by Cari Quinn
Denver finally sent back a text.
She’s still breathing. About all we can ask for right now. She and Tris have been pretty holed up. We’re trying to give them what they’re asking for, and right now it’s space.
The baby’s okay?
She still hasn’t officially admitted she’s pregnant, but we all know it. She’s said she’s all right, so I have to hope the baby is too.
Elle set down her phone and pressed her fingertips to her closed eyes. God, just thinking about Jules being pregnant in the midst of this made her queasy. She missed her friend so much. All she wanted was to wrap her arms around her and hold on until this horrible nightmare ended.
But it never would. And Jules didn’t need—or want—her hugs right now.
It was probably just as well she had opted to stay in New York. Mal too. For all Elle knew, maybe Jules would just see them as bad reminders of a night she could never forget.
Denver texted again.
I don’t like the thought of you alone all day while your friend is at work. I don’t think it’s healthy.
What Denver didn’t say was that she felt it gave Elle too much time to think. She was right—normally. But not today.
Actually, I had company today. I’m okay.
What kind of company? Making friends already?
Nah, I hung out with Mal.
Denver didn’t reply for so long that Elle figured Ryan must’ve come home or something. She stood to root through the few shirts she had with her, finally deciding she’d go with a tank top. More room for the damn sling without causing sleeve friction. Plus, clubs usually got hot.
But then there was definitely the bra issue. She didn’t normally rue her C-cups, but she was right now.
“Fuck my life,” she muttered, grabbing a plain cotton bra out of her drawer. Then she went back for a push-up one. Hell, if she was going through that much effort, might as well shove the girls nice and high.
Denver texted again just as she was closing the front snaps. She sighed and grabbed her phone, narrowing her eyes at Denver’s one-word question.
Why?
Because he’s here? I don’t know. We just chilled. No big deal.
She wanted to say more. Like that they’d had fun. Or at least she had. There had been no stress. No need to think. And she hadn’t felt alone, something she often did even when she was in a group. That pervasive loneliness had dogged her since childhood and the feeling had only grown worse since the night of the concert.
But not today.
You hate Mal.
I don’t hate anyone.
Pretty sure you hate him. If I polled the band right now, they’d all agree with me.
Fine, have it your way, I hate him. I still had fun today. Okay?
Denver’s pause in texting was even longer this time. Elle took the opportunity to turn off her phone.
She loved Denver. Out of all the girls, Denver was probably her closest friend. But she didn’t want to justify seeing Mal to her or anyone else. It wasn’t as if they’d made out, for fuck’s sake. They’d just had lunch and watched some guys play guitar. And argued about petty shit.
What was the big deal?
Oh, maybe that you’re wearing a push-up bra to watch him play at some club? And skinny jeans, which are basically equivalent to a chastity belt for you now in terms of effort required to put them on.
She growled under her breath and stalked to the bathroom mirror. She wasn’t wearing the bra and skinny jeans for Mal. That would’ve been ludicrous. She was just going to support the guy because he’d asked her to come see him play.
Before she’d thrown the invite back in his face.
She shut her eyes and lightly thunked her forehead against the mirror.
Smart move, Crandall.
Recovering from a concussion and she already had a headache building and what did she do? Bang her head some more.
All because Malachi Shawcross was ridiculously sexy and absolutely no one in the world seemed to want her to go within fifteen feet of him.
She was still restless and itchy as she and Teagan waited in line outside the Purple Egg at a quarter to nine. Early by clubbing standards, but they didn’t know when the set was due to start. Her phone pulsed in her hand and she growled at the message before shoving her phone back into her pocket.
“If I get one more text from Michael about keeping clear of Mal, I’m going to scream.”
Teagan grinned. “Only makes you want to spend even more time with him.”
“I’m not being contrary. I just don’t get what the BFD is. I’m a grown woman. Besides, if we were going to do something crazy, we could’ve done it months ago. His bed is like five feet from mine.”
Teagan pushed her round frame glasses higher on her pert nose. Everything was pert about Teagan, from her bouncy red curls to her stacked ass. And Elle didn’t feel weird for noticing, since Teagan had asked her repeatedly if her butt looked okay in her ripped jeans.
Answer—yes, it looked fabulous and Elle was jealous as hell.
“But he hadn’t saved your life then. That’s, like, Titanic-type shit right there.”
“What is it with Titanic? Everyone uses it as an example of some great love story, and hello, Rose could’ve made room for Jack on the board. She didn’t because she was just using him for some cruise ship booty and planned on landing herself a new rich guy the moment she got back to shore.”
Teagan’s mouth dropped open. “That is quite possibly the most cynical thing I’ve ever heard you say, Richelle Crandall.”
Elle shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Your jaded view of one of the most romantic movies ever aside, what Mal did for you is enough to create some serious vag-clenching moments.”
“He would’ve done it for anyone. We didn’t even talk about it. It’s not a thing.”
Except it was, in the back of her head. Especially since she kept having weird flashbacks to the night of the show, both when she was and wasn’t awake.
