No Treble Allowed: A Straight Wicked Novel

by Kristine Allen

  “Yeah.” The stupid smile was still stuck on my face.

  “I take it things are okay right now?” Mom asked in a neutral tone.

  “I hope so. She’s talking to me and she said she can’t wait for me to call.” Leg bouncing in my excitement, I fought to keep from calling her because I wanted our first conversation to be private.

  Tracey must have read me pretty well, as she glanced over at me, then up to my dad. “Hey, Mac? Do you mind if we stop for a wee?”

  “Yeah, Trace. No problem.”

  She gave me a wink and I suppressed my smile the best I could.

  Once my dad found a suitable place to stop, I walked over to the edge of the parking lot to pull out my phone. After I was sure I was out of earshot, I called Stella.

  My heart pounded nearly to the point of bursting through my chest wall as the phone rang. Hand shaking and stomach flipping, I habitually reached in my pocket for my little white crutch. Finding nothing but lint, I pushed down the shame at my instinctual response to stress.

  My therapist and I had talked about that. About how I would be tempted by actions that had become habitual. So either I’d get my pockets sewn shut, or after I spoke with Stella, I could run inside and grab some mints to put in my pocket instead.

  “Logan!” Her breathless exclamation curled my lips in utter happiness. Simply hearing her voice over the phone did that to me.

  “Baby.”

  “You’re out. Please tell me, how are you doing? Did they tell you that you did good?” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to ask you because I don’t know what to expect or what you went through.”

  Chuckling a little at her honesty, I tipped my head up to soak in the warm rays of the late March sun. “I’m okay. It’s tough. I’m finding myself going through the same motions when faced with difficult situations.”

  “Difficult situations? What happened today?”

  A self-deprecating laugh preceded my response. “It doesn’t take much. I didn’t think you were going to answer my text messages, then my phone died, and then waiting while the phone rang. My go-to when things get stressful or upsetting has been—Well, we can talk about it when I see you.” Knowing she wouldn’t leave that alone, I prayed she didn’t tell me she needed me to prove to her I could stay clean for a certain period of time.

  “When? When are you coming? I thought you had to catch up to the guys on tour soon?” Though she tried to sound nonchalant, the excitement crept into her voice.

  “I was supposed to stay a week with my parents before catching up to the guys in Chicago. But if you’ll let me, I want to go see you.” I held my breath as I waited for her answer.

  “Yes! Please. If it won’t get you in trouble with your discharge plan. The last thing I want to do is be the reason you relapse.” The words that went unspoken were that she may not be able to handle it if I did.

  “Stella, I don’t want to lose you. I’m going to do everything in my power to stay clean. I promise. But I really need to see you, touch you, hold you.” Curling my hand around the phone, I spoke more softly as I took a quick look around to see if anyone could hear me. “I need to be inside you. Fuck, do I need that.”

  If it was possible to actually hear a blush over the phone, I’d have heard hers. She choked out a surprised laugh before sucking in a sharp breath. “Oh my God, Logan. You are so dang bad.”

  “But I’m so good at it.”

  “That you are.” She giggled, and it was my turn to be shocked at her boldness. “So when?”

  “You’re okay with me coming?”

  A slight hesitation was the only sign that she might be second guessing herself before she burst out with a resounding, “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll be there tomorrow.” The honking of the horn drew my attention back to the SUV as my dad waved me over. Everyone was already loaded up. “Babe, I gotta go. We’re getting back on the road. I’ll call you when we get to Mom and Dad’s. The way my dad is driving, it’ll be another two hours instead of the hour it should be.”

  Laughter tinkled across the line as I made my way back to the vehicle. “Okay. Talk to you soon. Love you like crazy.”

  “Love you more.” We ended the call, and I climbed into the back seat.

  “I take it you got a hold of Stella?”

  My stupid, sappy grin had given me away as my dad smirked at me from the front seat. “Yeah.”

