InHap*pily Ever After (Incidental Happenstance)

by DeSalvo, Kim

  “Fuck!” Dylan got up and paced the room, putting his hands to the sides of his head and fisting them in his hair. “I swear to you that I have no memory whatsoever about any of this! I would never do that to Tia—I would never do that at all! What the hell happened?” He took a swing at the wall hard enough to leave a mark and send a spike of pain radiating up his arm. It was a small fraction of the pain that Tia must be feeling, and he felt he deserved that and more.

  “They were pretty smug about the whole thing, I’ll tell you that.”

  Dylan dropped his head. “How far did it go, Bo? Do you think that I…” he was unable to finish the thought as his stomach threatened to upheave again.

  “No,” Bo said immediately. “I really don’t think it went that far. You still had your pants on, and I don’t think that you’d have been able to get them back on yourself if they were off. They still had their clothes on too, although they weren’t fully covered. I’m pretty sure it didn’t cross that line, at least.”

  Dylan let out a huge sigh that held only a small amount of relief. “Thank God for that, but it still crossed my line. And it damn sure crossed Tia’s. I don’t even know what to say to her, and that’s even if she’ll ever speak to me again. Nothing sounds more like bullshit than ‘I don’t know.’ But I don’t. No matter how hard I try, I don’t remember anything after Dozer leaving.”

  “Do you think he would know anything? Maybe he would remember something that you don’t. Can you call him?”

  “Ya, tanks mon. ‘E is a beautiful bwoy. Jus a beeny bwoy.”

  It was Sunday afternoon before he’d finally been able to get him on the phone, and Dylan was thankful to hear his voice. “Congratulations again, mate. To both of you. Listen, I’ve got something to ask you. I fucked up, Dozer, and I don’t even remember it. I’m hoping you can tell me if anything strange happened before you left. How drunk was I?”

  “No, not much. You had a clear head.”

  “Do you remember when the blondes came to our table?”

  “Ya mon. Dey bring us some drinks an talk about getting naked wi’ us. Dey really like you.”

  “Anything else? Was there anything strange about the way they were acting? Or the way I was acting?”

  “You brush dem off, tell dem dat you not interested. I don’t tink dey like dat answer.”

  “Obviously,” Dylan said wryly. “Listen Doze, if you think of anything else—anything at all, no matter how small it might seem, will you call me? It’s really important.”

  “Ya mon, no problem.”

  There was nothing else he could do. He dragged himself into the studio on Monday morning, but he was completely useless as far as recording went. All he could think about was Tia, hiding out somewhere where he couldn’t get to her; suffering alone. He’d talked to Lexi again—or more like gotten his ass thoroughly chewed out by her, and he got no further with Sean. He was afraid to call Will or Danielle, and equally scared to call Paddy. In their eyes he had betrayed Tia in the worst way, and how could he expect forgiveness from them when he couldn’t forgive himself?

  Tia would have to go back to the apartment eventually, and it might be the only chance he’d have to talk to her face-to-face. Not that he had anything he could say to make things better. He could only throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness, and hope to hell that she’d give him another chance.

  He’d laid down enough vocals that the guys could work on things without him for a little while, and he booked the next flight out to Chicago.

  *****

  Bo was really feeling it. They were doing the best they could with the music, and were making some headway with a couple of the new songs, but he couldn’t help but worry about Dylan. He was pretty much a wreck when he left, and the texts he’d sent over the past couple days were downright depressing. He’d had no word from Tia, and Lexi refused to speak to him, too. He was holed up in the apartment waiting for her to come back. Bo hoped she was coming back.

  When his best friend was hurting, he was hurting, and he just felt completely drained. He decided to stay behind while the rest of the guys went out to grab some lunch and he made his way to the kitchen to throw a sandwich together. As he ate without tasting, he found himself standing in the little lounge where the now infamous photos had been taken. They’d been featured on a handful of tabloids, and were all over the internet; painting Dylan as a louse and Tia as a victim. Tabloid TV was talking about it like crazy, and so-called experts were speculating that Dylan probably had commitment issues and didn’t really want to give up his life as the world’s most eligible bachelor. He’d never really dealt with bad press before, but he could take it. He was one person who truly didn’t care what the rest of the world thought of him, but the fact that it was hurting Tia, and that he couldn’t do anything to protect her, was killing him. Bo had never known him to be so down.

  He shoved the last of the sandwich in his mouth and lay down on the couch that had become almost like a crime scene. The drum sticks he had in his back pocket were jabbing into his back and he pulled them out and laid them on the back of the couch so he could stretch out and close his eyes for a few minutes. He wished to hell that he’d kept those damn bitches in the room and questioned them—there had to be something that could cast at least a faint glimmer on what the hell went down.

