by Sarah Tipton
“OK, you’ve gotta get a grip, girl.” Bailee patted her back. “You can’t walk out there looking scarier than a zombie with bad makeup.”
“He wants me out of the band now.” Zoey thought the worst had happened—she and Justin had broken up. But greater tragedies waited. She should’ve listened to Sawyer and forgot about the kiss.
“Who, Vance? Doesn’t matter, they still need you, at least until Halleigh gets back.”
As if that made things better. She coughed on the choking tears.
“Stop it.” Bailee gripped her shoulders, forcing Zoey to look at her. “You can cry later.”
“I can’t sing tonight.” She hiccuped. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” Bailee grabbed her purse off the floor and dug through it. “I’ll fix your makeup. You take this.” She held out a tiny, blue pill.
“What is it?”
“Something to calm you down and cheer you up. It won’t hurt you.” Bailee shoved her hand under Zoey’s nose. “Look, you gotta get it together and perform tonight. Don’t mess it up for the guys. Then they’ll all want to kick you out of the band.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Zoey popped the pill in her mouth and swallowed.
“Vance’ll get over it.” Bailee piled powder, eye shadow, mascara, and other tubes and cases on the couch between them. She scrubbed at Zoey’s face with a tissue.
“You think so?” Zoey closed her eyes, and Bailee swiped the tissue around them.
“Sure. Maybe. At least you didn’t cheat on him. I don’t know what his hang up is with cheating—something to do with his parents—but it really ticks him off.” Bailee tossed aside the pink and black stained tissue and attacked Zoey’s cheeks with powder. “Close your eyes.”
Zoey did, and Bailee rubbed eye shadow over her lids.
“How’d you end up kissing another guy?”
“It was stupid.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Don’t tell me if you’re going to start that again. Look up.”
Zoey raised her gaze to the ceiling, her head swimming. The couch started rocking, and she braced her hands on the cushion.
“OK, not so scary. I’m going out front.” Bailee dumped the makeup back in her purse and stood. “Don’t fail us.”
Zoey nodded and giggled to herself. She’d never felt her brain slosh around before. Bailee was right, she felt less jittery and scared. She could do this. She’d give her best performance ever.
She wiggled her head and tried to stand but slipped as though the concrete floor was made of ice. Her hip hit the ground, pain jolting through her leg, and another laugh bubbled out. Maybe she’d lie down for a minute and think calming thoughts. Who’d installed those sick, swirling light fixtures? There were one...two...three...four, no, had she counted that one already? Start over.
~*~
Groaning, Zoey forced her eyes open and then squeezed them shut. Who would use 200-watt bulbs? And why could she feel every bone and muscle in her body while her head felt stuffed with rocks that scratched her skull? She pushed herself upright and peeked through her eyelashes.
“You conscious?” Vance’s voice seared her sensitive ears.
“What? Yeah, I guess.” What was going on? Someone kicked her foot. She lifted her rock-filled head and stared at Vance. The anger on his face looked etched in granite.
“You messed up big time.”
What was he talking about? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember where she was and why her head hurt so much. Fragments flashed through her mind. Vance’s girlfriend setups. Crying. Bailee fixing her makeup. That pill. Bile rose into her throat. What had she done? She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t support her. She settled onto the cold, concrete floor, her knees pulled to her chest.
“We had to perform without you.” Vance’s words drilled her ears, and his face swam in and out of focus. “You know how pathetic that was?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Sorry? Yeah, like that fixes tonight.” Vance leaned right in front of Zoey. She could smell his sour breath. “You’re done. We’ll find somebody else, someone reliable. Someone who doesn’t cheat on her boyfriend.”
Zoey’s soul shattered. A million broken pieces.
“You better call someone to come get you. They’re ready to lock this place up.” The door slammed shut behind him.