  My mom smiled and my dad gave a smirk before he got serious.

  “Logan, son. You know we love you no matter what, but are you sure you want to pull this girl into this storm? You and I both know this isn’t going to be easy to maintain. The temptation is always going to be there. Especially with the career path you’re on.”

  Embarrassed anger churned in my gut. It pissed me off that my family couldn’t be fucking happy for me. This time was going to last. I knew it. “I’m going to be fine this time. I have a good reason to stay clean.” Gritting my teeth, I believed that was the truth.

  I watched as my mom set a calming hand on my dad’s arm to quiet him.

  Tracey had less worry about upsetting me or my mother. “Look, Logan. I can’t keep this out of the public eye if you keep ending up in rehab. Already there are rumors. You know this, right?”

  “Fuck. Yeah, I know. But you act like I’m the first famous musician to ever have a problem.” Ire burned in my throat.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. But is that what you want your band to be known for? It’s time for some serious soul-searching. Especially now that you have a wife. Which, by the way, I’m a little pissed off about. What the hell is with you blokes and getting married out of the blue?” Shaking her head, she leaned it against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  Following her lead because I didn’t want to discuss that shit with my parents any longer, I closed my eyes. In my mind, I conjured Stella’s image.

  Before I knew it, I was dreaming of the woman who had stolen my heart like a thief in the night. Sunshine filtered through her golden hair, there was a sparkle in her crystal-blue eyes, and her big smile was reserved for only me.

  “Fade Away”—Seether

  After hanging up with Logan the day he was released, I was a jumble of emotion. The part of me that was so in love with him I couldn’t see straight was excited as hell that he was coming. The part of me that was terrified of what his addiction could do to us didn’t want him back in my life.

  What so many people didn’t understand was that it didn’t just affect the addict. It destroyed those around them. The ones who loved them were usually hit the hardest.

  For the millionth time, I questioned my sanity for believing in him and giving him a chance. What worried me the most though was the chance that I would continue to hang around no matter how many times he relapsed. The thought of not being strong enough to walk away if it came to that was shredding me.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew that the relapse rate was anywhere from 40-60 percent. That wasn’t great odds, in reality. We hadn’t discussed how many times he’d been through treatment and we hadn’t discussed exactly what his addiction entailed. Though I tried not to obsess over it while he was in rehab, it was difficult, considering he was always on my mind.

  It didn’t help that he’d asked me not to contact him there. He did write to me several times a week. What worried me was he didn’t talk about anything deep. The things that mattered. The things that were driving his addiction—because there generally was an event or time period that started it all. Addiction started as a coping mechanism. A shitty one, but a coping mechanism just the same. That part I did know.

  The knock on my door startled me out of my reverie. It also sent my heart rate into overdrive. Taking a quick peek in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look like hammered shit, I checked the peephole and tried to grab my stomach as it dropped through my ass to the floor.

  “He’s here,” I whispered to no one in particular. Kinsley was off in Europe on a photo shoot, so I
was alone in the apartment. Which could be good or bad. Because I couldn’t think straight under the full effect of Logan MacKenzie.

  My husband.

  God, we’d been insane.

  Shaking my hands out at my side, I tilted my head from side to side. Like I was preparing for battle, I readied myself for the assault on my senses. He was always dangerous to my sanity.

  As fortified as I was going to be, I unlocked and opened the door.

  Hands deep in his artfully ratty jean pockets, head hanging, and shoulders hunched, he looked so dejected that my heart ached for him. Those deep-green eyes rose to mine as the door swung wide. His hair had grown out to the point that his bangs fell over his face, partially obstructing his mesmerizing gaze from me.

  For a few moments, we simply stood there staring at each other, both afraid to make the first move.

  His black Vans appeared frozen to the floor as his body leaned like a tree in the wind toward mine. He looked both gorgeous and rough at the same time. Haunted, his eyes swept over me from head to toe before zeroing in on the wedding set I still wore.

