“Oh, she’s with us, all right,” said another female, her voice laced with snark.
Kennedy. The thought of pretty blonde Kennedy standing over her, in her bedroom, pissed her off.
“Yeah, I’m with you,” Gia spat out, not ready to face her friends. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. “Why are you all here? Get out so I can get dressed. Unless you’d like to watch a show.”
No one responded.
Something didn’t feel right. Her mouth felt like she’d munched chalk all night. Her head ached. Her entire body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, then poured into a distiller’s vat to age.
“What the fuck happened to me?” she said, finally letting her eyes open. She scrunched up her face and blinked at the eyes staring at her with concern. Her eyes drifted to the monitors and machinery surrounding her. I’m in a fucking hospital?
She must have revealed alarm or fright because Mia patted her hand.
“Easy, girl. We’re all here. We’ve got you,” Mia said. She smiled warmly.
Zander’s face looked pained. He stood with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, Trisha by his side.
Standing behind them, Kent stared at the floor.
Keys and Heat stared at the tiles, too, like they held the secrets to the universe. They shuffled their feet like school boys.
Dante glared at Gia, like he wanted to burn sense into her head with his eyes.
Kennedy kept glancing at Dante, probably ready to seize him if he lunged at Gia.
Gia sighed with relief when she didn’t see Damien. She didn’t want her brain-damaged buddy to see her in a hospital.
“Uh, thanks,” Gia said. Her gaze swung around the room, trying to orient. Her face hot with embarrassment at being stared at like a circus freak, she said, “Any of you idiots’ care to tell me why I’m here?”
She wanted to throw her legs over the side, get up, and stomp out of here. Grab a dose of caffeine. Get a drink to take the edge off. Without the parade of onlookers currently standing around her like she was a science-show freak… except when she tried to move, she hurt. She glanced at the tube taped to her hand, affixed to the needle jabbed in her skin. The tube attached to a bag of clear liquid, drip, drip, dripping into her.
“You don’t remember?” Dante said.
His lips were all puckered in that way he did lately. Like he had to pinch his mouth shut to keep from yelling at her.
“I wouldn’t ask if I remembered, now would I?” Gia said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Good God, even my eyelids hurt.
“You split the Land Rover in two with a telephone pole. Ring a bell?” Dante seemed to loom over her like a giant.
“Dante,” Kennedy said, shushing him.
“Back off, dude,” Gia said, lifting the arm not attached to some kind of lifeline. She gave him a shove. Her insides whimpered. “You’re too close.”
“I’m about to get closer, girl. Deal with it.” Dante glared at her.
He’d assigned himself the role of watchdog of the group after his former girlfriend died of an overdose. Cleaned up his act and dealt with and managed everyone and everything. Gia supposed it was her turn to be managed by him.
“Give her a chance to wake up,” Mia said.
“I’m sorry,” Dante said. He seemed to direct the statement to everyone but Gia. “I thought we were going to lose her. She almost killed herself!” His voice cracked. His face was creased with lines and the dark, under-eye circles of fatigue.
“Yeah, well, she’s still here,” Gia said. “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
She tried to smile, but her face ached.
“Your blood alcohol level was off the charts, Gia,” Dante said. His tone of voice shifted into low registers of sinister, eliciting chills along her neck and scalp.
Fuck. Gia bit her lip.
“Tell you what,” Kennedy said, stroking Dante’s arms in a soothing gesture. “Let’s all head out into the waiting area while you two chat, shall we?”
She spoke the way one talks to small children.
Gia wanted to slug her. “Yeah, good idea, Kennedy. Leave your husband and me alone for once.”
Kennedy looked like she wanted to strangle Gia.
Ha! Score one for me. Gia flashed her a superior smile.
Dante looked guilty as hell.
Another point for me. Gia smoothed the sheet over her belly, appearing innocent.
“Yeah, let’s all head out,” Zander said. He stepped toward Gia, leaning over and kissing her cheek. “Glad you’re okay. We were all worried sick.”
