to keep from falling down. The thought of going tits up in front of everyone makes me giggle.
“What’s so funny, Campbell?”
I look across the table to see two of the men’s footy players smirking at us. Our challengers I’m guessing. I’ve met them both many times before.
A rude noise catches my attention. Wes is standing nearby, glaring at the man who just spoke to me. His hands are clenched at his sides.
What’s his problem?
I focus back on the handsome bloke opposite me. “Nothing’s funny, Chad. Don’t get all cocky. Us girls are going to thrash you.”
Chad winks, holding up a small white ball. Tossing it, it arcs across the table, landing in a cup of beer on our side. Chad’s partner Brent, who everyone calls Bud because of some sordid incident involving beer bottles that no one will explain, high-fives Chad, both of them cheering and dancing.
Myriah snatches the cup, draining it in a few long swallows. She slams it down and wipes her mouth, yelling, “It’s on!” Laughing, I hug my partner, noticing Wes behind her, staring at me. His mouth is pinched and his body seems stiff.
Unsettled, I let go of Myriah, focusing back on the game. All too quickly, I forget about Wes, letting the blissful numbness of the alcohol wash over me. Soon, I have no worries, not Dax, not Ellie, not Wes. There’s only this moment, having fun with friends.
We play until the four of us have had way too much beer and I finally have to admit defeat. Myriah and I just can’t match Chad and Bud drink for drink. Stumbling around the table, I get a touchy-feely, too-long hug from Chad and a fist bump and a belch in the face from Bud.
Shattered, I fall back onto an empty sofa, groaning. The entire room is tilting side to side which makes my stomach queasy. When the cushion next to me sags, I look over to see Wes watching me through narrowed eyes.
My sluggish, drunk brain fails to recognize that something is wrong with Wes’s behavior tonight, not that I know him well enough to distinguish it from his normal behavior. Instead of asking what’s wrong, I give him a weak smile and let my head fall back onto the sofa.
“I’ll take you home,” he says stiffly.
Before I can answer, his arms are around me and I’m being pulled to my feet. “Wha—?”
“You can’t stay here, Kate. Move your feet. I’ll do the rest of the work.” Wes’s tone is clipped, harsh, yet I do as he says putting one foot in front of the other.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask once we’re outside. It’s late, but it’s Saturday night, so there are loads of students walking by on a regular basis.
“We’ll talk about it once you’re in your apartment,” he snaps.
Well what the hell?
I want to be cross with Wes, but the alcohol has me feeling fuzzy, like my body is heavy and my mind is in a fog. I like it and hate it at the same time.
Wes stops to unlock his car doors, then guides me into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt across my body. He hops in the other side and starts the car.
“Where do you live?”
“Huh?”
“Kate, you have to tell me where to go,” Wes says. I hear him sigh and rustle through my purse. “Is this right?” He holds up my I.D. with my address on it.
I stare at the small card in his hand, my brain struggling to make sense. “Yeah. That’s it.”
I must fall asleep because the next thing I know, we’re in front of my building.
“Are we there? I’m knackered.” It takes most of my effort to open my eyes.
Wes pulls my key out of my purse before coming round to my side and pulling me out of the car. I lean on him heavily as we make our way up to the flat I share with Abby. It feels as if my head is stuffed full of cotton wool.
Once the door is open, I stumble inside, nearly landing on my arse. Wes moves to lift me up, but I stagger to my feet, suddenly adamant in my independence. “I don’t need your help!”
“Kate!” He follows me to my bedroom, trying to help me walk when I find my coordination lacking. “Christ, let me help you!” he barks rudely.
“Why are you so cross? I hardly know you,” I slur, staggering into the tiny space. I flop down on my bed. “S’not my fault I can’t make my legs work right.” A fit of the giggles overtakes me. I laugh until the room starts to spin.
“Kate,” the bed dips beside me and I feel a warm hand slide up my thigh. “I was mad at you. I didn’t like seeing you with the other guys.”
