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Twisted

Page 30

by Cari Quinn


  She shook her head, so disappointed in herself that she would’ve been on the verge of tears even without the Gray situation. She heard every missed note and hated that her fingers weren’t as fast as they’d once been. Years ago she could’ve handled this setlist without difficulty.

  Tonight she was a liability.

  “You are. Keep your eyes on mine and keep playing for Gray.”

  She did, because she had no choice.

  At the end of the show, after they’d played their final encore and taken their bows, she rushed backstage to dig out her phone. She’d latched onto the hope that maybe he’d called her during the time she was onstage. Perhaps he’d even made it back to the cabin or their apartment. Band camp was technically over as of today, but she and Nick couldn’t go back to the apartment when they didn’t know if Gray might return to the cabin. Well, she couldn’t.

  Gray hadn’t called.

  She didn’t expect Nick to go back to the cabin with her but he did. As soon as the driver dropped them off, he unlocked the door and stood by as she ran from room to room, her momentary hope dwindling once again as it became clear that Gray hadn’t come back. The light she’d left on for him only illuminated that she and Nick were completely, totally alone.

  She stayed an extra couple of moments in the bedroom she and Gray had been intimate in, staring at the rumpled sheets and his suitcase. She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and bury her face in his clothes, to make sure his scent never left her for even a moment.

  When she couldn’t stomach looking around any longer, she wandered back into the living room and dragged the bands off her braids. She flung them in every direction, not caring where they landed. Her makeup was probably smeared from sweat and tears and she didn’t give a shit.

  “Come here,” Nick said from the couch. “You look like you’re going to fall over. You’re too fucking pale.”

  She sat next to him, mainly because her feet felt like blocks and she doubted she could make it the few feet to the armchair.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  “No.”

  “You need to. I can make you a sandwich.”

  “Not hungry.” Truth was, she was starving. It felt like her body was attacking her stomach lining for sustenance.

  “If you faint on me, you’re only going to piss me off. Give me five and I’ll make you some bologna and fucking cheese.”

  “Nick.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’re going to have to call the police.”

  When he swiveled his head to look at her, a sound broke from her throat. “It’s heading toward twenty-four hours. I’ll have to file a m-missing person’s report—”

  Saying nothing, he hauled her into his lap. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with dry sobs. She’d reached the point where she couldn’t even cry.

  “It’s going to be okay. You have to believe me. My sister said she’d see what she could find out—”

  “From her druggie friends. She’d digging through all the popular gutters, right?”

  She hated the judgmental words tumbling out of her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to hold back the rage that was geysering up in tandem with the gut-curdling panic and misery. She didn’t want to think the worst. The very idea of Gray getting high in some random place—or worse, overdosing—made her want to scream. But what else was she supposed to think?

  He’d walked out on her and left her alone in their bed. Naked. Wearing his ring. He’d promised her forever and then he’d gone off to be with someone who offered him something she couldn’t. Probably that blonde babe Cricket, who smiled so prettily while she was sharpening the knife to hold at Gray’s throat.

  Nick’s hand moved up and down her back as if on auto-pilot. “She’ll figure it out. She knows Cricket—”

  A thump from the doorway had Jazz lifting her head just as the door burst open. A guy wearing the clothes Gray had left in that morning stumbled through, his head tilting just right for her to glimpse the bloody gash that curved from his temple to jaw.

  Horror bolted her in place. She couldn’t be seeing what she thought she was. His torn, bloodied clothes were barely hanging on his body and his face was more black and blue than its usual color. There was so much blood. So much.

  But when he managed to raise his head and fix his eyes on the scene on the couch, the racking laugh that left him sounded all too familiar. “Isn’t this cozy?” he mumbled through cracked lips.

  “Oh my God, Gray.” She stumbled up, her paralysis finally giving way to action. She’d made it halfway to him with Nick right behind her when Gray barked out a command.

  “No. Don’t fucking touch me. Fucking liar.”