  Bo went over it in his mind again and again and there was just something that didn’t add up. Maybe it was the smug look on their overly made-up faces, maybe it was the way the one was so sneaky about the way she tried to slide Dylan’s phone onto the…Bo sat up and hit the back of the couch with his fist, his drumsticks clattering to the floor. That was it. It had to be. There was no way Dylan would ever be stupid enough to text those pictures to Tia and even if he was drunk enough to be that stupid, he didn’t even have enough coordination to button his own damn pants, much less maneuver his way through his contacts and send a series of texts with attached photos. And the messages that were sent didn’t sound like Dylan at all—he was a Brit; he didn’t use the term ‘dude,’ it was always ‘mate.’

  Dylan was beating himself up over being insensitive enough to send those pictures to Tia but Bo saw now that he hadn’t sent them at all—the whole thing was orchestrated to make him look like a complete prick, and once again, both Dyl and Tia were paying the price for someone else’s bullshit lies.

  He dashed out the room to grab his phone—he needed to call Dylan and share his suspicions. His head was swimming with the possibilities, and he thought maybe he should call Jessa and run it by her first; try to make sense of the whole thing. Was it possible that the bitches had planned the whole thing ahead of time and had every intention of putting Dylan in a compromising position and then documenting it? Absofuckinglutely it was; and the more he thought about it, the more he knew that he needed to document everything that he saw that night. He went back into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers until he came up with a pen and some paper and sat down at the table to write it all down.

  Bo reached for his back pocket; he thought better when he had a stick in his hand. When he came up empty, he pulled the couch from the wall so he could collect them from where they had fallen. As he reached down, something else caught his eye. The first thing was a piece of candy; what might have once been an M&M, except that it was covered with a fuzz of dust that indicated it had been there for some time. The second thing was a pill—an oblong-shaped, olive green colored tablet with the number 542 stamped into it that was devoid of dust, so must have been only been there for a short time…only a few days, perhaps? An image from the night of the party filled his mind—the purses of the women spilling onto the floor, scattering a variety of contents including some pills from a plastic bottle that rolled off in all directions.

  “Gotcha, bitches,” he smiled, feeling lighter than he had in days. He took a baggie from a cabinet and dropped the pill inside, pulling the zipper shut. He was headed out the door when he spotted the phone book on a little table in the
corner of the room. He grabbed it and his phone, and called for a taxi. He texted Ty on his way and told him that he was taking the afternoon off.

  Chapter 41

  Dylan sat in the apartment for the third straight day. He’d showered once, yesterday he thought, but he was afraid to leave the couch for fear that Tia might come and go while he was away or otherwise occupied. He had sighed a collective breath of relief when he saw that she hadn’t packed up all her things before she left, and he was determined to be here when she returned. Oh God, please make her return, he thought.

  He’d ordered take-away once, but had been surviving mostly on what was in the fridge and the cupboards. It certainly wasn’t like he had much of an appetite, anyway.

  He desperately wanted to turn off his phone, but couldn’t in case Tia called. Bo had rung him twice a day and Jessa even more often, and he nearly jumped out of his skin every time it rang only to feel the brief hope that rose with every chirp collapse when it wasn’t Tia’s new number on the display. He had nothing new to tell them, and their words of pity and encouragement did little to make him feel better. His soul appreciated their support, but his nerves were getting damn tired of it.

  Sleep was pretty much eluding him altogether. He couldn’t bring himself to even lie in their bed, afraid that Tia’s scent on the pillow might send him on a downward spiral from which he couldn’t climb back out.

  How could he have been so incredibly stupid? He had thought of nothing else for the past three days, but still couldn’t understand how he could have even allowed himself to fall into that kind of a situation. Even before he’d met Tia he wouldn’t have given those women the time of day—they were trashy and self-indulgent, and that had never been his style.

  All he could do as he sat and faced the elevator door so he could see her the second it opened; if it opened; was fight with his failed memory and kick himself in the arse for being the epitome of everything he despised and swore he would never become.

  He’d pretty much given up on finding the right woman; the one who he could love without worry and give himself to completely. And then, Tia crashed into his life. God knew he wasn’t looking for anything to happen that night, but he fell for her quickly and he fell for her hard. She was his everything, and he may have lost her and didn’t even understand why.

  The hour grew late and he lay back on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself and hoping that pure mental exhaustion would bring him some much needed dream-free sleep.

  *****

  “Rohypnol,” Bo said to Jessa’s image on his phone. “Otherwise known as a date-rape drug. The cops knew what it was the second they saw it.”

  “Oh thank God,” Jessa breathed. “I mean…that’s not what I mean…it’s just that I knew Dyl would never…”

  “I know. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when they told me. I just know it came out of one of those bitches’ purses—there were pills bouncing all over the damn floor, but I didn’t make the connection at the time. I just wish I’d grabbed one of them that night so we could prove it.”

  “Holy crap. Do you think it might still be in his system? Could he go and have a blood test or something and maybe get some proof?”

  “The cops don’t think so, but it might be worth a try anyway. They said it usually only stays in the system for about 24 hours, and 60 would be the max. It’s already been almost five days.”

  “Have you told Dylan yet?”

