by Sadie Grubor
The sound of the door makes her jump and she turns wide eyes on me.
"I'm done playing this fucking game with you," I shout.
Her jaw tightens.
"Christ, Sid, I've never been with someone so determined to push me away."
I take two steps, and she retreats two.
I sigh and rub my hands across my face before dropping them to my sides and balling them into fists.
"I know you're afraid, but I can only take so much."
At my words, her tough façade falters. Her chin wobbles for a moment.
"Then don't," she whispers, her voice wavering.
Shaking my head, I say, "Even now, you're still pushing."
I step closer, and this time, she holds her ground.
"You can try to push me, and fuck, maybe you'll succeed, but it won't change the way I feel, Sid. I love you," I growl.
Her eyes widen and mouth parts as her body twitches to run.
"It doesn't matter how far you run from me." I bring my hand to her face. "I'll still love you." Brushing my thumb over her cheek, I watch her eyes flutter shut. "You can push me over and over, and I may walk away…" her body tenses, "but I will still love you."
The dressing room door opens behind me.
"Mr. Stone," a stage assistant interrupts, "you're about to go on stage."
Ignoring the assistant, I move closer to Sid.
"I love you," I whisper, press my mouth to hers, and then lift my head, "but I won't be treated like shit."
Her eyes grow watery.
The assistant clears his throat.
One more brush of her cheek and I step backward out of the room, eyes staying on her.
As soon as I reach the wing of the stage, I'm handed my sticks. Jimmy steps up to my left with his guitar and Red appears on my right.
"What's going on?" I shout into his ear.
"Randy's too sick," Red answers to the side of my head. "I sent him back to the dressing room." He motions to Jimmy. "He's gonna step in tonight."
I nod.
My head is still back in the dressing room with my fucking heart.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sidra
The door closes and I drop to my knees.
What is wrong with me? I'm broken is the problem.
Tears I held back stream my cheeks, washing away his touch. It makes them flow more freely.
I held the tears back just so he wouldn't see me cry over him. I'm a fool, an idiot, and he loves me. He told me he loves me and I just push him away. He deserves better than a broken girl. Christ, who needs all these emotions? I hate him for making me love him enough to hate him.
Picking my sorry ass off the floor, I stumble to the bathroom, wash my face, and wipe away my running makeup.
I emerge from the bathroom and go to my bag. It's not until my bag is in my hand and I turn that I see him near the door.
"What…how did you get back here?" I ask, fear raising the hairs on my arms.
"You taught me well, Sid," Paul sneers.
Holding up a backstage press pass with his left hand, he raises the gun in his right.
I drop my bag and back up. Panic tingles across my scalp.
"You thought you could get away with everything," he drops the badge and snaps his fingers, "just like that."
He shakes his head.
"Just because you're some rock star's whore, you think you're better than me." He uses the gun to point to himself.
My two-way radio comes to life.
"Sid?" Red's voice fills the room.
"If I don't respond, he'll come looking for me," I tell Paul.
"Bullshit," he growls, "your latest fuck is on stage, no one's coming for you."
"That's not—"
"Shut up!" He points the gun at me.
Wild-eyed and face flushed, he scares the shit out of me.
The bastard has fucking lost it.
I press my lips together and put my hands out.
Stall him until someone comes in.
"You don't want—"
"Don't fucking tell me what I want, bitch!" His chest heaves and he takes a step forward. "I had what I wanted all lined up." His free hand waves in the air.
"But you," he jerks the gun, making me flinch. He laughs, doing it again and getting the same reaction.
"You ruined it all. Why couldn't you just let things be? I fucked you when I had to, when I knew shit would get messy. Why did you have to fuck it all up because you felt something?"
"I don't feel anything," I blurt.
"Well, I do," he screams, moving closer.
I step back.
"You took Sam, Toy BoXXX, and now you're trying to take my freedom."
I open my mouth, but he jerks the gun at me again.
"Don't say a fucking word," he snarls. "You take everything and then walk away with it all."
I shake my head.
"Yes, Sid, yes, you do! Did you think I wouldn't find out about your deal?"
My mouth parts on a surprised gasp.
"Oh, yes, Sidra, I know all about you still working with Toy BoXXX while I'm given scraps of what my company would've been—and it's all because of you!"
The two-way radio sparks to life again.
"Seriously, Sid, I need you to respond," Red begs.
Oh, how I wish I could, Red. Please, look for me. Please.
My body twitches to make a go for the radio and Paul advances.
Stumbling backward, I pull a chair in his path. He trips, but doesn't fall.
When his eyes focus back on me, the rage on his face says it all.
He lifts the gun, aims, and…
The door to the dressing room opens, startling us both.
"Don't," I shout, but it's too late.
Randy staggers into the room.
"What the hell—?"
The gun shot echoes off the walls and in my head.
A sob bursts from my throat, right before I scream and charge Paul.
He turns, making me hit the side of his body, and the gun discharges again.
Something stings my arm and I reflexively grab for it. It's wet and starting to burn.
Paul climbs to his feet, pointing the gun down at my head.
Clenching my eyes shut, I think one thing—the one thing I should've said.