Zoey wanted to cry, but she was too empty. Empty of tears. Empty of hope. Empty of life. She tried to get her eyes to focus. Everything was blurry, but she recognized her cellphone. She blinked, opening her eyes wide to read the time. Two a.m. Who could she call in the middle of the night? Livvy was in Anchorage, and she couldn’t call Dad to come get her. Not looking drugged. She scrolled through her contacts until she found the name of someone who wouldn’t need the answers to any questions about this mess.
She hit the call button.
39
Dirty Scene
Ringing punched through Sawyer’s sleep-fog, and he groaned. Where was his phone? What time was it? The glow behind his blinds meant nothing. Could be three in the afternoon, and he’d been asleep for over twelve hours, or could be three in the morning and he’d been asleep for a measly two. Felt like three a.m. though.
He found his phone under a T-shirt and answered the call without checking the time or the I.D.
“Huh?” His attempt at a “hey” came off as a grunt.
“Sawyer?” Hesitant, girl voice.
“Who’s this?” He scrubbed a fist over his eyes trying to wake up.
“It’s me. Zoey.”
“Why?” Sawyer sat up. She better not have woken him to talk about what-never-should’ve-happened again.
“I need...I need a ride, and I didn’t know who else to call. It’s the middle of the night, and I didn’t want to wake up my dad and Livvy’s in Anchorage. I really messed up, Sawyer. Really, really messed up.”
Was she crying? Not again. That’s what had destroyed everything to begin with. How could whatever she’d done now be worse than what had happened the last time he’d helped her?
“Please, Sawyer? I can’t—I can’t—“
Definitely sobbing.
He shouldn’t get involved again. He should run the other way. But it was—he checked the time on his phone—two-twenty-two a.m. And if Zoey had called him to rescue her, she had to be in huge trouble.
“Where are you?” He swung his feet off the bed and kicked around laundry until he uncovered his shoes.
She named a club outside of Fairbanks. What was she doing there? Explained why she didn’t want her dad or sister knowing.
Sawyer tugged the T-shirt that had hidden his phone over his head. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He shoved his phone in his pocket, grabbed the keys out of the bowl on the table, and stepped outside into the midnight—or two-in-the-morning—sun, then doubled back to scribble Mom a message on the fridge’s white board. Just in case. He’d probably be home and asleep before she woke up and would never know he’d left.
There were no cars on the roads in town or out of town and very few in the parking lot of the dingy, brown-sided club. Zoey’s car was one of them. He recognized the license plate. If Zoey had a car, why did she need a ride?
He walked to the club door and tugged the handle. Locked. This was getting complicated. He pulled out his phone to text Zoey, but a side door opened and a guy with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, with tats down his arm, stepped outside.
“Hey!” Sawyer jogged over. “A—my friend—called me to pick her up. Know where I can find her?”
“You mean Zoey?” The way he spat her name showed he wasn’t a fan. Or a friend. He jerked his thumb behind him. “In there.”
Sawyer moved to open the door.
“She blew it, man.” The guy threw in a few words that stiffened Sawyer.
Sawyer’s grip tightened, fist-like, around the door handle. Sure, he tossed out the occasional cuss word, but these were aimed at Zoey. He got why
she needed rescuing.
Sawyer yanked the door open, letting it bang against the outside wall, and stormed into a dark hallway. His insides steamed like an overheated, microwaved burrito. Where did the guy get off saying things like that about Zoey? Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, he peeked into doorways and found Zoey in the third room.
She sat on the stained, concrete floor, hugging her knees to her chest, face pressed against legs, rocking.
“Hey, Zo.” Sawyer knelt next to her. “You OK?”
She raised her head. Gray streaks discolored her cheeks. Puffy pink skin pushed her eyes into slits. Her mouth opened. Shut. No sound. She shook her head.
Upset, crying girl in the back of a dingy club. Sitting on the floor. A wreck.
“Did something…what happened?” The possibilities and the sour smell in the room—or maybe the scent came off Zoey—sickened Sawyer. He glanced out the open doorway. Did he need to track down that guy outside and punch him for something other than the names he’d called Zoey? Or had someone else hurt her?
