At This Moment (Of Love and Madness #1)

by Karen Cimms

  “Nice,” she said, as he started to paint her toes. “Speaking of which, hand me that magazine.” She pointed to the copy of People she’d dropped earlier.

  His face fell. “Seriously? You’re gonna ignore me and read a magazine like I’m your manicurist?”

  “No. I want you to see Drew Barrymore’s hair. What do you think?” She held the magazine in front of her face.

  “She’s thirteen,” he said dryly.

  “She doesn’t act it. Besides, she still looks older than me.”

  “True.” He studied the picture. “I’ll have to cut a good ten, twelve inches.”

  “I know, but I need a change.”

  “Pizzazz?”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Actually, this would be kinda cute on you. I’d wanna add some highlights to bring out the layers and give it more . . . more oomph.”

  “I can deal with oomph. Pizzazz scares me.”

  “How about Tuesday?” he asked, his volume rising. “You can be my model. You won’t even have to pay for supplies.”

  She perked up. “That would be great. I could surprise Billy when he gets back.”

  “So now that you brought Romeo up again, what did he say about your mother?”

  “I didn’t tell him.”

  “Why?” He looked up, the brush poised midair over her big toe.

  “Why tell him I was unwanted? What would he think?”

  “What difference would it make? You’re hurt and it shows. Don’t you think he should know what you’re hurting about? I could tell over the phone something was wrong. I’m sure he can see it in your eyes.”

  “No, I don’t want him to know I’m damaged goods.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re not damaged. You’re perfect.”

  She pulled her foot away from him. “My entire life was built on a foundation of sand that’s been washed away. I can’t fix that. It’s who I am. Who’d want to be with someone who’s broken?”

  “I know that’s how you feel, but look at me. I was wanted—but when it became clear who I was, my father chose to throw me away.”

  It still made her sad, remembering the night he’d run away, how she’d hidden him in her room until first light, then said good-bye, not knowing when she’d ever see him again. His pain was still very real for her, almost as real as her own.

  He reached for her foot. “I won’t let my father define me. I’m a good person. I’m smart and talented, and I’m gonna make something of my life. You just wait. Success is the best revenge, and then my father and brothers can kiss my ass.” He all but spat the last few words.

  “You will be a success. But me? I’m just broken. I don’t know how to put it all back together. Billy may love me now, but someday he may see I haven’t much to offer.”

  “He’s lucky to have you, and I bet he knows that!” He bent over her foot again with the polish. “Have you thought about talking to someone?”

  “What? Like a shrink?”

  His eyes drilled into hers. “Yes, a shrink.”

  “Where would I get money for a shrink? I’ll be fine. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Tell Billy.”

  She yanked her foot back again. “No—and don’t you, either. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  With a great flourish, he pulled an imaginary zipper across his lips. He may have agreed to drop the subject for now, but judging from the look in his eyes, it was far from over.

  From the kitchen window, Kate could see Billy climbing out of his van. She darted into the bedroom to light some candles, threw her robe into the closet, and hopped into bed.

  The front door burst open. “Honey, I’m home,” he called in his best sitcom dad voice.

  “In here,” she answered sweetly.

  “Where?” As if the apartment was so big it would take him a while to find her.

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Guitar cases thumped against the living room floor. “But I need a shower.” He stopped in the doorway when he saw her. “Well, hellooo. I was looking for my girlfriend, but you’ll do.”

  She tossed her head so that the curls bounced and fell against her shoulders. “You like?”

  “I do.” He pulled off his jacket. “But I really need a shower first.”

  She sat up. “Billy, it’s been two weeks. I don’t care what you smell like.”

  He grinned as he yanked off the rest of his things. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Later, as they lay tangled up in each other, she asked if he liked her hair.

  “I do. You look beautiful, but you always look beautiful.”

  “Which do you like better?”

  He laughed. “I’m not stupid, Katie, but I’ll say this. I love your long hair. It’s still long, just not as long. That said, I love it.”

  “Pass.”

  He positioned himself over her, preparing for round two. “Good. I’d hate to piss you off right away. I’d rather take my time. Make it worthwhile.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate would’ve enjoyed another day with Billy to herself, but she also looked forward to getting out and doing something fun, even if it was just a party at Pete’s. Billy had been by her side most of the evening, but had been coaxed up to the make-shift stage by a tall, willowy blonde. Kate watched from the back of the large finished basement, while he jammed with Denny, Steve and Fat Bernie, relieved that once he’d picked up his Strat, he seemed to have forgotten about the blonde. She was about to search for something to drink when Pete beat her to it.

  “You look thirsty,” Pete said, cutting her off and handing her a plastic cup.

  “What’s this?” She sniffed it suspiciously.

  “Not a Fuzzy Navel.” He gave her a mischievous smile.

  Her stomach lurched. “God, I hope not.”

  “Kamikaze. Not too sweet, but effective.”

  She took a sip. “Not bad, actually. Thanks.”

  His response was drowned out as Billy launched into “Eruption.”

  “He’s fucking amazing, isn’t he?” Pete yelled over the wail of Billy’s guitar.

