Plowed

by Kristen Luciani

  The iPhone pinged again. A deep sigh deflated her body. “Come on. The faster we handle everything, the quicker we can get back here.” With a quick peck on the cheek, she crawled toward the edge of the bed and grabbed her clothes.

  “Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way. Just get dressed really slowly…don’t rush it. Maybe play with your—”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not helping at all.”

  He swung his legs over the side and grabbed his boxer-briefs and jeans. Watching out of the corner of her eye, she contemplated taking just a few more minutes to…No! Yes, she wanted to trace every single inch of his abs with her tongue, but it had to wait. Too much had happened, and plenty more needed to be fixed.

  Daxton pulled a Ramones t-shirt over his head and grabbed his Houston Astros baseball cap. He fished around a drawer and pulled out two different socks – one was white with a black Nike swish, and the other was bright red.

  God, he looked so scrumptious in that cap. “Can I ask you something?”

  “On or off the record?”

  She smiled. “Cute. Now tell me, what’s the deal with your socks?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They never match. Why is that?”

  He sank onto the bed and yanked on the socks, a faraway look in his eyes. “Growing up, my mom did the laundry for Jase and me, and one sock out of every pair would always get lost in the shuffle. The strays would show up later, on a towel or stuck in a shirt. It became a big joke. We’d end up wearing each other’s socks, and we were always mismatched. It was our thing. So now, I always wear two different ones. The match will always be Jase’s.”

  “That’s really sweet.”

  A small smile lifted his lips. “Ready?”

  She nodded, her heart thrumming harder with each step he took toward her. “Yes, but I need to grab a few things from my bus.” She dangled one piece of a lace thong. “Someone ripped my favorite panties.”

  When his sinful lips pressed against hers, it all but exploded in her chest. Heat swirled in her core, radiating from her body, every square inch of her skin screaming for those lips to singe the surface.

  Oh God, yes. She was ready, but not for what would greet her outside that tour bus.

  THOSE DAMNED CABLES. SNAPPING TOO early and fucking up the plan. It should have been a game of double jeopardy, except one of the targets had been missing. Eh. At least one of them was out of the limelight.

  Death wasn’t the objective, at least not for Gia. Just pain; enough that she’d be out of commission for the rest of the tour. A broken leg, a fractured arm. Whatever would keep her away from her beloved drums and off Daxton’s cock.

  Who the hell knew she’d be directly underneath the fixture? One of those dumbass stage managers must have adjusted the stage schematics, and she ended up taking the full impact, ending up with a crushed pelvis, shattered spine, and massive concussion. Not the intent, but hey, there’s always potential for collateral damage.

  And Sara? The victim who’d somehow managed to escape her fate?

  Just thinking the name conjured up stomach-twisting images of her and Daxton, no doubt wrapped in each other’s arms on that tour bus - writhing, sweating, panting…

  A deep breath did little to calm the brewing storm. Sara was indeed reliably unreliable. But that would only protect her for so long.

  “SARA! WHERE THE HELL HAVE you been? I just spoke to Jake. He needs you to handle the logistics for the press conference asap.” Kat tapped her fingernails against the cinderblock wall in the arena corridor. “This is a total disaster, and I can’t be babysitting you while I’m trying to do damage control for this tour.”

  “Kat, relax. She was with me. We were working on a statement.”

  Kat smirked. “Really, Dax. A statement. And what did you come up with? Anything PG I can use on Twitter?”

  Daxton snickered. “It needs more work. Listen, Sara stays with me. Whatever you need, say the word, but we’re a package deal, okay?”

  Kat shrugged. “Fine. Sara, here are the lists of to-dos from the office in Houston.”

  Sara reached out and grabbed the papers from Kat. “Don’t worry, I will take care of everything. I’m on my way to the pressroom now. Have you confirmed the new opening band?”