I love you, too.
The gun fires, but all I feel is a spray over my face.
Opening one eye, I find a massive dark-skinned man in a security shirt hovering above me. His mouth moves, but the ringing in my ears makes it hard to hear.
"Are you alright?" His question finally registers.
I nod.
"The ambulance is on the way," another voice says.
"Randy," I gasp, and sit up.
"Whoa, take it easy." The large security guy grabs my arms.
I flinch at the pain.
"Shit, she's hurt," he shouts.
A thinner guy rushes over, squatting down and ripping the sleeve of my shirt.
"It's just a graze," he say, sounding relieved.
"Randy?" I ask, trying to turn around.
"He's stable, but in bad shape. The ambulance should be here soon, along with the cops."
Whatever's on my face grows uncomfortable. Lifting my hand, I try to wipe it away.
"You don't want to do that." The thinner security guy grabs my wrist.
Looking down, I find my hand covered in blood.
Paul.
I shift, leaning around the guy working on my arm.
"Hold still, he's taken care of," he tries to soothe.
"Is he—?"
"Yes," the dark-skinned man says. "The shot was fatal."
A cocktail of fear, sadness, and relief whirls inside me.
"You can't—" a deep voice says.
"If you put a hand on her, I'll end you," Jackson's voice draws my attention.
Liza pushes by another security guard and gasps. She surveys the room until her eyes find me and fill with concern and
determination.
Pushing around the large security men, she slides next to me on her knees.
"Are you okay?" She scans my body.
I nod, swallowing the emotion about to bubble out.
Ignoring the blood, she hugs me.
"There're too many people in this room," a uniformed cop says as he enters into the fray.
"Sid!" Xavier's roar makes me jump away from Liza.
"Sir, I'm afraid you—"
Xavier shoves the cop against the wall.
"Don't," he growls before releasing him and rushing to me.
Liza moves over, letting him take her place.
"Sid," he whispers, his eyes scanning my body.
They lock on my bandaged arm.
"He hurt you," he growls.
"I'm fine," I choke out, "but Randy…"
Tears fill my eyes, making Xavier look watery.
"The paramedics have him," he says, cupping my face in both hands. "Someone get her a fucking towel," he shouts. "Come on." He urges me up from the floor in rough movements.
"We need to speak to the witness," the cop stops him.
"After she gets his fucking blood off her," Xavier counters, guiding me into the bathroom.
Inside, he closes the door and sets me up on the sink.
"I'm so sorry," I cry.
Taking my face in his hands, he says, "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
The tears fall and my sobs make it impossible for me to say anything else.
But there's so much to say, the voice in my head screams. I'm sorry. So sorry. Sorry about Randy. Sorry about not telling you how much I love you, and don't let me push you away. Please don't.
"Shhh," he soothes.
Pulling his shirt over his head, he sticks it in the running water and washes my face, my neck, my hands.
There's a soft knock at the door before it opens and Liza hands him my bag.
"I'll be right out here," she says, meeting my eyes and closing the door.
And I don't protest her departure. It's not lost on me how major this moment is and I want to scream it to him.
I want you here, not Liza. I love you.
But I'm an asshole who can't let him know, can't show what's going on inside.
"I'm so sorry," I repeat the only thing I seem to be able to say.
He shushes me as he wipes away the blood.
As soon as I'm clean, the cops interview me and then release me to a paramedic, who insists I be seen at the hospital to prevent infection. Randy had been rushed there right after they arrived.
The look on Xavier's face when he climbs into the ambulance broaches no arguments from the paramedics. Bare-chested, he holds me for the duration of the trip.
At the hospital, they're a bit more restrictive. Xavier is stopped, but Liza slips through, claiming to be my sister.
In an ultra-white, clean bed, I sit, my legs crisscrossed and my arm freshly bandaged. Liza sits next to me, her arms wrapped around me.
My eyes have found a discolored spot on the wall near the door.
I wonder if it's a blood stain.
"I'm so sorry," she coos.
A lump rises up and lodges in my throat. Swallowing doesn't help.
"Talk to me, please?" she begs.
But I can't. The words are trapped behind the lump.
The gun, the shot, the blood.
Xavier's large form fills the doorway, pulling my attention from the stain. Someone has given him a concert shirt and it looks a size too small.
The fact that I can't even find the will to pick on him for it makes the caught emotions in my throat burn.
I raise my eyes from his chest to his face. He looks angry, furious. My brows furrow and lips press together.
He's pissed about Randy. It's my fault Paul was there.
Closing my eyes, I drop my chin to my chest and lean against Liza.
She gives me a squeeze.
When her arms fall away, I look up at her, confused.
Xavier has moved next to the bed, helping Liza up.
"I'll be right out there," she jerks her chin to the door, "if you need me."
I straighten my spine as I watch my cousin exit the room.
When he doesn't move, I twist my head and meet his hard eyes.
My stomach flips, heart pounds, and I grip my thighs. Glancing down at my clothes, I take a deep breath.
On an exhale, I say, "I don't want to wear blood anymore."
The bed shifts, causing me to glance up.
