Losing You (Stars On Fire #4)

by Ryleigh Andrews

  The very next day she’d printed them out and had gone all out and purchased every kind of frame for them, way more than she needed. Now they all sat on a bench in the hallway, waiting to be put up on the wall.

  After going out to his truck for his tools, Tom set about getting those pictures up.

  So many damn memories in these pictures. Tom had mixed feelings about them. Some were happy ones, like the group shots of all of them at various parties throughout the years, to ones of her and the band performing and out on tour.

  Then there were the ones that hurt him to see, like the ones of Mia and Luke with his daughter, looking like the perfect little family, and even some he knew were from her time with Ethan, though none with him were there.

  Studying the completed wall, Tom smiled proudly. It looked fucking awesome and he couldn’t wait for her to see it. Checking his watch, he couldn’t believe the time—well past seven o’clock. He was in the kitchen drinking a glass of water when Mia walked into the house.

  “Tommy. You’re here,” she said in greeting, tossing her bag and keys on the island, then hopping on it while he finished his drink.

  “I am,” he answered after putting his glass in the sink.

  “Good,” she said, her somber gaze falling to her lap.

  She seemed down and he didn’t like that one bit. Tom went to her and placed his hands on her bare knees, pushing her legs open and stepping into the space. With his hand, he lifted her chin, needing to see her eyes so he could gauge the truth of her answers.

  “How’s the album coming along?” he asked, his thumb absently caressing her jaw.

  Mia leaned into it. “Hitting some rough spots.”

  “What kind of rough spots?” he asked, moving even closer, feeling the bunched up jean skirt against his legs and her uneven breath against his lips.

  “The kind that are wreaking havoc with my emotions,” she said, looking off to the side.

  Needing to draw her from that melancholy, he stepped back and extended his hand to her. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Her pretty brown eyes shot in his direction. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. Come on,” he said.

  Mia jumped off the counter and let him lead her into the dining room. Her eyes popped when they landed on her new dining table.

  “Holy shit, Tom! It’s so much more than I imagined. It’s perfect.”

  Thank God, he thought. He’d never been this nervous to have a client see the finished product, but Mia was no ordinary client. She was his girlfriend, the woman he’d loved for years.

  Mia walked around the table, her hand flat on it, feeling the smooth wood beneath her palm. Tom knew that feeling. He did it all the time. She glanced up at him, an easy smile on her lips. Then he heard her quick intake of breath. She saw the wall.

  As she stared wordlessly across the room, his heart pounded. Her expression softened and that big smile of hers spread over her face. “Oh my God, Tom. You did it! No—you crushed it. This is amazing,” she exclaimed, hurrying over to the wall. “Memory lane,” she mused as her eyes went from picture to picture. He stayed back as she took it all in, but by her shaky exhale of breath, she found the special surprise he added to the wall—the picture he took of them at his place the day they exchanged “I love you’s.”

  Mia turned, an indulgent smile teasing her lips. “This one . . .” she said, pointing at it.

  “A good one for your memory wall?”

  Closing the space between them, she stood in front of him. “Yes, Tom. A perfect one,” she said before wrapping her arms around his neck, the entire front of her body touching his, she was that close. Holding his eyes with hers, Mia placed her mouth on his, moving her lips until they settled on his lower lip. He didn’t know whether this was a thank you or what. At the moment, he was very content with her kiss and those lovely long fingers of hers toying with his hair. When they danced down his back and up and under his shirt, his mind knew it was definitely more than a thank you.

  Her hands kept going and pushed his shirt up, her lips leaving his to pull it over his head.

  “Mia . . . I’ve got more to show you,” he said, thinking about the rest of the furniture he delivered for her office and bedroom, but loving her lips on his skin.

  She laughed while her hands dove to the fastening of his jeans. “I know you do,” she replied.

  “Not what I meant,” he groaned when her hand wrapped around his now hard dick.

  “I know, but this is what I want to see right now.”