  She stopped so abruptly that Nick crashed into her back and almost toppled her. He grabbed her hip to right himself and Gray laughed again, the sound so agonizing that Jazz covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I fucking dragged…myself back to you, and you’re here…with him.” Gray sagged against the wall, his eyes closing. “Hope you’re fucking…happy.”

  “Happy?” she screamed, unable to stop herself. Relief rushed through her veins, mixing with something far more darker and destructive. “What the hell happened to you? Where did you go this morning?”

  It was only when he shifted that she noticed the unnatural bump on the top of his shoulder. At her gasp, Nick grabbed the phone off the side table and pushed it into her hand.

  “Call 911,” he said.

  “No,” Gray whispered. “No cops.”

  Nick moved forward to offer his support to Gray. “She’s not calling the cops, man. You need a doctor. Your arm’s fucked up—”

  “I said no fucking cops.” Gray jerked back from Nick hard enough to crash into the wall. Jazz swallowed a moan at the pain that telegraphed across his face before he slid down to the floor, his ass hitting the carpet almost as hard as he’d hit the wall. “I just need to sleep it off.”

  “Sleep it off? Are you crazy? You’re barely conscious.”

  “Oh I’m conscious.” Gray’s bleeding lips stretched into a macabre pantomime of a smile. “I’m conscious of what brought me to…this goddamn point. Never fucking changes.” He coughed, his shoulders heaving.

  She hurtled forward and fell to her knees in front of him, helpless to stop the tears. “Let us help you,” she said, reaching out to touch his jaw with tentative fingers.

  “You help me? Fat fucking chance. You and Nick are what got me here.” He wiped his sleeve over his mouth. “Wanna know when I started this? Try the night you walked out of that closet at the club with this bastard.” He jerked his thumb at Nick and shut his eyes.

  She glanced at Nick in dawning horror and cupped her hand over her mouth again. The nausea was back, worse than ever.

  If he was telling the truth, if he’d started the coke the night Gray had seen her and Nick come out of that closet before their concert, that meant this was all her fault. She’d done this to him. To them.

  Nick shook his head minutely and crouched at Gray’s side. “Listen, man, you need help. If not from us, let us take you to the hospital.”

  “Why?” Gray gripped his side, his pain so obvious that Jazz stumbled back and whirled away to try to get control of her traitorous stomach. “Want…me out of the way? Easier for you then.”

  “Oh Jesus, when you get cleaned up, you’ll regret saying all of this, so I’m going to chalk it up to your injuries and ignore it. You can’t make me cry with your taunts, but you can make her cry, so maybe stuff it for a while until you know what the hell you’re saying, huh?”

  “Big frigging savior, aren’t you? Saving her from me.” Gray laughed again, his breath wheezing through his teeth. Jazz moved her hand from her mouth to her belly, pressing there to try to calm the incessant rolling within.

  When she was reasonably sure she was under control, she turned back, only to find Gray staring at her through narrowed eyes. “I got a phone ca
ll today,” he slurred. “Guess who? Mommy fucking dearest.”

  “Oh Jesus.” Had he gone to see his parents and not to see his dealer? If so, what had happened to him? She gripped the arm of the couch and sat down, incapable of standing. “You don’t understand—”

  “I never answer her calls, but something told me to today. You knew about my…brother, and didn’t tell me. What else you keeping from me, baby?”

  “It’s not like that. It’s not. I wanted to tell you—”

  “You always want, you just never…do. I don’t fucking care anymore. Get off me,” he roared at Nick, who didn’t move.

  “Your shoulder is dislocated, at minimum,” Nick said, his voice so calm that Jazz didn’t know if she envied his strength or wanted to kick his ass. “If you ever want to play again, you’ll let me drive you to the hospital.”

  When Gray didn’t respond, Nick searched through Gray’s pockets and pulled out the keys to Harper’s truck. “Take these,” he said, tossing them to her. “Go start the truck and we’ll be right out.”

  “But I can help—”

  “Go,” Gray and Nick said in unison, making her eyes burn.

