by Cari Quinn
He turned her to face him and she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. So she did the one thing she always did when the world got to be too much. She burrowed her face against his chest and clung to his strong arms and hoped like hell he couldn’t feel the heat from her face through his T-shirt.
“It’s okay.” He rubbed his hand over her hair, his gentle touch finally making her realize that she was shaking hard enough to rock them both. “We’re okay.”
“I forgot my sunglasses,” she whispered, and he pulled her that much closer.
“No, you didn’t. I have them in my suitcase.”
Then she started to cry.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Now
Jazz rolled her tube of gloss over her mouth and narrowed her eyes at her reflection. She’d just finished a quick shower and was on her way to meet Simon and Deak in the steam room for a pow-wow on “Echoes” and “Undertow”, their latest two finished songs.
Well, until the other guys got their hands on them. But at least they had good material to present to the team at Ripper Records. That might improve Lila’s mood regarding Gray’s substance issue, though she’d been remarkably composed when she left the cabin. Maybe things were finally looking up.
A girl could hope.
She dug through her purse and pulled out her birth control, biting her lip as she saw how many pills remained. She’d skipped a few days, what with everything going on. Truth be told, she often skipped a few days, because it wasn’t like she was regularly sexually active.
Until now.
It probably wasn’t a big thing to skip. As long as she caught up now, she’d be fine.
She swallowed her pills, chasing them with a bottle of water from the mini bar. Then she glanced at her watch and judged she’d have just enough time before she had to meet the guys.
Sitting on the bed, she pulled out her phone and tapped in the number she’d looked up online earlier. She felt vaguely seasick, but that wasn’t surprising. She hadn’t talked to Mrs. Duffy in years. She wasn’t exactly making contact now for a social call. At any rate, she refused to reveal too much. She owed her allegiance to Gray. No matter her reasons for taking this step, she wouldn’t violate his confidence.
The phone rang twice before Conchita picked up. Jazz smiled at the sound of the Duffys’ long-term housekeeper’s lightly accented, musical voice and asked to speak with Eileen without giving away her identity. Conchita pressed for it, but Jazz stayed firm that it was a surprise.
A surprise, yes, but she also didn’t want to give Gray’s mother a chance to refuse the call.
“Hello,” Mrs. Duffy said after a moment, her tone coolly pissed. She wasn’t used to people refusing her demands—or the demands of her staff. “Can I help you?”
Despite the edge to her voice, she still sounded like the woman Jazz had loved so much. Everything that had happened had sent that love into hiding, but it only took a few syllables to bring it roaring to the forefront again.
Now if only she could speak.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Jazz gripped her phone tighter. “Hi. It’s Jazz. Jazz…Edwards,” she added into the silence, trying to ignore the twist in her gut from the realization that perhaps Mrs. Duffy had shoved her into the back of her mind.
To Jazz, Mrs. Duffy had been a second mother. A better mother. In Mrs. Duffy’s eyes, Jazz had been the girl who shattered her family.
“Jazz? Is that really you?”
Don’t analyze her tone. She doesn’t sound hopeful, and if she does, it’s not because she wants to talk to you. And that’s fine. Her priority is and should always be her son.
“Yes. It’s me.” Jazz cleared her throat. “How are you?”
“Better now. How are you?”
“I’m good.” How could they talk so pleasantly when their last meeting had been so full of vitriol and pain? The intervening years acted as a kind of buffer, sheltering them both. “Gray’s good too.”
Lie number one. She hoped there wouldn’t be half a dozen more before the conversation ended.
Mrs. Duffy exhaled, clearly relieved. “I’m so glad. I’ve called him so many times but—”
“You have?” Jazz couldn’t smother her surprise. “He never mentioned it to me.”
“He doesn’t take my calls. Doesn’t respond to my letters. I leave him voicemails and I send him notes, but I get nothing in return.” His mother chuckled humorlessly. “That’s my son. Stubborn to a fault.” She paused. “I don’t doubt he’s been influenced to keep up his lack of communication as well.”