  “Yes, I got word that Punk’d is all lined up and ready to fly out here. We’ll need to cancel tonight’s show. I’ve updated all of the online news outlets and our accounts. Jake has everyone on deck back in Houston to handle inquiries, and I’ll handle the social media updates and buzz from here. Jake will forward the riders for Punk’d soon, and they need to be given to the PAs.” Kat pointed at the stack of papers now in Sara’s hands. “First things first, let’s get the press conference scheduled. Shoot for seven o’clock.”

  “Yes.” Sara nodded. Her eyes flickered over to Daxton’s. “I have to make some calls. Can I use your green room?”

  “Yeah, I’ll come with you.”

  Kat rolled her eyes. “Dax, get to the hospital. You’re already calling too much attention to yourself by not being with the rest of the band. Sara, give me a holler if you have any questions.” She spun on her insanely high heels and stalked down the hallway.

  Sara’s mouth fell open. “Holy cow, I’m so getting fired.”

  “You’re not getting fired. We can handle all of this.” His blaring iPhone ring echoed in the concrete expanse. “Yeah?”

  “Dax, it’s Sean. I have the guy from last night.”

  “What do you mean, you have him?”

  “He’s in the security shed. Said he needs to talk to you.” Sean’s voice dropped, almost muffled. “He’s got something, Dax. Something you need to see.”

  “I don’t care what he has.”

  “Trust me, you do.”

  Whoever this clown was, whatever he wanted, he’d reached the end of the line. His mother was gone, and nothing this guy could say would erase all the pain she’d caused. He let out a shaky breath, wiping his clammy palms against his jeans. Lying to himself, pretending not to care, and bottling up all those useless emotions never gave him the closure he so desperately needed. Maybe he’d never get it. His eyes flickered to Sara’s concerned gaze. But could he really be whole again, or love again, without letting go of the anger? This toxic existence he’d been living was so empty, cold, and lonely. He didn’t want that life anymore. He wanted Sara. He had to try for her; otherwise, the noose around his neck would eventually suffocate him.

  “I’ll meet you both in the green room.” Daxton clicked off the phone, his gaze unwavering.

  “What is it?” She bit her lower lip, her face masked with alarm. “Is everything okay?”

  He grasped her hand. “Everything is going to be fine.” Those words were such bullshit. Would they ever have real meaning behind them? Would anything ever truly be ‘okay’?

  Each step closer to the green room made the lump in his throat grow larger and larger. By the time they’d made it to the doorway, it was a miracle he could still swallow.

  “I can’t feel my fingers anymore,” she murmured.

  He loosened his grip on her hand. “Sorry.”

  “Tell me, Dax.” She knew something was up. She could tell. Always. How was it possible she could see him so clearly when nobody else could? Was it because nobody else cared to see anything beyond the surface? That it was easier to accept him at face value, rather than understand what made him this way?

  “The guy from last night. He’s back.”

  “So just let security handle—”

  “No. I need to talk to him, to face whatever it is he has to say. There’s some link to my mom and I just…” He pushed back his hair. “…I can’t carry this with me anymore, Sara. I have to lay it to rest; otherwise, I won’t be able to move forward. And I want to, so badly.”

  “I don’t understand…lay what to rest?”

  “The bitterness, the resentment, the anger. It’s killing me, and I’m not ready to die. I didn’t care before – who I
hurt, who I screwed, who I got high with…none of it mattered.” He tilted her chin toward him. “It does now.”

  Tears gathered in her green eyes, the ones he wanted to lose himself in forever. Drowning in those pools was the only place where he’d be able to breathe, to survive. A single one escaped, trailing down her flushed cheek until his thumb wiped it away. “I finally know what matters, and I’m not about to mess it up.”

  He turned the doorknob, pushing open the door. Sean stood in front of the couch, his beefy arms folded, a menacing look on his face. The look disappeared when he saw Dax. “I’ve checked him out and he’s clean. You want me to stay?”

  “No, but I need you guys to take Sara to the pressroom, okay? Don’t leave her side.” Daxton turned to Sara. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay.” She leaned closer, up on her tiptoes, before her soft lips brushed against his cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Sean followed Sara out of the room and pulled the door closed. Dax leaned against it, eyeing the man in front of him. He was jittery, unable to even sit back on the cushion.