  And then she fell to her knees and her tongue touched the tip of his cock, making it hard for him to keep standing. Her mouth worked him into a frenzy to the point where he couldn’t handle it anymore.

  He had to fuck that mouth.

  Gripping her hair, Tom set about doing just that, his thrusts hurried and consuming him. When he looked down and saw her dark eyes filled with need, he changed his tune.

  Wrenching his cock from her beautifully swollen mouth, he took a step back. “Get up, baby girl. Face the table. Hands spread out.”

  He would never get over that secret smile she gave him nor the way she scrambled to do what he said.

  Pushing up the tattered jean skirt, his cock twitched when he revealed her ass. The innocent white of her thong teased him and prevented what he wanted to see. As he rubbed his thumb along the wet outline of her pussy, he focused on Mia’s ragged breathing.

  “You ready for me, baby girl, or do you need more?” he asked, pulling her thong to the side. He knew what her answer would be and lined up, ready to give it to her.

  “Please, fuck me—ahh!” she groaned as he buried himself in her warmth, loving this enthralling place inside of her.

  Hell, he never wanted to leave it . . . or her.

  Marc

  May 14, 2008

  “You’re going out to dinner with Tom tonight and then leaving tomorrow to go out of town for who knows how long. Am I hearing you correctly?” Marc asked into the phone.

  “Marc . . .”

  He stayed silent because he was mad, teetering on pissed.

  “Yes. It’s correct,” Lizzie affirmed.

  “Well then . . .” he said. Marc tried to say more but his brain was having trouble processing this. She was having dinner with Tom, not him, and leaving first thing the next morning to head to Boston. Nowhere in that was her seeing her goddamn boyfriend.

  “I haven’t seen Tom in ages—” she continued to talk as he tried to deal with the hurt. And it hurt. He hadn’t expected that, but when she confirmed that he wouldn’t even see her before she went on this trip, his heart squeezed painfully. He was a pussy-whipped wuss. Next he’d probably cry. Marc needed to get off the phone.

  “The trip was unexpected—” she continued to explain, but he cut her off.

  “Yeah, you already said that. So, look, I have to go. Got a deadline to meet,” he said woodenly. At least he hadn’t lied. Every day a new deadline. Nature of his job.

  “Marc—” she pleaded.

  No. He wouldn’t let that plea affect him. He just had to hang up. “Talk to you whenever you get back. Bye, Lizzie.”

  After he returned the phone to its cradle, Marc stared out the windows of his office which normally afforded him a view of the lake, but not today. It was an all-around dreary day and the low-lying clouds obscured his view.

  Outside looked exactly how he felt.

  Marc knew travel was part of her job . . . and he was normally fine with that, but it was not having that connection with her before she left, her still choosing Tom after having that knowledge, that was clouding everything right now.

  Maybe time apart would give him some perspective to better handle that . . . to get him to the point where he could apologize for how he’d reacted. It wasn’t his finest moment, but at least it wasn’t his worst.

  His ringing cell phone pulled his rapt focus from the article on his laptop screen. Shaking his head to help dissipate the fog, Marc grabbed the phone
and smiled when he saw who it was.

  “Hi. It’s Mia,” she blurted out before Marc could even speak and he had to laugh.

  “I know who it is.”

  “I just . . .”

  “Were unsure because we haven’t talked in awhile?” he asked, needing her to know he understood.

  “Something like that,” she agreed.

  “How’ve you been?” he asked, curious as to what she’d say. When Marc talked to Clark the other day, his brother told him that the guys were concerned about Mia and her mindset. Something was off with her. They just didn’t know what.

  “I’ve been better,” she answered and he was floored that she admitted it instead of just telling him she was fine like she normally did.

  “Yeah, I heard that. Your boys are worried about you,” he said. The tone of her voice had him worried too.

  “Yeah, I haven’t been in this place in a long time, and it’s so much worse than it’s ever been. I need your help.”