The ones she had during sleep were far worse. Knowing Mal had witnessed at least the tail end of one of those nightmares should’ve freaked her out, but it hadn’t. Neither had his checking out her rack. She’d felt at ease with him in a way she couldn’t explain.
It hadn’t always been that way between them. Maybe it wouldn’t be again since she’d screwed things up so colossally.
But she was there for his show, wasn’t she? And whether or not he wanted her to stick around, she intended to stay for his entire set.
That was what a friend would do. Because that was all they were. Barely even that, but still.
“But he didn’t do it for anyone. He did it for you. Have you seen the pictures?”
A pang went through Elle’s chest, somehow resonating in the dull ache at the base of her skull. “There’s pictures? God. I don’t want to see.” She glanced over her shoulder at the line already winding down the sidewalk behind them. A burly, stern-looking security guard was checking IDs at the door, and it was taking forever.
“Yes, there’s pictures. Look.” Teagan scrolled to a webpage and held out her phone to Elle. “He looked so hot carrying you out of there. I mean, of course it was a horrible tragedy, and I know people were hurt—”
“My bandmate’s husband died. Went far beyond hurt,” Elle said shortly, pushing away the phone. “I don’t want to see them.”
“If you’d just—”
“Teagan. I said no.” Her sharp response made the people just ahead of them turn around to stare.
Elle shook her head and covered her face with her hand. Her head felt as if someone was driving an iron spike through it. And her arm was prickling with pins and needles, a sensation she was becoming all too familiar with.
Why had she thought coming out tonight was a good idea? She was in pain and uncomfortable and the crush of bodies against her on all sides was making sweat pop out on her brow and between her breasts. A crowd this size was dangerous. If anyone was packing a weapon, or decided to
cause some trouble, shit could go south fast.
You didn’t think of that earlier, with Mal. Think he can protect you from everything? That he’s your own personal savior now?
“Whoa, sorry, Elle. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Teagan touched Elle’s back lightly, pulling away when Elle braced. “Are you okay? You look sick.”
“I’m fine.” Just two minutes away from tossing what’s left from my lunch on the nearest pair of shoes. No problem here.
“If you aren’t feeling well, I’m sure you could text Mal and send him your regrets.”
Elle barked out a laugh. “Right. I’ll just do that, since he isn’t speaking to me at the moment anyway.”
Teagan’s perfect auburn brows pinched together. “Then why are we here? I thought you said he invited you?”
“He did, but I threw it back in his face.” Elle rubbed the knotted muscles at the back of her neck. “We have a complicated relationship.”
“I guess so.”
“Actually, we don’t have a relationship at all. We barely speak, just grunt insults at each other most of the time.”
The line shuffled forward. Finally. “But he saved your life,” Teagan insisted.
“Do you know I would have died for sure? No. Neither do I. If it’s not your time, you don’t die.”
“But you can’t know. The article said he shoved a burning beam out of the way, then he carried you through the crowd while you were injured and bleeding all over him.”
Elle shut her eyes as the smell of smoke infiltrated her nose, making her lightheaded. A cigarette. It had to be someone smoking. She wasn’t back there on that smoky stage, struggling to breathe while consciousness drifted away.
I’m here. I’m here with you.
She sucked in a deep breath of air as her heart fluttered. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she muttered, grimacing as someone pushed too close and she drew the sling in too tightly to her body. Pain ricocheted through her shoulder into her neck, and she nearly groaned in agony.
Christ, she had to get out of there before she passed out. And guess what, there was no Mal to save her so gallantly now. What was he supposed to do? Leap down off the stage mid-set and part the crowd like the Red Sea to find her?
Behind her, a couple of girls were giggling. “Shh, shh, put those away. Wait until we get inside.”
“Dude, I need one. I’m totally crashing. We have enough. One now, one later.”
More giggling. “C’mon, you know I have way more than that. I never leave home without our party favors.”
“Thank God. My cramps are killing me.”
The second girl snorted. “Take a few of those and you’ll be feeling no pain.”
Teagan snapped her fingers in Elle’s face. “Earth to Elle. Though gotta say, I still want to call you Ricki. Hard to change after all these years.”
“Call me whatever you want. I answer to lots of things. Even Little Ricki now and then.”
Teagan laughed. “Well, considering you’re taller than me, not sure that fits. Who calls you that?”
Elle swallowed his name before she said it. She was afraid even saying it aloud again would conjure him in front of her and she wasn’t ready.
You need one of those pills.
She didn’t even know what they were, but it hardly mattered. Those two chicks were smaller than she was and they weren’t stumbling around or too messed up. If they could take them and not suffer many ill effects, so could she. It probably couldn’t be much different than her pain pills, and she hadn’t even had one of those yet. She’d been so good.
So now you can be bad.
She shook her head. No, that wasn’t why she wanted one. Her head hurt. Her arm hurt more. She was so wobbly and kept looking over her shoulder. She’d never had panic attacks before, but she would’ve sworn she was on the verge of one. Maybe this was what Nicky felt like when he walked on stage.
Nicky. Dear God, she couldn’t slip. Not when she’d managed to stay strong for so long.
He’d called when they were on the way out. She’d sent him a quick text, promising to get back to him later.