Fear tingles down my spine. Something is wrong. The way Wes is looking at me, the way he’s looked at me all night. Hostile, possessive, lustful… I remember that Abby is home with her family for the holidays and the fear spreads into my heavy limbs, turning into full-fledged panic.
I’m so bloody stupid!
My eyes feel fuzzy. I want to respond, but I can’t. My tongue is dry and too big for my mouth. Apparently there’s plenty of room in there, because Wes’s tongue has joined mine, the weight of his body pressing me down on the bed. His hands skim down my sides, kneading my breasts before moving to the button on my jeans.
No, this isn’t happening. This happens to other people, not me!
The urge to scream wells up inside my throat, but Wes’s mouth swallows any noise I make. He moans, grinding on top of me. I want to fight, to run, to do something, anything, yet all I can do is lie there as I descend into a nightmare.
He shoves my shirt up, exposing my bright purple bra.
“Wes, don’t—”
“Kate, you’re so sexy.” His mouth devours mine again before I can say anything else. I can feel him fumbling for the button on his jeans and my panic ratchets up another notch.
“Wes! Get off!”
He ignores my protests, pushing down his jeans. Suddenly his hands are back, holding my arms over my head. When I feel his hard length against my bare stomach, I begin to cry.
“You feel so good.”
“Please, Wes. Don’t do this.”
Wes doesn’t answer. His grip gets tighter on my hands and his head drops between my neck and shoulder. He thrusts against me again and again as tears run down the sides of my temples.
I can’t move. I can’t think. The alcohol has completely stripped me of my defenses. I’m totally helpless. As Wes grunts and collapses on top of me, I slip away. A wave of darkness washes over me, taking me from this unspeakable horror. I go somewhere where Dax and I are happy and I’m not cold, alone, and left discarded on my bed like the piece of rubbish that I am.
Dax
“Where’s Adam?”
The woman passing by shrugs her shoulders, not bothering to say a word.
All right, then.
I glance around the massive room at Ross’s house. House. I scoff. Right. It’s more like a mansion or an estate. Why I agreed to come to this holiday party, I have no idea. Rachel said it was good for the band to be seen socially with the executives, and since Ross invited them all, it made sense to pop by.
Then my mates went and ditched me.
A loud fuss in the foyer has everyone in the room turning towards the front door.
“Holy fuck.” I am struck dumb at the sight before me.
In sashays Lila Griffin, barely dressed per her usual, with a full fucking camera crew following close. One has a boom mike hovering over her head as she walks, a second is trailing behind with a camera, and yet another is filming while walking backwards in front of her, making certain to catch her at her finest.
Murmurs quickly spread amongst the guests, everyone curious and looking to each other for answers no one seems to have—until a nearby man speaks to himself, or to me, I’m not sure which.
“I heard she started filming, but I had no idea she’d be here tonight.” I glance over at the man and then force myself to focus back on Lila.
It’s annoying that I have bother with asking about bloody Lila and her insanity.
“What do you mean? Filming what?”
The well-dressed man, who I believe is one of the other talent executives at Ross’s talent agency, huffs out a fake laugh, swirling some sort of expensive whisky in a lowball glass. “Her reality show, of course. Paid for by good old dad. He’s somewhere around here as well.”
Not much can pull a reaction out of me, but that sure does. My mouth drops open in shock. While I gather my thoughts, Lila weaves through the party, chatting with various guests, her ridiculous fucking entourage sticking to her like glue.
“Reality show?”
“Yeah. She always wanted to be famous.” He points at Lila. “Now she’ll get her wish.” As if she knew we were talking about her, Lila’s eyes meet mine. They narrow slyly and her mouth quirks up in a wicked smirk.
“Fuck.” The curse slips out before I can think.
“Gotta go, big guy.” The man slaps my back, downing his entire drink in one gulp and placing it on a nearby table. “Don’t want to end up on that hot mess of a show and she’s coming this way.” Before I can say a word, he’s gone, leaving me to face Lila Griffin alone.
Fucking cowardly corporate twat!