“You think I’ve asked him to stay away from you?”
The knowledge shouldn’t have wounded her. What else would Mrs. Duffy think? She obviously saw Jazz as the ho who had teased one son into going too far and cried rape then prodded the other son into breaking up his family.
Except she hadn’t cried rape. Gray had hassled her about going to the cops so many times during those weeks she’d lived at the Duffys after the attack, and she’d always said no. She’d insisted it was a family matter. Brent had just slipped up.
She hadn’t truly believed that. If Gray hadn’t come in when he had, Brent wouldn’t have stopped. He’d been so close to ripping part of her away that she never could’ve gotten back.
The first few months after, she’d thought he had succeeded anyway, even without completing the rape.
If drinking too much brought that kind of behavior out of a person, they obviously weren’t fully balanced to begin with. But God, she hated being the reason Gray and Brent had stopped speaking. Gray had ostracized himself from the people he loved because of her.
“I’m not saying you specifically asked him to not to talk to his family, Jasmine.”
“I didn’t. I never would have. In fact, I asked him just the opposite.” Jazz pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I took myself out of the situation. Brent’s reaction to me was the problem, so I left. I fully intended to leave Gray behind permanently too. For the first couple of years, I didn’t speak to him at all, so I didn’t even know he’d stopped communicating with you and your husband. He moved out and into his own place without me even being aware of it.”
“He believed he was upholding your honor.”
“He’s a wonderful man. You raised him that way.”
Mrs. Duffy didn’t say anything.
“I also didn’t want to let you and Mr. Duffy go. Sometimes there aren’t any choices.”
“Yes, there are. Once you started talking to him again, you could’ve chosen to urge him to come back to us. But you didn’t. You continued to lead him on, just as you led on Brent—”
“We’re together,” she whispered. “Gray and me. We’re in love.”
The silence that descended was so absolute that Jazz felt its echo in her chest like the reverberation from the amps. She wasn’t on stage right now but she might as well have been. It felt like a spotlight shone directly on her, highlighting her flaws. She would come up lacking. She always had.
“Well,” Mrs. Duffy said. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You’re not?”
“I always saw what was between you. That’s why I didn’t understand why you ever looked at Brent. Perhaps the first name didn’t matter as much as the last.”
Jazz pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the cry that nearly escaped. I won’t cry. No matter what. “I never ‘looked at’ Brent. He scared the hell out of me from the first day I met him. No, actually he scared me the first time I saw his picture. He needs help, and I hope he got it.” She blew out a breath. “Not for him as much as for you and your husband. And for Gray. I know you all love him. But—”
“Brent committed suicide last month. So no, Jasmine, he didn’t get the help he needed, if he needed any at all. I guess we’ll never know now, will we?” Mrs. Duffy let out a sound that bordered on a sob. “Thanks to you, I’ve lost both of my sons.”
The dialtone blared in her ear until Jazz pressed hard on the E
nd button to make it stop.
She glanced blearily around her luxurious suite, the details bleeding together. The thousand thread count sheets underneath her didn’t register. The silk draperies hiding a slice of bright morning sun didn’t intrude on the darkness that had overtaken her mind. She’d been staying there for the better part of two weeks, and she’d barely noticed any of the high-end amenities because she’d been so full of Gray. The suite had just been a place to crash in between spa visits and working with Deak and Simon. Now their sabbatical was almost over and she and Gray were about to go back to their regular lives.
What could ever be regular again?
Oh God, she had to tell him about Brent. Which meant she’d have to tell him about calling his mother. She’d planned to encourage Mrs. Duffy to push for a visit without actually saying why Gray needed his family back in his life, and she hadn’t even managed to.
Instead she’d discovered something that might shatter Gray’s newfound sobriety.
