Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Probably.” I yawn and stretch again.

  Someone knocks on the door and slowly pushes it open. Trinity peers inside. “Mind if we come in?”

  “No, please do.” I wave my hand at her.

  Trinity pushes the door wider and joins us, Heidi following. “We weren’t sure what you had access to, so we stopped and got you a few things in case you get discharged soon.” Trinity sets a large blue and pink travel cosmetic bag on my lap.

  “Oh, wow. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Well…” Trinity winks at Rooster. “We figured he wouldn’t know all the right girly stuff to get.”

  “True.” Rooster grins back at her. “I’d just buy you some three-in-one shampoo-conditioner-body-wash combo and call it good.”

  I shudder at the thought.

  Trinity wraps an arm around my mother’s shoulders. “Your mom gave us some pointers on what you might like.”

  My mom gives her a warm smile.

  I hadn’t been aware Trinity and my mother had gotten to be buddies while I’d been in and out of consciousness. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” Trinity says.

  “Just trying to be useful while we’re here,” Heidi adds.

  I cast a helpless look at Rooster. How will I ever repay the girls? They took time out of their busy lives to sit around the hospital even though they barely know me. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude and also a little embarrassed.

  Finally, the doctor pops in. She flips through pages in her chart, hands my mother a bunch of paperwork, and declares me ready to leave.

  Of course, I still have to wait for someone to bring me forms to sign.

  “Good grief,” I mutter. “Think they’ll hunt me down if I just run away?” I shove the blanket and sheet off me and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Shoot, what am I gonna wear?” I never thought to ask what happened to my clothes or where my cowgirl boots went. If I lost them, I’m going to be so mad.

  “There’s stuff in there for you,” Rooster says, pointing to the closet.

  “We’ll give you privacy.” Trinity hooks her arm through Heidi’s and hustles toward the door. “Lynn, do you want to grab lunch with us?” she asks over her shoulder.

  “Oh.” My mother’s gaze shifts between Trinity and me. “Sure. Are you sure you don’t need me, Shelby?”

  “If I forgot how to dress myself, we’ve got problems.” I flap my hand toward the door in a shooing motion. “Go eat. Lord knows how long it’ll be until they release me.”

  After they leave, I shuffle over to the slim closet door. Rooster jumps up, shadowing but letting me get there on my own. “Thanks for staying,” I say.

  “Of course.” He reaches past me and pulls the long, narrow closet door open. It’s more like a locker than an actual closet.

  Inside, my boots are waiting for me. Someone must’ve cleaned the mud off and shined them for me. “Phew. I was worried someone tossed ’em.” I grab them first.

  “We’ll need to get you another pair,” Rooster says quietly.

  There’s a white plastic bag from a mall store I recognize. I pull it out and peer inside. Plain, simple black yoga pants and a long, blue tunic inside. Simple and comfy.

  “Your mom brought that stuff by yesterday,” Rooster explains.

  “Ah, she knows me well.” I pull out the bundles, finding a soft, stretchy bra and a pair of plain cotton underwear at the bottom. “I feel so gross but I don’t want to shower here.”

  “When we get to the hotel, you can do whatever you want.”

  “Shoot, where’s my mom staying?”

  “Uh…” He runs his hands through his hair. “I booked her a room at the same place Dawson and everyone else are staying.”

  Tears prick my eyes. I reach up on tiptoes and gently kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem. Figured she’d wanna be close to you. And a room at the clubhouse wasn’t gonna impress her too much.” One corner of his mouth hitches up.

  “Probably not.” I wobble into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open in case Rooster needs to fish me out of the toilet, and clean up. By the time I slip into the new clothes, I’m exhausted.

  “Need help?” Rooster asks from outside the door.

  “All done.” My gaze strays to the bed. “Now I need a nap.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll get your stuff together so you’re ready when they say you can go.”

  ROOSTER

  After hours of waiting around, Shelby’s finally released from the hospital. Lynn fusses over her the whole way to the truck.

