Wrecked (Blind Man's Alibi #1)

by Sarah Grimm

  Kirk nodded.

  “Sunshine, what are you going to do if a man Gare’s size comes after you?”

  “Knee him in the balls. Which is what I’m going to do to you in about five seconds if you don’t let me go.”

  Joe sighed. “Guys?”

  They stood en masse and left.

  “No! You…” Damnit, this isn’t what she’d wanted. “What are you doing? You were enjoying yourself. Spending time with the guys.”

  “I’m with the guys every day. You want to go for a walk, we’ll go for a walk. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “No.” She added a head shake. “I don’t want you to go with me.”

  “Why not?”

  Because that was exactly what she did want. To spend time with him. No buses or sound checks or confined spaces with too many sets of eyes and ears on them. No rabid fans or squeezing in five minutes before there was somewhere else he had to be. Just the two of them. Alone.

  “What is going on with you?” he asked with terrifying gentleness. “This is the third time in two days you’ve teared up on me. I mean the first time, I get it. I was being a bloody bastard, but… Are you going to start your—”

  “No.”

  “—period, because I understand female hormones. I do have a sister, you know.”

  “God.” She pressed her face into his chest. How could he be so sweet, yet so damn frustrating at the same time? “I feel sorry for your sister. You were probably a terrible brother to grow up with.”

  “Nah, I’m a fantastic brother.” He smoothed his hand up and down her back. “Do you need anything? Tampons or whatever, ice cream, chocolate covered potato chips… Me, naked?”

  She tried not to laugh and failed. “Will you stop it. It’s not hormones. I’m not going to start my period. I don’t have those.”

  “Ever?”

  He sounded so flummoxed, she laughed again. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Is that even healthy?”

  “Ahh!” She didn’t know which was stronger. The desire to choke him in frustration or take him up on his offer of him, naked. “Just…go get dressed.” It was obvious the only way she was getting a walk was with Joe. Now, if they could just pull it off without him being recognized. “And try not to look so…you.”

  One side of his mouth tipped up in a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  Five minutes later, he came out of the bathroom sporting a long sleeve black thermal that hid his tattoos from view. He’d tucked the shirt into his pants, a pair of sunglasses into the collar, and pulled his hair away from his face. Emma opened her mouth to comment, closed it when no words would come, then opened it again. “Is that a man bun?”

  He shook his head.

  “It is.” She stuck her tongue in the side of her cheek and then grinned. “Look at you, all metrosexual and shit.”

  He sighed. “I believe the word you’re looking for is hipster.”

  “Is it? Or is that one just less abrasive to your masculinity?”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to not look so me.”

  “Yes, but you’re the one who knew how to make the man bun.” She tipped her head. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “Yeah.” He stared at her. “You make me crazy.”

  “I feel your pain, macho man. I really do.”

  “Christ.” He shook his head and dug through his duffle, stuffing his wallet in his back pocket and a black beanie atop his head.

  Her laughter died. “Damn.”

  “What now?”

  “You’re kind of cute.”

  He flashed her an unreadable look, slipping his sunglasses on without comment.

  “Sexy.”

  “You are too much.” He held out his hand for her and she took it as they headed for the elevator. “Where would you like to go?”

  As long as it was away from the hotel for a while, the where didn’t matter. “We could hit the Magnificent Mile.”

  “The what?”

  “The Magnificent Mile. It’s the place for shopping in Chicago.”

  His brow furrowed as he pressed the call button. “You’ve got a pile of clothes on the bed from yesterday’s outing and you want to go again?”

  “I need a new pair of heels. Last night’s rain destroyed the pair I have.” The smile that curved his lips was naughty. Emma suddenly wished he hadn’t put the glasses on yet. She would’ve loved to see his eyes. “Or, if you prefer, we can go to the salon and get you a manicure. It would really bring together this whole metro thing you have going on.”

  “Hipster,” he muttered, pressing the call button again.

  “Whatever.”

