It was a drowning wave, the surge of wanting, but the air outside acts like a low tide, pulling the intense emotions back and leaving me on the concrete, breathing deep and low.
I throw a leg over my bike and rev the engine, bursting into mid-afternoon traffic and head to the studio, my balls throbbing.
I’m wondering if she’ll call.
I hope she does.
The recording studio comes up on my right and I curve into a self-made parking spot between two cars. I stroll through the doors, greeting the receptionist, and head to our rented studio room where all the guys are already seated.
“East! Buddy.” Mason rises first and we clasp hands and bro hug.
“Nice to see you with some swagger back,” Rex says, but he doesn’t rise from the red vinyl couch, nor does he look me in the eye. He’s too busy scribbling in his notebook.
“I’m good to—” I stop short. Seated beside one of the sound mixers is the lanky, skeletal back-up drummer. “What’s he doing here?”
“Uh, I was invited?” he responds.
“Don’t go after Pete,” Rex warns. “He’s here because I asked him to be.”
My stare clashes with his. “Why?”
“You’re really asking that?” Setting his notebook aside, Rex stands to my level.
“I’m fine. Got the a-ok from the doc. You don’t need a second string,” I say, but there’s a weird bubbling in my chest. Anticipation. Prediction that things are about to go south. “I figured I proved that during our European tour when he just sat around eating chips.”
“Hey,” Pete says. Then adds with a mumble, “They were fucking Cheetos.”
“Yeah, you did great, East,” Rex admits. “Fucking fantastic, actually. But last night scared the shit out of us, dude. You’re not yourself. Worse, you’re not being honest with us.”
“Honesty?” My voice reaches new, higher decibels. “Since when does this group throw fucking morality in a person’s face?”
Wyn and Mason remain ominously silent in their respective swivel chairs.
“You gonna tell us what’s really going on?” Rex asks as he angles his head. “Or are we gonna continue this bullshit dance?”
“It was dehydration, man.”
Rex snorts, his eyes remaining on mine. “Try again.”
Jaw locked, I’m realizing the excuse isn’t going to pass Rex’s bullshit meter this time. I release my cheek muscles long enough to say, “It’s my business.”
“If it affects the band, it’s our business.”
“I’m fine to play,” I persist. Maybe, if I say it enough, it’ll be true. But under Rex’s glare, I allow the tiniest morsel of fact to fall through my teeth. “Today, I can play.”
Rex pounces. “And what about tomorrow? Next week?”
“I’ll be fine then, too.”
“C’mon, East,” Wyn says from the wings. “Don’t toy with us.”
I whirl on him. “What the fuck are you trying to say? You’re just sitting there, being silent, letting Daddy Rex do all the talking for you.”
“You want me to speak? Fine, partner, I’ll talk,” Wyn says, pushing off his chair. “It doesn’t take a scientist to start sorting the pieces. Taryn, your lawyer, was at the concert last night. A chick you’re obviously into.”
The mere mention of her name and the possibility that whatever he has to say next will be negative has my muscles bunching. I growl, “And?”
“She brought her son.” Wyn says.
I jerk my chin in Rex’s direction. “He’s got a kid, too. What’s the problem?”
“None whatsoever,” Wyn says in a much-too-friendly voice. “But I’m thinking you shouldn’t be around children right now.”
I balk. Honest to God, I’m thrown for a loop. “You—huh?”
“East.” Disgust—at me—crosses Wyn’s face. “Don’t even, man. You should be ashamed of yourself, getting involved with a woman and her child in the current state you’re in.”
“My current state?” I can only echo what they’re saying, since I have no fucking clue what they’re meaning. Do they know? Could they have found out about my condition? What does that have to do with kids, though?
“No, don’t bash him,” Mason says. “Or shame him. That doesn’t help anyone.”
Mason, who is almost as quiet as me and a helluva lot more pensive. Mase, with the shaved head and hollow cheeks. The guy who listens to music in his head when the rest of the room is silent.
The person who observes as much as I do.