  I watched as his throat moved, but still no words came out.

  Breath coming erratically to match my heart’s unsteady beat, I still felt drawn to him. Some things never changed.

  Finally, the need to touch him won out, and a tentative step forward brought me within his orbit. That’s when I lost all control and launched myself into his body.

  It only took him seconds to jerk his hands out of his pockets and wrap his arms tightly around me. Touching from our thighs to the top of my head, we held each other. I didn’t want to let go for fear he would dissipate into thin air if I did.

  Instead, I breathed him in. The outdoorsy, slightly crisp scent that was a mix of his cologne and the leather of his jacket was one I savored as I closed my eyes.

  Vaguely, I realized he’d lost weight. Not so much that most would notice, but I’d touched every inch of the man’s body and I was intimately familiar with him.

  “Logan.” His name was a raspy devotion.

  The only sound he made was an unintelligible murmur. His lips pressed to the side of my head, and he held me tighter.

  Aware we were essentially in my apartment building’s hall and one of my neighbors was standing in their doorway watching us, I reluctantly broke away. Taking his fingers in mine, I led him inside and closed the door.

  One hand still held his, the other pressed flat to the door as I rested my forehead against the wood. Once I had control of my emotions, I turned to him.

  “So beautiful.” Trembling fingers filtered through my loose curls before sliding around to cup the back of my head. Not trusting myself to give in and let him do what he willed, I had to step back.

  It was important to me that we talk. No more secrets, no more half-truths. We needed to decide if we could move forward.

  The movement of separation hurt him, and I hated that, but I couldn’t think straight with him in my space.

  “Did I ruin us? Please just tell me.” His voice cracked with the heavy emotion he tried valiantly to rein in.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” I had to be truthful. Pulling his lips between his teeth, he closed his eyes and dropped his head forward. His chest caved and it looked like he was having trouble breathing.

  “Logan, I still love you so much. The problem is, I don’t know where you’re at or what we’re dealing with. How about if we sit and talk?”

  He nodded and moved listlessly to the couch, folding his tall body to sit at the end. Leaning forward, he held his messy hair in his hands.

  “I’ve been reading some stuff. They’re saying you’ve had a secret drug and alcohol problem for a while. Is that true? How long has this been going on?”

  A shudder ran across his broad shoulders before he took a deep breath.

  “I wish you wouldn’t read that gossip shit. Everyone thinks they know me.” He shook his head, then lifted it enough to stare imploringly into my eyes. “You’re the only one who knows the real me, and even you don’t know it all. They sure as hell don’t fucking know me! They know what they see—what I let them see. No one knows what’s inside me, eating away at my soul, clawing to get out…. Fuck. Because of me, my brother left home and never came back. Then to thank him for always being there, I fucking killed him.”

  Shock hit me like an eighteen-wheeler. The room became a vacuum, sucking every bit of oxygen from my lungs, leaving me gasping. “Don’t say that!” I was barely able to whisper.

  “Why not?” he cried. “It’s true! If it weren’t for me, my fucked-up head, and my fucking insecurities, Lucas would be alive today.”

  Tears escaped him as he sobbed. “He was my rock. The only one who really knew me. The only one who could talk me down from the ledge…, and I killed him.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I sat next to him, wrapped my arms around him, and pulled his head to my chest. The broken man in my arms cried out his grief and his guilt. His fingers clutched the back of my sweater as he held me in a desperate grip.

  Sobs wracked his body until I thought it might actually come apart. All I could do was hold him tight and wait. My lips periodically shared my love through a kiss to his crown, until he drew in shaky breaths.

  Sitting up, he angrily wiped his eyes. Clenching his jaw, he turned his head to stare out the window.

