I cracked one eye open and looked at him. “I never meant for this to happen,” I mumbled.
He sighed heavily. “I know. But how did it happen? Why did it happen?” His tone was exasperated.
I leaned heavily against him, finally allowing someone to support me for a change. “Because it hurts so much,” I admitted as a tear slipped down my cheek.
“What hurts? Did you injure yourself when you fell?” he asked anxiously.
I gave a humorless chuckle. “No. My heart hurts. I just wanted to be numb in between shows.”
“D, it’s been over a year. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” he asked tentatively.
“I can’t. She’s it for me.” I shook my head.
“Something’s gotta change. You can’t keep going down this path,” he lectured.
“You’re right. But I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it on my own,” I admitted.
“D, you’ve never been alone. You have all of us,” he said, nudging me.
I looked around at my bandmates, their faces full of concern.
“Listen, Dawson, I know you might not want to … But the label is insisting that you enter rehab,” Lila said cautiously.
I nodded my head in defeat. “After the tour?” We didn’t have too many weeks left.
“Now. We’re on our way to the airport. The label’s jet is on the way,” Lila said as she tapped away on her tablet.
“What about the tour?” I asked anxiously. I couldn’t let everyone down. And I couldn’t let them replace me. The band was all I had left.
“The tour isn’t more important than your health,” Jett finally spoke up quietly.
“We’re rescheduling the dates for once we’re sure you’re up for it. We’ll be adding additional stops plus some intimate acoustic sets that fans who choose not to demand refunds can attend as a thank you for their support,” Lila chimed in.
“So, where’s he going? Promises Treatment Center? Betty Ford Clinic?” Wilder asked.
“Zurich,” Lila said authoritatively.
“Switzerland?” Maddox exclaimed. “Why are you sending him all the way to Switzerland?”
“Because it’s what will be best for him. No paparazzi to deal with. Their success rate is astronomical. The program there is structured,” Lila turned her tablet around, showing us the clinic. “At Paracelsus, Dawson will receive around the clock, one-on-one care. That kind of attention will help speed up his recovery.”
“I’m all for faster healing,” I commented. My method of coping was no longer working.
“You need to pack your bag.” Lila squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll take care of all the details.”
“What about us? Will we be able to stay in the area and provide support?” Brooks asked.
“Of course, you’re all welcome to fly with him. I think that would be good. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to visit Dawson while he’s in the program or not. We’ll find out all that when he checks in,” Lila explained.
“You go take a shower while I pack your bag,” Brooks offered.
“Thanks, man.” I staggered to my feet and slowly made my way to the back of the bus.
I grabbed my toiletry bag and a change of clothes from my room before disappearing into the bathroom. Methodically, I removed my vomit stained shirt and wrinkled jeans. I stumbled when the denim got hung up on my shoes. With a heavy sigh, I toed them off.
Reaching into the small shower stall, I twisted the lever to hot. I stepped under the spray without waiting for it to heat up. The momentarily frigid water did more to sober me up than anything. I dumped a tiny puddle of pink shampoo into my palm. As I lathered up, I inhaled the sweet scent of strawberries, allowing myself to drift back in time for a just a moment. Back to before everything went to hell.
Once I’d had my quick trip down memory lane, I finished washing off the stench of sorrow and failure.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom, I felt marginally human.
Brooks sat on the end of my bed, next to my guitar case and my big duffel bag. “I only packed the clean shit,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks, man.” I walked further into the small space. Awkwardly, I glanced around, taking in the now cleaned floor, the empty trash can, the bare dresser top except for the photograph. With trembling fingers, I gently grasped the image from happier times.
Brooks cleared his throat behind me. “Umm … I didn’t pack any sort of keepsakes or mementos. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to have them with you.”