  “Who are you and why are you here?” No sense beating around the bush. He was on a quest for closure and this guy held the key. Or so he claimed.

  “I’ll answer your questions, but you should see something first.” The man pulled out a letter and a small jewelry box. “My name is Sam. I did know your mother, and she wanted you to have these. Begged me to bring them to you.”

  “Where is she?”

  Sam wrung his hands together and held his head. “She’s gone. Passed away a few weeks ago.”

  The words hit him like a cement block to the chest. So many questions assaulted his mind, but his lips refused to form sentences. Daxton sank onto the couch across from Sam. The wound he’d been haphazardly nursing every day since his mother had left was torn open, leaving him raw, exposed, and devastated. By a stranger. Fuck, it hurt, worse than any pain he’d ever experienced. His fingers closed around the letter. Sam looked up and Daxton saw everything he felt in his heart reflected in this man’s tortured gaze – regret, sadness, loss.

  “Read the letter, Daxton.”

  It was dated two months ago. The words, written in his mother’s familiar script, exploded like bullets in his brain. Phrases swam in front of his watery eyes, his mind trying to process everything on the page.

  …cancer…death…Jase…father…Sam…love…goodbye…

  He crumbled the paper into a tight ball and hurled it against the wall. “Why the fuck are you here?”

  Sam recoiled. “Dax, I’m here because your mom wanted you to know the truth.”

  Rage that had bubbled just below the surface for the past year poured out of him like lava from an erupting volcano. He grabbed an empty highball glass and flung it against the wall, the shattering sound mimicking the feeling in his chest. “The truth? That my own biological father couldn’t give a shit less about me and was willing to take a payoff from Tyler before walking away with your dick tucked between your legs? That you didn’t give a flying fuck about me enough to find me before all this happened? That you didn’t give a fuck about me at all? Because that’s what I got out of the letter!” His heart thundered against his ribcage, beads of perspiration popping up along the back of his neck. His breaths grew shallow and harsh, the air piercing his lungs like sharp knives. “She left me, her own son! I loved her more than anything. I would have taken care of her. But she ran back to you.” He inched closer, voice shaking. “To you, the worthless piece of shit who abandoned his son.”

  “Dax, I never meant to hurt you. Please believe me. I loved your mother, but I knew I couldn’t offer her the life she deserved. I left both of you so that you’d be taken care of. I never cashed that check. I didn’t want Tyler’s money. I just wanted you to have the best life possible. That’s why I left.”

  “Do you want some kind of medal for not taking that money? Should I pat you on the back, Dad?” He paced the room, ignoring his ringing phone. “You’re a selfish asshole. A real man wouldn’t walk away from his responsibility as a parent, and certainly wouldn’t leave his own kid to be raised by someone else.”

  “You’re right. It was wrong of me to discard you like that. But Tyler made it clear—”

  “Fuck Tyler!” Daxton flipped over a table, liquor bottles crashing to the floor. “You let him call the shots? You’re fucking weak! A pathetic excuse for a man…for a fucking human being!”

  “Dax, please. I came to try and fix this. Just give me a chance. I realize what I lost all those years ago. Your mother’s death crushed me, and I regret every day I didn’t have her in my life. I wasted so much time. I don’t want to lose any more.”

  Daxton gripped the top of the couch, his thoughts swallowed by the clanging between his ears. Clenching the leather in his fists was the only way to keep them from pummeling Sam. “You’re twenty-four years too late. Thank you for showing me the kind of man I never want to become.”

  “Dax, give me a chance. I’m your father. I want to make things right.”

  “You’re not my father. You were a sperm donor, nothing more.” He opened the door. “Thanks, you’ve delivered your message. Now you can get the fuck out.”