“Yeah, glad you’re okay, sweetie,” Trisha said.
When they turned to tromp out, Dante said, “Send in Tony. Let’s get this over with.”
Over with? Gia’s mouth turned drier than burnt toast. Why would he send in our agent? Am I about to be fired?
Tears burned her eyes.
When everyone had left, she turned to Dante.
“Look, Dante, I’m sorry,” she said.
His jaw tightened, and he worked it side to side, saying nothing.
Tony Abbadelli strode into the room, wearing his usual suit. A swarthy looking Italian, he reminded Gia of a Pit Bull on steroids.
“Gia,” he said. “Glad you made it.”
He walked to the side of the bed opposite Dante.
“Thanks,” she said, not so sure she shared the sentiment.
“Look, the publicist and I took care of the story. We made it look like the tire of the Land Rover blew out,” he said, cutting to the chase. “And that we agreed not to press charges against the rental agency.”
“Yeah, drunk driving would not look good for the band,” Dante said. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“We wouldn’t want the band to look bad, now would we?” Gia said. “Your girlfriend’s overdose a few years back helped our ratings soar. Everyone loves a sob-story.” She immediately wished she could swallow the words back as she watched Dante’s face crumple into pain. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.” She held out her hand to him, but he kept his arms folded tightly. “Okay, I deserve that. I’m a shit right now.”
“We’re all stressed,” Tony said, in his usual no-nonsense fashion. He turned to Gia. “But let’s focus on the recovery. You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“Well, since I can’t remember what happened, that will be no problem,” she said, pasting a fake smile on her face.
“The media’s been apprised of the accident. Joan’s good. She wouldn’t let bad press leak from her office if her life depended on it,” he said, referencing their publicist.
“Yeah,” Gia scoffed. “She scares the shit out of me.”
“Your fans will send nothing but well-wishes to you,” Tony said. “You’ll probably get them by the bushel.”
“Whoop-de-do,” Gia said, twirling her finger. What? Even my finger hurts? “I’ll be sure to send thank you cards.”
“Gia,” Dante said. “At least be grateful this has been handled. The Grammys are coming up after this tour is over. We don’t need the bad press.”
A knock sounded on the door, and another man strode into the room, looking like he was about to deliver a eulogy.
“Doctor Gully,” Dante said, brightening. He uncrossed his arms and stepped toward the physician to shake his hand. “Thanks so much for the care you’ve provided.”
“Our team is only happy to help,” the doctor said, peering through his wire-rimmed glasses.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Tony said to Dante. “Text me when you’re out of here.”
“Will do,” Dante said, back to being the commander of their rock and roll army.
Doctor Gully stepped toward Gia. “How are you feeling?”
Gia liked his plain face. Something about him spoke of compassion and kindness.
“I’ve been better,” she said, allowing a genuine smile to form.
“I’m sure you have,” he said, retur
ning the smile. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” He peeled back the sheets and lifted her dressing gown. “Ouch.”
Gia stared at the bruises covering her torso. “I’ll say.”
The doctor gently prodded her in a few places, asking, “Does this hurt?”
“No,” Gia said.
He jabbed again. “How about this?”
“Sort of. Not really,” Gia answered. She stole a glance at Dante.
Great. He’s looking at me like he wants to execute me.
“Okay, that’s good,” the doctor said. He covered her up and replaced the white blanket. “The bad news is that you’re badly bruised, pretty much everywhere, I’m afraid.”
Gia nodded.
“The good news is you didn’t re-injure any bones from the last accident,” Doctor Gully said. “I had your records shipped from the States. You’ve tangoed with immovable objects before, haven’t you?”
“This isn’t the first time?” Dante said. “You’ve done this before?” He looked incredulous. “Why didn’t I hear about it?”
She shrugged and then bit her lip. “You don’t tell me what you do when you’re on break, right? Same goes for me.”
