She cut him off. “I’m calling about your dad. The transitional center called earlier. He’s sick with a cough and running a fever, and he was trying to leave.”
“Leave? Where?” He stopped at his upper bunk, pressing his forehead to the wood frame.
“Apparently he comes and goes from the center, often spending nights on the street instead of his room. They called me because he’s running a one hundred and two fever and coughing. He won’t go to the hospital, so I picked him up and brought him home. Ben came by and diagnosed bronchitis. Nikki went to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription Ben called in for him.”
The bus turned a corner, and Justice gripped the edge of his bunk to brace himself. He tried to absorb it all. “Is he going to be all right?”
“I think so. I had to beg him to come home with me, and then to let Ben look at him. He’s…haunted. I know it’s the fever, but I hate seeing it.”
He climbed into his bunk and stretched out. God he was tired. “It’s not working, is it? He’s not getting better with the center’s treatment.” His dad’s head was still in that war zone he’d physically left years ago.
“This is who he is now,” she said gently.
He wasn’t the father Justice remembered. Part of him understood why his mom had left—sometimes it was just too hard to stay. “He can get better than this, he has to try.”
“He’s trying, or he wouldn’t go back to the center when he leaves.”
Her soft kindness overwhelmed him. He pictured her there at home, dealing with his sick and tormented dad. What if Noah woke up screaming? What would Beth do? Damn it. This was Justice’s big chance, but it was his dad. His wife. His kid. “What do you want me to do? He won’t listen if I talk to him. Even if I came home…he’d leave. There’s no point.”
Silence rocked between them.
“Beth? Are you okay?”
“No point in you coming home?”
It struck him how that sounded to her. “I meant with my dad. Not you. Of course I want to see you, but I can’t right now.” He was fucking this up worse.
“What’s happening to us?”
Her whispered pain cut into his heart. “It’s just stress. We’ll get through this. We knew it’d be hard, right?”
“It feels like you’re slipping away from me and our family into the life of a rock star.”
“What am I supposed to do?” He fought to get the defensive tone out of his voice. “You knew what my life was going to be like when you married me. You knew I was going on tour.” But she hadn’t known she’d be banned, now had she?
“That’s true. We had to work in a quick marriage ceremony around your release and tour.” There wasn’t any bitterness in those words, just a sad resignation. Was she having real regrets?
Not knowing what else to say, he blurted out, “Do you want me to come home? I can try to get a flight tonight, then fly to New York tomorrow.” And what, squeeze her in for a couple hours?
She sighed. “No, go to New York. Your dad’s fine here, it’s his home.”
The distance between them stretched like an endless chasm. He didn’t know how to reach across it. “I love you, and I need you to trust me. Can you hang in there with me? It’s only a few more weeks, then I’ll be home, and things will be the way they used to be between us. You’ll see, okay?”
“Okay, but I need the same trust from you.”
“Trust how?” One thing popped in his head. “Has that fucker Dillion been around again? If he—”
“No. Other than a one-line apology text from him, I haven’t heard a word from him or his fiancée. I was hoping to talk to you about this in person, but I’ve been asked to go on Rock Wives.”
“The IRB show?” They usually wanted the wives of rich stars for that segment. But Beth wasn’t just a rock star’s wife, she was the girl who ruined another rock star. Everyone wanted to get her story.
“Yes. It’s been hard, Justice. I sit here while people say things about me. Every day, there’s something on that Bring Gene Hayes Home site.” Her voice cracked. “They even had a story that my aunt who raised me had cut me off.”
Fuck. He hadn’t seen that one. He tried to think of something to say to make her feel better, but what?
“I want to do this interview. It’s a chance to show I’m more than the lying, scheming slut Hayes is putting out there. Most of the women on the show get to feature a cause, and mine is SLAM Heroes.”
She really wanted this, but it was too risky. “If you go on that show, it’s going to get all the protesters riled up. Who knows what shit Hayes will pull next? We’re in the final few weeks.”
