My lips parted and a guttural sound drifted from my throat. Murphy’s lips flipped up in a sad smile. He kept his eyes on mine.
“I’d bought you an engagement ring, Mila.” His eyes filled with sadness. “Not that big or fancy, but it felt right.”
My breath broke. I scrambled back, but Murphy caught me before I fell off the far edge of the mattress. He brought me back toward him, though I shook my head, mouthing no.
“I was going to ask you to marry me that night, Mila.”
16
Murphy
She’d managed another pill before I got in here. I could tell by the way her eyes were filming over, glassy instead of sharp. Anger warred with a sad kind of understanding. I didn’t want Mila turning to substances for relief; I’d seen too many good musicians ruined by them.
At the same time, she’d been through so much. So much of it alone. At some point, she’d made the decision to survive, no matter what. While I didn’t agree with her methods, my chest tightened at the other possibilities: Mila too broken to find her way back to the strong, loving woman she’d been or perhaps worse, Mila apathetic to it all, giving in to Jordan’s sick needs.
The longer we toured, the more musicians I met, the more I realized many people had a string of bad luck who felt as though they’d deserved it.
She sniffled. “Why did you tell me that?”
“Because you needed to know how much I cared about you.” I waited until she met my gaze. Took ten seconds—longer than it used to. “I still do.”
She shook her head. “You don’t mean that,” her voice was quiet. And I bit the tip of my tongue, unwilling to fight with her.
“I mean, you care about me as a past lover,” she said. “But we don’t know each other anymore.”
I patted the spot next to me. “Lay here.”
She eyed the narrow strip of space between us with trepidation. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Now, Mila.”
Her eyes met mine and she sighed, longing softening her features. I hoped her medication wasn’t too powerful. The withdrawal effects were going to rip her, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to let her keep abusing the medication.
I couldn’t let her keep digging herself deeper into the hole she’d managed to fall into. She’d destroy the life she’d clawed together. She paused again, sucking at her lower lip as she eyed my body stretched out on her bed. I gripped her wrist and gently pulled her down, tucking her next to me. She sighed and snuggled closer in increments, a tiny kitten unused to and afraid of anyone’s touch.
I tipped my head back against the headboard. Bloody hell, being with her again hurt. Not just because I wanted to touch her—that desire never left—but I wanted to fix her life and make sure she could stand alone.
Then I’d leave—to deal with my record exec’s meeting, decide how to handle the solo project. Go home to Sydney or start recording in LA, touring somewhere else. Leaving wasn’t an option. My life demanded it.
I stroked her hair, letting my thumbs brush the sensitive skin against her nape. I didn’t say anything else, just held her until the pill’s effect trickled through her system.
Once she was deep into her slumber, I picked up the album and stared at the picture of her on the beach. Her smile shone brighter than the warm Sydney sun. Her eyes laughed into the camera, thrilled with her secret.
Prison wasn’t enough for Jordan Jones.
I slid from under her. She mewled in protest, her shoulders stiffening. I sat on the edge of the bed just out of her reach and rubbed my hand over her head.
“Murphy,” she breathed.
My name from her lips and I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. She turned, snuggling deeper into the pillow. I picked up her pill bottle and studied the label. A depression or anxiety pill. A lot of musicians took it. Ironic how many of them didn’t like to perform.
I took the bottle and my phone into the living room.
I dialed Noelle’s number from my Recents list.
“What do you want?” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Sorry to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me, but I am in bed.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat as I thought of Mila on her bed, curled around me. Great, now my dick was hard. Again. Almost a permanent affliction in the past few hours. So very mature of me.
“Mila’s abusing her Xanax,” I blurted out.
“You’re crazy,” Noelle said, but doubt threaded through her words.
“I’m holding the bottle in my hand. It says she filled it ten days ago and there are only ten left.”
“It’s an easy med to become dependent on.” Noelle sighed.
“Gets into the system in about half an hour but back out in about six to eight hours.”
“Right,” she said. “So the mind starts to want more of it if the stress doesn’t go.”