I clutched the framed photo of me and Izzy to my chest. “You think if I don’t see it, I won’t think about it, think about her? It doesn’t work that way. Nothing erases her. She is tattooed on every single cell of my being. To erase her, I’d have to obliterate myself.” I sniffled and stashed the photo inside my bag, tucking it safely between some T-shirts. Then I tugged open the drawer on my nightstand. I removed the box of mementos. Without prying the lid off, I shoved the whole thing inside the duffel bag. The photo and box were the only things I needed.
“Everything’s gonna be OK,” Brooks said as I shouldered my bag. “Just hang in there.”
“That’s the plan.” I gave him a wry smile.
“D, you know I love Izzy too, and I think she’s wonderful. But you might have to just move on,” he said softly.
“I can’t. She’s all I want. And I know it’s probably never going to work out, but my heart only beats for her. I know she’s living her life. I just … I’m not ready to let go. But I am ready to stop trying to numb everything. That’s the best I can do right now,” I admitted sadly.
“That’s good enough for me.” He drew me into a one-armed hug. “Come on. Everybody’s waiting for you so we can board the plane.”
I drew in a deep breath. It was time to start a new chapter in my life.
A sober chapter.
Hal-LO-ween treat
Izzy
Takes place before Epilogue in Songs of the Heart
“Here put these on,” I said, tossing Dawson the tight athletic pants I’d painted a couple of weeks ago.
He held them up, examining them. “You sure they’re going to fit?” he asked dubiously.
“I’m sure. They’re supposed to be tight because it’s supposed to look like you don’t have pants on,” I explained as I slipped into a pair of leggings painted in a similar fashion.
“It’s not too late to go with my costume suggestion,” he said as he hopped and shimmied, trying to slip on the skin-tight pants.
“You mean Peter, Peter the pumpkin eater?” I asked, raising my eyebrow at him. He’d shown me a photo of a girl in a jack-‘o-lantern shirt and a skirt made of orange tulle. The guy next to her wore orange face paint around his mouth, and his T-shirt simply said Peter, Peter. While I’d chuckled and found the idea clever, I’d vetoed it.
“Come on. It was a cool idea.” He spun around in front of the mirror, examining the bottom portion of his costume from all angles.
“Yes, it was a cool idea. But this one is more us. It’s meaningful. And if I actually accomplish what I envision, no one will recognize us at the party. At least not the paparazzi who’ll be swarming outside.” I smoothed my hands down my legs, then moved to stand next to Dawson in front of the mirror.
When we were side by side, our lower halves formed a seamless image. A sleepy town among the foothills of some mountain range. The same scene wrapped around our legs to form the painting in reverse on the backs of our legs.
“You know our couple’s costume is going to look pretty ridiculous when I have to stay across the room from you,” Dawson said, turning to look at me.
I didn’t glance up. I was too busy adjusting the teeny bikini top that covered my breasts.
Barely.
I handed Dawson the body glue. “What are you talking about?” I asked as I shifted the fabric so he could roll the glue onto my skin.
As he pressed the material against my skin, he stroked his thumbs across my nipples. “If I
get anywhere near you, I’m going to have a hard-on the whole time. And these pants show everything.” He gestured down at his bulging crotch.
I giggled and gave it a quick stroke. “Too bad we don’t have time for me to do something about that.” With a wink, I sashayed into the bathroom to fix my hair. I pulled my silvery blue hair up into a high ponytail. Then I added in the cascading silver stars I’d found at a craft store. They made my hair look like a shower of falling stars.
“Come on, let me spray your hair before we start on our upper halves,” I called to Dawson.
I grabbed the can of metallic hair dye. Dawson came in and sat on the closed toilet seat. He licked his lips as I my boobs jiggled with the shaking of the can. “Cut that out,” I scolded.
“I can’t help it.” He shrugged.
I shook my head. “Close your eyes,” I ordered. Using the can, I added a silver shimmer to strands of his hair. It would look amazing with the finished product.
“All done. Let’s go paint,” I said, tugging him to his feet.