He heard a shuddery breath. “I was hoping you’d trust me more than that. Believe in me.”
“I do.” Damn it. She didn’t ask him for much, but this could really backfire. Think. There had to be a way… Wait. “Beth, does it have to be right now? Can you do this after the tour? If we get the Indie Breakout Band nod, we’ll be going to Paris in May, so how about after that?”
“Will I be invited to go with you, or staying home while you’re in France?”
That punched him smack in his center. “You think I’d go without you? I know how much you’ve done and sacrificed to help us.” He’d damn well take her to Paris. In fact… “We could go a few days early and be tourists.” If they got that invitation to World Rock Stage, they were set, and even his band couldn’t object to Beth going with them. And if they did, he’d tell them to kiss his ass. He was taking his wife.
“A few days in Paris,” she said, her voice going warm with building excitement. “Like the honeymoon we never had. Real time together before the baby comes.”
Finally he’d found a way to make her happy and stay on track to superstardom. “We get that invitation for Indie Breakout Band, and we’re going to Paris.”
“All right, I’ll postpone Rock Wives until their fall taping. That’ll be after the baby comes. Now go win me a trip to Paris, rock star.”
He wouldn’t disappoint her again.
* * *
“Justice!”
The screaming girls kicked up his pulse, and Justice grinned and waved. Half the time he barely remembered what state he was in, but that thrill never died. Recognition. Adulation.
“Lynx, can I play with your stick?” another voice called.
“Anytime, baby!” Lynx called back.
“Justice, your wife is a skank!”
He froze.
Simon grabbed his arm. “Keep walking.” Once inside, they passed through the security check and made their way into the greenroom. Justice slammed his hand flat against a wall. “When will this shit stop? I swear—”
“I can help relax you.” A warm hand slid down his arm. Cloying perfume clogged his nose.
A flash went off.
“What the fuck?” Justice whirled away, startled to see a blonde chick with a huge rack purring at him. Behind her in the doorway was another woman with gothic-black hair and a pinched expression, backed up by a guy with a camera.
The dark-haired woman pushed in, forcing the blonde back. “I’m Rachelle from Thump Beat. I was told to meet you in here for an interview.” She glanced at the blonde. “You can come back later.”
River stepped in front of the blonde. “What’s your name?”
“Tiffany.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m River. As you can see…” he gestured to the reporter and camera, “…we have some business to take care of. But how about after the show, I buy you a drink?”
The girl melted. “Really?”
“Yep.” He eyed the badge around her neck. “You have a backstage pass, find me after the show.”
“I will.” The girl bounced in excitement as River deftly steered her out of the room.
“Is he really going to meet with her, or is that his brush-off line? Rumor is River’s a huge playboy,” the reporter asked.
Justice had forgotten they had an interview scheduled, and that had been an awkward start. Getting his head
into the game, he shook the reporter’s hand. “I’m Justice, and yeah, River meant it. I won’t lie, River’s a total dog, but he genuinely likes women.”
River walked back in, and they all settled on the couch and chairs.
Rachelle began with, “This battle is heating up between Savaged Illusions and Jagged Sin. It’s down to you and them to get the coveted Indie Breakout Band from World Rock Stage. Do you guys think you can win the title?”
They were running neck and neck thanks to that damned Bring Gene Hayes Home website.
“One hundred percent,” Lynx said.
“Absolutely. We’re the better band,” Simon added.
She turned to Justice. “What about you? Do you think you can win when many rock fans hate your wife? Word is she’s been banned from your shows.”
Shit. Every fucking interview it came back to Liza. “You guys hear about this ban?”
River frowned. “No. Only thing on my banned list is Brussels sprouts. What about you, Gray?”
“Dude, you should try Brussels sprouts roasted with some garlic. Broaden your horizons.”
“Not happening. Brussels sprouts are demon food.” River turned to the interviewer. “Do you like Brussels sprouts? Tell Gray here I’m right. Brussels sprouts are creepy.”