“How do I break her of the habit?”
“You think now’s the time to do that?”
I flicked my lip ring, considering her question. “Is there ever a good time to treat an addiction?”
“She’s dealing with a lot, Murphy. The stress has to be crushing.”
“And it’ll only get harder to stop when she becomes more dependent.”
“Dammit. I hate that you’re right,” Noelle sighed. “Can you hold on a minute?”
Noelle muffled the phone. A deep, male voice responded. So it was like that? Just tattoo “dickhead” across my forehead.
“Kent says she needs to ease off. Slowly. If you do cold turkey right now, she might have a very adverse reaction.”
“What does that mean? Some of us don’t have medical degrees.”
“It means wean her off.” The bloke spoke again. Ah, Noelle had put me on speaker. “You have the bottle?”
“Yep.”
“Keep it,” he said. “Look to see if she has any others and confiscate those as well. Then dole out her normal dose for the next few days. When she runs low, she’ll need to see a psychiatrist to get another script. Noelle will send you a couple of names for good ones that one of my colleagues recommend his patients to.”
“She’ll need to be occupied to keep her mind off the stress, especially the waiting to find out about Jordan. And, Murphy, she’s going to be cranky,” Noelle said.
“Cranky I can handle.”
Noelle snorted. “We’ll see. Mila’s always so even-keeled. This ought to be interesting.” She yawned. “Call me tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Clicking off, I went back into Mila’s room. She lay on her side, facing away from me. Her ribs rose and fell in a steady rhythm. I did a methodical search through all her bags, the pockets of her long cardigan, and her purse. I pulled out a printed script for another round of pills from her wallet but didn’t find any more pills.
Good. Maybe the problem wasn’t that serious.
I clutched the pill bottle in my fist. Mila mewled, shoving her hands between her thighs. I tugged a blanket from the bottom of the bed, dragging it up to her chin.
Time to do a little more research before I could sleep for the night.
I walked out into the living room, stifling a cry when the rustle of feathers and a rush of air brushed my cheek. The bloody bird landed on my shoulder and I cringed back from its beak nuzzling my chin—barely.
“Right. In your cage.”
“Mil?” Alpie asked, tilting her head. Her black eyes bored into mine. “Mil?”
Bollocks. Its beak was mere inches from my eye.
“You want to see Mila?” I asked. Anything to get it off me and into its cage.
I opened Mila’s door and Alpie fluttered in, landing on the headboard. She bent down, wings spread, to peer at Mila’s slumbering face. “Shush. Mil.”
“Time for sleep . . . er . . . Alpie.”
The bird made a soft humming noise for a long moment before flying out of the room, just missing my head. I ducked, cursing. Alpie settled
into her cage.
“Night. Mil.” She dipped her head, her crest feathers fluffing. “Fu-‘atoo,” she said in that voice that was so close to my own.
Mila would choose a bloody damn bird.
17
Mila
I woke, shocked. I’d slept the whole night for the first time in . . . I couldn’t remember. I stood and stretched. After a trip to the bathroom, I snuggled into my cardigan, running my tongue over my clean teeth. I loved that feeling.
I walked out to the living area, unsurprised to see Murphy up and about. He’d always been an early riser. He was talking to a man, big bloke with a no-nonsense buzz cut and sharp hazel eyes. I shied away, planning to head back into the quiet of my room.
“Mila. Good. This is Kevin, my main security detail. He’s heading up the rest of the guards here.”
“G’day,” I said, feeling uncertain.
“Ms. Trask.” He dipped his head. “I’ll introduce you to your personal close guard for the duration of this assignment in a moment, but if you ever feel uncomfortable or see something odd, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
“Yes. Right.”
I stuck my hand into my pocket, planning to grip my pill bottle. Nothing.
The fear pulled me under immediately. Murphy clamped onto my elbow, steering me into the dining room. He spoke to Kevin, who answered, but I didn’t understand the words. I was too busy trying to keep the shaking under control.