“I don’t. I can’t. Not now. Please?” Zoey struggled to her feet swaying.
Sawyer grabbed her arm and helped her balance. Placing his mouth close to her ear, he kept his voice low. “If someone did something to you, then…” He couldn’t finish his thought. Didn’t know what he would or could or should do. But walking Zoey out of here and doing nothing felt wrong.
“I’m the one who did something. Or didn’t do something.” Zoey sniffled, the sound echoing off the dingy concrete block walls. “Or both. It’s my fault.”
“No. It wouldn’t be your fault if someone—“
“No one did anything, Sawyer.” Strength blasted into Zoey’s voice, behind the trembling. “Not like you’re asking. And I called you because I thought you wouldn’t do any asking. You’d just give me a ride. Can you do that? Please?”
“Sorry.” He couldn’t keep the bite out of that word, even if Zoey looked a mess. But if she was only looking for a ride, he’d only give her a ride.
“Could I also, maybe, go back to your house and crash?” The lost, aching sound returned, and Zoey turned her stained face toward Sawyer. “I can’t go home yet.”
“Sure.” So a little more than a ride. Not that he minded. Mom wouldn’t either. Zoey needed somebody tonight, and she’d called him. Not because of the kiss—at least, he didn’t think so—but because she knew he’d be available at two in the morning for a ride and a place to crash. He didn’t offer much to his friends, all two or three of them, but he could offer that. “Let’s go.” Supporting Zoey with one arm, he led her out the back way.
~*~
Knocking rattled Sawyer’s head. He twisted, rough fabric scratching his cheeks and shoulders. What? Where? He forced his eyes open and oriented himself. He’d passed out. On the couch. After taking off his shirt. But the TV was off, so why’d he fallen asleep here?
Zoey.
The knocking sounded again. Someone else waking him up. Was it still the middle of the night? He glanced around for his phone. Missing again.
More knocking.
“Coming.” He groaned and stumbled toward the door. Opening it, he was slammed with a blast of sunlight and Chey’s face. What was she—
Right, they’d planned to play today.
“Are you early?” He yawned, not bothering to cover his gaping mouth.
“It’s after ten.” Chey peered behind him. “We’re practicing, aren’t we?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Sawyer turned and headed for his room. Where practice would happen. And where his clothes were.
Chey’s footsteps echoed behind his, all the way to his bedroom.
“Get up.” Sawyer aimed his demand to the lump in his bed. He’d given Zoey his bed last night, and a clean T-shirt, before crashing on the couch. She’d needed a mattress and blankets and pillow more than he had.
Groaning came from the bed.
Sawyer tugged a shirt over his head, going blind to the room for a few seconds. When his head popped through, he yawned and glanced around. Room was more of a mess than usual, with Zoey’s shoes and tights and shirt on his floor.
Chey stood frozen in the doorway, her face pale, eyes wide, mouth parted.
The lump on the bed shifted, Sawyer’s worn navy blanket falling out of the way. Black and green streaked hair hid Zoey’s face and muffled her voice, words that sounded like “my head.”
Chey spun around and ran for the front door.
“Chey?” A jolt hit Sawyer, like an energy shot had hit his blood. He darted after her, stumbling over one of Zoey’s shoes. Where was she going? Weren’t they supposed to practice? “Chey!” His legs were still weak with sleep, and the door slammed before Sawyer could catch her. He opened it in time to see her car speeding away.
That couldn’t be good.
40
Useless Alibis
Zoey rubbed her head. The rocks from last night had softened to packing peanuts, a slight improvement. She’d been so stupid. Groaning, she rested her forehead against the rough blanket over her bent knees.
“Why’d she leave?” Sawyer’s words drummed like shots from a nail gun.
“Probably because of what she saw.” Yuck, her mouth tasted like packing peanuts too.
“I look that bad without a shirt?”
Was he serious? Zoey squinted at him trying to clear her fuzzy vision. “I think it was me in your bed that made her leave.”
A full second passed before the confusion cleared from his face. Then he swore. “Sorry,” he added.