Rachelle blinked. “Let’s stay on topic. Rumors are running rampant that your wife is cheating, and the baby might not be yours. The Bring Gene Hayes Home website posted today that you refused to go to doctor appointments and want nothing to do with the kid. Is it true?”
Justice surged up to his feet. Where the fuck were they getting this stuff? Jesus Christ. Jerking out his phone, he pulled up the site.
Justice Cade out partying in Manhattan while his wife goes to doctor appointment alone. There was a picture of him at one of the cocktail parties in New York, his arm slung around a redhead in a slinky black dress. She had her hand on his chest, her eyes screaming fuck me. In the bottom corner was a picture of Liza walking into a medical building by herself.
Yeah, he’d been a bit wasted, but he didn’t touch that girl beyond the pictures. He’d gone back to his room and read Beth’s pages featuring the threesome and jerked off, thinking of his wife.
Beth had likely seen this. She saw it all. Had he even talked to her today? He glanced at the picture again. Two days after that party, he’d called Beth from the airport, and she’d been sick with the same crap-ass cold his dad had.
And Justice had flown to the Midwest to continue his tour.
He shifted his gaze back to Rachelle. “Not a shred of truth. Liza’s my wife, and that baby is our child.” Daughter. They were having a girl. “And I’m damned lucky Liza is putting up with all this shit.” But how long would she do it? It’d been almost five weeks since he’d seen her.
He kept letting her down.
And then stuff like this? How would he feel if he saw a picture of Liza with some man all over her? Like Dillion. Oh fuck no, he’d kill the bastard.
He really wanted to kill Gene Hayes. More each day. Too agitated to continue, he said, “I have something to take care of. I’ll let you guys finish the interview.” Justice stalked out of the room. Winding around the hallway, he found an empty room, went inside and called his wife.
“Justice, don’t you have to go onstage?”
Her voice had the husky note he loved so much. He leaned against the wall. “I miss you, Beth. I walked out of an interview just to hear your voice. Talk to me. How are you feeling?”
“I’m better now. Cold’s gone.”
“My dad still showing up at night?”
“Sometimes. When I took him back the other morning, I talked to one of his counselors. He thinks you should come in to try some family therapy with your dad. He’s not forming any bonds there, and they’re worried. They’re hoping bringing you in will trigger a breakthrough.”
More pressure squeezed his heart. “This was the other day? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She hesitated. “I told them you were on tour and wouldn’t be back until the week after next. But I should have texted you right then, I’m sorry. I meant to do it when I got to work, but I walked into… Never mind. Sorry.”
What was he doing? “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know you were sick, sweetheart. I was just surprised since my dad didn’t even talk to me the one time I was there. I’ll give them a call tomorrow and set something up at the transitional center.”
“Will you be home sooner than expected?”
Tension crackled down the airwaves. “I don’t think I can, unless we cancel a show. If I do that, it costs us a fortune in penalties and ticket refunds.”
“I know.”
Right, and that was why she hadn’t rushed to tell him about his dad. The dad she was obviously taking care of. He had to tell her why he called. “Beth, the picture that came out today, I didn’t touch her once the photo was done.” He stared at the economy-sized packages of paper towels and toilet paper lined up on shelves. He was in a storage closet. Lovely.
The pause killed him before she said, “Okay.”
“You believe me, right?”
“I’m trying. I really am.”
Her pain ripped through the cell line and made him feel like shit. “It’s only another week and few days. Just hold on and I’ll be home. I’m not cheating on you.” He needed to get his ass back to San Diego and help her, take care of her. Go to a damned doctor appointment.
“Good luck tonight. Have a great show.”
She obviously didn’t want to talk about it. “I love you, Beth. I’ll text tonight to see if you’re still awake after the concert.”
“Okay. Love you.” She hung up.
He stood in the storage room, cold fear seeping in. When had things gotten so hard and awkward? They’d been a lot of things—honest, raw, pissed, happy, and turned on. But never this distance until after Tampa. It just kept growing.
