Resurrection

by Karina Bliss

  “I might have been planning a surprise visit,” Dee Dee added, sulky now. “Did you ever think of that?”

  Not for a second, sorry Mom. She took a right at the next intersection. “How would you get leave from your job?” Weird. Moss’s pickup was miles from his gym. She glanced at the scrap of paper on the passenger seat where she’d scribbled down the rendezvous point. It matched the address on the GPS.

  “About that…” said Dee Dee coyly.

  Recognizing that tone, Lily’s heart sank. “Tell me you haven’t thrown in your job again.” Her mother had been working as a cashier at a hardware store, for nine months—a personal record. “Another year and you would have paid off your credit cards.” Thanks to Lily’s coaxing and nagging.

  “Chuck doesn’t like me working.”

  Oh no, she knew that ‘cat got the cream’ tone. “You have a new boyfriend?”

  “You’ll like him, baby, he hasn’t said one bad word about the sex tape, sees it like I do. An innocent mistake that you can turn into a business opportunity.”

  “And what qualifies Chuck to voice that opinion?” Lily inquired politely, hating him already.

  “He runs a very successful business himself.” Which, if previous form was anything to go by, meant he was working a commission-only job that rarely made target. Dee Dee always fell for the big talkers, being one herself.

  “Is he living with you yet?” It didn’t take her mom’s ‘great loves’ long to see an opportunity to live rent-free. Not for the first time, she thanked her late grandmother for having the sense to put the property into a trust.

  “No, Ms. Cynical, I’m living with him and renting out Ma’s place. Saving money even, so don’t give me your holier-than-thou ‘oh Mom, don’t repeat past mistakes’ lecture again. Not when you’re turning down a golden opportunity to make yourself some decent money out of this sex tape.”

  “We’ve been over this a dozen times.” Lily tapped a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel. “You won’t change my mind.” And she was tired of Dee Dee trying to. “Listen, someone’s waiting for me. I have to go. Love you.”

  She ended the call before her mother could protest, and tossed her cell on the passenger seat, telling herself not to take it personally. Didn’t stop the old familiar ache though.

  Peering to read a road sign, she frowned. This neighborhood was scary enough in the daytime, let alone at night. Dark shapes lurked in doorways and congregated on street corners.

  Why was Moss so far from his gym? She’d ask, except he’d been so moody this past week, he’d probably snap her head off. At home, she rarely saw him. Either he was holed up in his room or working out tour logistics and release details with the band. If she wasn’t re-establishing a mental distance, she might have admitted to missing him.

  Approaching the rendezvous intersection, she double-checked the doors were locked and reduced speed.

  Something had been bugging him since the last gig and yet everyone swore it was their best yet. Buzz around the album’s impending launch had gone up a couple thousand decibels, which had made Dimity delirious, and she and Moss seemed to have resolved whatever they’d fought about.

  “Don’t stay out too late,” Dimity had reminded him as he left the house. She’d been watching television with Seth, their dog snuggled between them. “We have the Rolling Stone photo shoot in the morning and you don’t want bags under those pretty eyes.”

  On the street corner, she spotted a big guy in a hoodie with his hands dug deep in his sweatpants pockets. Unable to confirm an ID, she drove by, peering in her rearview mirror. Moss raised a hand—yeah, it’s me—and she braked twenty yards away.

  “Did you add a run to your workout or something?” she commented as he slid in the front passenger door.

  “Or something.” He sounded exhausted, and she glanced at him after she’d pulled into traffic.

  “What’s with the Rocky Balboa look?” Had his restlessness been withdrawal? she wondered, suddenly frightened for him. And is that ‘something’ drug-related?

  As she was framing the question, he lowered his hood. “There was kinda an accident.” One side of his face was smeared with dirt, and as the car passed under a streetlight it gleamed red. She gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

  He swiped at his cheek with his sleeve. “I’ll ice it when I get home.”

