by Cari Quinn
“Until Nick,” he agreed.
“Then you decided the three of us getting naked together was a smart idea.”
“Technically you decided that. I don’t recall getting undressed first.”
“Can you blame me? I never thought I’d get you undressed, ever. Even if the fucking Pope had been in the room, I would’ve stripped down to my birthday suit anyway.”
“Back to the Pope,” he muttered. “Seems to be a recurring theme lately.”
“You know what else keeps recurring? You making your mind up for me and deciding you know how I must feel.” She shoved her hands through her disordered hair. “By the way, your track record in that department sucks.”
He had to smile. “Tell me how you really feel, honey.”
“Fine.” She stared him dead in the eye and held up her left hand. “I want to marry you. Now. No more bullshit. No more waiting.”
His heart leapt and for an instant, he nearly agreed. The words were right there in his throat, aching to be spoken. But at the last moment, he lowered his head.
“Okay then,” she said, sounding more defeated than he’d ever heard her. She tossed off the sheet and threw her legs over the side of the bed. “That answers that.”
“Wait.” He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s not about me not wanting to marry you.”
“Then what?”
“It’s that I’m not in a place to make that decision. Honestly, neither are you. We’ve been together such a short time, and I’m a fucking mess. I’m going to get to the other side, but I’m not there yet. Anyone would tell us we’re insane to consider a move this huge without making sure we have a firm foundation underneath us first.”
“Anyone isn’t us, and they haven’t lived holding their breath for years like we have. I believe in you.”
“You haven’t even asked me what happened.” He rubbed the heel of his hand over his sore ribs. “If I relapsed or blew the money Lila gave me or some combination of the two.”
“I have my theories. If you ever doubted whether I want bling more than you, don’t. There’s no bling in this world that could make up for one iota of the terror I felt that night.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ll never be as sorry as I am, because it took both of us to arrive where we are.” Squarely, she met his gaze. “Whatever happened, I trust you and I don’t doubt for a second that you’re going to kick this addiction. I may be naïve. I may be the biggest dummy going. But no one will ever accuse me of not putting one hundred percent of my faith in you.”
“God, baby…I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t write an ode to me yet.” She stuck her tiny hand in his face. “If you relapse or get yourself hurt again for any goddamn reason, I swear to God, I will fucking kick your ass harder than those thugs ever did. I will make it my life’s work to bring you pain.”
He laughed and kissed her palm. “You make it sound so simple. I wish it was.”
“Here we go again.” She sighed heavily. “Have your existential crisis some other day, all right? I’m not feeling too hot.”
“But—” He broke off. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just some stupid nausea. Probably a side effect of having lunch with a drug dealer and getting dumped before dinner.”
“Why would you be nauseous? Do you have the flu?”
“If I do, it’s lasting a long time. It started the day you went missing.”
“That was almost a week ago.”
“Yeah.” She dug her bra out from under the pillow. How it had ended up there, he had no clue. “Whatever. I’m going to go lie down. I’m too tired to argue anymore today. If leaving is your way of throwing yourself on your sword for being human, then that’s your choice.”
“Jazz.” He grabbed her arm and somehow managed not to howl.
She stopped fumbling with her bra clasp. “What?”
His pulse kicked up. “Could you be pregnant?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you gotten your period recently?”
Pressing her lips together, she yanked up her bra straps and bent to pull on her panties. She remained in a crouched position longer than necessary, her head lowered. She was breathing loudly enough for him to hear. Almost wheezing.
He leaned over to look at her. “What are you doing?”
“Having a panic attack.” She peered up at him. “Do you mind?”
There was absolutely no reason in the world to laugh. Less than none. Yet it tore out of his chest and echoed in the room until she gave in and joined him, wiping her eyes as she rose to sit next to him on the bed.
After a few moments, he covered her hands with his. “Should we…I don’t know, go find out? Make sure.”
“What do you mean we?” Indignance filled her tone. “You don’t have to pee on a stick.”
“Have you ever done that before?”
“Take a pregnancy test? No. But I heard all about Harper’s. And sat there and tried not to cry out of sheer envy.”
He laced his fingers with hers. “It’s not the right time for us to have a baby.”
“I’d say not, since you just dumped me.”
He laughed again, which earned him a narrow-eyed glance that only made her look more adorable. “I didn’t dump you. I would never. Are you fucking kidding me? But they recommend limiting relationships as a condition of rehab.”
“Rehab?”
“Where did you think I was going?” He withdrew the card Lila had given him from the front pocket of his suitcase and handed it to her. “It’s an eight-week program.”
“Eight weeks,” she said, staring down at the cream-colored card. “But we’re going into the studio soon.”
“Lila said the band could work around me. I’ll just have to make up the time extra fast when I get back.”
She lifted her head. “You’re coming back.”
“Of course.”
