Derailed_An Off Track Records Novel

by Kacey Shea

  Austin taps my shoulder. “Another?”

  I turn and catch the cougar from the volunteer table along with two friends in tow, staring from across the bar. It’ll only be a matter of time before they join us. “Nah, man. I’m out.” I shake my head, wishing I was already tucked safely away in my hotel room. Nothing good happens when we start bar hopping after midnight.

  “You’re not staying?” Austin scoffs with disappointment.

  Coy turns back from the bar with shots. “Dude. We’re rock stars. Fucking live a little.” He hands the tiny glasses to Trent, Austin, and then me, but I shake my head.

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  He shrugs and downs both.

  Austin’s eyes are wide and he shakes his head. “Bro! You’re my wingman. You can’t bail. Everyone knows that. Never abandon your wingman, especially when hungry cougars are involved. It’s in the goddamn handbook!” He flashes a smile to someone over my shoulder.

  “Funny, I never got a copy.” I drain the rest of my beer and set it on the counter.

  “I’ll catch you all in a few days.” Trent pats my back absently and doesn’t even look at us as he jogs over to Lexi. Amie’s already heading out the door. I’m not sure why she showed up or what she needed that couldn’t be communicated via phone, but she and Lexi go way back to college, and who knows, their conversation could have been personal rather than business.

  Austin isn’t giving up. He tries to block my exit as I step away from the bar. “You’re such a party pooper. I miss the days when Trent was single. Now, that fucker knew how to have a good time.” Guilt. He resorts to waging that against me, but it’s pointless because I don’t care. I’ve never tried to be someone I’m not, and right now, I’m a man who only wants to fall asleep in peace and quiet.

  Coy wraps his arm around Austin’s shoulder, holding a drink in each hand. “Someone say good time? When and where? I’m game.”

  Austin takes one of the drinks from him. “See! Coy’s the man. He knows how to party. Best damn drummer, too.”

  Coy laughs and winks. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.”

  “You two besties have fun.” I raise my brows and try really hard to keep my eyes from rolling. God knows they want to. Coy’s a good actor, playing the part of a fun and nice guy like he didn’t send Jess away in tears tonight. I wave good-bye and my gaze catches that group of older women circling in. Thirsty and on the prowl. “Make sure you bundle up the junk if you decide to play in the zoo.” A chuckle leaves my lips and I turn just before I’m stuck thwarting unwanted advances.

  They’re beautiful. Experienced and eager, no doubt. But I’m not in the mood for a meaningless fuck. Rarely am. No, unfortunately the only naked woman I’ll be going home with tonight was bought and is now stuck in the trunk of my car. And even she’ll have to wait until I get a few hours’ sleep before taking a ride back to my place.

  11

  Jess

  Coy doesn’t walk me back to the room. His dismissal of me at the table even before dessert is all the indication I need to understand I’m not completely forgiven for picking the wrong dress to wear. He can hardly stand to look at me.

  Back in our hotel room alone, I’m caught between the relief that I don’t have to put on anymore, and the knowledge that I’ve completely failed my boyfriend. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Peeling the zipper down from the black lace overlay jacket, I catch my scandalous reflection in the mirror. Fool. But even as disappointment fills my mind, I fold the delicate garment carefully between tissue paper and tuck it into the bag, not wanting to rip or damage the fabric. I stick my new shoes into their box and place that inside the bag as well. At least those aren’t a total waste. The dress is something I’ll never wear again, and while I realize that’s routine for a famous person, I cannot fathom spending so much only to wear it once. Maybe I can return everything when I get back to LA.

  Changing into an old tee and comfortable sweat pants, I wash the makeup from my face and check my phone. Even though I know he won’t call or check in, I can’t help myself.

  No messages. No missed calls.

  This is one of those times I could really use a friend. A moment I wish for family. I yearn for the mother I never had—even a father or a sister would be nice. Someone to check in with. Someone to remind me that despite everything I’ve done or how badly I screwed up, I am still breathing. I’m not alone.