She knew the man as well as she knew herself—and his recent admission hadn’t changed her conviction on that score—and she had no doubt about his response to what had happened. He wouldn’t react favorably to her contacting his mother. No matter her reasons, he’d view it as a betrayal. And that wasn’t even including what she’d learned about Brent.
Sucking in a deep breath, she gripped her phone as a text message came through. She nearly smiled at Simon’s note.
Yo, purple pandemic. We are steaming out our impurities and you iz not here. Get a move on, luscious. xoxo
Only Simon could say xoxo and retain his over-the-top masculinity. The kissy face cat sticker he sent next turned her smile from tentative to real, at least until she headed into the bathroom to face her stark reflection. The mascara she’d put on made her eyes look sunken and morose. The streaks of green eyeshadow she’d chosen to go with her kicky new red hair color seemed garish.
Clown on the outside, crying on the inside. Isn’t that always the way?
She couldn’t tell Gray yet. It wasn’t that she wanted to jealously guard their new coupledom for a bit longer. Yes, she’d waited forever to be with him, but that wasn’t the point. His family mattered more. But she wasn’t about to say anything so soon after he’d vowed not to touch any substances again. She’d be damned if she caused him to relapse.
Somehow she’d find a way to tell him. Soon. Once he had a bit better handle on things.
God, she’d just wanted him to have his family’s support. He needed that. He deserved it. If she’d believed that telling him about Brent would push him to get closer to his family again, she would’ve hopped on it in a second. Despite how Mrs. Duffy felt about Jazz, she was Gray’s mother. Jazz would never ask him to choose. He’d already chosen for too long.
But that wouldn’t happen. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she’d broken his confidence. He’d hear “I called your mom” and immediately assume she’d gone to tattle about his drug problem. He’d made it clear years ago that he was done with his family, and he expected her to respect that decision.
At the knock on the suite door, she sighed. Probably Simon or Deak had come to collect her. She hurried to open it. On the other side stood a deliveryman with an enormous bouquet of wildflowers. She couldn’t even identify all of the scents and colors.
“Ms. Jasmine Edwards?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She blinked, more than a little knocked off-kilter, and held out her arms for the bouquet. “Whoa, wow. These are incredible.”
He smiled. “Someone must love you very much.”
“I guess so. Thank you.” She dug out a five from her jeans pocket and gave it to him, then shut the door and pried out the card.
This is only the beginning of our forever. Meet me at the Grab ‘n Go in Vista View at five o’clock. Love, G.
The Grab ‘n Go? What the hell? There was a blast from the past. And Vista View, his hometown. Last she heard the Duffys had moved farther north, but that was still too close for comfort.
Guilt surged, knotting her throat. She wouldn’t wait long to tell him about the phone call. For a few days, she would help him get his bearings and deal with walking away from his addict—no, his usage—of coke. After he’d had a chance to regain his equilibrium, she’d tell him everything.
She lowered her face to the flowers and took a heady sniff. They both wanted forever.
Hopefully his idea of it looked like hers.
* § *
“All right, try that again. After we sing ‘ooh, ooh, ooh’ you should come in on the—hello? You alive over there?”
“Yeah.” Gray pulled his hand out of his pocket like the guilty schoolboy he knew he must look like. He adjusted his hold on his guitar and strummed the strings, trying to loosen up his fingers.
His whole body ached. One part of that had to do with his first almost full day without coke, weed or even a Tylenol. Another part had to do with the box-shaped rock in his jeans. He’d driven out to the jewelers right after Jazz had left that morning, with the certainty he couldn’t wait. The need to make this move now before anything else went wrong was an imperative he couldn’t ignore.
He’d put her at risk with his actions. Now he’d begun taking the steps to prove that he could keep her safe and happy and give her more love than she’d ever dreamed.
“I think I need a couple minutes to limber up,” he muttered as he stumbled over the frets and produced a sound that resembled a dying cat.