I’m terrified how close to accurate he’s gonna get.
“It’s not only notes you’re missing,” Mason says. “It’s words. You’re missing things we say, asking us to repeat ourselves. And last night? I came over to you to see what was wrong. You flung an elbow in my face—it’s like you couldn’t even see it was me.”
I can’t lose this battle. I can’t. “We were in the middle of a concert. How was I supposed to fucking—”
“East,” Rex says softly. Then, to the room, “Everybody who’s not in the band—out.”
Bodies in the shadows rise and move and shuffle to the exit. Pete remains seated.
“You too, Pete,” Rex says.
“But—“
“You’re not part of the core four. You gotta go out for a sec,” Rex says, and the bubbling in my gut recedes slightly. He’s not part of the band yet.
Pete mutters but does as Rex asks. While staring at Pete’s back, Rex says to me, “He may look like a wuss, but he plays almost as well as you. Almost, but not quite.”
I shake my head. “Don’t do this, Rex.”
Rex levels his gaze at me. “Easton, something’s happening to you. And we’re witnessing your fall. You’re not letting us in.”
“I—” I grit my teeth. “I can’t.”
“That’s okay, because we’ve come to our own conclusions,” Wyn says. “And we think you’re using.”
Silence. Ten full seconds of fucking silence. Then, my upper lip curls in shock. “That is so damn far from—”
But what’s the alternative? Tell them the truth? Never. So I do the only thing that comes to mind. I laugh. Laugh and laugh at the idea I’m on drugs.
“Stop fucking around, East!” Wyn shouts, and it takes a lot out of him. He hates conflict—never raises his voice unless it’s to bait an audience. “You’re being a scary motherfucker right now.”
“We’re worried about you,” Mason says. He dares to lay a hand on my shoulder.
I throw it off. “What is it you think I’m doing, huh? What’s my high of choice? Heroine? Coke? Meth?”
“Show us your arms, and I’ll tell you what I think,” Mason replies. Stone-faced.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe out. “I’m not shooting up!”
“Until you talk to us … ah, man.” Rex scrunches his face like the words physically pain him. “We gotta ask you to leave, East. We can’t put the band in jeopardy.”
I cut my gaze to him. “Not even for a brother?”
“Don’t do that,” Rex says. “It’s not me that’s put you in this position. Until you figure your shit out, we have to replace you.”
“Maybe that’s what you think.” I seethe. “But what about the rest of you? Mase?” I look to the other side of the small room. “Wyn? You gonna do this to the guy that’s been with you since we were eighteen?”
Rex speaks for them. “We voted. We’re all in agreement.”
My guffaw is deep, brutal and thick. “I assume Spinner gave the passing vote.”
“Actually yeah, I did.”
Spinner stands in the doorway, leaning against a door I didn’t hear open. And he’s holding pamphlets.
“Ah, no, man.” I dig my fingers into my hair and pace in a small circle. This can’t be happening.
“These are reputable rehab centers, East. Choose the one that appeals to you the most, and we can put you in there privately under an assumed name. No one has to know.”
“I�
��m not a fucking addict!” I yell at the ceiling.
“Don’t you dare lose your cool,” Rex says. “We’re a team. And you haven’t been acting like a team player. You’ve been withdrawn, angry, unreliable, distracted, dangerous—
“Because I’m going through shit I can’t control!” I roar.
“Buddy.” Rex lays his palms on my shoulders, but I shove him off. “If you don’t get yourself clean, consider yourself out of this band for good.”
“Or, get your shit together,” Mason says softly, acting like a buffer. “And come back when you’re ready.”
“I may never be—” I’m so close to a sob, I’m horrified. “Don’t take this away from me. Please.”
Wyn steps forward, conflict etched into every line around his mouth. “Fuck, East, don’t cry. Don’t fucking ball because then I’ll start balling, too.”
I look to them, all of them, my bandmates, my colleagues, my friends. Don’t make me beg. Don’t force me to tell you the truth. If I do, you’ll really kick me out. No one wants a deaf drummer who can’t hear a bee buzzing near his ear, never mind the riffs of a guitar.