“Daxey! How are you?” Lila saunters up, swinging her hips so far to either side, I’m left wondering how she stays upright. Especially considering the utterly ridiculous shoes she’s wearing. They must be five inches high and still, she’s only about as tall as Kate is in her bare feet.
I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat. It’s only been three weeks since I called us quits, so it’s not surprising that I still think of Kate constantly. What messes with my mind is that it actually hurts. I broke all of my dad’s rules and look where it got me—alone and fucked in the head. I’m actually fucking feeling shit.
Now I know why he thinks emotions are total crap.
Leaning closer than the safe distance I normally keep from Lila, I snarl in her face. “Leave me alone. I’m not in the mood for your bloody shite.” When I make a move to get around her, Lila wraps her claw-like red nails around my arm, nearly spilling my beer.
“Don’t be such a sour puss, Daxey.”
She runs those damned fingernails up and down my bicep, making me shudder in revulsion. I’m reminded of the days back in school when girls would try to lay claim to me. It didn’t work then, and it sure as hell won’t work now.
“I heard you’re not tied to that pathetic ex-roommate of mine anymore. Let’s get out of here and find something fun to do.” She eyes me up and down, licking her lips.
I don’t belong to anyone. Not anymore. Not ever again.
“Get your hand off of me right now unless you want me to make a scene in front of your cameras.” The glare I shoot her way doesn’t phase Lila’s cool exterior, but each of her cameramen take a few steps back. “And don’t ever mention Kate to me again. She’s too good for the likes of you.”
Lila flinches. It’s subtle, but enough that I can tell I’ve rattled her.
Good.
She fake pouts, batting her eyelashes and putting on a damn good show for the cameras. “I can see that you’re no fun tonight. I’ll catch you later, Daxey.” Lila winks, blows me a kiss, and spins around. “Come on boys,” she says to her crew. “Let’s find someone who wants to party.”
Rubbing a hand across the back of my neck, I mutter under my breath. “Bloody fucking hell.”
I really need to find Adam. He despises Lila and her psychotic bullshit nearly as much as I do. It takes me a while to spot him. I’m stopped by several label executives who want to introduce me to their spouses or make me promise to sign something for their kids who are such big fans.
When I finally do find him, Adam is outside, sitting across the pool on the furthest side from the house, alone with his mobile to his ear.
“Hey.” I drop into the chaise next to his. Adam turns his back to me, whispering into the phone.
What the hell? Has everyone lost their bloody minds tonight?
Adam disconnects the call almost immediately after I turn up, but makes no move to speak or turn around. I watch my best mate carefully, staring at his back…waiting. He’s all hunched over, shoulders rounded forward. His legs are spread wide with his elbows propped on his knees. Adam’s head of dark hair hangs down while one shaky hand rakes through it.
“Adam? You okay?” For a moment I wonder if he’s on the piss. He’s been doing really well the last few weeks, keeping sober, avoiding nameless slags. It would be difficult to see him backslide again.
Adam’s shoulders go up as he takes in a deep breath then they collapse in as he lets it out slowly. After what feels like ages, he turns his head so I can see his face. It’s blotchy and red and, I swear, I think he’s been crying.
“Fuck. What happened?” I jump to my feet, circling the chaise until I’m in front of him. “What the fuck, Adam? Who was on the phone just now? Did something happen to Ellie?”
My mate, who I’ve known for my entire life, who has had some really really shitty things happen to him in the past, has always tried to never let the pain show on his face. The man who’s always smiling, is honest-to-god fucking crying.
Hell, the only other time I’ve known him to shed a tear is when Kate told him about how he was smashed and he chased Ellie away at a party in L.A. a couple years back.
Adam doesn’t say a word. He simply wipes his eyes and leans back on the chaise, kicking his feet up onto the cushion. I watch, speechless, while he stares up into the night sky.
Unable to stand the tension, I throw back the rest of my beer and put the glass on a nearby table.
“Adam…?” I croak, afraid that perhaps Ellie has… No, she couldn’t be dead. He’d be headed straight for the bar to get rat-arsed if that were the case.