Whoa. Had Sawyer just apologized for cussing? Her head ached from trying to process that. The world really had flipped upside-down; she’d taken drugs, and Sawyer was apologizing for his language. No, forget an upside-down world; she’d entered a parallel universe.
Sawyer dove for the window, sending the bed swaying and rocking. He peeked through the blinds. “She’s gone.” The words traveled on a dejected sigh. He collapsed onto the end of the bed.
Zoey’s stomach lurched. “Please stop bouncing.”
He wiggled back and forth on the mattress.
At least some things hadn’t changed.
“Thanks for coming last night.” Her gratitude sounded lame after running off Chey.
“You sounded pretty messed up. What happened anyway?”
“Aurora Fire kicked me out after I...” She stared at the blanket, accordion folding it over her legs. She felt like throwing up but didn’t think the beer or pill were to blame. “I passed out and couldn’t sing.”
“Why’d you pass out?” His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected the answer, but wanted to hear her say it.
She’d rather keep the truth to herself. “I was really nervous, and Bailee gave me something to calm me down.”
“What kind of something?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice came out in a scared little whisper. “Some sort of pill.”
“You took drugs from someone without knowing what it was?” Sawyer blasted her. “How could you be so stupid?”
Tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“Even I’m smart enough to know better.”
“I know.” Shame knotted her stomach. First Vance chewed her out for cheating on Justin, now Sawyer was laying into her over taking drugs. Would the devil lecture her for her sins next?
“Stop crying.” He lightly backhanded her leg. “That’s what started this mess—you crying, me trying to make you feel better. I’m not doing that again.”
She giggled through the tears. His attitude was so comfortably Sawyer that it cheered her. Or maybe she was still a little high.
“Is that keyboard Chey’s?” She touched the gray side, only inches from the bed.
“Yeah. She’s really good.” A compliment wrapped in a tone of sadness. Two things rarely heard from him.
“I’m sorry about Chey. But explaining things—”
“Why should I?” Sawyer shifted back into his normal grumpy. “I didn’t do anythi
ng.”
“I know, but if you like her, you’ll have to tell her what she saw wasn’t what she thinks she saw.”
“No matter how many times I’ve said that what happened between us meant nothing, she doesn't believe me. Why would she believe me about this?”
An awkward silence settled on the room. Zoey tugged out her necklace. “Did it really mean nothing to you?”
Sawyer turned toward her, but she kept her gaze focused on the beads of the necklace.
“You’re Justin’s girlfriend.”
“We broke up.” She lifted her chin, staring into his eyes and feeling exposed and vulnerable. Goose bumps tingled down her legs. “Doesn’t that mean I can date whoever I want?”
He stared back for a long moment. She tried to read the emotions on his face, but all she saw was regret.
“Yeah, I guess. And I can date whoever I want. That’ll never be you.” Despite the cruelty of the words, Sawyer’s voice wasn’t cruel. More like firm. Certain. Definite. He pushed off the bed and left the room. A door in the hall clicked shut.
Zoey stared into space, emptiness crowding her soul. Only three weeks ago, she’d believed all her dreams were coming true. But she’d thrown it all away last night. No, she’d lost her dreams the day she ditched Justin and Sawyer for Aurora Fire. She climbed off the bed anchoring her feet to the floor until her head stopped swimming. If this was the after effects of drugs, she’d never make that mistake again. Feeling as if she had the flu wasn’t her type of recreational fun.
After closing the door, she eased on her black denim shorts and her shoes. She balled up the stockings and her shirt, vowing to return Sawyer’s tee later. Then she crept into the hall.
The crashing water of the shower echoed through the bathroom door. Zoey leaned against the wall. Her house was a ten-minute walk, but she doubted she could stay upright that long. Livvy might be home, but her car was still at the club so she couldn’t come get Zoey. Closing her eyes, Zoey groaned. How would she explain?
A door creaked. Her eyes popped open, and she straightened trying to look alert.