  “Initially, I was a kid and I took the pills to numb the emotions I didn’t want to deal with. When I took the pills, all the bullshit in my life seemed irrelevant. Everything felt good. Fuzzy. Carefree. I was weightless. Then I drank to find that oblivion at the bottom of the bottle because it was easier to get than the pills. It was the only place I found peace. Except eventually the bottom of the bottle brought little reprieve, so I found ways to get both. Once we became a hit as a band, all of it was so easy to get. Anything I want—wanted—was available.” Haunted eyes flicked in my direction before returning to the window.

  “That’s going to be a problem, but I’ll figure out a way to keep the temptation out of my reach. I relapsed so fucking bad after Lucas died.” He ran a shaking hand through his longer hair. “It’s a shitty feeling to carry inside, knowing it’s your fault your oldest brother is dead. Fuck, do you know how many times I’ve thought, ‘If only I hadn’t called him that night.’ He would have been paying attention to the road instead of answering my call.” He gave a ragged sigh.

  “My counselor said it’s not my fault. That he chose to answer the phone while he was driving. But he’d always promised he’d be there for me. Anytime I called, it didn’t matter what he was doing, he would stop and talk to me. That night was bad. I’d been on the verge of overdosing because my girlfriend had a miscarriage and that set me off. Then I couldn’t get the memories to stop. It was like every fucking bad thing in my life was running in my head on repeat. So I called. I had no idea he was driving. I thought he’d have already been at work.” Pain ridden, his eyes again locked on mine.

  “I heard it all. The crash, the screaming, the sickening crunch of metal. I was screaming right along with them, and then the phone went dead,” he whispered.

  “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Don’t. Don’t be sorry for me, because I don’t deserve your pity.” Bitterness had crept into his words.

  Chewing on my lip to maintain my silence, I waited for him to continue.

  “I don’t want to be that person again. I want to be someone who deserves you. I want to be—better. It’s going to be hard, though. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. But I’m going to do my very best not to slip and give in to my weakness… the darkness. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but will you be there for me? Help me stay strong?” Burying his face in his hands, he exhaled forcefully.

  “Logan, I’ll be here for you, but you have to promise me you really want this. Not just for us, but to stay clean for yourself. I meant what I said before back in Seattle. If you don’t want this for yourself, it’s never
going to work.” Running my fingers lightly over his back, I sighed.

  Uncovering his face, he pulled me into his lap so I straddled him. Then, ever so gently, he cradled my face in his strong hands. “I told you, I want to do this. I meant that.”

  My fingers curled around his hands as he moved my face to his to capture my lips. First, it was soft, faint brushes, then he plucked at them until he could grasp them with his teeth. After separating them, his tongue made quick forays until he’d gained access to twist and stroke around mine.

  He didn’t let up until we were nearly suffocating for oxygen.

  “Hell, you’re a good kisser.” Breathless, I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud until he quietly chuckled.

  “Thanks. Can I show my wife how well I can make love to her too?” At his also breathless question, wetness pooled between my legs, and I ached and pulsed to feel him against me. Skin to skin.

  With frantic need, I began to kiss him wildly as I pulled and tugged at his clothes. The jacket was pushed off first, followed by his shirt. When I fumbled with the button of his jeans, he stilled my hands.

  Twisting my upper body slightly so he could lay me back onto the couch, he tortured me by sliding my sweater off slower than molasses in January. His wicked lips followed and did sinful things to my skin as I writhed under him.

  Not an inch of my skin was immune from his teasing, tortuous touch. He kept at it until my body was quivering with need. Nonsensical, begging mewls escaped me as I tried but failed to beg him to grant me release.

  He still understood and knew what I needed. Hooking my legs over his shoulders, he met my gaze briefly with his smoldering one before he slipped two fingers inside me and curled upward.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed you. The way you feel.” His face went closer to where I wanted him so desperately. “The way you smell.” He breathed me in, and his hot exhale tickled over my sensitive skin. “The way you taste.” As if everything else wasn’t enough, he wrapped his lips around my clit and sucked it in hard, the tip of his tongue flicking over it as he continued to pull it into his mouth.