Lost For You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 4)

by Jayne Frost

  All the things I’d been keeping inside bubbled over, and I let my head fall forward.

  Beckett sat down at the dining room table and then buried his head in his hands. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then tell me.”

  I took a seat beside him and he entwined our fingers, caressing my infinity tattoo. “She’s not my girl. You’re my girl. And she knew that.”

  The collar of his shirt gaped just enough to see the edge of the large “T” emblazoned over his heart. As if he could read my mind, he laid my palm flat on his chest. “You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

  “I’m not the only one,” I said quietly. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

  With a ragged sigh, Beckett raked a hand through his hair, shoved back from the table, and started to pace. I waited, wondering whether I was giving him time to collect his thoughts or enough rope to hang himself with. Eventually, shoulders slumped, he sank down against the half wall separating the bar from the kitchen. “Maddy Silva means nothing to me. Nothing.” He shook his head, as if saying it made it so. “Things got out of hand, but it wasn’t—it isn’t what you think.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. With Beckett, the cure might be worse than the disease. Still, I joined him on the floor, drawn to his side by the tether that bound us.

  “Becks … What aren’t you telling me?”

  Sighing, he pulled the smokes from his pocket, holding out the pack. A familiar longing gripped my chest. I’d given up the habit long ago, but the craving remained. Cigarettes and Beckett Brennin, my two strongest weaknesses.

  “Take one,” he taunted. “You know you want to.”

  “God, you are a bad influence.” Snatching the Marlboro, I leaned in for a light. “Oh, sweet Lord—” I groaned as I inhaled, “—that’s so good.”

  Beckett lit up, then to my dismay, he steered the conversation back onto its previous course. “I miss you, babe.” He flicked his ash in the coffee cup he snagged from the table. “I can’t … I just want us to be what we used to be.”

  I leaned my shoulder against his. “We are what we used to be. You’re my best friend. And that’ll never change.”

  “What would Paige and Tori say about that?”

  After a couple of beats, I smiled sadly. “Paige wouldn’t say anything, but Tori would correct me.”

  He nodded, entwining our fingers. “I understand why you, um, went out with that guy. But I’m back now.”

  I frowned. “It’s not about another guy. You and I don’t fit anymore.” Maybe we never did. Stopping short of that admission, I added, “We’ve been on this roller coaster for too long, Becks. I just want to get off.”

  He reached for the sash on my robe. “I can help you with that. In case your friend wasn’t up to the task.”

  Desperation lit every corner of his face. And judging by the look in his eyes, he’d option the expired marriage license in his safe if I gave him the chance.

  But why?

  “Are you going to tell me what’s got you talking crazy?”

  “I’m saner than I’ve ever been. Just let me prove it.” He searched my face, and finding no cracks, his mask of indifference slid into place. “Fine, Taryn. Have it your way.”

  I dropped my cigarette into the cup alongside Beckett’s. Smoke rose from the bottom as the two butts sizzled and then fizzled out altogether. All heat and intensity, followed by the inevitable slow burn, dwindling to nothing.

  Just like Beckett and me.

  Taking the mug from my hand, Beckett set it on the bar, then helped me up. “I’m not giving up on you. Or us. And if your friend is smart, he’ll stay out of my way.”

  Beckett’s ardor would cool the minute he caught sight of a leggy brunette to divert his attention.

  “Well, since you showed up here out of the blue, I’m sure your schedule is a mess. Let me grab a shower and we’ll head to the office to sort it out. I’ve got a meeting at five with Harper.”

  He perked up. “You got her to come here?”

  “Of course, I did. Isn’t that why y’all got me involved? To clean up your mess.”

  “Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m just glad it’s almost over. Maybe Dylan can get his head out of his ass, and we can finish the album.”

  “I thought …” Inclining my head, I studied him. “Aren’t you the one having the problem with the producer?”

  “I can handle that dude.” He shrugged. “I was just taking some of the heat off Dylan.”

  Maybe we were more alike than I thought. In his own way, Beckett was picking up the slack. And how long had that been going on?