She tried to appear indifferent, but her insides told a different story. She’d been in a drunk driving accident before. She’d managed to get Joan to agree to not tell anyone, even Dante. Picturing Joan’s livid face at hearing about last night’s accident, Gia wanted to pull the covers over her head and disappear.
I don’t know which is worse. Facing Joan or facing Dante.
His jaw dropped and his head swung back and forth like a bobblehead doll. He looked stunned.
Doctor Gully went on to say, “We’ll keep an eye on you. You should be good to go in a few days.” He patted her shoulder, made a few notes on the computer monitor in the corner, and then brusquely strode from the room.
“You had this happen before?” Dante spluttered. He gripped the metal railing surrounding her bed. “Another drunk driving incident?”
“I, uh...” Her gaze slid away from him. “I plead the fifth.”
“You need help, Gia,” Dante said. “Jesus, girl. This has got to stop. I’m fucking tired of covering for you. Sick of bailing you out of trouble. No more, you hear me?” His face had turned an angry red.
“Oh, I hear you,” Gia said. “Along with the entire ward. Keep your voice down.”
“No!” he snapped. “I’m not going to keep quiet. I’m done, Gia. Done. You either get help, or you’re out.”
His knuckles were white as he gripped the railing.
“Okay, okay,” Gia said. “I’ll go to one of those meetings your wife goes to.”
“Nuh-uh. No way. That’s not enough,” Dante said.
“What the fuck do you want? Isn’t it enough that I’m in here, covered with bruises?” she said. A few more tears snuck into her eyes.
“Not this time, Gia. I’m sorry. But I’m done. I’ve had it up to here.” He slashed his hand over his head. “You hear me?”
His greenish-gray eyes flashed fire.
“Yeah, I hear you,” Gia said, a whimper creeping into her voice.
“Good,” Dante said. “Get better,” he added, before whirling and stomping out of the room.
Gia blinked hard to keep the tears from spilling free. This can’t be happening. I love the band. I love my drums. I love the music. What she didn’t know was if her love for the band was greater than her need for the drink. Not that I have a real problem. I can quit anytime. This small, barely heard voice whispered at her from the recesses of her mind.
Can you? Can you really stop?
She pulled the flimsy cover over her head, unwilling to deal with anything.
Chapter 3
A few days later, Gia nervously waited for Dante to come and free her from the confines of medical care—at least she hoped Dante would be the one to pick her up. Even though she had a private room at the London hospital, it wasn’t exactly her lodging of choice. She’d barely got a wink of sleep with the constant interruptions from well-meaning nurses.
Since being here, Gia had strained her brain, trying to remember the night she plowed into the telephone pole. But other than a couple of memory farts, the night still insisted on being a black hole.
Dante hadn’t been to see her since storming out the other day. She felt contrite. Edgy. Sitting on her hospital bed, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she rehearsed what she wanted to say.
“I promise to make an attempt,” she whispered. No. That sounds lame. “I’ll do better.” No, still lame. “I’ll, uh, go to meetings and shit. Your wife and I will become besties.” Like that will happen. Kennedy’s all holier-than-thou since she’s a couple years sober and drug-free.
Secretly, she admired Kennedy. The woman had been through hell and back. Gia actually thought they’d be closer after Dante married Kennedy. But that never happened. Lately, it seemed that Dante only held back tirades, and Kennedy simply judged.
Her foot kept up a wild wiggle. She flexed her fingers, needing a drumstick or something to hold. Her mind raced with ideas for a convincing speech. Finally, she gave up, deciding on a simple apology.
When footfalls sounded in the hall, she sat straighter, ready with her statement.
Keys appeared in the doorway, in all his ripped jeans and shredded t-shirt glory.
“Hey, chica. Let’s roll.” His short brown hair looked typically disheveled.
Onstage he used more product than a girl to make it all spiked, much like that what’s-his-name guy from the other night.
“What? Where’s D?” Gia asked, her heart sinking.