Minutes later, I positioned Dawson in the center of a drop cloth in the open space of my art studio. I grabbed the pot of body paint I’d mixed up earlier and a brush. “Hold your arms out,” I instructed as I dipped the brush tip into the swirl of black, blue and silver.
“Oooo, that’s cold,” he complained as I swiped the trio of color down his side.
“Sorry.” I continued to cover his delectable flesh in the colors of night. I worked quickly, moving around him in a circle until his torso, arms and back were completely covered. With a smaller brush, I painted his neck and face.
Satisfied with the amount of paint blanketing his skin, I handed over the brush. “Now, you do me,” I said, holding my arms out to the side.
“Oh, I really want to do you all right. I’m dying to rip your leggings down, bend you over your art table by the window and take you, making sure to rub my paint all over your back,” he growled in my ear as his fingers closed around the paintbrush in my hand.
I shivered at his words. “You want to skip the party and make art together? We can roll around on the drop cloth together. See what we can create.”
He chuckled and stepped back. “We promised Bas we’d show up at his party. After all he’s done for the band, I can’t bail on him. Much as I’m tempted to.” He squeezed my butt cheek.
My lower lip jutted out in a pout, which I quickly sucked in when the cold paint touched my flesh. “Damn, that is cold.”
“I’ll try to move quickly. But painting isn’t a skill I possess, flutterby.” Dawson dipped the brush back in the puddle of color again, then transferred it to my body.
Though the thick paint cooled my heated flesh, the sensual motion of the brush’s soft bristles immediately heated it again. Each soft touch sent flames of longing arcing along my body.
Damn Halloween party.
Dawson’s lips trailed from the small of my back up to the nape of my neck. The wet brush followed behind, replacing the fire of his kiss with the chill of the paint. I shivered as he kissed that sensitive spot behind my ear, making him chuckle. He was well aware the effect he was having on me, that he was starting something we didn’t have time to finish.
Damn him.
I tried not to visibly react anymore as he finished up the base coat on my skin.
“You’re sparkling,” he observed as the sunlight shone on my body. “Shit, am I sparkling too?” He stepped into the ray of sunshine next to me.
“Yep,” I said, laughing. “It’s the glitter I added to the paint. You know to make it look more star-studded.”
He rolled his eyes. “The things we do for love,” he mused, shaking his head. “What’s next?”
I softly pressed my fingertips to his firm chest, testing the dryness of the paint. “Quick lunch while the paint dries a little more.”
Using black paint, I added a narrow, craggy peak to Dawson’s torso. It grew from his waistband to just below his pec. Switching to deep blue, I added rolling waves along his flat stomach. Then I positioned us in front of the mirror I’d leaned against the railing earlier. Watching our reflections, I continued the image of rolling waves from Dawson’s body to mine. I had to concentrate since I wasn’t looking down at my skin.
Trading colors once again, I turned my attention back to Dawson. I added yellow whorls of starbursts to his abdomen. Then I swirled in lighter blue, creating the illusion of waves in the sky. Slowly, I worked my way around his body, continuing a recreation of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on my living, breathing canvas.
He stood patiently as I worked my magic. When I finally made my way back to his front, I added a swirling star to his cheek and some sky waves. I shifted my focus to continuing the painting on my own body. Beside me, Dawson spun around and peered over his shoulder to see the art adorning his back.
“Wow,” he breathed.
“Wait until I’m done. I still have to add the glow-in-the dark outlines, plus put my own Izzy spin on it.” I winked at his reflection.
“There’s just one problem,” he said, nervously.
“Yeah?” I didn’t take my eyes off my reflection.
“Yeah, I can’t do your back. I have zero painting abilities. Recreating half of a masterpiece on your back is way beyond painting you a solid color, which I rocked at by the way.”
“I know that silly. I’ve got it covered.”
Before I could explain more, the sound of a door closing downstairs echoed through the house. “What was that?” Dawson asked, instantly on alert.
“Hello,” a male voice called out.
“Come up the stairs,” I shouted out. “The open door on the left.”