  You’d think after a lifetime it wouldn’t hurt so badly. I should be comfortable with the reality. But tonight I’m alone. By myself in this hotel room to wonder . . . If I never wake up in the morning, will anyone even care?

  I have to keep the faith that Coy still does. As angry and disappointed as he was, I have to believe he’ll be back. A laugh, cynical and pained, pushes through my lips as my gaze falls on his overnight bag. He has to at least come get his stuff.

  Done with the worries that consume any chance of peaceful sleep, I reach for the TV remote and click through the channels, surfing until I find something to keep my fears at bay. Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion. Oh, how I love this movie. Laughter bubbles from my belly with each absurd antic and bad joke. I guess tonight could have been worse. I could have lied and pretended I invented Post-its.

  After the movie ends, I click off the television and lie in bed. Still no word from Coy, but I hope he’s having a good time. He deserves it after all his hard work. I’m just disappointed in myself, that I can’t be who he needs. Sometime after one in the morning I doze off, wondering whether he’ll come back at all tonight. With how upset he was with me, I don’t know. With each ticking second, apprehension builds that I’ve screwed this up for good. That he won’t want me anymore. That he’s out there finding someone better.

  The sound of the door opening and the shaft of light that falls across the bed drag me from sleep, but I keep my eyes closed playing that I’m not awake. I don’t know exactly what mood he’s in . . . Or what he’ll do. If he’s been drinking all night with the band, I don’t want to find out.

  The door shuts slowly until the room is once again blanketed in darkness and all of my concentration is focused on keeping my breathing even and my eyelids from fluttering while my ears strain for the slightest sound. Just when I think I’ve imagined it—that maybe he’s not back in the room—I catch him muttering a few words under his breath, all of them expletives, before the bathroom door clanks shut with a thud and the shower spray powers on.

  With him out of the room, I chance a look at the clock. Twenty-two minutes after three. I wonder where he’s been. Whether the entire band stayed out so late as well. Probably.

  I try to fall back asleep but I can’t with him only a few feet away. Waiting for him to shower, I work to keep the dread and fears at bay as my mind races with the possibilities of how Coy will emerge. Angry. Sorry. Drunk. Mean. Kind. There are so many facets to his personality, and lately it’s increasingly difficult to predict which I’ll get. He’s a troubled man, but I’ve always been able to help him. To bring him a steady support. Only now, with everything changing in our lives, I’m beginning to doubt my own strength.

  The water shuts off and a few minutes later the door opens, the light snapping my eyes shut once more. I sense him moving around the room. The soft pad of his feet against the carpet, his breath heavy from drinking, and the shuffle of fabric.

  He shuts the light from the bathroom and the mattress dips with the weight of his body. He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t turn to my side of the bed to wrap an arm around my waist. Another silent rejection.

  I feel as though I’ve fucked up big time, and the anxiety that builds from his lack of body heat against mine is almost suffocating. I turn to my side and let my hand reach for him. His back is to me, so my fingers settle on his waist. Rubbing the freshly showered skin, I can’t help but trail them lower toward his hip.

  His hand rests on mine to halt my moment. “Not tonight.” He lifts my hand away from his body and I tug it back to my si
de of the bed. He hauls the covers higher and turns completely away from me to sleep on his stomach.

  Tears prick my eyes and since he can’t see, I let them fall freely. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure whether he’s even awake or will hear me, but I can’t help feeling as if I failed him when he needed me most.

  He releases a sigh, loud with a rush of breath. “I can’t, okay. Not tonight. Go to sleep, Jess.”

  He doesn’t want to talk and I won’t push him. The worry is still there, but it’s in the way he uses my name—that he even uses my name at all—that gives me hope we’ll get past this. Not tonight. But tomorrow is a new day. If there’s anything I believe in, it’s that even the most horrible sins can be forgiven with a little love and light. Coy’s given me that before. I can only hope he’ll do it once more.

