Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  When I’ve purged it all, I finally feel lighter.

  “That is a lot, Shelby. You’re very brave. And none of it is your fault.”

  I’m really not sure how to respond. I don’t feel brave. Or blameless. “Thank you.”

  “Do you meditate?”

  “Yes. Usually before I go onstage. Sometimes after, if I’m really keyed up.”

  “Good. That’s good. If you have a nightmare, try to ground yourself with your breathing. Remind yourself that you’re safe.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll be honest, I don’t recommend going right back out on tour.”

  “I have to. This is…this tour is a huge break for me. Everything was going so well before…”

  “I understand.” She holds up her hand and smiles. “Actually, I don’t. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

  Finally, something worth chuckling about. “Well, I can’t counsel anyone, so we’re good.”

  “Do you have people on tour who are supportive? Is your mother on the road with you?”

  “Lord, no. She’d make me even more nervous.” I glance down at the scratchy blanket and pick at a loose thread. “My boyfriend, Logan. He was planning to join me on the rest of the tour…before this happened.”

  “You think he won’t want to now?”

  “Oh, no. I think he’ll be on me like wet on rain after this.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Honestly? Good and bad.”

  “What’s the good?”

  “I love being around him. We have a lot of fun together. He has a way of making things so much…easier. Less stressful. I definitely feel safe with him.”

  “That is good. What’s the bad?”

  “I hate for him to feel…I don’t know, obligated? To upend everything to watch over me now? I don’t know if I’m explaining it right.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “Not long.”

  “So the relationship is newer. Is he your first serious boyfriend?”

  I don’t have to ponder my answer. Any other relationship I’ve ever been in was a dress rehearsal compared to what I feel for Rooster. “Yes.”

  “Is it hard for you to depend on others? Accept help?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big time.”

  “So, can you try to accept his word at face value?”

  “I can try.”

  She smiles. “That’s a start.”

  There’s a gentle knock at the door. Rooster pushes it open, smiling until his gaze lands on the doctor. “Your mom went down to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?”

  I wave him inside, not sure if Doctor McDavis will approve. But she stands and introduces herself, offering her hand for a quick shake.

  “Can he join us?” I ask. “I don’t mind if he hears any of this.”

  She turns back to me. “Actually, we’re all finished for now. I’ll let you get some rest. You have my number if you need to reach me.”

  “Thanks.” I won’t need more counseling. Martin won’t get near me again. Rooster tamed my mother. Life should be smooth sailing as soon as I get out of this damn hospital.

  But I should know better. Whenever I least expect it, troubled waters have always threatened to drown me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rooster

  I catch up to the young doctor as she’s leaving Shelby’s room.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  She flashes me a tired smile. “Sure.”

  She leads me to the elevator and down a few floors to a small, cluttered office. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Is she…is Shelby okay?” I’m not sure how to phrase my question but that seems like a good place to start.

  “Just so we’re clear, Shelby stated she was okay with discussing this in front of you, Mr. Randall. Otherwise, I wouldn’t.”

  “Okay.” I jam my hands in my pockets, not sure what to do or say. “I just want to do what’s right for her.”

  “It seems heartless to say this, but she’s lucky. She wasn’t with her abductor for long and from what she describes, she was unconscious for most of it. So they didn’t have a lot of interaction.”

  That has been my impression, too, from the bits and pieces I’ve gathered.

  “While she seems to be stable right now, once she processes the events…there could be flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, or depression. It might not happen right away or it might never happen. Everyone is different.”

  That fucker hasn’t suffered enough yet for what he did to Shelby. I’m having serious second thoughts about turning Suggs over to the FBI.

  “Even so, an abduction—the callous, violent nature of it,” the doctor continues, “the stripping of her identity and treating her as less than human—it’s traumatic. The trauma could manifest itself in several areas for her—safety, trust, control, her self-esteem.” She raises an eyebrow. “Intimacy.”

  “Okay, so what can I do to help her?”

  “Let her make decisions for herself. The kidnapping…took away her control. Give that back to her as much as possible. From what she said, you’ve already helped her feel safer. That’s important.” She shakes her head as if she wants to say something more.

  “Anything else, doc?” I prompt.

  “I understand she’s under a lot of pressure. But I don’t recommend she goes back to touring right away. Shelby indicated taking time off wasn’t an option for her, but she really should take at least a few days to rest and process everything before jumping right into a stressful schedule again.”

  Shit, Shelby’s career stuff isn’t something I’ve ever wanted to stick my nose into. But this is different. “I’ll talk to her manager. From what I’ve heard, the tour’s on hold right now.”

  “Good. She has my number and I can give her other referrals if she prefers. If she seems especially withdrawn or not like herself, have her call and talk to someone. Even if she’s on the road. She can make appointments online around her schedule.”

  “Thank you.” I shake her hand and head back toward Shelby’s room.

  Jackson and another goof-in-a-suit are sneaking in the door as I turn the corner.

  “Motherfucker,” I grumble under my breath, hurrying my steps. Somehow, I knew this jerkoff wasn’t finished annoying the shit out of me yet.