“You’ve been limbered for half an hour. What’s the deal?” Nick shoved his guitar between his knees. “Man, if you’re fucking using—”
“I’m not, okay? After last night, it’s finished. I can’t have people walking around talking shit about my…issue.”
“It’s not an issue, it’s a habit. And every time you pussy around without calling it what it is, you show how deep you are.” Nick dug his crumpled pack of smokes out of his jeans pocket. “See these? I’m addicted. Know how I know? Because when I’m stressed or pissed or even goddamn horny, one of the first things I look for are my cigs. They’re my crutch. I toss them out and then when I can’t hang, I go buy more. Pretending I can stop at any moment is just me being a lying addict instead of just an addict.”
Gray dug his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. “Not the same and you know it.”
“No, mine’s legal. Which means I don’t have any reason not to do it all day long until I run out of air and can’t sing anymore. You know, my fucking job.”
“You can’t smoke all day long around Simon. He’d kick your ass for screwing with his voice. He’s been touchy about it lately.”
“Like I care? Addicts don’t. They want their fix when they want it and to hell with the beautiful brunettes who love them.”
The corner of Gray’s mouth lifted. “She’s a redhead this week.”
“My sister had a saying. Only the color of the shag rug counts. All the rest is window dressing.”
Gray tried not to laugh. He honestly did. “Jesus. You have a sister?”
“Yeah. A twin.”
“Huh.” Gray scratched the back of his neck. “She like you?”
Nick smirked. “If you’re asking if she’d bust your balls too, the answer is hell yes. Ricki never took shit from anyone. Of course, it’s easier to do that when you’re high.”
Something in his voice struck a chord and Gray set aside his guitar and leaned forward, rubbing his suddenly ice cold hands together. “You haven’t asked me.”
“About what?”
“About why I told you to keep an eye on Jazz.”
Nick jerked a shoulder and tossed his cigs on the side table. “Why ask what I already know? You’re worried the people you owe might take a cut out of her. You’re right to worry. Those bastards don’t mess around.”
“But you didn’t lecture me.”
“What good would that do? If you don’t want to quit, me saying you should means nothing. And you don’t need to ask me to have her back. I�
��ve been watching out for her ever since I saw that baggie of yours hit the studio floor.”
When Gray started to speak, Nick held up a hand. “Don’t bother. It’s not about me being in love with her. She’s my friend. I may not have a lot of them, but those I have I fucking value with my life.” He glanced off into the distance. “I already had to let one go that I wasn’t ready to. That’s one too many.”
“Snake?”
Nick just nodded.
Gray encircled the fingerboard of his Epiphone, holding on when it felt like the ground beneath his feet could crack open at any moment. “Thank you for caring about her.”
“Yeah.” Nick shut his eyes and dropped his head back against the chair. “See, that shit right there is why she’s with you, not me. You’re a decent guy. You just got fucking lost. We all do. Some don’t find their way back, mainly because they don’t have a good enough reason to.” He opened his eyes. “You do.”
“Yeah.” Gray tightened his grip on his guitar. “I do.”
“Okay, well, uh, this has been some awesome spiritual crap and all, but I’m pretty sure my nuts are shriveling up the longer we talk. We gonna play or what?”
“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
Nick didn’t say anything for so long that Gray had no choice but to look up and meet his gaze. “Okay.”
“I thought you should know. Considering…”
“Considering she slept with me as a substitute for you?” Nick grabbed his cigs again and pulled one out with his teeth. “Now there’s a sentiment you don’t often see on a greeting card.”
Gray shook his head and traced his thumb over the years of scars on his guitar. They held so many stories, ones he’d never find enough words to tell. “This is some seriously fucked-up shit. Most of all because I honestly think we could be friends, and that seems wrong.”
“Why? You think you’re supposed to bash my head open because I found your hot girlfriend hot?”
His mouth twitched. Damn Nick had a way of breaking it all down. “Something like that.”