His arms come around me, pulling us down into the bed.
One hand holds my head to his chest and the other locks around my bicep, stretching my arm over his stomach.
"We'll get you clean clothes," he whispers.
He presses his lips to the top of my head and his body flexes, embracing me harder.
"Randy?" I choke around a sob.
"He's in surgery," he says, his voice tight and sad.
The emotional dam bursts—guilt, fear, and sorrow erupt in verbal vomit.
"I'm so sorry. It's my fault, I didn't—"
"Shhh…" His lips find my forehead.
Burying my face against his cotton-covered skin, I soak his shirt in tears and snot.
Two hours later, I've reassured my parents I'm okay, gotten dressed in clean clothes, been discharged, and am now sitting with everyone in a waiting room. Xavier and I have barely spoken and he disappeared right after bringing me here.
With Randy's surgery taking longer than anticipated and not getting any updates, the room is quiet and tense.
Next to me, Liza sits in her usual place on Jackson's lap, the boys back at the hotel with Kel. Red paces the room, his cell phone to his ear. Serena sits next to Elliott, her arm over his shoulders. The somber look on his face is so out of place for the larger than life jokester. Mia and Chris sit, leaning into each other, his lips permanently attached to the side of her head. Kat and Laney sit quietly in a corner, staring at nothing. Corbin leans against the wall farthest from us. His eyes closed, head down, and arms crossed over his chest. There's an aura about him that makes sure no one gets too close. On the other side of me is Jimmy. He's slouched, head back against the chair, with his eyes closed.
The guilt creeps up my spine, making me shiver and wrap my arms around myself.
"You okay?" Liza asks, her hand touching my shoulder.
I shake my head.
"It's all my fault," I whisper.
"No," she coos, moving from Jackson's lap and kneeling in front of me.
"Yes," I nod. "I'm the reason he was there."
"It's not your fault," Red booms.
Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I close my eyes and take deep breaths. The tears want to win, but I won't let them.
Xavier
I could've lost her. That asshole would've taken her life. Why the hell did I just leave her in the room? Because my goddamn feelings were hurt. I'm fucking pathetic.
The sight of her on the floor, blood splatter on her face…my stomach turns. If Randy hadn't walked into that room…
Don't finish the thought.
But I do. It would've been Sid instead of him, and the guilt clawing at me for being relieved Randy took the bullet instead of her rages through my veins.
Even though the paramedics pronounced Paul dead at the scene, I'd needed to see him. Getting into the morgue turned out to be easier than I thought. Having fans on the local police force paid off for me.
It took so much restraint not to beat the shit out his body—something that had been so clear on my face—the two officers who accompanied me had to physically usher me out.
Now, walking into the waiting room and hearing her blame herself, I want to tear something or someone apart.
Jimmy, who I'd asked to watch over her, immediately gives up his spot.
I can feel her eyes on me, watching, but I can't look at her—the guilt is too great. Regret for leaving her in the dressing room alone. Remorse for the relief that she's
not the one in surgery.
Bending forward, I place my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands.
Please, God, you've already taken one of us. Do you need Randy, too?
I part my fingers, glance to Corbin, and flinch. It's the same fucking empty glaze he wore for years after Ethan died.
Pressing the heel of my palms into my eyes, I growl.
"Christ, don't they know anything yet?" My question isn't directed at anyone in particular.
"No, they keep giving me the 'once we know something, we'll let you know' runaround," Red clips, pacing the room.
Liza's movement on the floor draws my attention. She scooted closer, now holding a shaking Sid.
My frustration, anger, and guilt merge to a head. I can feel them pulsing beneath my skin, ready to explode at any moment.
"Are you here for Randall Glenn?" A middle-aged woman in green scrubs stands just inside the doorway.
"Yes," Red, Chris, and I say at the same time.
"Is he alright?" Jack asks, standing.
The doctor pulls a white cap off her head and exhales heavily.
Fuck, this isn't good.
"I'm afraid Mr. Glenn's heart was enlarged. We are still running tests, but the drug use and his quitting cold turkey are possible causes. The injuries he suffered were just too much…" she trails off, taking a breath.
"No," Corbin snarls, making the doctor's eyes widen.
"I'm sorry, he didn't survive the surgery," she finishes.
It's like all the air is sucked from my lungs. Gripping the chair, I fight to breathe.
"Oh God," someone gasps.
"He can't," Sid cries, head shaking. "It's my fault, Liza," she exclaims.
The crash in the corner of the room makes everyone jump.
Corbin stands, chest heaving, hospital chair, and the small table turned over. His eyes find Sid and narrow. Hands fisted at his sides, he stalks toward her.
Instinctively, I push out of the chair and stand between him and her.
"Calm down, Corbin," I order, placing my hand on his chest.
With a sweep of his arm, he throws my arm away from him.
"Then fucking tell her it's not her fault," he screams in my face.
Fully expecting to defend her from him and not prepared for him to attack me, I'm stunned silent.
"She's been blaming herself since you abandoned her here." He brings his face nose to nose with mine. "Then you just sit here while she fucking falls apart. It's not her fault!"