  “Mia . . .” he said, not wanting to believe this. He knew what she sought: the oblivion brought to her by drugs. When she’d broken up with Luke, Marc had been there to help her—he got her stoned out of her mind so she could forget the pain. But he was in a different place now . . . wasn’t he?

  “It’s there, Marc, and I can’t get rid of it. I need it gone,” she paused, exhaling loudly. “Can you come over? Please?”

  Shit. He ran his hand through his hair. He was going, regardless of the drugs. He had nowhere else to be and his friend needed him. “Yeah, I can. Lizzie’s with Tom tonight. What do you want?” he asked like a waiter.

  Marc heard her heavy sigh over the line. “I don’t want to know what you give me. I trust you.”

  “Mia, are you sure?” he asked, more to him than her . . . what she was asking for was more than pot. More than he’d done in a long, long time.

  “Marc, we’ve done this before. I just need it again. I need you to take away the pain. I need this favor.”

  Fuck . . . that wasn’t what this was. “This is not a favor,” he said, wanting her to realize the seriousness of this.

  “I’ll go elsewhere . . .”

  “No! You won’t. Don’t you dare go to someone else! You hear me, Mia?” he shouted, his panic rising. She didn’t know what to do. She’d never purchased drugs before—it had either been from him or Todd. All Marc could picture was some dealer taking advantage of the gorgeous woman asking for drugs . . . or worse, her ending up dead.

  “Mia,” he said, drawing out her name in a plea. When she didn’t answer, he blew out his breath, knowing what he’d be doing. “Okay. I’ll be there in about an hour. Do not leave! I’ll take care of you. Please just don’t leave. Promise me.”

  “I won’t leave. I . . . um . . . thanks, Marc. I owe you.”

  “You’d do the same for me.”

  “Thank you,” she answered quietly and hung up.

  With his phone still in his hand, Marc blew out a big breath. What the hell was going on with Mia? She was with Tom, right? He’d definitely be asking her those questions and more tonight, but first, he needed to call in her order.

  Pulling into a spot a few doors down from her place, Marc turned off his car. The heaviness of the bag of drugs in his jacket pocket weighed him down. His dealer had hooked him up—as always, plus a little welcome back surprise. Marc sat in his car, mentally preparing himself not to do these with Mia. After his day today, the temptation was strong.

  So fucking strong.

  Dwelling on it in the car wasn’t helping. All it did was make him want to reach into the bag and pop a couple pills. Pushing the door open, he got out and walked the short distance to her house. He rang the doorbell and when she didn’t answer, he tried again. A trickle of fear climbed up his spine when he got no response. The trickle turned into a river when he tried the door and it was unlocked.

  No, he didn’t like that at all.

  After entering her house, he shut and locked the door. Turning around to search out Mia, Marc froze when he saw her body sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Dread of what he may find made breathing difficult.

  An image of his father’s lifeless body flashed before him, looking so much like Mia’s. He closed his eyes tight against the image. But the smell of blood filled his nostrils. He could feel it on his shaking hands.

  Fisting them at his side, he fought against the flashback, but it was there. He could hear the blood spattering on the floor, hear his father’s last gasp of air. He could feel the blood soaking into his pants as he tried to stop the bleeding.

  Shaking his head, he opened his eyes, yet stood still, watching Mia. He jumped back a step when her eyes shot open. A relieved sigh slipped past his lips. She wasn’t dead, but then he frowned. Why the hell was she passed out in the middle of the floor?

  When he reached her, he went to the floor to lay with her, his eyes not leaving hers. “Mia, sweetie, have you taken anything?”

  Worry filled him when she didn’t respond, but then he saw her swallow and one word made it out of her mouth. “No.”

  Scooching closer to her, he noticed the strong smell of whiskey. “You smell like a liquor store.”

  “Maybe because I drank one,” she said, still trying to find her voice.

  Her eyes closed but he didn’t want that. He needed to keep her talking. “So, my dear, why are you lying in the middle of the floor?”

  “I misjudged where the couch was,” she deadpanned. He fought not to smile. Even drunk to the point of passing out, she could still deliver a much-needed joke.

