We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  The words were a double-edged sword, a brand to remind him of the best and worst things he’d ever done: marrying Katie and being unfaithful to her the night Devin was born. The purpose of the tattoo was not penance for having fought with her. It was there because he wanted to never unzip his pants again without knowing what he could lose.

  “We didn’t fight.” Strong as ever, the guilt caused his throat to tighten. He threaded their fingers together. “I just wanted a reminder of what you mean to me.”

  There was a quiet sadness on her face. “I never needed any reminders, Billy. Your name was tattooed on my heart before I was born.”

  “Oh, Katie.” He slipped his hand against the base of her neck and pressed his forehead to hers. “I know this isn’t the right time, but I’m so afraid of losing you. Everything is so fucked. Things with the band . . . You were right. I don’t even think it’s about the music with those guys. It was bad from the beginning. I got more respect doing studio work than I ever got out on that stage with Mick McAvoy. It all went to shit pretty fast. That last night . . .”

  He pulled in a deep breath, remembering the feeling of standing on that stage, the vibrations moving through him, both from the music and the crowd. It was a feeling like none he’d ever had throughout his career.

  “That last night was what I know it should’ve been all along, and then afterward . . .” His sigh was so deep he felt smaller, diminished. “I let it get out of control. Shit went down with Mick, and I got fired.”

  He wished he could see her face, see if she understood he wasn’t just being a total fuck-up, but she kept her head down, her finger tracing an endless pattern over those words as if she might decode them and discover their true meaning.

  His lips touched her hair. He wanted her mouth, wanted her to look up and let him know they were okay, but she didn’t move. She didn’t pull away, either. At least there was that.

  “Do you know how humiliating it was for me to turn around and see you standing there in the jail that night? To know you were there because of me?” He ran his thumb along her neck just below her ear. “It was just another reminder of what a fuck-up I am. And then instead of apologizing, I turned into a giant dick and made it worse.”

  “Yeah.” Kate wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “You did.”

  “And speaking of giant dicks.”

  A small chuckle escaped. “Yeah.”

  “When going through the mail, I saw a couple of past due notices for your car. I took care of all the other bills before heading out on tour, but somehow I missed that one.”

  “Yep.”

  “When I saw it was about to be repossessed, I called the bank.”

  “Too late.”

  “Yeah, they told me. I’m sorry, babe.”

  She shrugged.

  “I paid it off. You won’t have to worry again. And, I transferred money into your bank account.

  Kate let go of his wrist. “Thank you, but still, we really need to talk—”

  “Mrs. Donaldson?” A slight man in hospital green surgical scrubs stood in the doorway. “I’m Dr. Evans.”

  The tension that had been in Kate’s body when Billy first arrived seemed to return all at once. The doctor stepped into the room and held out his hand. It was small, but his fingers were long and narrow. Good hands for a piano player, or even bass.

  “I’m one of the surgeons who was working on Mr. Buccacino.”

  Of course, a surgeon made more sense.

  “I assume you spoke with the police?”

  Kate cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  The chair the detective had vacated stuttered across the carpet as the doctor pulled it directly in front of Kate. He sat resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face level with hers.

  “As I’m sure you’ve been told, Mr. Buccacino was shot three times. The wound to his leg was superficial, but the other two bullets caused massive trauma to his chest and lungs. One of the bullets punctured his lung. As a result, his lung collapsed, which resulted in a significant decrease in oxygen delivery to his vital organs as well as bleeding into his chest cavity.” He looked from Kate to Billy, as if gauging their level of comprehension. “We’ve transfused several units of blood, and we were able to repair the damage. He’s out of surgery, and once he’s stable and awake, we’ll be moving him to a room in the ICU.”

  Kate’s fingers closed around the soft peach fabric draping her thighs, twisting it until much of her leg was exposed. Billy dropped his hand over hers and squeezed, stilling it.

  “He’s going to be okay, right?”

  “It’s really too early to say. He’s ill. Very ill. The next twelve to twenty-four hours will be critical.” The doctor stood. “It could be another hour or so before they bring him up from recovery. Once he’s settled in, you can see him.”

  After he’d gone, Kate remained rigid, staring at the empty chair in front of her.

  “Babe? Can I do anything for you? Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “No, but coffee might be good. We’ll probably be here for a while.”

  It was late and the cafeteria was closed, but there was a small café off the lobby that had coffee, two kinds of soup, and an assortment of sandwiches and salads. Billy wasn’t hungry either, but he bought a ham and cheese panini and a cup of minestrone. It was a small miracle that he got Kate to take a few bites of the sandwich and eat almost half of the soup.

  She crumpled up a paper napkin and pushed it inside the empty cup. “Tell me he’s going to make it.”

  It didn’t take much to realize she wasn’t looking for facts. She wanted assurances. Promises he couldn’t make.

  “I’m sure they’re doing everything they can. You heard Dr. Evans. We just have to wait and see.”

  She pressed her palms against the table to help her stand, as if she were suddenly decades older. “We should head back upstairs. I want to be there when he gets to his room.”