  Sam rose from the couch, eye-level with Dax. Same dark hair, same deep-set eyes, same muscular build. But beneath the surface, Sam represented everything Dax resisted. For all these years, he’d felt out of place, unwanted, and rootless. But standing next to this man, his legitimate father, it only amplified the feelings of rejection and abandonment. Through the years, Tyler had been cold, unfeeling, and standoffish. And even though he took care of Daxton as if he were his biological son, their relationship was rocky at best. They’d spent more time at odds than not, but Tyler never walked away from his self-imposed responsibilities. Not even when his mother left.

  Now she was gone forever, and he’d never be able to talk to her again. He’d never be able to tell her how much he’d missed her, to cry at her bedside, or to say goodbye. He’d been grieving the loss for so long, yet the emptiness always remained, along with the flicker of hope that she’d come back. Damn her for thinking she knew best and for breaking his heart.

  Closure. It had always eluded him. Maybe it was because he was on a never-ending futile quest – always trying to tie up the wrong ends…for the wrong reasons.

  MICS WERE ALL IN PLACE and tested, and the room was set up according to the specifications she’d received from her boss. Calls to all the local press outlets were in progress, and Sara’s phone beeped incessantly with notifications from the team in Houston. But what would the message be? She’d been so occupied with the press conference, Gia’s condition eluded her, though all accounts were dismal. She seemed like such a sweet girl, always so peppy, and talented as hell. It shouldn’t have been her. It should have been me.

  Her ringtone echoed in the empty room, silencing the dark thoughts. Casie’s name flashed on the screen. She stabbed the Accept button. “Casie, have you heard anything? How’s Gia?”

  “Still in surgery. She’s in bad shape. They induced a coma to bring down the swelling in her brain, but her body is really mangled. It doesn’t look good. Lots of internal bleeding, too. That’s the big concern right now.”

  “Oh my God…is she going to…?” No, don’t even say it. If Sara had been on that stage minutes earlier as planned, she’d have been lying on that gurney alongside Gia.

  Casie sighed. “I really don’t know. Just try and hold it together. We’re handling the situation here at home. Stick with Kat; make sure she has your support and run point on anything she needs. We’ll get everything taken care of, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just remember, nobody makes a comment until after the press conference.”

  “Got it.” Sara’s throat tightened.

  “Security is ramping up as we speak. I’ve made arrangements for local police to monitor stage setup crews for the remainder of the tour to make sure there’s no foul play. No stones will b
e left unturned.”

  Sara tugged at her earring. Daxton had spoken to security about her situation. They must have alerted the police. Better to let the authorities handle the investigation and for her to keep quiet. If something leaked, it might put the whole tour in jeopardy. It was time to trust in the team paid very highly for their protective services. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

  “Hang in there. We’ll chat again later.” Click.

  Sara gnawed at her lip and studied the pages of notes in her hand, full of details about Punk’d, the replacement opening band – three guys, kind of dirt baggy-looking, greasy, and tattooed. Maybe the appeal was in their music. Riders for each scheduled venue for the remainder of the tour had been faxed over, and the PAs needed to start gathering items for the green rooms.

  Green rooms…Dax. Where was he? He said he’d be back as soon as—

  Another loud ring sent her leaping into the air with a gasp. Jeez, she was so jittery. Guess that was an unfortunate consequence of being stalked by a psychopath.

  Her throat tightened as she stabbed the Accept button for the second time. “Mom?”

  “Sara, what is so urgent? Don’t you know it’s election season? Your father and I have been working night and day on the campaign. You’re supposed to be keeping yourself occupied and out of trouble with that little public relations job in Houston.”

  “I’m not in Houston right now. I’m in Phoenix, on tour with a band. There’s been an accident.” Her voice quivered. “I’ve been getting threats, Mom. Someone knows about that night.”

  “Sara, I really don’t have time to play a role in your soap opera. You’ve already done plenty to sabotage your father’s career. I don’t think I need to remind you that had you been a better, more obedient daughter, you never would have gotten yourself into this predicament in the first place. Our lives have been thrown into upheaval because of your poor judgment.”