  “Just stick me in the back. I’m ready for a snooze,” Shelby says.

  Lynn seems to be dragging too. They’re both quiet on the short drive to the hotel.

  “We’re here, chickadee.” I open the door and run my hand over Shelby’s arm. “A shower and comfy bed are minutes away.”

  She slowly peels her eyes open. “You’re speakin’ my language now.”

  “Need me to carry you?”

  “Nope.”

  I lift her out of the truck anyway and set her down on the sidewalk, not really caring that Lynn’s watching every move I make with her daughter.

  Inside, we run into Greg and Trent, who hug Shelby. “We’re all getting together in one of the banquet rooms downstairs to celebrate you being out,” Trent says.

  “Oh, sure.” Shelby glances down at her outfit, then at her mom. “That all right with you?”

  Lynn flashes a nervous smile at Greg. “Sure.”

  Shelby raises her eyebrow at me.

  I’m not about to stop her from hanging out with her band. “If you think you’re up to it.”

  “I would like to eat some normal food.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Confident she’s safe with her mom, Greg, and Trent, I leave them and run upstairs to our room to drop off her stuff before heading downstairs and following the directions Greg gave me for the room they’ve taken over.

  The plush hotel carpet absorbs my steps as I move from one narrow escalator to another before finally landing on the right floor. Outside the room, I run into Dawson.

  “Logan! Lots to celebrate tonight.” He holds out his hand and I shake it quickly, eager to find Shelby. “Your buddy’s watching over Shelby and her mom.”

  I shoot a questioning eyebrow at him.

  “The scary one who looks like he’s thinking about slicing and dicing my nuts off any time I get too close to Shelby,” he adds.

  I snort. “That’s Jigsaw.”

  He turns his head from side to side, searching the surrounding area. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Nothing would make me happier, Dawson.”

  He ignores the sarcasm and pulls me into a quieter corner of the wide corridor running between the different meeting rooms. “I don’t want to bother Shelby with any of this stuff. I talked to Greg and he wanted me to address it with you.”

  Interesting. “What is it?”

  “Well, I had to let Bane go. I know he thought he was doing the right thing, but Shelby got taken on his watch and I—”

  “No complaints from me. If he hadn’t been off playing fireman, he might have stopped Suggs from getting her out of the arena.”

  “Exactly. He understood.”

  As if I give a shit about Bane’s feelings on the matter.

  “I gotta hire someone else. I’m having an expert come in to do a risk assessment. The fire was started by the guy who nabbed Shelby, from what I’ve gathered.”

  My, Martin Suggs was busy.

  “But he never shoulda been able to get that close to my bus. This whole thing’s costing me a fortune. We’re losing money every damn day we’re stuck here.” He holds up his hands. “I ain’t complaining or blaming Shelby. Had to get my bus repaired and two of my guys were in the hospital. Got injured in the fire.”

  “Shit. I didn’t realize it had been so bad.”

  “I didn’t want to make a big dea
l with everything Shelby went through. Don’t bother telling her, either. It’s not something she needs to worry about.”

  Well, at least halting the tour makes more sense now. And my respect for him grows.

  “I’ve got a guy from California who handles security. He and his team come highly recommended. He’s, like, written the book on celebrity safety or something.”

  “Okay.” I’m still waiting for him to get to the point.

  “He’s going to do a complete risk assessment for me. But he also offers security training. I’m having all my guys take it. I thought you and”—he waves his hand toward the conference room— “the scary one might want to join in.”

  The biker in me wants to scoff and ask if he really thinks I need to learn how to kick someone’s ass. The man who wants to protect his girlfriend at all costs is the one who answers. “Yeah. We’ll do that. Thanks.”

  “All right.” He slaps my shoulder. “Whoever else you got coming on the road with you can join too. We can talk more about it later. Let’s go eat.”

  Apparently, Dawson has been busy. The hotel has a buffet set up for our party. I recognize members of his band and road crew. A few nod to me or stop and shake my hand.