  “Let me see.” Ignoring his protests, she pulled over and flicked on the interior light. The skin around his right eye was swollen and red, and a cut on his right eyebrow was bleeding profusely.

  “Hang on.” She mopped it with a wet wipe from her bag and took a closer look, angling his chin to the light. “It’s deep. I think it needs stitches.” To hell with diplomacy. “What the hell happened?”

  “I took a hit training.” His tone was carefully neutral.

  Hers wasn’t. “And then went running?”

  He yanked up his hoodie. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

  Liar. But this wasn’t the place for an interrogation. “Here.” Anxiety gnawing at her, she folded more wet wipes into a pad. “Press this against the cut to staunch the bleeding until we get you to the ER.”

  “No hospital,” he said flatly. “I have some butterfly tape at home.” Which suggested this wasn’t his first rodeo.

  She knew better than to argue. “Use the pad and lean your head back. I’ll take care of it.” Ten minutes later, she was pulling up outside the nearest ER.

  Moss opened his eyes and registered his surroundings. “Godammit, I said no hospital.”

  Leaning past him, she opened his passenger door. “I’ll find parking.” Anger hardened his expression, and she cupped that stubborn jaw. “Please don’t argue. This is important.”

  His anger turned to astonishment. Obviously no one touched the royal personage without permission. Her lips twitched.

  “What the fuck is funny?”

  “Nothing.” Patting his cheek, she dropped her hand.

  “I’m not one of your kids,” he growled.

  “No, you’re a big boy.” Her brief spurt of amusement faded. Who had clearly gotten himself into a shitload of trouble.

  “For the love of… I’m only getting out of the car to escape a crazy woman, no other reason.”

  “Okay.”

  She watched him until he disappeared into the building and used the few minutes it took parking to take some calming breaths and settle in her mind how to handle this. When she joined him in the waiting room, via a vending machine, she found him seated in a corner, hoodie up, and a fresh gauze pad pressed against his eyebrow. No one sat near him and Lily wasn’t surprised. Bloodied, powerful, and surly, he looked like trouble.

  She handed him a hot chocolate with lots of sugar. “How long before you see a doctor?”

  “Another half hour maybe. Apparently this,” he indicated the hustle and bustle around them, “is a lull.” He hunched in his seat, settling in. “Thanks for the ride and the drink, but you don’t have to wait. I’ll catch a cab home.”

  She stood in front of him, using her back as a shield from curious eyes. “I’m going to ask you three questions,” she began, “and I need honest answers.”

  He raised his head, his good green eye wary, and she took that as assent.

  “Are you buying drugs?” She’d hope to sound authoritative but her tone was closer to a squeak.

  He huffed a laugh. “No.”

  One fear eased and was replaced by another. “Are you selling them?” Her voice had steadied.

  He stopped laughing. “No.”

  “Am I an accomplice to anything illegal?”

  He held her gaze, his own direct and clear. “No. Someone hit me. They’ll be sorry tomorrow and that’s all I’ll say.”

  “Okay.” Relieved beyond measure, she sat in the bucket seat beside him.

  “I said you didn’t have to—”

  “Shut up and drink your hot chocolate.”

  Twenty minutes later, a nurse with a clipboard called, �
�Mr. McFadden?” and he disappeared for treatment.

  Lily picked up a magazine and tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate. She’d believed Moss when he told her he wasn’t on drugs, but that didn’t explain why he was in this neighborhood, or how he’d gotten into a fight. And he clearly had no intention of telling her. Despite her desire to remain detached, the man had an infuriating habit of drawing her in—even when he was trying to push her out.

  Damn her Hagen genes, she thought irritably as she flicked perfunctorily through several magazines. At least she was aware of her weakness for bad boys now and could steer clear.

  “Excuse me.” Glancing up, she recognized the receptionist. “You’re with Mr. McFadden, aren’t you?”

  “What’s wrong?” Instantly, she was on her feet. Had she missed signs of concussion? Or worse?