  She knew she didn’t have any right to feel hurt. Gray was in agony, and yes, he was angry—for some good reasons and for some stupid ones—but his reaction was marred by pain. She couldn’t take offense at what he said in this state, and besides, it didn’t even matter how he felt about her just then. The only thing that mattered was getting him help.

  Nodding, she rose and swayed, digging her nails into the chair arm to maintain her balance. She glanced up to see Gray staring at her, his lips parting as if he’d been on the verge of saying something. As if maybe he wanted to know if she was okay. Then he firmed them and looked away.

  She rubbed her thumb over the key fob in her hand and hurried outside, forcing herself to focus on what she had to do next. One foot ahead of the other, down to the truck. Start the vehicle and wait for the guys to appear. She quickened her steps, skirting the hood. She wouldn’t analyze, and she wouldn’t think. She’d just—

  Something was on the hood, easily visible because Harper’s truck was white and the substance was dark and sludgy. Mud maybe? She dipped her fingers into the wetness before she thought better of it. The coppery scent of blood hit her nose.

  Blood. Gray’s blood.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, barely making it to the grass before she emptied her stomach.

  * § *

  In the darkness, he could smell her.

  Watermelons and wildflowers, fresh cut grass and sunshine. Her hair tickled his cheek and her heartbeat matched its rhythm to his, occasionally speeding up and slowing down before syncing with his once more. Her comforting weight on his chest abated his pain, more effective than any medicine. When she was with him, he could breathe again.

  Gray opened his eyes, his mouth already curving in preparation of seeing her. But she wasn’t there. The room was empty and dimly lit, illuminated just enough for him to make out the curtain pulled shut beside his bed. His hospital bed.

  They’d taken him to the freaking hospital and left him alone.

  As you asked them to.

  He tried to lift his arm and groaned at the fiery pain between his shoulder and neck and the drag of an IV pulling on his forearm. Fucking hell. He tried to sit up to pour a glass of water and only managed to make it halfway to the jug on the bedside table before the myriad aches in his body forced him to be still.

  Nope, no water. No anything. He was just going to lay there and listen to the guy moaning in the next bed and try to find his sense of gratitude that at least his soreness was manageable. Mostly.

  The next time he woke, the room was full of light. The curtain beside his bed had been pulled open and his neighbor in the next bed was gone. He hoped he’d left on his own two feet.

  Pale sunlight streamed in through the small window, making him blink. Maybe he could try reaching for the water again—

  The click of high heels on tile caused him to turn his head. And inwardly groan. “Need some help?” Lila asked pleasantly.

  “No.”

  He slouched against his pillows and rued the day he’d ever met Deacon McCoy. If he hadn’t gotten friendly with him at some dive club, he wouldn’t have ever tried writing with him. If he hadn’t tried writing with him, they wouldn’t have penned “The Becoming”, the song that ultimately became Oblivion’s first hit. Then he never would’ve met Nick and Simon, and he wouldn’t have joined this godforsaken band.

  That he loved, goddammit.

  “Sure about that?” She stopped beside the bed and poured a cup of water before offering it to him.

  “Didn’t we run this scene before? I get messed up, you play angel of mercy and give me water and bail my ass out.”

  “That won’t be happening a second time.”

  He finished drinking and crushed the cup in his fist, grimacing at the pain that traveled up his arm. “Yeah, well, I’m not asking to be bailed out. Worst they can do is fucking kill me, and then I won’t have to think about any of this anymore.”

  Like how he’d discovered his brother was dead, and that Jazz had called his mother, probably to tell her all the ways he’d failed. That Jazz had let him propose without telling him. Then walking in to find his Jazz in Nick’s lap, her eyes so blue and desolate as she clung to the man that Gray could never quite stop being jealous of even when it made no fucking sense.

  She wore his ring yet all he could see was Nick’s arms around her. Her head on his shoulder. Her hair caught in his fist…

  “You’re really that much of a ball sac, hmm?”

  He blinked up at Lila. “What?”