“I’m not ready to leave,” I say. My voice is raw. Pleading.
“Doesn’t matter,” Rex says. “We’re ready for you to go.”
My gut seizes with bile and anger. I want to punch his face, kick through the walls, destroy every piece of equipment in this room. Roar and scream until I have no voice left.
“This is all I have,” I manage to say. “I don’t know when I … I’m perfectly healthy right now, okay? I can go behind the drums and hit the beats and do my part. I can do all that.”
“Right now, maybe,” Rex says. “But we can’t risk another public episode like last night. People are starting to ask questions, dude. Especially after your motorbike accident on the bridge.”
“That’s not—” Desperate, I switch tactics. Fling up defenses. “Did you keep playing? Huh?” I say to them. “After I was carted off in an ambulance last night, did you think, there goes the crackhead, and continue the set with Pete?”
Rex regards me with a flat expression. “Yes.”
“That’s why you didn’t come to the hospital until much later.” I scoff, but the knife-edge of being right … oh, it runs deep. “Why no one was in the ambulance.”
Rex steps forward. “The crowd was getting out of control when you collapsed. It’s not because we don’t have love for you—”
I very nearly spit in his face. Instead, I settle for nose-to-nose. “Fuck. You.”
Spinner’s palm flies between us, pushing against my chest. “Back off, Easton.”
Rex snarls, “This is our career you are single-handedly trashing—”
“And I’m meant to be your family!” Spittle flies. I pound my chest. “When you needed me, I was there. When your kid was born—”
“Don’t you dare bring up my child.”
“—and you had no one,” I persist, “I dropped everything so I could help you through it. Because that’s what brothers do for each other. They don’t fling them out in the cold.” I swing my arm for effect, spit catching in my scruff. “They don’t leave them adrift to manage their demons alone.” My voice cracks. “They don’t fucking walk away.”
It pains him. There’s a flash in his eyes that tells me so, but Rex collects whatever resolve he’s clinging to and stands firm. “We have to do what’s best for the band—”
“Fuck this band,” I say. Whipping around, I ignore any further excuses.
At least, they’ll think I’m ignoring them. As soon as I turn my back, I’m sickened to realize, I can no longer hear what’s being said.
Without a hitch in step, I shove through the door, satisfied when I hear the slam of it behind me.
* * *
My drive home is dangerous, but I’m fucking done with safety.
I take the same bridge I went horizontal on, envisioning the large bottle of whiskey waiting for me at my apartment, on my bar cart, a sparkling crystal glass beckoning beside it.
Pretty sure I’ll dispense with the glass.
All I want is vast emptiness. A whole blanket of nothing engulfing my remaining senses, bringing them to the same disfigurement as my ears, and just black the fuck out.
I’ve lost everything. What’s it matter if I go blind, lose my voice, can’t touch, can’t feel, can’t hear?
Why didn’t this bridge just take me the first time?
The dark thoughts are mottled and multiplying the faster I force them forward. The road gains curves as soon as I fly off the bridge and I take a left turn scary-fast, the adrenaline push of my heart adding to the gas.
I’m flying. I’m not caring, and I’m ready for my downfall.
My wheels skid when I stop in front of my apartment, but my breath takes up the sound when I see who’s standing in front of the building.
I pull off my helmet and push back my hair as I prowl over to the figure.
Taryn hesitates. “Hey.”
“Hey.” My chest heaves, but I control it, for her sake. I have no idea what kind of expression I’m giving her, but it’s barely human.
“I wasn’t sure when you’d get back from the studio …” Her gaze slides sideways. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here, exactly. I just knew I didn’t want to go home—”
I hurl her against the wall and take her mouth.
She doesn’t resist. In fact, she molds into my hands with malleable softness, at complete odds with the way her mouth sucks and bites and latches on.
I grip her ass, squeeze, and she moans against my tongue, the vibrations coating my throat and zinging a direct path to my dick.