  I spot Jigsaw sitting at a round table way in the back of the room. He’s keeping his eye on Shelby and her mom but stands as I approach. “Startin’ to wonder what happened to you, brother.” He slaps my hand and pulls me in quick, thumping my back.

  “Stopped to talk to Dawson.” My gaze shifts to Shelby. “You all right?”

  She barely glances up from the slab of prime rib she’s demolishing. “Happier than a possum eatin’ a sweet potato pie.”

  “Do possums like sweet potato pie?” Jigsaw asks.

  Shelby side-eyes him but doesn’t bother answering.

  Lynn pats her daughter’s back.

  Laughing, I nudge Jigsaw. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Made sure the girls were content first.” He glances at Lynn and the two of them share a smile that’s unsettling as hell.

  “All right then.” I point myself in the direction of the buffet and pick up a plate.

  By the time I return to the table, Greg’s planted himself in the chair next to Shelby’s mother. I take the one next to Shelby, and Jiggy drops into the one next to me.

  Greg leans over the table to focus on Shelby while I eat. “Are you ready to talk about the CMAs a little?”

  She flicks a glance at her mother and sets her fork down. “Yeah.”

  He rubs his hands together. “A few designers have expressed interest in dressing you for the awards.”

  Shelby lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t say?”

  “Nothing crazy, Greg.” Lynn’s worried gaze lands on the haggard manager. “She should look like a princess not an experiment. And some of the designers these days…”

  “Shelby has a good sense of what she likes and doesn’t,” Greg answers in a neutral tone.

  By her blank expression and the way she’s stirring her spoon through her coffee, I think Shelby’s checked out of the conversation. Under the table, I rest my hand on her leg.

  “This should be fun stuff, no?” I ask quietly.

  She lifts one shoulder. “I guess.”

  “You want to go upstairs?”

  Her red-rimmed eyes meet mine and she nods once. “I’m beat.” She pats her stomach. “And stuffed like a Thanksgiving bird.”

  I shove my chair back and stand, dropping my napkin on the table. “We’re heading upstairs.”

  Greg glances at Shelby. “We have rehearsal—”

  I spear him with a pointed look, and his mouth snaps shut. “Unless something is physically on fire, don’t call us in the morning. I’ll let you know when Shelby’s up and ready.”

  Jigsaw cough-laughs into his fist.

  Greg opens his mouth, probably to object.

  Trent places his hand on Greg’s arm. “We’ve got plenty to work with. Ain’t like Shelby forgot the words to her own songs.”

  Ignoring Trent’s perfectly reasonable tone, Greg glares at me. “All right.”

  I nod a quick thanks at Trent.

  “Lynn, do you need anything?” I ask.

  She glances at her coffee cup. “I’ll stay down here. I’m not tired yet.”

  I flick my gaze at Jigsaw, silently asking him to look out for Lynn, and he responds with a quick nod.

  Lynn walks out of the room with us, stopping at the elevators to hug Shelby tight. “Get some rest. My flight isn’t until late afternoon. We’ll talk before I go, okay?”

  “Night, Momma.”

  Lynn stares up at me for a few seconds, then leans up and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, Logan.”

  “Sure.”

  The elevator dings. Inside, Shelby rests her body against mine while I punch the button for our floor. I wrap my arm around her, keeping her close. “Tired?”

  The only answer she gives is a gentle nod against my chest. An overwhelming urge to pick her up and carry her to our room barrels down on me. When the elevator chimes and opens, I sweep her up.

  She sighs and settles against me, wrapping her arms around my neck. At our door, I fumble to slide my hand in my pocket while bracing her body against the wall so I don’t drop her. It takes a few seconds.

  “I can walk.” She wriggles for me to put her down just as I finally press the card to the door sensor.

  “I got you.” I kick open the door, turning us sideways to slide into the room, then tap it shut with my boot. “See?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Want to go right to bed?”