  “I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. I haven’t heard from him since last night and frankly, he didn’t sound too good. I’m worried about him. I’m going to try him again right after I hang up with you, but what if he doesn’t answer? He needs to know this, like, yesterday.”

  “OK. I’m going to get on this right away. We may not have solid proof, but I can certainly get it out there as a strong suspicion at least and maybe sway some minds. I’m going to do some digging into the porn stars, too. Maybe I can find something there that will give us a motive.”

  “As if people need a motive when it comes to Dylan Miller,” Bo said sarcastically.

  “I agree, but this thing has the stink of Esther Caglio all over it. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she had a connection somewhere.”

  “I thought exactly the same thing.”

  “Listen, if you can’t get through to Dylan, you need to get through to someone who can. Maybe you could explain the whole thing to Lexi and she could go over there.”

  Bo’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of Lexi’s name. He’d really love to hear her voice, but wondered if she’d even take his call. Then he wondered if he’d be able to talk to her at all once he did hear her voice or if he’d trip over his words and make an ass out of himself yet again. He had so much he wanted to say to her, but this sure as hell wasn’t the time for it. “Maybe you should call her. I don’t know if she’d really want to hear from me.”

  “Why wouldn’t she? Did you two have a fight or something? Why don’t I know anything about it?”

  “It’s not that, exactly…”

  “Whatever it is, get over it. You just need to take care of this, OK? Dylan needs this news right this freaking minute, and if he doesn’t answer, you need to find a way to get it to him. I have to get on this thing and try to diffuse a bomb that’s already exploded.”

  “Yeah, OK, whatever. What’s the number?”

  “You don’t have it?”

  “No I don’t have it,” he said, the agitation clear in his voice.

  “OK, I’m texting it to you now. Text me back and let me know what happens—I’m going to be on the phone trying to get some answers.”

  Dylan didn’t pick up. Damn it, he’d thought about calling Lexi at least a hundred times, but could never figure out how to even start a conversation, much less say what he wanted to say. Hell, he didn’t even really know what he wanted to say. He tried Dylan’s line once more, but it just rang and went to voice mail. Bo guessed that he wouldn’t answer for anyone but Tia, and she probably wasn’t calling. There was no other choice; he needed to get Lexi to do a wellness check on Dyl as well as to fill him in on the new revelations. It would be an enormous relief for him to know that he hadn’t betrayed Tia, and it wasn’t fair to make Dyl wait for the news because his own palms were sweating over talking to the woman he was crushing on. He would just make it all business, and deal with his own shit at another time; if the time was ever right.

  “Damn it, Miller, I told you that I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit…”

  His number would appear on Lexi’s screen just like Dylan’s would—all zeros. Bo couldn’t help but smile at her matter-of-fact greeting and lack of pleasantries. “It’s not Dylan. It’s Bo. How’re you doin’,” God help him, he almost said, ‘beautiful,’ “Lexi?”

  “Oh.” There was a moment of silence as she let that register, and then she was all back to business. “If you’re calling to tell me that I should take that bastard’s calls, you can just forget about it. I don’t know where Tia is, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell him.”

  Bo couldn’t help but chuckle. Damn, she was one feisty woman. “I figured it out. I know what happened, and Dylan isn’t a bastard.”

  “Like hell he isn’t.”

  “Listen Lexi, he isn’t picking up his phone, and I’m really worried about him.”

  “And I should care because…”

  “Because I found one of the pills that the bitches dropped when they were making their quick exit. It was a date rape drug.”

  There was a beat of silence and Bo could hear the intake of Lexi’s surprised breath. “Say that again?”

  “I’m positive that they not only drugged him, but that they planned to take the pictures and make it look like Dylan was steppin’ out on Tia.”

  “Oh my God.” He could clearly hear the sadness in her voice.

  “I walked in on them in the middle of it all and kicked their asses out; and when I tossed their purses off the chair, some pills went flying a
cross the room. Dylan was so out of it he couldn’t even stand up. I thought that he was just drunk at the time, and I carried him back to the hotel so he could sleep it off. I had no idea about the texts until later the next day, and even then, he couldn’t believe he sent them. Now I know he didn’t. I didn’t believe him at first either, because all he kept saying was that he didn’t remember anything. I found one of the pills today under the couch and took it to the cops; and they confirmed that it was a date rape drug. I can’t prove it, but I know in my gut that it went down that way.”

  “I believe you,” she breathed. “God, I had such a hard time believing that Dylan would do something like that, but the evidence was kind of overwhelming. I feel like such a bitch. I was so mean to him.”

  “I didn’t cut him a whole lot of slack either, but none of it sat right with me. The important thing is that they both need to know this information, and I can’t get through to either one of them. Dylan isn’t answering his phone, and I’m really worried about him. He’s really fucked up over the whole situation, and he still thinks that somehow he’s the one to blame. He’s gone back to Chicago to wait for Tia to show up at the apartment, and I just know he’s sitting there stewing in this whole mess and blaming himself for hurting her.”