  “You heard me. I won’t call you a pussy, because pussies are damn fucking strong. Right now you’re being the kind of nut I could twist into a knot between two fingers.”

  “Are you seriously talking about my balls?”

  “Not your balls per se. I’m comparing you to a nut sac in general. Weak, small and wrinkly.”

  He shook his head. “Your bedside manner needs a lot of work.”

  “Actually, I think my bedside manner is great. You’re lucky I’m even here. No one else is.”

  The reality of that dried his mouth. He’d suspected it was true, but to hear it was another thing. “Yeah, so? What do I fucking care?”

  “So you’ve broken up with Jazz then.”

  Even the words made him grip the sheets in a sweaty fist. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then you’re still together?”

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  She sighed and pulled a chair up to the bed. “What happened?”

  “What do you think? I fucked up, lost control and got my ass kicked—”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s supposed to be my job to feel sorry for you.”

  He didn’t expect to be able to smile. “Are you going to tell me how bad they are?” He glanced at the shoulder where the bulk of his pain was radiating from. Well, not the bulk, but a lot. “My injuries, I mean.”

  “You’ll live,” she said shortly.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re in rough shape but most of it is surface. You have a couple of cracked ribs and various contusions. The separated shoulder will probably require a sling and possible physical therapy. You won’t be playing up to Grayson Duffy beast level for a while, but you’ll get there again. The rest just requires sleep, a healthy diet and less contact with fists.”

  “Planning on it.” Relief rushed through him. With his current level of soreness, he definitely hadn’t been sure what the prognosis for his shoulder would be.

  Looked like he wasn’t permanently out of commission. Whether or not he’d have a band to return to…well, that was anyone’s guess.

  “Back to Jasmine.”

  “Sure. Why not? I’m already in hell.”

  “You think she believes that you went to get high and tangled with the wrong people.”

 
“Doesn’t she?”

  “It’s probably a good supposition, yes, because you didn’t tell her any differently.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you believe something else?”

  “Yes, I do. Through my magnificent powers of deduction after I saw that pretty ring on her finger, I decided I wasn’t going to go with the obvious answer and did some checking around. Imagine my surprise when I located a jeweler near your apartment who sold a ring just like the one Jazz is wearing a mere two days ago, for a princely sum that equals roughly half of what I’d transferred into your account.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Oh, you are a prideful one. Normally I respect that. In this case, you’re being a jackass.”

  He tried to cross his arms and paid the price in the form of a shoulder spasm that would’ve buckled his knees if he’d been able to stand. “Thanks for the support,” he rasped. “You can leave anytime now.”

  She lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow. “I’m dismissed then?”

  “Yeah. Just like you warned me I would be if I screwed up.” He gestured with his good arm. Even that movement pulled at his bad shoulder. “Take a look at me. Well and truly fucked. So consider this me resigning from—”

  “I realize you had other things taking your attention three nights ago, but I wonder if you’ve given thought to who might’ve taken your spot at Trix?” she asked, smoothly interrupting him.

  He reached for the sheets again, pulling them tight around his hips. “Three nights ago?”

  “Yes. You were on some pretty powerful painkillers and you slept like the dead. I’m guessing you needed it. You probably didn’t get a lot of rest the last couple of weeks, what with all that blissful bonding you and Jasmine were doing before you flamed out in a blaze of so-not-glory.”

  “Who played for me?” he asked quietly, though he already knew.

  As soon as Lila had posed the question, he remembered the feeling of Jazz’s calloused fingertips brushing over his skin. She’d never used a pick with any regularity, preferring to run her fingers down to bloody stubs no matter how many times he admonished her.

  Damn stubborn woman that he loved more than his own life.

  “I see you already know.” Lila brushed invisible lint off her pale yellow skirt. “From what I’ve heard from your bandmates, she barely kept it together long enough to get through the set. But she did it for you, and she did a damn fine job. She and Nick concocted this stupid story about your granny again to save your ass. Little did they know they shouldn’t have bothered. Guess you must like the smell of bacon frying in the morning.”

 

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