  “Jesus.” He pulled his glasses off and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Let me guess. You think I should get manscaped, too.”

  “Hell no!”

  The elevator doors slid open.

  “That’s good, because no wax is coming near my balls. Ever.”

  “Neither is some other woman’s hands,” Emma growled. Which would happen if he ever got waxed.

  A broad smiled curved his lips. “Wow.” He backed her into the elevator and to the corner, using his body to block her view of everything but him. “Someone is feeling a bit possessive, today.”

  She was, and she didn’t much like it. That didn’t stop her from running her palms down the front of his shirt, from pecs to abdomen and lower. “This is mine.” She whispered the statement as she cupped his groin, relished his quick intake of air and the way he pulsed at her touch.

  “You won’t hear me argue.”

  A soft sound had her spine snapping straight. She stared up at Joe, then heard it again.

  A snicker of laughter.

  Her face flamed. “Joe?”

  “Yeah, Sunshine?”

  “Are we alone on this elevator?”

  His smile said it all. “A little late to worry about that now, isn’t it?”

  “Shit.” She pressed her face into his chest and laughed. Because really what else could she do?

  Joe woke to pitch darkness. Alone in the bed.

  After spending the afternoon with Emma in his arms as they walked through downtown Chicago uninhibited, they’d returned to the suite and spent the rest of the day laughing, loving and sleeping, only to wake up and start the cycle over again. He’d never known anything like it. Being buried inside a woman and caring more about bringing a smile to her face or wringing a sigh from her lips, than getting off. It was a completely new and terrifying occurrence.

  He was desperate to experience it again.

  Of course—he blinked at the clock, 2:30 a.m.—it would help if he knew where Emma had run off to. “Sunshine?”

  Joe rolled out of bed and stretched. There wasn’t a speck of light anywhere to aid in his visual search or give hint to her whereabouts. Even the curtain over the slider leading to the balcony was pulled. She never did that. Emma needed light—a window to the outside world. She didn’t do dark, enclosed places well, no matter how large the space.

  Something was very wrong. “Emma?”

  The bathroom door was closed, the shower running. Now that he’d picked up on the sound, he wondered how he’d missed it. But as he walked across the room and reached for the handle, he noticed there was no strip of light beneath the door. He stepped into the room, and thanks to the fact that he’d woken to the same darkness that greeted him now, he had a perfect view.

  Emma sat on the floor of the glass shower, knees pulled tight against her chest, head bent so the water beat down on her shoulders. She was visibly trembling, her arms shaking so hard they kept slipping down her wet legs.

  “Here you are.” He whispered the words as he reached for the light switch.

  “Don’t.” She curled her arms over her head. Not like she didn’t want him to see her distress, but like she was protecting herself from an unseen enemy.

  He really wanted it to be claustrophobia triggered by the complete lack of light, but the cur
tain hadn’t been closed when they’d drifted to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms and sated. No, she’d closed that curtain before barricading herself in the bathroom. Her pain wasn’t emotional, it was physical.

  “Hold on, Sunshine.” Yanking the glass door open, he stepped inside and immediately lost his breath as the freezing cold water pelted his chest. He turned off the shower and scooped her into his arms. “I’ve got you.”

  Jesus, how long had she been sitting here? Her skin was like ice. She shook so hard, her teeth chattered as he carried her into the bedroom and set her in the middle of the bed, pulling the comforter they’d kicked to the floor long ago over her for warmth.

  He wasted no time returning to the bathroom, where he grabbed a towel and her makeup bag. Dumping the contents of the bag onto the towel, he searched, shoving each item aside until he located her auto-injector and headed back to the bedroom.

  “Em.” He looked down at her and felt something catch deep inside. Fear for her and whatever was going on, for himself because he’d never felt so helpless in all his life. She was sitting up, the blanket pooled around her hips as she quietly sobbed, rocking with her arms once again covering her head. He’d never seen her this bad before—in so much pain, she couldn’t function. The medication she needed lay in the palm of his hand, but having never actually witnessed its use, he had no idea how to help her. “How do I do this? I don’t know how to help you.”