  I climbed the stairs and then paused on the landing to gaze down at Beckett, scratching at the place in my brain where our passion used to reside. It was tempting fate, really, but I needed to find out what was left of us.

  Nothing.

  It was strange, the hollow feeling. Not quite sad. Just empty.

  Disappearing into my room, I locked the door.

  On Beckett and our past.

  Chapter 12

  Chase

  I rolled down the busy street, scanning all the vacant faces hidden in the shadows. Spotting a girl with a mass of blond waves slumped in the corner of a bus stop shelter, I laid on the horn. Laurel lifted her gaze, peering around with narrowed eyes.

  “I found her,” I said into the phone as I screeched to a halt at the curb. “Call Vaughn. Tell him to meet us at my loft.”

  Logan let out an audible breath on the other end of the line. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know what she is. We’ll be there in twenty. Unless I have to take her to the hospital.”

  Ending the call, I hopped out of the car.

  Laurel lifted her head as I approached, sneering at me with unfocused eyes. Her hair was an unruly mess and makeup and snot smudged her face.

  “Laurel …?”

  Shrinking against the metal wall, she took a swing. “Go away!”

  “Laurel! It’s me!” I barked, catching her wrist and hauling her to her feet. “Look at me.”

  She stopped struggling, and her face contorted. “Ch-Chase …?” Crumbling against me, she fisted my shirt with grimy hands. “I-I didn’t use. I d-didn’t use.”

  Ignoring her babbling, I checked for bruises and then scooped her up.

  “I didn’t use,” she insisted as I tucked her into the car. “You gotta b-believe me. I d-didn’t.”

  Laurel’s words weren’t worth the air she stole to breathe them. That’s not to say I didn’t want to believe her. But I couldn’t. I’d lied too many times myself. Bold-faced lies to people I loved.

  Tipping her chin, I examined her pupils. “What did you take? Tell me right now.”

  Tears spilled from her bloodshot eyes. “N-nothing, I promise. I just d-drank … a-a lot.”

  Once I was behind the wheel, I wrestled the seat belt over her lap.

  A jeer erupted from the sidewalk, and I turned a heated glare to the guys loitering near the car, brown paper sacks in hand. It was a brown paper sack kind of neighborhood. One of the worst in town. Dealers pushed product in the open, and I counted at least three hookers in the vicinity. Rolling into this hood in a car like mine could only mean three things: supplier, pimp, or John.

  While I wasn’t cool with any of the titles, John was by far the worst. Not that I gave a fuck if you got your kicks paying for sex, but on this side of town, a John in a fancy car screamed target. Better the brown paper bag bunch thought I was a pimp.

  “What?” I mouthed, narrowing my gaze as one of the guys stepped closer to the car.

  He paused to glance over my long hair and tattoos, buying me enough time to pull away from the curb before he could reach for whatever was tucked into the waistband of his pants.

  Laurel groaned when I jerked to a stop at the light.

  “Tell me right fucking now,” I growled. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  She mumbled a garbled response, but “no
hospital” was all I could make out. I took her wrist, searching for her pulse. Strong and steady.

  Groaning, she tipped forward, spewing vomit all over the seat, the floorboard, and herself.

  I lowered the window and, fighting the bile at the back of my throat, I called Logan.

  His short, clipped breaths bled through the speaker. “Is she all right?”

  I glanced at the crumpled mess beside me as I drove. “As far as I can tell, she’s just drunk. Her pupils aren’t pinned. She just puked all over my car. I told Vaughn to bring a nurse. He’ll piss test her to find out what’s floating around in her system.”

  “Okay,” Logan said quietly. “I really … I don’t …”

  Vodka fumes emanated from the yellow puddle at Laurel’s feet. “Just get someone to clean my car. Don’t worry about the rest.”

  “Sure, man,” he replied, raw emotion tinging his tone. “Whatever you need.”