  And he was. She had nothing to do with Billy’s talent, but she couldn’t help feeling proud when she watched him play. She was also feeling the effects of the overcrowded, overheated room and a lack of food. She’d mistakenly assumed a party meant more than chips and pretzels—although there was an impressive amount of alcohol and drugs to be had.

  Feeling light-headed, she moved to an open window and rested against the sill. She couldn’t help but notice as Pete kept busy playing host, surprised that he possessed some rudimentary social skills.

  As the final vibrato of Billy’s Strat died away, Pete cupped his hands.

  “‘Free Bird’!”

  Billy scanned the room, saw it was Pete, and shook his head. Pete yelled again, and others began chiming in. When it turned into a full-on chant, and Steve fingered the first few notes, Billy had no choice. The opening strains of “Free Bird” filled the basement. Billy glanced at the guys backing him up and frowned. Before beginning the lead work, he flipped Pete the finger, then leaned into the microphone and made a dedication. “This is for Pete. Fuck you,” he said, laughing.

  Kate finished her drink, and before she could set the cup down, Pete appeared with another. Again he surprised her. Usually, he barely spoke to her, but tonight he was the charming host. She took a few sips. It was good, but combined with the two or three beers she’d had earlier, it was hitting her hard. The room tilted on its axis.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I feel kinda dizzy.” She tried to focus. “Is there a bathroom down here?”

  Pete took her drink and led her down a narrow hall to a back bedroom. “In here. Are you OK?”

  “I don’t know. They really sneak up on you, don’t they?” When she stumbled, he tightened his grip on her arm.

  “You want me to get Billy?”


  She nodded. “When he’s done.”

  Inside the small bathroom, she rested her head against the cold porcelain sink and waited for the room to stop spinning. She could still hear the muffled strains of “Free Bird” through the walls, and hoped Billy wouldn’t launch right into another song,” like he usually did.

  She was surprised to find Pete waiting when she emerged from the bathroom. He’d shoved the pile of coats to one side and was motioning toward the bed.

  “Billy said to lie down. He’ll be in soon.”

  He was being nice, but she still felt uncomfortable with him there. She wished he would just go, take care of his guests, and was about to say something along that line when the floor rolled up to meet her. Pete caught her and guided her to the bed. He slipped a pillow behind her head. A chill ran through her as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. He trailed his fingers along her neck and over her shoulder.

  “You really are kinda pretty. I can almost see why Billy’s so taken with you.”

  She tried to scoot away but was blocked by the pile of coats. Was he smirking at her?

  “Personally, I think you’re kind of annoying, but there must be something pretty special about you to hold his attention for so long.”

  Before she could react, he’d pinned her down and slid his hand under her sweater, grasping at her breast. He crushed his mouth against hers. The strong odor of garlic and alcohol on his breath was nauseating. Bile rose in her throat. She pushed against him, but it was no use. He wasn’t as big or strong as Billy, but he was much bigger than she was.

  She tore her mouth free. “What the hell? Stop it!” She raised her hand to hit him, but he caught her wrist, then slapped her, hard, with his other hand.

  The world went gray and fuzzy, and somewhere beneath the buzzing in her head, she could taste something bitter. Blood? A hand clamped over her mouth, and as her vision cleared, she saw him yanking at the top button of his jeans.

  Watching Lynryd Skynyrd perform in person was one thing. Playing this damn song was another. Billy was pissed at Pete for calling it out, especially since nearly everyone was wasted. Pete knew they’d rise to the bait, and he knew Billy found it boring—the same riff played over and over. Any kid with a few months of guitar lessons could play that song, and it was usually the first song they wanted to learn.

  He scanned the room for Kate. She’d been talking to Pete earlier, which surprised him. Pete didn’t like Kate, but he’d learned to keep his mouth shut, especially after Billy had warned him the next time he said something out of line, he was finished. He didn’t see either of them now, and when they didn’t reappear as the song wound down, it began to bug him.

  He motioned for Bernie, who’d been playing rhythm, and handed off the Strat without missing a note. He caught up with a few people outside, passing around a joint, but none of them had seen Kate.

  She would have had to have passed him to go upstairs, so the only other place she could be was the bedroom at the end of the hall.

  He rattled the doorknob, then knocked. It was hard to hear, especially with the amps turned up high. Pressing his ear against the door, he called her name. Something wasn’t right. He backed up, lifted his foot, and kicked the door open.

  Pete was standing beside the bed, holding his hand, while Kate was struggling to stand. Her sweater was pushed up, and he could see her bra as well as an angry red welt on her cheek.

  Tugging on his zipper, Pete tried to push past him. “Look, man, she came on to me.”

  A loud roar filled his ears. Whether it was out loud or in his head, he wasn’t sure. He lunged. Pete stumbled into the door jamb, then turned and dashed down the hall. Billy caught him by his shirt and hauled him around. His punch glanced off the side of Pete’s face. Pete swung blindly. Billy lowered his shoulder, and drove himself into Pete’s midsection, sending him crashing into a table. Liquor bottles smashed onto the floor as Pete’s stunned guests scrambled out of the way.