Murphy settled me onto his lap and placed a pill in my hand. I shoved it into my mouth and took the glass of orange juice he handed me, my hand shaking with such force, Murphy steadied me so I didn’t miss my mouth.
He set the juice down and pulled me tighter to his chest, his hand rubbing up and down my back in slow soothing strokes.
“I’ve got you, Mila. Breathe it out.”
“Alpie,” I whispered.
Murphy maneuvered me into the chair and went to open Alpie’s cage. The bird shrieked and shot out. “Mil!”
“I didn’t know she knew my name,” I stuttered.
“She checked on you before she’d settle in last night.” Murphy eyed the bird with diffidence. Not the best of mates, these two. Not that I expected them to be. He resettled me in his lap as Alpie shushed from the table.
As my breathing calmed, I tried to scoot off his lap. But Murphy hugged me tighter to his chest.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “I quite like you here.”
I buried my face into his chest, preferring to breathe in his scent—that woodsy soap and fresh laundered cotton—than fight. So much for my early morning peace.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Is it always so bad? The fear?”
I shook my head.
“When did it get like this?”
“When Jordan showed up here.”
He tipped my chin up. I kept my eyes downcast. I didn’t want him to see the few secrets I still hid from him.
“How long have you been abusing the pills, Mila?”
My eyes flew to his. I searched his eyes, mouth open to deny. I snapped it shut. My back stiffened and anger built in my sternum, spreading outward to fire my belly. How dare he?
“I want to help you, love. So let’s talk it through.”
I tried to clamber from his lap again, but Murphy held me tight. The ensuing struggle was brief and certain. I remained in Murphy’s lap, but now I seethed. I turned my face away, refusing to let him see how lost I was without my pill bottle.
“You popped one in your mouth last night before I came to your room.”
I gritted my teeth.
“I talked to Noelle,” he said.
“What?” I cried. After another short attempt to disengage from his lap, I sat there stiffer than the queen of England on her throne. He waited. The bastard knew I hated these kinds of silences. Finally, I broke and raised my eyes.
“Nuff!” Alpie cried, coming to land on my shoulder. Murphy pulled back but still kept his hand on my hip.
Concern lit his eyes. He reached up and brushed my hair back from my forehead. Much as I wanted to lean back and not give him the satisfaction, I froze.
“How long have you been doubling up?”
My shoulders sagged. I couldn’t fight him, too. “Since I flew to Perth five weeks ago.”
“You did what?”
“I went to Perth. To check on Kyle’s grave.”
Murphy’s mouth opened. Shut. His eyes darkened.
Too much of my limbs draped off him. This position worked so much better when I curled into him. But I couldn’t do that. We weren’t together. Not even close.
Alpie jumped back onto the table, her attention caught on the small bowl of fresh fruit. “Ooh,” she said, waddling toward it. “Ooh. Yum. Shh. Yum.”
“Why?”
“To see my baby,” I snapped. “To tell him I missed him and wish him a happy one-year. Unfortunately for him, his birth date is also his death date. Made for a rather morbid experience.”
Murphy’s eyes slid shut and he rested his forehead against my chest. Of their own volition, my arms wrapped around his shoulders. They were so tense. He hurt. I hated that I was the cause. My fingers itched for my pill bottle.
“You had no right to take my pills, Murphy.”
“Give me a mo’, love. I’m still processing our baby has a grave. You’d said it before but realizing it, knowing it’s there, hurts.”
I fumbled in my pocket, pulled out my phone. I scrolled down until I found the picture. Handing it over, I studied Murphy’s face as he studied the picture.
His lip ring was made of a dark metal and did nothing to detract from the sexiness of his firm lips. Murphy’s kisses were soft but his lip ring spoke of his edgier side.
A tear spilled onto his cheek. Another quivered on the tip of his lashes of the other eye. This time I couldn’t fight the need to lean in and wipe them away.
“The angel is lovely,” he murmured, his voice catching.
“It is,” I whispered.
“You’re right. Seeing his name . . . it makes it all more real.” He set my phone down on the table and buried his face into my neck. “Bloody fucking hell, Mila. I don’t want him to be gone.”