When I tear away, one hand has traveled to the nape of her neck. “Let’s go inside, before I fuck you against this brick.”
Taryn pants, her eyes wet with desire.
I unlock the front doors and we barely make it to the elevator before we’re gripping, pawing, tearing at each other’s clothes. My leather jacket falls to the floor with a heavy, chain-clanging thud. When the doors open, she bends down to grab it, but that simply gives me access to pull up her skirt, dig my fingers into her peachy ass, and rub my dick against the white lace thong, a feeble barrier to what’s mine.
White lace.
“Leave it,” I say. All I want to do is add her underwear to the pile we’re creating.
The thought that I was right, that she’s a lace thong girl, causes a feral exhale, teeth bared. After a moan, she stands and twists in my hold, a trembling grin on her lips. “Down, boy. We’re in an elevator.”
“We could be in the middle of the fucking Rockefeller Center skating rink and I’d still fuck you senseless.”
Taryn’s eyes flare at the dark promise, but she’s not afraid. Good—because I’m not confident I can stop myself from ramming her.
Every ounce of self-possession has left me, and there’s the pale notion that I could be dangerous to her, I could maybe hurt her, but I want Taryn too much to worry about consequences.
And her stare holds so much seduction.
She takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. I have to stride carefully, my dick straining against the tight denim of my pants. I pull her against me when she walks past my door, grinding her from behind, moaning into her hair and grazing my nose from her shoulder, up her neck, to her ear.
I bite.
She yelps, but when my fingers travel over, under, through the lace, the slickness there gives me any answer I need.
We fall through to my hallway once I gain enough momentum to unlock the door, kissing, nipping, clothes falling outside our path.
I tear into her blouse like I fantasized, rip through her flimsy bra and expose perfect, delicious breasts. I dive, licking and sucking at the same time I lift her and wrap her legs around my torso.
“Oh …” Her head falls back, tendrils of her hair tickling against my grip on her ass. “Fuck. Easton.”
I growl against her nipple and flick with my tongue. She groans, clu
tching my head, pulling it closer.
If I die of suffocation by breast, I’ll go into the afterlife a happy man. So long as I can take these tits with me.
I let her fall onto my bed, splayed with nothing but a skirt and panties to her name. Quickly making do of that, I have her naked in seconds.
The bed dips as I climb onto it with my knees and lift her legs, spreading them, enjoying the view.
Taryn bites her lip in a flash of insecurity, but she doesn’t clam up. Instead, she waits.
I lower my fingers, watching idly as I glide them in and out of her. “You’re fucking perfect,” I say, and I don’t recognize my tone. It’s beastly. I have a bare tether to my human soul.
“Fuck me already, Easton,” she moans, but she keeps her eyes on mine, unblinking.
It’s enough to derail the little decency I have left.
I strip off my clothes, baring myself to her, and her lips part at the sight of my dick. I don’t give her time to enjoy, because I sink into her the way I promised, riding her hard.
Her nails rake down my back and she meets me, thrust to thrust, her hard sighs sounding right next to my ear, providing a clarity of sound I hadn’t registered in much too long.
When I rise onto my hands and her head falls against the pillows, her mouth open into an O of pleasure, I pound harder.
Because I can’t hear the sighs that are coming out of her anymore.
My mouth twists as I thrust harder, drilling into her so long and hard, it must be hurting her. But Taryn opens her eyes, lids low and permissive. She holds onto my biceps as I release my anger, pushing the hurt, the traitorous fear, the utter despair that my body has failed right when fate decided to pave the way for dreams, and I pound.
I pound.
I pound.
Just as fate gives, it destroys.
Covered in sweat, hair falling into my eyes, I aim for release, but I can’t come.
Taryn holds my face in her hands, directing my attention to her.
“I’m hurting you,” I say, but my voice doesn’t hit my ears. All it is, is a grinding feeling in my throat.
Playing You: Players to Lovers, Book 4 Page 16