“Izzy, who was that?” Dawson asked, shifting himself between me and the door.
“That is my solution to getting the painting done on my back,” I explained nonchalantly.
“Hey guys,” the voice said from the threshold.
“Hi. Thanks for agreeing to help us out, D,” I said as I finished the starburst around my eye.
“Not you,” Dawson groaned when he caught sight of the flirty tattoo artist who’d given us our couple’s tattoos years ago.
“Good to see you too, man,” the handsome blond joked back.
“Really, flutterby? You couldn’t pick one of the other guys from Inked Hearts to help you out? You had to pick the biggest flirt in the shop to come over and put his hands on you?” Dawson said in an exasperated tone.
I knew he was protesting in jest. He’d actually had more work done at the hands of this amazing tattoo artist during our time apart.
“Hey now. I’m a taken man now,” D argued. “Dawson, I promise I’ll behave. Mostly.” His blue eyes sparkled with humor.
Dawson shoved him and moved out of the way.
“I was thinking I’d add the finishing touches to Dawson while you work on my back, since time is short. If that’s OK?” I asked.
“Sure. Point me to my paints and brushes,” the surfer looking, tattoo artist said, all serious now that we were about to get down to business.
I pointed to the pots of paint lined up on the table behind me.
Dawson moved in front of me, filling my line of sight and blocking the handsome man who’d been visible over my shoulder in the mirror. Strong fingers gripped my bare shoulder as the brush began moving across my back.
A scowl covered Dawson’s face at some other man’s hands being on me. Reaching up, I brushed my finger along his pout. “Better stop that. Don’t want your pretty face to get stuck that way,” I teased.
His eyes peered intently into mine. The look was one of pure possession and need. It branded every part of me as his without any words or contact.
“I love you,” I mouthed to him.
The corner of his lips tipped up as he mouthed the declaration back to me.
Quietly, I began adding colorful smudges and tiny stars in glow in the dark paint. Among the swirls recreating the iconic painting, I painted a galaxy.
“So
, why Starry Night?” The question came from behind me.
“When Dawson agreed that we could do a couple’s costume, I started thinking about what we could dress up as that was different. Dawson is my biggest muse when I’m creating. He’s my universe,” I started explaining as I added stems and flags to some of the stars adorning Dawson’s body so that they were music notes now.
“And Izzy is the inspiration behind every lyric I’ve ever written. When we started trying to figure out our options, and Izzy had nixed Peter, Peter pumpkin eater with his pretty pumpkin as our costumes, we’d just heard that ‘Dear Universe’ had gone double platinum. So, Izzy came up with the idea that we’d be a living embodiment of Starry Night, but with her special twist,” Dawson finished for me, pride shining in his voice.
“Well, I have to say, the idea is unique, and the execution is perfect if I do say so myself. And you two look hot,” he said as he moved to my front and started adding some galaxy swirls and stars in the fluorescent paint to my abdomen and chest.
“Looking hot is always a goal,” Dawson teased, watching intently over D’s shoulder to make sure no inappropriate paintbrush slips happened.
After what felt like hours, our paint job was finally finished. “Thanks for your help, D. I’d give you a hug, but I don’t know if I’m dry enough yet,” I offered as I admired his work on my back.
“I don’t think hugs are necessary,” Dawson said, tugging me to his side. “He understands, don’t you?”
A loud guffaw erupted as D was cleaning the paintbrushes. “Yeah, I understand. Loud and clear. It was fun, Iz. Thanks for letting me help out. I’ll see you both at Bas’s party later,” he said as he headed toward the door.
I threw up my hand and waved. Not quite satisfied yet, I added some more glowing paint to both me and Dawson.
“Hey, we look great. Thanks to you,” Dawson said, plucking the brush from my fingers. “We’re going to shine tonight. Now, we have to finish up. The car will be here to get us soon.”
Sighing heavily, I said, “You’re right.” Hastily, I cleaned up the paints and brushes.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 79