The sting in my eyes was too much. My own tears spilled over. We held each other for a long time. I rubbed my hands over Murphy’s hair and neck, and he clutched my back, pressing me tighter to his chest.
This is what I’d missed. What I needed when I lay alone in the hospital.
“You wanted to know how long I’ve been abusing the Xanax?” I sighed. “Probably from the beginning. It helps me function. Keeps the sadness at bay.”
Murphy nodded against my neck. “I get that,” he said, pulling back. “But you can’t keep taking more, Mila. You’ve got to cut back. Preferably cut it out.”
I barked out a laugh. “Because it’s that simple. My life’s an absolute mess.”
He cupped my cheeks, thumbs swiping away the last remnants of my tears. “Doesn’t have to be. I’m here to help.”
“For how long?” I exhaled a harsh breath and dropped my gaze. The words needed to be said. Murphy’s life—a big one—didn’t involve me. I couldn’t go back to Sydney. Any of Australia. I’d said my final goodbyes to my birth country on that last plane ride.
Murphy blew out a breath. “Too right. I’m . . . I’m hurt, Mil,” he said. “Angry you didn’t trust me.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Murphy covered it with his hand. “How about this? Let’s start with breakfast.” He glanced at the table, lip curling in disgust when Alpie dipped her head and broke off another chunk of melon. “What your bird didn’t touch anyway. Then we can strategize with what to do next.”
“I have patients I need to see, Murphy.”
“Not this week. Hopefully not for a few days.” He backpedaled when he saw my face. “You wouldn’t want to endanger any of them, and Jordan’s listed as both armed and dangerous. I’ve arranged a leave of absence for you.”
&
nbsp; After wondering constantly if Jordan followed me if I’d be run down again, I didn’t think this would end in a few days. Jordan liked being the hunter—of toying with his prey before he went in for the kill.
I shuddered. The glint in Jordan’s eyes as he raised the knife to his neck outside my house . . . This time, he wouldn’t stop.
“We should give an interview,” Murphy said. His tongue flicked over his lip ring.
Horror built in my chest. “Why would I want to do that?” I gasped.
“We give people want they want. Our story. And we let them know what Jordan’s done to you, why he’s here and needs to be in jail.”
I shoved harder this time, hard enough to finally break out of Murphy’s arms. I stood, shaking, arms akimbo. “You want me to explain to some reporter my history? Why we broke up? Have me confirmed as the woman in ‘She’s so Bad,’ and what? You become more popular and I’m pitied or hated or skewered for being stupid?”
Murphy spread his hands out and leaned back in his chair. “It’s an idea. We don’t have to do it, but getting the correct information out there would help your reputation more than mine.”
I glared, my chest heaving, until I stormed out of the room.
The day passed in tiny increments. Even though I wanted to ignore him, Murphy refused to let me. His constant supervision grated as did his desire to check my room any time I went in there.
Alpie was snuggled on the couch next to me, preening her feathers.
Murphy glanced at her, then back at me. “Why a bird?”
“She needed a home.”
He raised an eyebrow, his way of telling me he was calling bullshit on my answer. I stroked my hand over her head. Alpie turned and nipped my finger, lifting the crown of hot pink feathers.
“Noelle took me to this bird sanctuary and Alpie hopped onto my shoulder. When Noelle wanted to leave, Alpie wouldn’t get off my shoulder. She kept saying, ‘No. You.’”
“The bird chose you and you accepted? I didn’t think you liked birds much. And don’t cockatoos live for decades?”
Another one of those moments of raw honesty. None of the last few days had turned out how I’d expected. “You were gone.” At the dark look he shot me, I held up my hand. “Arguing over why doesn’t change the fact I assumed our relationship was over. I never planned to fall in love again. I can’t have children, so Alpie seemed like a smart choice. I’d have her for thirty to forty years, and then when I needed more medical support, she’d be gone.”
Hold You Close (Seattle Sound Series Book 3) Page 12