  “Yeah, you did. You got about another fifteen feet to go.”

  She tried to look over at the couch but her eyes rolled back into her head. “Really?” she eventually asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, keeping his eye on her. Marc had a feeling she was fighting not to throw up. “Mia? Want to get up?”

  “Yes and no,” she said before swallowing again. Shit, he needed to get her to the bathroom. Getting up, he stood by her side.

  “I’ll get you up. Just don’t fight me, okay?” he pleaded. When she nodded, his hands went under her arms and he pulled her to a standing position. Once on her feet, she wobbled a little, latching on to Marc’s arm to steady herself. He glanced over at her green face and took off dragging her to the bathroom.

  Just making it, Mia was on her knees, hugging the toilet. Marc rubbed her back as she threw up. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this for her, but he hoped it was the last.

  “Think you can make it to your bedroom?” he asked when she stopped. Mia needed to sleep this bender off.

  Turning to face him, she shook her head.

  “Fuck,” he said at the look on her face. Frantically, she returned to the toilet, throwing up until she slid from the bowl and passed back out. Marc lifted her from the floor and carried her up to her bedroom and got her to bed.

  Marc

  The memory of his father’s suicide plagued him throughout the night. Marc stayed with Mia, focusing on the TV, letting the moving images of the shows and movies replace the ones from his past, instead of grabbing the bag from his coat. He watched TV until he finally passed out from exhaustion sometime around two. When he woke, Mia was snuggled up against his side, still sound asleep. He wanted to still be that way. Maybe he could call in. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he checked his calendar and saw that he had an all-day meeting near Naperville.

  Fuck.

  Begrudgingly, he carefully moved her hand and head from his chest and got out of bed. Too many years of experience told him that Mia would be hurting when she woke, so he got her a bottle of water as well as her phone, then hurried home to change before his meeting.

  Wanting a long-ass shower but not having the time, Marc stripped and settled for a quick one. He was in and out of his house within fifteen minutes and then made his way to the brewery with five minutes to spare.

  While he waited for the person he was supposed to interview to arrive, Marc shot off a te
xt to Mia because he’d be surprised if she remembered anything from last night. Scrolling through the rest of his messages, he frowned when he noticed none of them were from Lizzie. Looking up from his phone, he saw two people heading his way. His thoughts on that topic would have to wait until after this interview and tour of their brewery.

  That was some good fucking beer, Marc thought as he drove home, a few six packs tucked safely away in the trunk of his car. He wasn’t going back to the office to work on the article when he could just as easily work on it from the comfort of home.

  When he walked into his empty house, he threw his coat on the sofa, then headed to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge, minus one bottle. Popping the top, he searched his pockets for his phone and came up empty. Returning to the living room, he picked up his jacket and patted the pockets down, pausing when he touched something soft, but he continued his search until his fingers slid over the cool, metal surface of his phone.

  He pulled it out as well as the bag containing the drugs for Mia, then sat down. Tossing the bag on the table, he checked his phone and saw a reply from Mia. After he read it to make sure she had survived her morning from hell, Marc made sure he hadn’t missed a text or call from Lizzie. He needed to hear from her. He needed her to ground him—desperately.

  Nothing.

  After sliding his phone in his shirt pocket, he yanked his laptop out and went to work on his article. A few hours later, Marc sent the draft to his editor, placed his closed laptop on the coffee table and stared at the bag of drugs. He knew what was in there—some ecstasy, oxy, and zombie pills, plus some black tar.

  Heroin.

  He’d done it before . . . many years ago. But that high he couldn’t recall. And that drew him to what was in that bag. Maybe . . . just maybe chasing the dragon would work, would allow him to reset. To block these horrendous flashbacks from plaguing him. To block the thoughts of Lizzie slipping away from him. To rid himself of the vision of his friend on the ground looking so much like his father when he’d crumpled to the floor after pulling the trigger to end his life. He couldn’t lose her and last night at her place had rattled him.