Shaking her head, she laughed softly. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”
“I was getting around to it. Speaking of getting around to things, why did you go see Cricket?” He gripped her arm, suddenly seized by panic. “You didn’t actually buy anything from her, did you? It’s bad enough you smoked because of me. If you’re pregnant—”
“I smoked a small amount very early on. Not that it matters because I’m not pregnant. I’m also not enough of an idiot to covet a cocaine addiction.” She winced. “Sorry. Can I blame pregnancy hormones without actually being pregnant?”
He let go of her arm. “Why do I love you again?”
“Because of my winsome personality? And because I give one hell of a blowjob, with and without happy ending?”
“The second one, definitely. The first…eh, I’m not terribly impressed.”
“Funny. As for why I went to see Cricket, I paid off the rest of your debt. You no longer owe her a damn nickel.” She looked around the floor. “If I can find where I dropped my purse, I’ll show you the proof.”
“Wait a second. You paid my debt? How? With what money?”
“Mine.” She flushed. “With a little backing assistance from your parents. Yes, I called them and told them you were hurt. They came to the hospital, and we talked. They know about your…issue now.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I asked them for a loan and explained why I needed it. I’ll fully be repaying them once I get more money from the tour. And the album and the next tour. Then there’s our merchandising.” She smiled bravely. “See? We’re going to be fine.”
“You won’t be repaying them. I’ll be repaying them and you. You aren’t responsible for my cash flow problems.”
“That’s a quaint way to put it, but hell yes, I am. I’d expect the same from you if I needed your support.” She pulled the ponytail holder off her wrist and did her messy hair up in a quick bun that somehow looked sexier than the most artfully arranged style.
“You have officially exploded my bra
in.” Then there was the fact that she was nauseous. Dear God. “I can’t discuss any of this right now.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” She tugged on her skirt, fluffing the little kick pleats as if they were having an ordinary conversation. “I was overdue on doing my share of bailing out in this relationship.”
“So you just called her up and met with her?” He shook his head, awe overtaking his initial irritation that she’d used her money to play savior. That wasn’t even mentioning the potential danger she’d put herself in. “And I thought I had a pair.”
She patted her chest. “I just store mine up top.”
“That you fucking do.” He expelled a short breath. “We’re going to talk more about this later. In the meantime, do you think Harper will let us borrow her truck once more?”
“I think so, yeah. She’ll also probably demand to come along and make me take the test in the convenience store bathroom.”
“Why? Does she have a preggo fetish or something?”
“No. She knows I do, and she’s my best friend. Other than you, of course.”
“Oh.” It took him a few more deep breaths to find the strength to put aside his own needs in favor of hers. “Would you rather she go with you than me?”
“No.” She held out her hand. “C’mon. While we’re there, you can buy me some Pepto-Bismol. You know, since you have to start paying me back and all.” She rolled her eyes.
He grinned. “Is this what our life together is going to look like?”
“If we’re lucky.”
An hour later, they stared at the two pregnancy tests lined up side by side on the bathroom sink. “Well,” she said, turning away. “That settles that.”
Without saying anything, he gathered her in his arms.
“I shouldn’t have wanted it to be positive.” She pressed her cheek against his chest. “Right? Tell me I’m wrong to want that. It’s a mistake. The timing is horrible.”
“It’s not the best,” he agreed.
“But I wanted it just the same. I never let myself believe it could be true, but I almost willed those two lines to show up. And they didn’t.”
He tipped up her chin and caught her single tear with his finger. He couldn’t sort through everything he was feeling, not yet. Not today. “No. Not this time.”
“When do you have to go?”
“Soon.” He swallowed hard and turned his cheek against her hair. “Will you come with me when I tell the rest of the band that I’m going to Visions? They’re waiting downstairs.”
“Sure.” She was already walking away, her unshakable mask slipping back into place.
“Jazz. Wait.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
There was one thing he didn’t have to sort out. One truth he wasn’t willing to deny her for any reason. “I was willing those lines to show up too.”
Her smile only made her tears more poignant as she offered him her hand. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Then
Jazz stepped off the bus and tucked her secondhand iPod in her pocket. The ink on the shred of paper gripped in her other hand would probably run soon. Her palms were so damp she couldn’t stop wiping them on her jeans.
Just do it. One foot in front of the other. Keep walking.
She dug out the address and made her way to the end of the block, biting her lip the whole time. She should’ve called first. A landline phone number had been included in the listing, so she should’ve used it.
I could call from outside.
No, she didn’t have many minutes left on her phone and she wasn’t going to be that much of a coward. It had been two years since she’d seen him, but that wasn’t all that long in the scheme of things. Only seven hundred something days. Barely a blink.
When she stood beside the patchy lawn of the home Gray now lived in, she flexed her fingers and imagined limbering up for a lengthy session behind the kit. It was about mental endurance as much as anything else. Playing on past the point of pain and frustration and exhaustion, even when the notes wouldn’t fall right and nothing sounded the way it did in her head. She never buckled, never stopped.
No matter what greeted her on the other side of this door, she would be fine. Unbreakable. Fucking granite.