  “Help me sit up,” she whispered, her voice so low he barely heard her.

  “You are sitting up.”

  A whimper escaped as she dropped her arms from her head, pressed her palms into the mattress and shifted in his direction.

  She’d meant sit on the side of the bed.

  Placing one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs, Joe lifted her, setting her on the edge of the bed with her feet on the floor. He sank to his knees before her.

  Fingers like ice closed around his, grasping, guiding his hands. She shifted his thumb off the blue button, curled his hand around the length of the tube, then guided the other to the cap on the opposite end.

  “Pull.” Her broken whisper brought his gaze to her face, where he found her eyes open, rapidly blinking tears down her cheeks. “Don’t twist. Straight out.”

  He nodded and did as instructed, removing a cap with a metal tube attached.

  “Here.” Hand atop his, she pushed the open end of the injector onto the skin of her lower thigh. “Hold it…don’t let up…two clicks.”

  “Two clicks,” he repeated.

  She pushed the blue button. A click sounded, then, about five seconds later, another. Her hand slid off his, her head dropped to his shoulder. “Don’t leave me.”

  Tossing the injector aside, Joe wrapped his arms around her. He crawled up the bed, bringing her with him, and pulled the comforter over them both. “I’m right here, Sunshine. I’ve got you.”

  It didn’t take long for her tears to dry, her breathing to ease. However, the trembling of her limbs continued. As did the clenching pain in his gut.

  Unsure what else to do for her, he started to sing, his voice barely above a whisper. She sighed and snuggled closer so he kept at it, not stopping until long after she’d given herself over to sleep.

  May 8

  The tremors have started. They’ve been going on for a few days. Not every day. Maybe two or three times, now. They don’t last long. Thirty seconds to a minute, usually. Just long enough to remind me that worse things are coming. Seizures and blackouts to name a few. It’s all pretty terrifying. Oh, I act tough. I smile and pretend it doesn’t bother me, pretend I’m too strong to break down and cry.

  It’s a lie.

  I’m a fake.

  Joe hates fakes. I’ve known this for a long time now, yet… I’m the biggest of them all. I honestly never thought I would still be with him. That he’d stay interested in whatever this is that draws us together. But here I am, still lapping up every moment I can while lying to him about myself. Okay, so I’ve never come right out and lied to his face, but not being upfront about something, choosing to keep silent instead of sharing is the same thing as lying, isn’t it? I’m a fake and…I don’t deserve him.

  I know he would disagree. For some reason, Joe doesn’t believe he deserves me. A fact made glaringly apparent this morning when I found myself on the pointed end of accusations and slander from Marvin, while Joe stood silently by – waiting, wondering, and doubting.

  I left him today. Walked right out that door, the pain in my heart the perfect excuse for saying goodbye. I left him, knowing it was the best thing to do. My tremors have started. Soon, so will the seizures.

  I made it all the way to O’Hare before I broke. I stared at those planes taking off and landing, whisking people to far away destinations and bringing them home to loved ones. I stood there and thought of what I was going home to and was suddenly filled with so much fear, I couldn’t breathe. I had a panic attack in the middle of the parking lot, fell straight to my knees while my body shook uncontrollably. I was angry and hurt and so damn scared of what the end of my life without Joe would mean, that I cried. Cried and wailed and screamed at the injustice of it all. Then I returned to him.

  I’m too weak to walk away. Too weak to face the end alone.

  I’m a fake. A woman who only pretends to be strong and tough. Who smiles and laughs as if everything is okay.

  Even as my arm trembles so badly I can barely write.