  “Don’t panic, everything’s under control. He got dizzy when they gave him the tetanus shot, that’s all, and he’s lying down for ten minutes. You can wait with him if you like.”

  For a few seconds she wrestled to implement her new resolve but compassion beat all other contenders. “Of course I will.” Following the nurse’s direction, she found Moss lying on the bed in cubicle G, his trainers overhanging the end, and his face whiter than the privacy curtain.

  His eyes were closed, a line of stitches bisected his left eyebrow, and he was pressing a cotton wool pad into the crook of one elbow. The eye socket under the stitches was puffy and turning maroon. It was instinctive to thread her fingers through his as she sat down. He startled. “What are you doing here?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “I’m your support person.” She made a mental note to pick up an ice pack on the way home.

  He started to frown, wincing as it tugged his stitches. “I made the mistake of looking at the needle. I’m okay now.”

  Sliding his fingers free of hers, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up, steadying himself on the mattress. Some of his color returned, but not much.

  She pushed him down again and he let her.

  The nurse returned to remove the cotton covering the injection site and replace it with a bandage. Moss didn’t look and a wave of reluctant tenderness swept through Lily. To distract him she teased, “Want me to hold your hand again?”

  For a split second she saw a flash of yearning so deep, so intense that she drowned in the possibilities before his mouth curled in a jaded sneer. “Only if you’re hitting on me.”

  She recoiled. “Do I look like a sucker for punishment?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “You’re an idiot.” And she was an idiot for seeing something that wasn’t there. How could you read yearning in one eye anyway?

  “Nurse,” he said plaintively, “I don’t think that’s how a support person is supposed to talk.” To Lily’s intense relief, he turned his attention to the other woman and started flirting. She didn’t need possibilities in her life, she needed certainties.

  By the time they left, fifteen minutes later, she’d recovered her equilibrium enough to take his arm when he stumbled.

  “I’ll be better in the fresh air,” he grumbled. “I hate the smell in these places.”

  “No, please. Don’t thank me.”

  “You’re getting as needy as Seth, wanting gratitude for every little thing.”

  “Holding you up is not a little thing.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts my stitches.” Gingerly he touched his swollen eye. “How bad is it?”

  She steered him toward the parking building. “You’re going to have a real shiner in the morning.”

  “Lucky the album launch isn’t until next week.”

  “You do remember,” she said carefully, “that you have the cover shoot with Rolling Stone tomorrow?”

  “Oh, fuck.” He stopped dead. “Dimity is going to kill me.”

  * * *

  Moss looked in his bathroom mirror next morning and groaned. Despite the ice-pack Lily had made him apply, his left eye was at half-mast and bloodshot, the skin surrounding it a virulent purple-red. His stitched eyebrow jutted like the prow of a ship.

  He showered and dressed, making an effort with the rest of his appearance, before walking into the kitchen and saying cheerfully, “Good morning, everyone, what a great day for a photo shoot!”

  Seth glanced up from measuring dog food into Madeleine’s bowl and did a double take. “What the fuck happened to you?”

  Dimity was standing at the coffee maker. She spun on her stilettos to look at him and gasped.

  “I had a little mishap at the gym.”

  “You were boxing the night before a photo shoot on the sexiest new men in rock?” she inquired so silkily that the dog stopped eating and whimpered.

  “It didn’t occur to you…” Seth paused to drop the box of dog food onto the counter and give Madeleine a reassuring pat, “that with today being vital to raising T-Minus 6’s profile, a yoga class might have been a better option?”

  Moss felt his temper rise and checked it. They had every right to question him. “I didn’t set out to get hurt.”

  “But it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t indulged in risky behavior,” said Dimity, not-so-silkily.

  He braced himself. “I’m sorry.”

  “We don’t want you to be sorry.” Marching around the kitchen island, she stabbed his chest with a manicured finger. “We want you”…stab…”to act”…stab…”like a grown-up and make good decisions. We want you”…stab…”to think about someone other than yourself for once.”