  “And, Logan,” I glanced at Laurel, vomit dripping from her chin, “if she’s dirty, she’s going back to rehab. Even if she’s just drunk, we gotta deal with it. Whatever Vaughn says, we follow his lead. You got that?”

  Vaughn held the small, clear vials up to the light, smiling. What the aging hippie counselor was grinning about I couldn’t imagine. Then again, it wasn’t his Mercedes in the alley with vomit all over the leather seats.

  “She’s clean,” he announced, cutting his gaze to the sleeping figure bundled under the blanket on the couch in my loft. “She drank a shit ton of booze. But no drugs.”

  Laurel hadn’t regained consciousness until an hour ago. Belligerent, she’d stumbled to the bathroom to take the drug test before falling back into an alcohol-induced slumber.

  Logan paced in a circle, rubbing the back of his neck. “What if the drugs are already out of her system?” He turned to us, panic suffusing his tone. “What then?”

  Vaughn and I wore identical looks of amusement.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I replied. “The alcohol will burn off pretty fast. But drugs don’t metabolize that quickly.”

  Logan nodded, and for once I was grateful for his naïveté. He and Cameron experimented with weed in the old days. Maybe some Molly. But, thank God, neither fell victim to the druggie lifestyle. Good or bad, Logan and Cameron liked to “feel” their feelings.

  “Water …” Laurel croaked. “I need water.”

  I intercepted Logan with a firm hand when he jumped to do his sister’s bidding. “Stay back. I got this.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding.

  Laurel met my hard glare with one of her own when I slid a bottle of water in front of her. Defiant, she rolled her eyes and then stared at the ceiling.

  “Sit up and drink the fucking water,” I snapped. “You’re dehydrated.”

  Logan inched his way from the shadows. He’d seen this side of me. Plenty. But this was different.

  Laurel lifted her chin, glowering at me like she was the injured party, so I leaned close to her face to make my point. “Get up. Now!”

  Her eyes widened, and she pulled herself into a sitting position.

  “This is my house,” I reminded her as I took a seat beside her. “Don’t waste my time with your bullshit. I’m trying to help you. We’re all trying to help you.”

  Guilt etched her features. Unfortunately, guilt and shame ebbed in the face of the next high, so it meant nothing. Lasting remorse only existed in the land of the sober.

  But I could tell Logan was falling for it, so when I caught his eye, I shook my head imperceptibly.

  “I-I’m not trying to waste your time,” Laurel said, her chin quivering as she held back tears. “I’m just …”

  Sick. I got that. And the fact that Laurel was on the verge of admitting it was a good sign.

  Phase two began when Vaughn sank into a chair, placing the test kit with all the vials on the table in front of her.

  Righteous indignation swept the guilt right off Laurel’s face. “I told you I didn’t use.” She sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just had one too many.”

  “No, darlin’,” I said. “One is too many. And I told you that.”

  “I’m not a drunk,” she bit out, her anxiety escalating quickly. “I can have a few drinks.”

  I shot Logan a look, my jaw clenching with irritation as he nodded in agreement. With Laurel.

  “No, you can’t. Not one drink,” I said, gesturing to the door. “And if you don’t like that particular rule, feel free to pack your shit and get out of my building.”

  “But …” Laurel turned her attention to Logan, big eyes beseeching, but thank fuck, he looked away.

  “No ‘buts,’” Vaughn interjected, raking a hand through his long, gray hair. “No ‘ifs.’ No ‘whens.’ No booze. Period.” He changed seats, sliding onto the couch on the other side of Laurel, and with a gentle hand on her knee, he said, “Why don’t you tell us what happened.”

  Laurel leaned forward to grab her bottle of water with a shaky hand, and once again, I had to keep Logan from helping.

  “She’s got this, dude,” I said, easing back against the cushions. “Li’l sis managed to lift several glasses, or bottles, to her lips in the past twenty-four hours. She doesn’t need your help to wash the vomit out of her mouth.”

  The muscles in Logan’s bicep twitched, and anguish lined his brow as he looked down at his sister and asked, “What happened, Laurel?”