  Although, to be fair, he’d held off on questioning Shelby a hell of a lot longer than I expected. Too bad for Jackson, I’m not in the mood to be fair.

  I push open the door. Shelby’s relieved expression cements my decision not to leave no matter what Jackson has to say. I probably should’ve held off on chasing down the doctor.

  “Logan.” She holds out her hand to me and I cross the room to take it.

  Jackson lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, and scowls at me. “If you’re staying, keep your mouth shut. I need to collect information from Ms. Morgan without your interference.”

  I point to the chair over in the corner. “I’ll be right there, blending into the wallpaper.” I brush my knuckles over Shelby’s cheek and she leans into me for a second. “That okay with you?” I ask in a low voice.

  She nods.

  On my way to the chair, I lean over and whisper in Jackson’s ear, “You upset her, we’ll have a problem.”

  “Duly noted,” he grumbles. “This is my partner—”

  I wonder if he’s dirty too. Other than that, I tune out the introductions. Jackson’s pal barely acknowledges me. He seems to be here merely as decoration.

  “Can you tell me what you remember, Shelby?” Jackson uses a kind, “concerned father” tone I haven’t seen him employ before. Good start.

  I still don’t trust him.

  “Where do you want me to begin?” she rasps.

  “How about the arena?”

  With slow, methodical steps, she talks him through the attack in the dressing room. It’s close to what Jackson and I figured went down. Suggs stepping out of the shower. The water making h
er feel fuzzy. Thank fuck Shelby didn’t drink more of the tainted stuff. Her terror when she realized Suggs planned to carry her out inside her trunk is hard to listen to.

  An inferno of rage spins in my chest as I absorb every detail of what my girl went through.

  She’s brave and gives as many details as possible without shedding a single tear.

  “What do you remember next?” Jackson prods.

  “Waking in the trunk. The guy…singing.” She scrunches her face up as if the memory brings a wave of physical pain. “I tried to pretend I was still asleep. But he wasn’t buyin’ that.”

  “So, he let you out of the trunk?”

  “Yes. Helped me to the bathroom. Wouldn’t go away so I could use it in private.” Her cheeks turn pink and she crosses her arms over her chest, dragging her blanket almost to her chin. “Then he took me to the kitchen. Which was fine with me. I wanted to get the hell away from that bedroom.”

  A smile of genuine respect flickers over Jackson’s lips but he doesn’t interrupt.

  “His pantry was stocked for Armageddon or something. He had, like, a million cans of soup.” She shudders. “I hate soup. Then he got mad when he gave me some creamy tomato glop and I told him I’m allergic to tomatoes.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Seems like something I should know about my girlfriend so I don’t…oh, I don’t know, accidentally poison her one day. With this new information, what I always thought was her being picky or doing that female watch-your-weight thing takes on a different light. I make a mental note to ask her about it later.

  “Did you eat the soup?” Jackson asks.

  “Heck no. He got a burr in his saddle over it, but made me chicken noodle instead.”

  Jackson frowns. Aw, does the big, smartass agent need help interpreting Shelby’s little southernism? “So he fed you. Gave you something to drink.”

  Shelby pins him with a hard stare. “I didn’t feel like I could leave. You know, after he drugged me and abducted me. So don’t go acting like this was a lunch date, sir.”

  Jackson holds up his hand. “Not at all, Ms. Morgan.”

  Obviously, Shelby doesn’t trust him. She waits, watching the agent carefully but not saying a word.

  I couldn’t be prouder of my girl.

  SHELBY

  How many more times am I going to have to go through this story? Reliving all the details isn’t helping at all.

  Finally, after what feels like days, Agent Jackson seems satisfied.

  “Thank you, Ms. Morgan. We have Mr. Suggs in custody and I’m doing what I can to make sure he doesn’t post bail. If for some reason he does, I’ll be in touch.”

  I’m not sure if that’s ordinary procedure or not, but I thank him. Nothing in my life has been ordinary lately.

  After the agents leave, I fall back against my pillows. “That’s it. I can’t tell this story to one more flippin’ person.”

  Rooster pulls his chair closer and takes my hand. “I hope that’s it for now.”

  “I want him…punished…but good God, I cannot keep reliving it constantly.” Even as I say it, I know how unlikely it is. There will be a trial and who knows what else in the future. Suggs is still influencing and controlling my life, even from afar.

  Rooster shifts. An unreadable expression darkens his face.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He forces a smile. “Your mom’s been downstairs for a while. With Jigsaw. God only know what’s going on there.”

  The very idea unleashes a wild torrent of laughter. “He better buckle up.”

  “Hey.” A more serious expression settles over him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re allergic to tomatoes?”

  I blink. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t like talking about it.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to end up making you sick or something one day.”

  “Rooster, I know how to look out for myself.”

  “I know you do.”

  Expectation stretches through the air between us. Damn, I don’t feel like talking about this now. “It’s not like a nut allergy,” I begin, picking my words carefully. “I won’t die…well, I guess I could. It’s been a while. I hate talking about it because some asshole always thinks I’m making it up or being dramatic, then tries to ‘prove’ I’m not really allergic by slipping one in my food.”