  Someone grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms, allowing Pete one clear shot. Fueled by adrenaline and anger, he wrested himself free and lunged again, catching Pete around the middle and crashing to the ground. As they wrestled on the floor amid spilled whiskey and shards of broken glass, something inside Billy snapped. Self-control vanished. He drove his fist into Pete’s face as the other hand wrapped around his throat, choking him.

  It took three large men to pull him off. Then Denny was driving his shoulder into Billy’s chest, shoving him backward.

  “Jesus!” Denny shouted. “Billy! You’re gonna kill him!”

  “Good,” he said, still trying to yank free.

  Pete lay at his feet, panting and bleeding, his face barely recognizable. Billy was breathing hard, but he was finished. He knew he had it in him to kill Pete right then if he didn’t stop.

  Twisting away, he glimpsed Kate, pale and wide-eyed, across the room.

  “Get your coat,” he barked. She disappeared down the hall.

  “You’re fired, you lousy piece of shit,” he said turning back to Pete. It took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from kicking him.

  When he went to get his guitar, Denny stopped him.

  “I’ll get it. You better get to the hospital. You need stitches.”

  He hadn’t noticed the blood running down the side of his face. Swiping at it now, he could feel an inch-long gash in his cheek. His eye was starting to swell, and the knuckles of his right hand were throbbing beneath the scrape he’d gotten from Pete’s teeth.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He glowered at Denny. “Bring it by tomorrow. And you and Steve leave now, or you’re both fired too.”

  Since he was having a hard time seeing, Kate insisted on driving. They weren’t more than a mile from Pete’s when she veered onto the shoulder, threw the van into park, and jumped out. She ran toward the woods, then stopped and bent over. Cursing, he climbed out after her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, swiping at the blood still oozing from his cheek. She was shaking when he reached her. “What’s wrong?”

  She raised her hand just as she began to vomit.

  “Ah, jeez.” He grabbed her hair and held it until she was done. “Are you finished?” he asked, trying to sound supportive, although he wasn’t exactly feeling it at the moment.

  She nodded, then stood and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  He put his arms around her and held her until the shaking stopped.

  “You okay?”

  She was pale in the streetlight, her face inscrutable as she looked up at him and nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go before this—ow!”

  Son of a bitch. She had punched him in the stomach—hard.

  “What the fuck was that for?”

  She let out a strangled noise that sounded like a laugh, although the look on her face was something more like horror.

  “I don’t know. You scared me.”

  He threw his hands up in the air and stalked off, then whirled back around, stopping when his face was just inches from hers.

  “So you hit me? Didn’t you see I just got the shit kicked out of me? Over you, I might add.”

  She glared right back. “You almost killed him. He landed one punch.”

  “Well.” He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “It was a good punch.”

  She continued to glare at him, wide-eyed, her chest heaving.

  “Get in the van,” he ordered, running the sleeve of his jacket over his face to wipe away the blood. He reached for her elbow and led her to the passenger door. “I’m driving.”

  Billy ended up with eight stitches and a tetanus shot, and his eye was black and blue and swollen shut. The only good thing was he had no gigs scheduled for the weekend. Not only was he not presentable, he no longer had a rhythm guitar player.

  They’d sat in the emergency room for hours before a plastic surgeon finally arrived to stitch him up. The doctor did the best he could but said Billy would probably have
a scar.

  By the time they got home, it was almost five.

  Kate still wasn’t feeling well. She got up around seven, made herself a piece of toast, and climbed back into bed after her stomach had settled. When she woke a few hours later, Billy lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with his good eye.

  She rolled onto her side and threw her leg over his. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Why? You didn’t split my face open.”

  “No, but it’s kinda my fault.”

  “How do you figure?”

  How did she figure? She hadn’t led Pete on; hadn’t even thought he liked her, let alone in that way. She dragged a toe along the inside of Billy’s calf.

  “Pete’s a jerk,” he said, not waiting for a response. “I’ve wanted to cut him loose for a long time.” He slipped his arm beneath her head. “Last night just gave me a good excuse.”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? I find you with your shirt up around your neck and that dickwad on top of you, and you don’t think I had every right to beat the shit out of him?”

  “He wasn’t on me. He’d already jumped up.”

  Billy pulled himself up on one elbow. “That’s better?”

  “I bit him. He had his hand over my mouth, and I bit him.”

  He huffed loudly. “Then maybe you should’ve gotten a tetanus shot.”

  “Perhaps, but you could’ve gotten yourself killed—or killed him.”

  “That was his choice.” He lay back down. “He only got what he deserved.”

  “Maybe, but it was scary.”

  “Is that why you hit me?”

  She thought about it for a long minute. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You never saw a fight before?”

  She shook her head. “I could hardly sleep after we got home. I kept hearing the sound of your fists, the furniture crashing, the glass breaking.” The memory still gave her the willies.

  His face was stony. “I’m sorry defending your honor was so scary. You want me to ignore the next guy who makes a pass at you?”