  Back in the ICU, the floor was quieter than it had been earlier, but there were still more people about than one might expect to see at that hour. Fear and grief were etched on the faces of the people moving through the hall. Kate wore a similar expression as the nurse led them to Joey’s room. She hung back at the threshold.

  “You okay?” Billy asked.

  She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, visibly steeling herself. He wrapped his hand around hers and waited. When she nodded, he led her into the room.

  Other than a ghostly pallor, and lips that were more blue than pink, Joey looked much like himself. Bandages wound around his chest. Two tubes ran from the right side of his chest to a canister on the floor next to the bed. Wires connected him to various machines and monitors, tracking his blood pressure, his oxygen levels, his heart rate.

  Billy guided Kate to a chair beside the bed, though she refused to sit.

  “He’ll drift in and out,” the nurse explained. “Mostly out. Plus he needs to rest, so if he wakes, try not to tire him out. Just let him know you’re here. That’s enough for now.”

  An hour passed. Kate hadn’t taken her eyes off Joey since they’d walked into the room. Billy had stood alongside her at first, but as the caffeine wore off and exhaustion wrapped itself around his bones, he uncoiled into a chair near the door.

  “Shouldn’t he have woken by now?” Kate’s voice was raspy. “Joey? I’m here. Billy, too. Can you hear me?”

  Billy half expected Joey to grimace at the mention of his name. The two of them had come to an uncomfortable truce over the years, but he was certain Joey still hated him. After that horrible night—the night he’d won his one and only Grammy, the night his son had been born without him knowing, the night he’d been too drunk and dusted to realize his former agent had her mouth wrapped around his cock until it was too late—he’d been forced to turn to Joey. He’d had to beg Joey to keep Christa from ratting him out to Kate, especially after Billy had fired her and immediately cut all ties.

  Even though Joey hated Billy
for what he’d done, he’d somehow managed to convince Christa to back off. And she had—at least as far as Kate was concerned. Billy, on the other hand, had remained fair game. Over the years, Christa, who was one of the most powerful agents in the business if not the most powerful player, had done everything she could to see that his career never took off. Sure, he’d made a living doing what he loved—a good one most of the time, playing in someone else’s band—but whenever he’d tried to break out on his own, she’d crushed him. The only record companies that would work with him were small independents. He’d recorded a few albums, but without the big money for tours and promotions and the clout to get him airplay, he had been doomed before he’d even gotten started.

  It was frustrating and depressing, but at least Kate had never found out. It was one of the main reasons he’d kept her as far away from his business as possible. She’d never traveled with him and rarely met the musicians he played with. He lived in two different worlds. It was the only way he could deal with it.

  Clearly, he was doing a shit job of balancing the two.

  Billy shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair. Kate had grown up with a mother who hadn’t wanted her and who never missed an opportunity to let her know it. Her father had been unable to stand up to the cruel, uncaring woman he’d married. But she’d always had Joey. Unlike Billy, whose one stupid act more than twenty years ago could have destroyed her, Joey had remained Kate’s one true constant. The only person who’d never hurt her. Never let her down. And now there was a chance she could lose him.

  Billy sat up with a jerk, forcing himself to remain alert. If this went on much longer, he was going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than caffeine. He rested his head against the wall and watched through drooping eyelids as Kate stroked Joey’s hand. She prattled on, reminding Joey of things they’d done as children, continuing unrelentingly as if trying to lure him into opening his eyes.

  A nervous chuckle slipped out, and Kate’s head snapped up.

  He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Sorry, I just thought of something funny. I was just thinking, the way you’ve been talking kind of nonstop, if he were to wake up right now, he’d probably tell you to shut up.”

  Her lips twitched, and she lightly traced the line of Joey’s brow with the tip of her finger. “You would too, wouldn’t you?”

  Billy stifled a yawn and checked his watch. It was a little after two. “How long have you been here?”

  “I don’t know. I think it was around five. I texted you as soon as I got here.”

  His heart thumped. She’d reached out to him right away. A small victory, but it filled him with hope.

  Kate stood suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He squeezed my hand. Joey? It’s Kate, honey. Can you hear me?” She turned to Billy. “It’s weak, but I felt it.”

  Over the next few moments, Joey’s fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered.

  “Are you in any pain?” Kate asked when his eyes had remained open for more than a few seconds.

  It was slight, but he definitely moved his head: No.

  She leaned closer and spoke louder. “Joey. You had an accident, but you’re going to be okay.”

  He blinked several times and tried to focus on Kate’s face. “What happened?” he asked eventually. His voice was strange, thin, as if he were speaking into a rubber balloon.

  Kate brushed a strand of hair away from his face. “You were mugged. Behind the new shop. Do you remember?”

  He shook his head, and his eyes closed for a few moments. When he opened them again, they landed on Billy.

  “Kate.”

  “What, sweetie?”

  A few seconds passed. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” He tipped his chin toward Billy. “Please.”

  “Um . . .okay.” She turned. “Would you give us a few minutes?”

  Billy pushed himself from the chair. Of course Joey wanted him gone. Two bullets to the chest, and the first thing he wants to do was remind her why she’d left him. He supposed he should feel more generous toward someone who’d almost died, but old habits die hard.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joey gripped her hand tightly. “Kate, listen to me.”