  Number of days since I decided to live: 78

  Number of days since I met Joe: 35

  Current level of panic: 8/10

  SIXTEEN

  May 20

  Emma zipped around the outer oval, past the concession stands and tables lined with memorabilia. Past the shocked faces and muttered curses of the staff. She laughed aloud when she reached the far end and was forced to enter the arena, tearing down the ramp, around the racks of chairs waiting to be placed and back out the other side. No one could stop her. No one dared.

  God, it was good to be alive!

  The stage was set for tonight’s show, the guys in the middle of sound check. She didn’t know why the schedule had been moved up, why everything was happening hours earlier than normal, but the pounding rhythm of the band and throaty growl that was Joe provided the perfect soundtrack to her mood. Like the driving beat of the bass, Emma pushed harder, moved faster, zipping through the arena at speeds that made her giddy.

  She was smiling as she flew up the ramp and into the outer oval, laughing even as her body took flight.

  “Jesus Christ!” Gary snagged her around the waist, scrubbing off speed by spinning them in a complete circle. Her world tilted, stomach dropped to her toes as he held her without difficulty, her rollerblades dangling off the ground. “What are you up to this time?”

  “Put me down before you hurt yourself.” He’d basically clotheslined her about the waist and snagged her off the floor like parents did with a small child, leaving her hanging from his right arm.

  “As if! What do you weigh? All of a hundred twenty soaking wet?”

  “A hundred and ten, actually.”

  He frowned, his gaze sliding over her. “You need to eat a donut. Or six.”

  She hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, even for sweets, and as a result she had dropped a few pounds. The reminder dimmed her smile. “I’ll go find some right now if it means you’ll put me down. Or do you plan to wear me as an arm dressing all day? If so, I’d like to go that way, please.”

  He didn’t bother to glance in the direction she pointed as he set her down, curling his hands around her upper arms to steady her as she wobbled a bit. “Nice rollerblades. Where’d you get them?”

  “Thanks.” They were hot pink and turquoise. Just obnoxious enough, she loved them. “And what do you mean where’d I get them? Where do I get anything I decide to tear around arenas in?”

  “You stole them?”

  “What? I’ve never stolen anything.”

 
He crossed his arms, muscles rippled and bunched, strained the seams of his shirt. Jesus, even those muscles by his neck, what where they called—traps—locked right up. The man was seriously tense and she didn’t think it was all because of her morning fun.

  “There was the incident with the golf cart,” he reminded her.

  “Technically, I didn’t steal that. I only borrowed it. I gave it back as soon as I was done with it!”

  He arched a brow.

  “They’re the ones who lined up the other golf cart alongside me so we could figure out which one was faster.”

  Someone snorted a laugh. A female someone.

  Emma shifted to get a look around Gary and found the source of the laughter about ten feet behind him. A tall woman with raven hair, sharp cheekbones and a gracious smile. She was rocking a black pantsuit that showed off enviable curves, a chunky gold necklace and killer heels. Her hair was down. Long, smooth and parted in the middle, with bangs that darn near touched her eyelashes. Their length made her eye color a mystery, which drew Emma’s gaze straight to her full, thick lips.

  She was stunning. Honestly, one of the prettiest women Emma had ever laid eyes on. But the most interesting thing about her was the way her gaze kept sliding over Gary in a manner that expressed interest.

  “Wow,” Emma whispered, looking back at Gary. “Who’s the hottie?”

  Gary sighed. “You’ve been hanging with men too long.”

  “You’re right. I apologize. Who’s the woman checking out your ass?”

  His spine snapped straight and he got this look on his face like he was torn between throttling her and checking over his shoulder to see if the woman really was looking at his ass. Which she totally was.

  When he sighed and started to lower his arms, she stopped him. “No, keep them crossed. She is loving the whole bulging muscle thing you have going on. Trust me.” Emma peeked around him again. “Totally loving it. So, you never answered my question.”

  “What question is that?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Vivian Johnson. She’s from the record company.”

  Emma nibbled her lower lip. “Why is she here? It’s pretty late in the game for a record exec to show up, isn’t it?” In fact, there was barely a month left of the North American tour before they wrapped.