  Staring at her bottle, she avoided Logan’s gaze.

  “Answer your brother,” I prodded. “Don’t you think he deserves it?”

  Laurel took a sip of water and then heaved a sigh. “Everything was fine,” she said quietly. “I went downstairs to find you. But you were onstage. During the set, some guy offered to buy me a drink. I turned him down. And then …”

  “Then?” I asked calmly.

  “When you finished the set and left with those girls, I figured—” she lifted a shoulder, “What the hell? Might as well have some fun too.”

  Ignoring the part where Laurel tried to lay the blame for her little stunt at my feet, I propped my boots on the coffee table. “Since when does fun involve getting shit-faced drunk and ending up in front of a crack house?”

  Tension radiated off Logan in waves. He clasped and unclasped his hands, likely to keep from wringing my neck.

  Laurel didn’t notice, though. Another sip and she continued. “The guy wanted to take me home … to … you know.” She looked over at her brother who nodded sympathetically. “And I thought that was fine. But then he said he wanted to get high, and we ended up at the crack house to score.” Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. “But I didn’t want to. So I got out of there and I called you. Were you still with those girls?”

  Ignoring everyone else in the room, I tipped forward, holding Laurel’s gaze when I said, “Who I was with doesn’t matter. If you’ll notice, I hightailed it over there to pick your ass up. And by the way, you need to get out to my car and clean up your mess. You puked all over the front seat.”

  With the buzz wearing off, Laurel’s self-preservation skills kicked in and she replied instantly, “Okay.”

  I sighed and then began in a softer tone, “No one is telling you not to have a good time. Or to date. But if you can’t tell the difference between a dope fiend and a regular guy, you’ve got some issues to address. And no more booze.” I placed a knuckle under Laurel’s chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “That’s a hard limit. Are we clear?”

  She nodded.

  “Go take a shower, you stink.” I motioned toward the staircase to her loft. “Let the grown-ups talk about some options for keeping you busy during your free time.”

  Laurel stood, her eyes sweeping over each of us in turn. “I’m sorry.”

  Hardening my jaw, I nodded, but kept my expression firm until she was out of the room.

  “What the hell, dude?” Logan hissed. “She’s trying. Why are you being such a hard-ass?”

  Lifting a finger
, I waited until I heard footsteps upstairs to focus my attention on Laurel’s surly big brother. “What do you think she is, dude? Fragile? A damsel in distress?” I arched a brow. “She’s not.”

  Logan stared at me like I’d just landed here from another planet.

  “What Chase is trying to say,” Vaughn interjected, “is that Laurel knows what she’s doing. We can’t indulge her whims or excuse her bad behavior.”

  Logan slumped in his seat, biting his lip. “She should have called me. I would have—”

  “You would have tucked her into bed and given her a bowl of ice cream,” I replied. “That’s why she called me. Laurel wants to get better. If she starts calling you, and not me or Vaughn, then we got problems.”

  “But you weren’t around,” he retorted. “You left the bar with those girls.”

  “And what Betty did you happen to be spending the evening with?” I asked, shaking my head when he looked away. “Exactly. I can’t babysit twenty-four seven, and neither can you.”

  Turning to Vaughn, I asked the tough question, “Is having Laurel in a loft above the bar going to help her or hurt her? Give me your honest opinion.”

  Vaughn rubbed his scraggly beard as he contemplated. “Well, we’ve got an unusual situation. Logan is her brother. Her only family that she’ll speak of. She needs that tie, but I agree, she can’t live with him.”

  Logan stiffened, but Vaughn continued without missing a beat. “Having her here, with you right downstairs is a good option for now, despite the drawbacks. Even if we moved her away, got her a place with a sober companion, she could walk out. She’s drawn to you, Chase. And in the end, if she doesn’t feel the support, she’ll fold.”

  Vaughn let that sink in and then added, “Let’s talk rules. No going into the bar alone. And she needs to get a job during the day.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “I’ll line something up for her at The Phoenix Group. But I don’t want her in the bar, even if I’m there.”