When he finally speaks, he carefully avoids any sort of eye contact. Instead choosing to stare out at the pool, the water lit up in the darkness.
“Life really sucks sometimes, yeah? I mean, you try to be a good person, try to do right by people, but shit just follows you around wherever you go.”
I’m not sure if I’m meant to answer or if it’s rhetorical, so I stay silent. This is how Adam’s brain works. It’s what makes him such a brilliant songwriter—his deep emotions, his caring soul, his heavy burdens. They clog up his mind, filling it with unwavering devotion to all things, both good and bad.
“Maybe good things aren’t meant to happen to good people,” he says despondently.
What on earth is he going on about?
“That’s not true. Look at us. We came from nothing—fuck, less than nothing—and here we are.” I hold my hands up, indicating the posh surroundings.
Adam turns towards me, his brows knitted together in a twisted grimace. “Yeah mate, look at us. You really think all this… this fucking shite is what makes us happy?” His voice is rising in volume, hostility radiating off of him. Adam gets to his feet, towering over my chair. “You’re no happier than I am! I’ve got bloody nothing, Dax! Nothing! And neither do you. We’ve both lost the only things that matter to us, and no amount of money will ever make up for it!”
He flips a nearby chair, sending it flying into a nearby flowerbed. Adam twists back towards me, his finger pointing accusingly. “You had it all, you bastard! You had what I fucked up and lost! And what did you do?” Adam’s lip curls up in disgust. “You tossed it in with the rubbish—tossed Kate as if she were nothing!”
I stand up to try and calm him down, but he explodes.
“Fuck this! Fuck everything! I can’t take it anymore! It’s nothing but fucking misery, every single fucking day!” Adam’s voice cracks as he chokes down a sob.
My arms reach out to grab his shoulders, to talk some sense into him. I have no bloody clue what this is about but I have to do something. Adam is self-destructing again.
He bats my hands away. “Don’t fucking try to tell me everything is okay you wanker, because it’s not!” he shouts. “You think pretending shit isn’t happening is going to make everythi
ng alright? How’s that working for you, Dax? Hmmm? Is bottling everything up making you fucking happy? Because I’m not seeing it! Your actions have consequences whether they affect you or not!”
I get in his face, good and angry now. “I have no bloody clue what’s got you so pissed! You haven’t told me what the hell you’re going on about! And leave me the fuck out of your crap! I’ll deal with my own shit however I want! It’s none of your concern. At least I’m not buried in booze and whores!”
His furious expression dissolves into utter despair. Lively hazel eyes turn glassy. “If you knew what you did, you’d want to…” he pauses, the fight draining out of him as if someone pulled the plug on a tub full of water. He swipes the back of his hand across his eyes. “Forget it. Fuck you. I need a fucking drink.”
Adam turns and storms off, leaving me shocked and gaping, my arms still reaching out towards where he was standing. I drop them to my sides and fall down back into a chair.
Not much gets Adam going like that. We haven’t had a proper row in a long time. I have no clue who he was talking to on the phone or what happened. I do know that it’s pointless to wonder. Adam won’t tell me until he’s good and ready. If I’m the expert in burying my emotions and locking them up tight, Adam is the expert at putting on a happy face and going through the motions.
For something to affect him this deeply, to have him lose it like that, hell… he’ll be drinking himself back into oblivion in no time. Just like me, he’s learned that the mask only stays in place for just so long. When it cracks and your true self is revealed, the result isn’t always pretty.
I lean over and pinch the bridge of my nose, a pounding headache coming on. Bloody hell. Between Lila’s shit and Adam’s drinking, I’m going to have my hands full.
I slump back, feeling ages older than my nearly twenty-one years. Maybe Adam is right. Maybe we’ll both be miserable forever. Maybe dealing with Lila’s obsession and Adam’s addiction is penance for being such a violent, unfeeling bastard all my life.
Fuck knows I deserve whatever suffering is thrown at me, if for no other reason than breaking Kate’s heart.
Strike: Dax Page 17