He couldn’t lose her. The old sense of abandonment closed around him. A pit of loneliness engulfed him, making him feel so fucking worthless.
Shoving off the wall, he headed out of the dank room. Time to get out onstage.
The one place he could make them love him.
Chapter 20
Liza juggled two bags of groceries around her five-and-a-half-month-pregnant belly, her purse and her keys. “Sorry, baby, don’t mean to squish you. But I have news. Your daddy’s coming home tomorrow. The tour is finally over.”
A gentle flutter in her belly made her laugh. “Yeah, I’m excited too.” And a little scared. He’d been surrounded by beautiful, sexy girls, and nope, not going down this road tonight. Sliding in her key, she unlocked the door, then froze when she heard music blasting.
The hair on the back of her neck stood. Run! But wait…she checked the alarm. It flashed the warning that the door had been opened just now, which meant it was on and worked, so no one could have broken in. But her father-in-law had a key and the alarm code. After entering the code to disarm the system, she crouched down, setting the bags and her purse on the floor, and grabbed her phone. “Noah?”
“No, it’s me, Beth.” Justice strode out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.
Wait, what? She was picking him up tomorrow. “I didn’t… You’re…” She couldn’t think what to say. Instead she drank in the sight of her husband. His hair was longer and brushed back, face a little sharper, blue eyes glittering as he slid his gaze over her, locking on her belly.
“You’re showing.”
Her hand flew to her stomach, unsure if she was boasting or hiding. “Five and a half months. She flutters around in there. It feels like butterfly wings.”
“Beth.”
“What?”
He tossed the towel over his shoulder and opened his arms. “Come here. I need to hug my girls.”
Whatever held her frozen cracked. She kicked off her heels and ran to him. The second his arms closed around her, warmth engulfed her. The feel of his hard chest crushing her breasts,
his ridged stomach against her rounded one, filled her with joy. His scent flooded her, and she inhaled, desperate to replace all the loneliness and uncertainty that had been festering for weeks.
His hands caught her butt, lifting her. “Damn, baby, I’m already hard for you. It’s been too long.”
Liza kissed his neck, her nipples throbbing. “Now.”
He pulled back, his lips curving in a wicked grin. “Horny?”
“God yes. You don’t know what it’s like with all these hormones running amok like sex-starved teenagers.”
His laughter rumbled, teasing her nipples.
She didn’t want to wait. “Let’s go—”
“Not yet.”
“Why?” She could feel his erection pressing against her, thick, hard, and straining the fabric of his jeans.
His breath blew across her neck. “I made you dinner. Fried chicken. And I have a surprise.”
Surprise? Oh, did he say fried chicken? She twisted her head toward the doorway to the kitchen and inhaled. Sure enough, she caught the mouthwatering aroma of old-fashioned fried chicken. It was his grandmother’s recipe from the diner she’d owned and Justice had grown up in.
And something else too, an acerbic, familiar scent. “Do I smell paint?”
“That’s my other surprise. Well, one of them.” He slid her down to her feet. “I hope you like it. If not, I’ll redo it, I just…” He scrunched up his face. “I’m actually nervous. This is worse than my preshow jitters.”
She was still trying to get her bearings. “What is? Did you take up painting? Did you paint a chicken? Oh, I know, it’s a rooster.” Why was she babbling?
Taking her hand, he tugged her toward the hallway. “Nope. I painted this.” He led her to the doorway of the first bedroom on the right.
She glanced in and gasped. “You did this?” The double bed, bookshelf, and dresser were gone. The room was empty, with a fresh coat of soft, sweet yellow. It was like walking into the first rays of morning sunshine, warm and embracing. “You did all this? When?”
“I flew in this morning and hauled ass here to paint the room before you got home. I spent a week looking at colors and talking to Ben and begging him to get Em to help. She was so pissed at me.”
Savaged Vows: Savaged Illusions Trilogy Book 2 Page 26