  “No.” She picks up her head and yawns. “I need a shower in the worst way.”

  “All right.” I carry her into the bathroom and set her down in front of the sink. “I’ll grab your stuff.”

  I hesitate to leave. All she does is stand there sort of swaying, not really looking at anything. But she bobs her head once and I hurry to grab her bath stuff and something for her to sleep in.

  When I return, she’s checking out the bathtub and shower combo, adjusting the water.

  “You want help?” Shit, why do things feel so awkward all of a sudden?

  She blinks up at me almost as if she feels it too. “Can I have a few minutes by myself?”

  Remembering what the doctor said, I’m not offended by Shelby’s request. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” I set her stuff down.

  “I promise not to drown or anything.” She forces a small smile.

  “Yell if you need me.” I close the door with a soft click and enter the bedroom. Edgy and restless, I pace the thick tan carpet for a few seconds before pulling a few things I need for the night out of my bags. I don’t risk turning on the television or radio, worried any extra noise could mask a cry for help from Shelby.

  The running water switches to the shower spray. None of the familiar little singing or humming noises Shelby usually makes accompany the pitter-patter. I stretch out in an oversized armchair by the window and reluctantly switch on my phone. The stories about Shelby’s kidnapping are on every major news site and every celebrity blog.

  “Shit,” I mutter, scrolling through article after article. Just what she needs. None of the pieces have anything new or exciting to add. They’re all various regurgitations of the same few bits of information. Some dug deep with background about her time on Redneck Roadhouse. One interviewed people she went to high school with. Not one has anything relevant to contribute. I’d bet my bike none of these people ever really knew Shelby.

  Greg managed to get Shelby’s cell phone replaced while she was in the hospital. It’s in my backpack and unless Shelby specifically asks for it, that’s where it’s staying. No reason for her to see any of this garbage right now.

  After a while, the shower sounds filter into my brain and I glance at the bathroom door, then the clock.

  Damn, she’s been in there a long time.

  Unease thrums through my chest. I set my phone on the nightstand and move to the bathroom door
. Rock still, I listen for any sounds of movement or noise other than the steady drumming of the shower.

  Nothing.

  Shit, I know she wanted to be alone but this is way too long. What if she slipped and hurt herself?

  I knock once but she doesn’t answer.

  Fuck this. I shove the door open. Steam billows around me and I turn, seeking a switch for the overhead fan. I close the door so she doesn’t catch a chill. “Shelby?”

  No answer.

  “Hey.” I pull the shower curtain aside.

  She’s sitting on the tub floor, arms wrapped around her shins, cheek resting on her knees. Exhaustion and misery cling to her as she lets the water pour over her body.

  I shove my fingers under the stream. At least it’s still warm. “You okay?”

  She tilts her head and peers up at me, looking so damn forlorn my heart jumps. Never should’ve left her alone. “I wanted to shave my legs but now I’m too tired to get up,” she explains in a small voice.

  My gaze drops to the razor and tube of aloe gel sitting by her hip. Kneeling next to the tub, I run my hand over one of her shins, then the other. “Feels smooth to me.”

  No reaction.

  “You want me to help you out?” I ask gently.

  It’s hard to tell if it’s tears or water streaming down her cheeks but she finally nods.

  “Okay.” I twist the taps off.

  She holds out her hands and I help her up, carefully lifting her over the edge of the tub and setting her down on a towel. I grab one of the white terrycloth bath sheets and wrap it around her. My big, clumsy fingers can’t seem to knot it right, though.

  A hint of a smile flickers at her lips—big relief—and she takes over, tucking the towel tight above her breasts. I hand her another towel and she flips her hair, wrapping it all up in a neat little beehive.

  “Feel better?”

  “A little,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

  “What else do you need?”

  Her tired gaze skitters around the steamy bathroom, finally settling on the travel case the girls gave her. “Is there any baby oil in there?”

  “Maybe. Seemed like they bought one of everything in the drug store.”

  Another brief smile. “That was real sweet of them.”