  “What? That’s sick.” Shock widens his eyes. “Who the fuck does something like that?”

  “Well, my grandma, for one. She was a crazy old biddy, though.” My throat itches just remembering the couple times she’d tricked me into eating something I shouldn’t. “Almost killed Hayley when she was little by feeding her peanuts too.” I adopt my grandma’s haughty Texan twang. “In my day, we didn’t coddle youngins. The kids ate what they were given and were thankful.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  I shrug. “Momma refused to leave us alone with her after the incident with Hayley. She and my dad fought about it a lot. He had a hard time telling his momma ‘no’ and my momma was pretty relentless when it came to protecting her kids.”

  He snorts and sort of nods.

  “Anyway, Grandma Morgan died not long after. Problem solved.” Maybe I should feel worse talking about my grandmother’s death so casually, but the woman tried to kill me twice, so I can’t get too worked up about her demise.

  “Still wish you’d told me. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He runs his hand over his chin and down his beard. “None of my brothers would ever pull a stunt like that and if they tried, I’d fuckin’ gut ’em.”

  “I trust you.” I shrug. “It hadn’t really come up yet or I would’ve mentioned it.”

  One corner of his mouth hikes up. “How the heck do you avoid tomatoes in Texas with all that salsa floatin’ around?”

  “It’s not easy.” I let out a yawn.

  “Why don’t you get some rest.” He pats the bed. “People have been at you all day.”

  Unable to stop myself, I yawn again. “I really want to get out of here.”

  “Soon, hopefully.” He glances at the clock over the doorway, then leans in to kiss my forehead. “Close your eyes.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shelby

  Today’s nurse is brisk and businesslike. “All right, Ms. Morgan, are you ready to go home?”

  Thank you, Lord! “Home or back on the road?”

  “Wherever you want.” She flashes a quick smile. “But you can’t stay here.”

  Aren’t you hilarious.

  Bless my boyfriend’s kind heart and never-ending patience. He was here again first thing this morning waiting for my eyes to pop open. “Is the doctor going to stop by and see her before she leaves?” he asks from his perch on the chair next to my bed.

  “Uh, sure, I can let her know you want to talk to her first.”

  She pivots and leaves my room.

  “I don’t need to talk to the doctor,” I protest.

  Rooster shrugs. “The other day, they were all ‘you need to rest, your body’s been through a lot.’ Now they’re saying, ‘get out.’ Doesn’t hurt to ask a few questions.”

  I stretch and take a cautious inventory of my aches and pains. “I feel better. Still a little fuzzy in the head, but overall, better.”

  He curls his fingers around mine and squeezes gently. “Good.”

  My mother bustles through the door with a paper cup of coffee in each hand. Without a word, she hands one to Rooster. Thank the Lord, she seems to have accepted Rooster’s here for good. Or rather, she’s placed the you-should-be-single campaign on hold.

  “I ran into the doctor and she said you’re being discharged.” She sips her coffee and sets it on the table next to my bed.

  “So I hear.”

  “That’s good.” She casts a disgusted look around the spanky-clean room. “Hospitals are full of germs. We don’t need you catching something while you’re here.”

  “So cheerful, Mom.”

  Rooster chuckles. “She has a point. Ev
en Heidi said it’s best to get you out as soon as possible so you don’t catch some superbug.”

  I slowly turn my head and bare my teeth at him. Gettin’ along with my mother is one thing; ganging up on me is another.

  As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, he pats my leg in a reassuring way. “Just worried about you,” he says quietly.

  “I need to get home, baby. But I don’t want to leave while you’re still in here,” my mother adds. “Greg said they secured a rehearsal space at the hotel. I’d love to see y’all run through a few songs before I go.”

  I blink and stare, trying to work out my feelings about singing right now. It feels about as familiar as climbing on a spaceship and being flung at the moon.

  “Let’s worry about getting her checked out and set up somewhere comfortable first,” Rooster says.

  Momma shoots a glare at him but wisely keeps her mouth shut.

  My eyes prickle. I know she loves me and means well, but Momma’s always been a show-must-go-on-no-matter-what kinda person. Rooster’s purely concerned about what’s best for me, no matter what. It strikes me for the first time—he’s the only one who has no vested interest in my singing career. Sure, there’s a one-in-a-million chance I’ll hit it Dawson Roads big and be rolling in hundred-dollar bills one day, but that’s a long shot. For better or worse, Momma’s pinned her hopes on me becoming a super-star or at the very least earning enough to be comfortable. Greg only makes money if I do. Same for Trent.

  Whatever Rooster does for the club provides him with enough income that he’s not banking on my career.

  It’s a weird slap-in-the-face sort of revelation while I’m sitting in a hospital bed after being kidnapped and almost killed, listening to my momma talk about me getting back out on stage right away.

  Not that she doesn’t love me—I know she does—but the nagging sensation that I just stumbled upon something profound won’t leave.

  “You all right, honey?” my mother asks.

  “Tired.”

  “Another reason you need to get out of here. Hospitals suck all the life outta ya.”