“He, uh...he had to do something with the missus. You know...husband and wife type errands.” He grimaced and stared at the wall, rubbing his neck with his bejeweled hand. “You know...getting ready to pack up and leave.”
“No, I don’t know,” Gia said, eying him suspiciously. “Never been married. You?”
“Come on. Why in hell would I ‘settle down’ with someone?” he said, making air quotes.
Gia scoffed, knowing she only wanted to start an argument.
“Heat and I...we got a good thing.” Keys stood awkwardly in the doorway like he was afraid to venture any further.
“Yeah, right,” Gia said.
“You’re going to have to get over Dante, girl,” Key said in an abrupt topic change. “The guy’s taken.”
“What the fuck, Keys? Are you high? You think I’m pining over him because I want him? Fuck that. He was my best friend since we were street rats in Brooklyn.” She laughed. “Dante Vega, a street rat. A street rat with a trust fund.” She caught herself before she tripped down memory lane. “He was my friend, Keys. My friend. We were like this,” she said, crossing one finger over the other. “Now all he seems to want to do is lecture me. And I’m left with you two clowns to entertain me...when you’re not saddled up with a couple of hos.”
Keys seemed to shuffle in place like he had to pee. He looked like this was the last place he’d like to be.
She glared at him. “What’s got you so edgy? You’re acting all twitchy and weird.”
Keys scowled, making the grooved smoker’s lines in his face deepen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Grab your shit and let’s go.”
““Right-o,”“ Gia said. ““Maybe we could grab a...”“
Drink. No. Not happening.
Keys gave her a strange glare.
“What? You’re in a program all of a sudden?” She wanted to pick a fight with someone, and baiting Keys was easy.
“Fuck you,” he snapped.
He seemed to thrive on guilt. He had been one of those apologetic smokers. “Sorry. Does this bother you?” was his tagline. “I’ll go outside. I’ll move far away from you. I don’t want to impose.”
He’d quit smoking a year ago but still drank. He mostly liked to screw women with Heat. Their “thing” consisted of threesomes and foursomes, whenever, wherever.
“No, fuck you,
” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you have to wait for a nurse to check you out or something?” he said. He fiddled with the key-chain hanging from his belt.
She shook her head at him. “You’re acting like a bigger girl than I am. I said, let’s go.” She grabbed her satchel and eased off the bed, wincing at the pain. “We have to stop somewhere and get my scrips filled.”
“Uh-huh,” he said in a non-committal tone. “Pretty sure the Mouth has taken care of that for you.”
Gia blinked at Key’s back. Is that a sign Dante still cares? Then, her eyes narrowed. Or is this some sort of set-up? She followed behind Keys, feeling ancient. Her body felt battered. Well, duh, it is battered.
When they got in Key’s rental car—a black BMW with tinted windows—she cringed as her back met the cushy leather seat.
“You okay?” Key asked, sliding behind the wheel.
“Hell no, I’m not okay. What a dumb thing to ask,” Gia snapped.
He glowered at her. “Just trying to be nice.”
“Well, stop it. Go back to being yourself.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared out the window.
The city zoomed past her, full of bustle and hum. She loved London. It provided inspiration to her beats. She felt utterly alive in this city.
Keys fidgeted with the sound system, putting on their latest album.
A few minutes into the drive, she said, “Where are we going? All my stuff’s at the Four Seasons.”
“I, uh...have to do an errand. It will only take a sec.” He spun the wheel, and they veered left, causing her to slam into the side.
“Ouch!” She braced her arm against the door. “Slow the fuck down.”
Something was off with Keys.
Thirty minutes later they pulled up to a huge, private residence, complete with a winding, tree-lined driveway. In front of the house, flanking the driveway, a cherub statue stood in the middle of a fountain, pouring an endless stream of water from his pitcher. The massive home looked like an estate from Downton Abby.
Gia’s brow furrowed. “What kind of errand do you have to do here?”
“You’ll see,” Keys said, putting the BMW clutch in Park.
A Twist of Love Page 2