  My cheek presses into the heavenly comfort that is this pillow. Stuck somewhere between slumber and consciousness, the scuff of nearby footsteps tugs me from rest. Memories from last night slam against my consciousness, and when I reach for Coy’s body, needing reassurance and warmth, I’m met with empty sheets.

  “What the fuck is going on?” His anger, controlled but accusatory, chase away any lingering sleepiness.

  My eyelids blink until I re-gain my vision. The window drapes are cracked just slightly, lining Coy’s silhouette from where he paces the short length of our hotel room.

  “Coy?” I sit up in the bed and tug the covers up around my lap.

  He stops to glare. “Just tell me. Where did you get it?” His brow lifts with a challenge.

  I’m not following. Where did I get what? Maybe it’s from a night of restless sleep, but I have no clue what he’s asking. “What?”

  He points to my overnight bag. “The dress. The shoes. All of it.” Oh, that. Shit. How do I respond without tipping his sanity over the edge? I should have never accepted the offer to use Sean’s credit card. If Coy finds out? I can’t bring myself to imagine what he’ll do.

  I swallow and clear my throat. “Oh, um . . .”

  “One of your second hand finds?” He cuts me off and gives me an out, but I can’t lie and pretend that designer dress and shoes came from someone else’s closet. Besides, the tags and shopping bag are tucked inside my bag. He’d find out anyway.

  “Trent’s mom took me shopping.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s enough that he won’t go livid.

  He meets my gaze. A hard stare. “No more of that. I don’t like owing anyone. Got that? You’re mine. I take care of you.”

  My gaze falls and I trace my fingertip along the blanket stitching. “I’m sorry. I should have asked, but I didn’t want to bother you.”

  The bed dips, and Coy’s palm runs across my jaw, cupping my cheek until I lift my gaze. His touch, gentle and kind, pulls at my heart. “You should have. I don’t like being blindsided by my own girlfriend,” he whispers honestly.

  My eyes shut with his accusation and I lean my cheek into his touch. “I’m sorry, Coy. I really am.”

  He leans forward and his lips cover mine in a chaste kiss. “Just don’t do it again.”

  I swallow and nod. “I won’t.”

  He kisses me again, this time with more force until my lips join the battle. He pulls away, his chest heavy with breath and his lips turning up with the trace of a smile. “Come on. Let’s pack up and head out. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh?” I tilt my head, a smile sneaking onto my lips as his grin widens.

  He nods. “Yeah. I was thinking we could have lunch in La Jolla, on the beach, then drive up the scenic route along the ocean.”

  He remembered. My heart swoons with the thoughtfulness of his offer. We’ve been struggling to make ends meet since coming to LA, then hustling to keep up with the demands of his new position in the band. He’s promised a thousand times we’d have a nice lunch on the beach once things settled down, but I didn’t want to nag. My smile takes over my face. “That sounds perfect.”

  “Cool. I’m gonna grab a quick shower first.” He drops another kiss on my lips before bounding from the bed and heading inside the bathroom.

  “’Kay.” I peel off the covers and crack open the curtains to let in all the light.

  That’s exactly what Coy and I need: a little more light. Excitement rushes with every movement as I dress for what is certain to be a perfect day. We’re due one of those.

  12

  Sean

  Morning comes painfully with the dawn. Shouldn’t have drowned my problems in craft brew, but it’s nothing a hot shower and drive-thru breakfast burrito doesn’t fix. It’s early enough that I elect to drive up the coast on my way to the rehab center. I’m on the road before the weekend beach goers; traffic isn’t horrible, and the salt air is just what I need. My troubles are put on temporary pause for a few hours during the peaceful drive time.

  I pull through an immaculate drive after following my GPS to the address Iz sent. Wow. The structure is nothing like I imagined it would be. It’s reminiscent of a Spanish mission, and appears to be more a resort in the hills than a treatment center.