  I was, dammit. It should have played out like every other night on the streets, a quick circuit, touching base with a few contacts, and home with no one hurt. Stepping away from her angry jabs, he said coolly, “It’s done and I’ll fix it. Give me the number of your contact at the magazine. I’ll phone with an excuse and ask them for an alternate date.”

  “The magazine comes out the same day as the album releases, you idiot,” she yelled. “We can’t reschedule.”

  Seth scratched behind his dog’s ears. “Seriously, mate, what is this constant desire you have to sabotage yourself?”

  That struck home. “It was a freak accident, for God’s sake. The make-up artist will cover it up.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Dimity demanded. “You’re Frankenstein.” She touched his face and not gently. “Tell me how you’re going to smolder when this eye’s practically closed!”

  “I think everyone should take a deep breath and calm down.” Lily appeared in the doorway, tying the sash of her robe and looking as if she’d barely slept. His guilt intensified. Lily never slept in.

  Dimity zeroed in on her like a heat-seeking missile. “Why the hell didn’t you stop him?”

  “This has nothing to do with Lily.” He stepped between them. “Her only involvement was picking me up and taking me to the ER.” Last night he’d disappointed her by not revealing how he’d been injured. But opening up was fraught with danger. He might reveal how he felt about her.

  “You don’t understand,” Dimity said through gritted teeth. “They were giving us the cover.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t tell you guys because I wanted it to be a surprise.” She added despairingly. “There’s no chance they’ll lead with it now.” Lily pulled out a chair for her and she sank into it.

  Moss’s stitches started to throb. “So leave me out of the photo shoot. Seth and Jared—”

  “That won’t work, they want the whole band.” She dropped her head in her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Moss repeated. His two lives had collided disastrously. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, he was supposed to have one life—this one—but, despite his best efforts the streets hadn’t released their hold on him.

  “You’ll find an angle, Honey B.” There was absolute confidence in Seth’s voice as he handed his fiancée their dog. “You always do.”

  Dimity stopped Madeleine licking her face. “I guess I could pitch somet
hing along the lines of the band being down but not out…fighting back…fighting dirty?”

  “That could work,” Seth encouraged.

  Moss knew better than to say anything.

  Handing the Jack Russell to Lily, Dimity stood with new purpose. “I’ll sow the seeds with the photographer and writer before we get there.” She straightened her shoulders and rolled her neck. “Moss…” A glare. “Anyone asks, you tripped over my dog.”

  She turned to Seth, grabbed his T-shirt and kissed him. “You,” she said simply, and left the room.

  Seth waited until she was out of earshot. “What really happened?”

  Moss remained silent. His old life wasn’t something he shared.

  His best friend looked at Lily.

  “He looked this way when I picked him up,” she said.

  Not telling a lie, but not telling the truth either about where she’d found him. His guilt deepened. She’d probably spent her childhood desperately hanging onto her integrity while trying not to incriminate anyone. This is why you don’t drag other people into your shit.

  Seth’s attention returned to him. Leaning against the kitchen island, he crossed his arms. “If we’re going to make this work, you need to get your head around trust. Get some anger management therapy, see a shrink, take up meditation—whatever the fuck it takes.” Frustration colored his next words. “And stop making my woman’s life harder. We can’t do this without her.”

  “I know that. I respect that.” The screw up was his fault, and he accepted Seth’s right to tear him one. As long as he didn’t include Lily.

  “Then prove it. Because if you pull this shit again, I’ll be the one beating the crap out of you.” The anger in the drummer’s eyes softened to irritation. “No one should be forced to take sides. We’re all in this together, remember?”

  “I won’t let the band down again,” Moss said shortly. Making the distinction. Caring about their career was allowed, caring about him wasn’t.

  Seth must have got the message, because he sighed. “Be ready to leave in an hour.”

  “I have the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  “You sure, mate?”

  “I’m sure.”

  * * *