Then he opened the door, his dark, wavy hair falling past his bare shoulders—he’d lost his shirt somewhere along the way—and his jeans hugging lean hips, and she forgot all about being stone. One glimpse was like hot lava, melting her on sight.
The cool frost burned away in his eyes, leaving only heat. “Jazz.” Her name sounded like a prayer.
“Yeah.” She smiled and adjusted her knapsack over her shoulder. “You look good.”
“Thanks. So do you.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Uh, do you want to come in? You look hot. I mean, thirsty. It’s brutal out there. Want a drink? Not alcohol. Like lemonade.”
When she started to laugh, he grinned. “Fuck this noise.” He locked his arms around her waist, hauling her straight off her feet and over the threshold. She laughed harder and locked her arms around his neck, wondering how it could still feel this right. Nothing had changed. He was the lock for her key. The hand for her glove.
Fuck it, he was her everything. Still. Always.
He finally set her down, though she doubted her feet would ever truly touch the ground again. “How are you? What are you doing now?”
“Not much. I’m working at the waffle house. What about you?”
“Teaching music theory to some kindergarten kids as part of an internship.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I still have one year left at Berkeley.”
“That’s awesome. And you’re no longer living with your parents.”
His face closed down. “No. I haven’t since it happened.” He held up a hand. “Don’t ask me how they are, because I don’t know. We don’t talk anymore.”
“Gray,” she said, barely unable to speak. He’d given up his family for her, and they hadn’t even been in contact. She’d never met anyone more selfless.
“Don’t. It’s done.” He scratched his chest and she tried not to watch his muscles ripple. So many freaking muscles. “What else are you up to?”
“I just finished school.”
“That’s great. Where’d you end up?”
“Trawler Community College. I finished up my high school credits and got a certificate in Early Childhood Development in one fell swoop.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Turns out they have programs for fuckup dropouts like me.”
“Shut up. You weren’t ever a fuckup.”
“But I did drop out.”
“It isn’t dropping out if you end up somewhere better.” He tucked her hair behind her ear as he always had. “I’m so proud of you.”
She fought not to blush. “Thanks. I’m in a band.”
“Huh. Imagine that.” His grin grew. “Me too.”
“Oh yeah?” She knew exactly which one. She’d only stalked him to clubs in the area about ten times over the past year. “Maybe we should compare notes.”
“Maybe we should.” He frowned, tilting his head as he rubbed his fingers over her crowded earlobe. She was up to half a dozen piercings. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”
“Took you long enough to notice.”
“Oh, I noticed.” He rubbed his hand over the shaved part of her head that transitioned into long pink and green waves on the side. “You look fucking amazing.”
“But not hot,” she teased.
He started to respond when a door shut down the hall. She’d assumed he lived with a couple of roommates, so that didn’t surprise her. But when a curvaceous blonde came down the hall wearing just a nightshirt, carrying a basket of laundry that clearly contained a pile of boxers, Jazz stumbled back. Her heels hit the floor, hard.
“Hey, I couldn’t find the dryer sheets you bought. Are they in the—” The blonde trailed off and smiled at Jazz. “Hi. I didn’t realize we had g
uests. I’m Amber.” She anchored the laundry basket against her hip. “Man, your hair is sweet.”
Jazz laughed because what else could she do? Cry? Well, yeah, but that’d be later, when she was alone. “Thanks. I’m Jazz.”
“Awesome to meet you. Are you one of Gray’s music friends? You look like one of them.” She pursed her lips. “Oh my, that sounded bad. I mean, you dress funky like they do, with the ripped jeans and the cool hair and all. Of course your ass is half the size of mine.” She paused, apparently noticing Gray had yet to speak. He actually didn’t seem to be breathing, so that wasn’t too surprising. “Notice he’s not arguing with me,” she added.
“Jazz is my foster sister,” he said, almost robotically.
Jazz flinched before she could control it. You walked away. Remember that. “Used to be,” she said, making her voice as cheery as possible. “Now I’m just the girl with crazy hair he used to know.”
She turned to reach for the door, surprised to find it was still open. They’d just started talking without even closing it. Forgetting everything around them, just like old days.
Not anymore.
“Jazz, wait.”
“I wish I could hang out longer, but I have practice. You know, us wild music types have to play as much as possible.” She smiled at Amber over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’ll be right back,” Gray said to Amber, following Jazz onto the sidewalk.
When she just kept walking, he grabbed her arm and spun her back. “That’s it? You’re just leaving?”
“What do you expect me to do? You have a girlfriend. She’s even pretty.”
He frowned. “Did you expect me to have one that’s not?”
“No, but it would’ve been more considerate.”
“Woman, I don’t fucking understand you. You took off for two years without a word. You gave me a fake address and a fake phone number, swapped cell numbers and dropped out of school. You did everything you could to break contact with me. What the hell did you expect me to do? Hold my dick for two years?”