He’d know if she was high. She’d know even if he didn’t. And she couldn’t mess with her sobriety. It had been—fuck, how many days had it been? She’d kept a solid count until the day of the accident, scrolling it every morning on the inside of her wrist in pen. When she’d awakened in the hospital, she’d noticed the number the next day and had scrubbed it with soap to make it go away.
They’d pumped her full of crap. She hadn’t chosen to take it, but it was the same. And if it wasn’t, she’d been too disoriented to find the logic that said otherwise. Standing in front of that sink in the tiny bathroom, she’d felt like a failure.
She felt like an even bigger one now, because her mouth was watering and her skin was buzzing and she hadn’t even taken a single hit yet.
Yet.
Her sponsor. She should call Kristy as soon as they got in the club. She’d talk her down off the ledge. She had before. All she had to do was wait until they were inside and find a quiet corner and make the call. No matter what Kristy was doing, she’d answer if she was able to.
And if she wasn’t able to, Elle would just take that little pill, whatever it was, and no one would be any the wiser.
Just one pill. What could it hurt?
She wouldn’t even have to talk to them. Nicky wasn’t the only one in the family who could pick locks and swipe things out from under people. If she wanted to, she could just slip that little baggie out of the brunette’s back pocket, take what she wanted, and return it without saying so much as thank you.
“Here we go,” Teagan said enthusiastically as they finally reached the security guard.
Her friend made small talk with him as they flashed their IDs, and Teagan laughed and flirted as easily as if she’d been born doing it. That was just her personality. She’d recently gone through a rough breakup, so Elle was reasonably sure her friend wasn’t looking to hook up tonight.
What about you? You looking to score anything besides a high?
She nearly laughed despite the relentless ache in her head. Score, yeah right. She was trussed up like a Thanksgiving bird. She couldn’t even undress herself without help unless the guy wanted to wait half an hour. He’d probably be snoring by then.
Besides, she wasn’t ready to be touched. Or looked at intimately. She had so many fresh bruises and wounds now and her body didn’t seem to fit her right anymore. As if she’d woken up in the form of a stranger with her face.
Teagan walked away from the security guard with his phone number. “Well, look at that.” She grinned up at Elle as they found the last unoccupied table on the raised level to the left of the stage. There was space to stand right in front, flowing to the back. People were already dancing near the front of the club to the canned music coming through the speakers, but glittery purple curtains pulled tight across the stage were fronted with a glowing neon sign that said Venus Rising.
Glitter and neon, so not Mal’s scene. Yet there they were.
And Elle couldn’t see those girls who had been behind them anymore. She should’ve watched them more closely. Now she might be shit outta luck.
Some luck, that an addict can’t find her high.
A waitress came over with a sticky pair of menus and slapped them down on the table. Teagan popped one open and rubbed her hands together. “God, starving. What do you feel like getting? I’ve been craving onion rings all day.”
Elle shut her eyes. “Already had onion rings today,” she said faintly, trying to shove the memory of lunch with Mal away. “But I’m always up for more.”
“Perfect. Did you try that little deli on the corner I told you about?” Teagan asked distractedly, still perusing the menu.
“No. Not yet.” Shakily, she rose. Time to call Kristy. She was on the ropes, big time. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Be right back.”
“Okay. Don’t get lost. The set should be star
ting soon.”
Elle nodded, backing away from the table. She was sweating again, and this time she wasn’t sure it was from the pain. She needed a hit. It had been a while, but she was craving hardcore.
How had she ever ignored this feeling? The shakiness, the gnawing hunger in the pit of her belly that no food could fill. Her skin went clammy then hot, and spots danced in front of her vision as she made her way through the people laughing and milling around with drinks in their hands. Everyone was having a good time.
She could be too. Soon. Very soon.
Slapping a hand against the wall to stop it from shimmying, she passed through a doorway that could’ve led to the hallway by the bathrooms or another world. Either one seemed plausible. She blinked until the spots receded, walking forward as gingerly as a child on the ice.
One step in front of the other. One step at a time. That’s it, Ellie. Hang on to Mommy. You don’t want to fall.
Ahead, the brunette from behind them in line was going into the bathroom.
Chapter Six
His hands were on fire.
It wasn’t the new drumsticks. Those were the perfect weight in his hands, curving into his grip as if they’d been made for him. They had been in a way. Not to the shape of his hand, but for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a gift from someone.
Even if that someone had then tossed his invitation back in his face a few hours after he’d gotten her present.
Eh, what did he expect? They weren’t friends. She’d gotten him those drumsticks for one reason only—guilt. She felt guilty that he’d saved her. Randy was dead, and she was alive, and he’d bet cash money she felt as if that wasn’t fair.
No, it wasn’t fucking fair Randy was dead, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be. She hadn’t taken his place. She’d just occupied her own.
Dobby, the lead singer of Venus Rising, was on his knees, wailing out an Oblivion hit. He probably thought he was doing a good Simon Kagan imitation, but he so wasn’t. The guy had a wicked cold, and he’d been hacking and sucking down lozenges right before coming onstage. He sounded like a dying cat, and his dance moves when he made it up off his knees weren’t much better.