  After parking, I check in with the receptionist where I wait with other friends and family. We’re ushered to a large dining room and given a spiel about rules and what to expect. Don’t bring the patient drugs. That seems a given, but I’m sure it’s only a requirement to cover their asses. Be understanding of patient’s state of mind. That one’s alarming, and I perk up to listen to the on-staff doctor explain how exhausting detox can be on the body and mind. Downright torturous, really. My sympathy for what Iz has been going through alone these past few weeks grows. My resolve that I made the right choice to be here is confirmed. NDA’s are passed around. The private facility is apparently known for their discretion, and it makes sense why the label selected this place for Iz’s treatment.

  The dining room where we are led and it’s set up like a showroom with tables scattered in the space, some built for large groups, while others are small. We’re invited to disperse as the patients will join in momentarily. I find a table for two near one of the windows and watch the door for Iz to enter.

  I recognize the first girl who walks in. She’s the same girl whose face is plastered on movie posters for several blockbuster hits, only in this moment she’s clearly not acting. Her gaze darts around the room and she practically runs into the arms a woman I assume is her mother. Her sobs break through the awkward silence of this room of strangers and holds so much relief, so much agony, I have to look away.

  I don’t watch the door anymore, and my fingers are empty without a cell phone to fill the idle boredom. All my personal items were confiscated at check-in, for the safety of the patients. As uncomfortable as it is to sit here with nothing to do, it seems a small sacrifice considering Iz is forced to do the same for weeks on end.

  A throat clears at my right and I glance up. “Iz!” My lips pull wide with my smile as I stand and greet him with a hug. “How the hell are you, man?”

  His chuckle, hoarse and rough, is a welcome sound. “Still truckin’. Still truckin’.” He pulls out the chair across from mine and we both take a seat. “Thanks for coming, Sean.”

  “Of course.” My gaze travels over his face, examining him for signs he’s doing well. Or maybe for clues that I missed before. He’s the same in so many ways, still skinny as a rail, and his hair’s a little longer, the grays in his blond catching the light. Other than that, he’s virtually the same and I ask myself the same question I’ve wrestled with since he almost died at the Grammy’s: “How did I not know?”

  “Find the place okay?”

  “Yeah. GPS didn’t steer me wrong.” I smile and nod. “The facility is nice.”

  “It’s not too bad, yeah?” His lips pull up with a grin.

  I nod again. I probably haven’t stopped nodding, weird as that is. God damn, it’s so good to see him. Alive. Without tubes and beeping monitors. But that’s something I don’t say. Can’t really. Not without being a sentimental shmuck.
/>   Iz nods and glances around the room. His knee bounces at a manic pace and his heel taps with each passing second. His gaze drifts to the other tables, some loud with boisterous chatter, a few silent like ours. I wish I could produce something interesting to say. I’ve already asked about the rehab center. I don’t really think it’d be encouraging to mention how well Coy plays, or what a sneaky asshole he is.

  He interrupts my thoughts. “Wanna take a walk?”

  “We can do that?” I glance around, and Iz’s lips pinch with disapproval. Shit. That sounded stupid. It’s just that I wasn’t really listening to all the instructions. I don’t want to break any rules or get him in trouble, but I also don’t want to treat him like some child. “I mean, sure, yeah.”

  “I need a smoke.” He pops off the chair and I follow behind, down a hallway and out a back door until we’re walking the grounds. It’s absolutely gorgeous out here. Hillside with a lush manicured lawn and tons of flowers and trees lining the fence. Better than any five-star hotel, only not really. There’s no voluntary check-out.

  Iz retrieves a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and taps it against his palm. He holds it out to me. “You want one?”

  “I’m good.” I don’t smoke. Never got into the habit, and am thankful after watching Austin go through kicking it several times only to fall off the wagon every time he gets wasted. But Iz has always been a chain smoker. He never smoked on the bus during tours, but made up for it during every pit stop and break.

  He lights up, takes a drag, and nods over to a set of chairs. I follow him and when we sit this time his knee doesn’t bounce.

  “The view is nice.” I nod to the open skyline past the trees.

  “Yeah.” Iz chuckles and the rough timbre of his amusement is cut short by a terse smile. “Off Track was all too happy to shell out the big money. Spared no expense to make me disappear.”