  There was desperation in his voice.

  “Joey. What is it?”

  “Tom. You need to call Tom.”

  Tom? Oh dear God. Had he been doing something illegal when he’d been shot?

  “Now? It’s the middle of the night? Why would you need a lawyer in the middle of the night?”

  “Kate, please. Just listen.” He coughed, then grimaced in pain. “You can’t tell anyone what I’m going to tell you. No one. Promise me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not even Billy.”

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  He closed his eyes and took several quick, short breaths before opening them again.

  “Tom and me. We’re together.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean. Together how?”

  “In love, Kate.” The numbers on the monitor keeping track of his heart rate crept upward.

  “I don’t . . . How can you and Tommy . . . Seriously? Is that what you were hinting at yesterday?”

  He nodded.

  “But . . . Stephanie. He’s married.”

  “No one knows. And you can’t tell anyone. But I need you to call him. Tell him what happened, where I am. Now.”

  She couldn’t wrap her head around this. Tommy? And Joey? She was too tired for it to sink in.

  “And Kate?” He gripped her hand before she could leave. “If anything happens . . . promise me . . .you’ll be there for him.”

  His breathing was short and choppy.

  “Stop. Nothing’s going to happen. You’re going to be fine, okay? I’m going to find Billy and have him stay with you, and I’ll go call Tommy. You’re going to be fine. And when you’re all better, Mr. Buccacino, you’re gonna have some ’splaining to do.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. It was a weak attempt at a smile, but it was something.

  No longer struggling to speak, his heart rate began to tick back down. Kate breathed a sigh of relief and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

  He was going to be fine.

  Now that she needed to make this call, Kate couldn’t get enough bars on her phone for even a text. Which is how she found herself outside, alone on a nearly deserted New York City street in the middle of the night. It was foolish, but personal safety was the least of her worries.

  The night air hung on her like a loose, damp sweater. She shuffled to the end of the block alongside brick walls still giving off warmth from the previous day’s heat. A Daily News truck rumbled past, leaving a cloud of diesel fumes in its wake. She filled her lungs with the pervasive stink of the city and dialed Tommy’s number.

  An irritated female voice answered.

  Damn it.

  “Hi, Stephanie. It’s Kate Donaldson. I’m sorry to call so late—er, early—but I need to talk to Tommy.”

  “Tom,” Stephanie corrected. “Dear God, Kate, it’s the middle of the night. Did your husband get arrested again?”

  Bitch. Kate had always tried to give Stephanie the benefit of the doubt, even though she never understood what Tom saw in her. He was sweet and down to earth. But Stephanie? She lorded it over people in a town where there was no need for lording of any kind. What Joey had told her a few minutes earlier began to make bit more sense.

  “I know it’s late, and I apologize, but I need to talk to Tomm—” She caught herself just in time.

  “He’s not here. He’s at a conference in Pittsburgh. You can try his cell, but I’m not sure he’ll answer it. He usually turns it off at night—for obvious reasons.”

  Kate didn’t miss the dig. “Do you know where he’s staying, in case I can’t reach him on his cell?”

  “Do you really need to do this in the middle of the night? Can’t you just let Billy sleep it off wherever he is and just pick h
im up in the morning?”

  Kate’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Look, I’m sorry to wake you. I am. But I need to get hold of Tom tonight.”

  Stephanie let out an audible huff. “Hold on.”

  At least a minute went by, and if Kate hadn’t heard the sound of someone moving about on the other end of the call, she’d have thought they’d been disconnected.

  “I hope he’s charging you plenty for all these late-night emergencies,” Stephanie grumbled when she came back on. “He’s staying at the Fairmont. I don’t have the number. You’ll have to look it up.”

  “That’s fine, thank you.” Although it galled her, she forced herself to make one more attempt at being polite. “I’m really sorry, Stephanie. I hope I won’t have to call you again.”

  Ever.

  Tommy’s cell phone went straight to voicemail, so she searched for the Fairmont instead. Once the call was transferred to his room, he answered on the second ring.

  “Kate? What’s wrong? Is it Billy?”

  “No, not Billy.” How would she do this? She should have thought this through, figured out what she should say. “It’s Joey.”

  Silence. “What’s going on?”

  “He asked me to call you. He’s at Mercy West in Lower Manhattan. We’re not sure exactly what happened, but he was probably mugged.”

  “Oh shit. Is he all right?”

  “He’s out of surgery—”

  “Surgery!”

  “He’s stable. He was shot, Tommy—but he’s stable. He’s awake and talking, and he told me . . . He told me to call you.”

  “He’s going to be okay, though, right?”

  “I don’t know. The surgeon says the next twelve to twenty-four hours are critical. But he’s awake, so that’s good. I think he wants you to come.”

  “I’m in Pittsburgh. Shit. Let me think.” She heard rustling in the background. “Can I talk to him?”

  “I’m on the street in front of the hospital. I couldn’t get a signal inside. I didn’t even notice if there was a phone in his room. Look, when I get back upstairs, if there’s a phone, we’ll call you, okay? On your cell. You’re coming, right?”