“Of course I want to know. What the fuck is it now?”
“Yes, please, do tell,” Sydney says, and her voice makes it really, really difficult to concentrate. I'm not normally the type of guy to run off and take care of things, if you know what I mean, but Goddamn it. This is absolutely insane. If any of my friends had come to me and described something like this, I would've accused them of shooting up and downing an entire bottle of Viagra. So not normal. “What the fuck is it now? I have a really hard time imagining you guys haven't done anything to deserve this.”
“Do you have a problem with me, Sydney?” Turner snarls at her, moving close, getting in her face. “Trey didn't do shit. He's the fucking victim here, Goddamn it. Show a little respect.” When I see his boots scrape the front of her red heels, I just see black. One second, I'm sitting down. The next, I'm up and pulling Turner back by his shirt. He stumbles for a second, but only because I think he's confused. If I didn't expect to do it, why should he? As soon as he figures out I've touched him though, he's spinning around and a fist is flying at my face.
“Turner!” Naomi shouts, stepping between us and grabbing his punch before he can hit me in the jaw. It's an impressive move, catching someone else's fist in your own. Turner pulls back as much as he can, but the two of them end up slamming together, chest to chest. Instead of being angry, like you'd think, they look fucking starstruck. Honestly, it kind of makes me sick. Or maybe that's just the vertigo. The world spins around me for a second before I steady myself with a hand on the wall. Turner and Naomi are still gazing into one another's eyes, and I'm about to tell her I can fight my own battles, when I pass the fuck out.
Holy baloney motherfucking crap.
I sweep my hands down my face and pull them back, watching as my fingers curl involuntarily. I'm sitting on the edge of a strange man's bed, a strange man who just happens to be the hottest fucking piece of ass I have ever seen in my adult life.
“Oh, hearts on fire,” I whisper, pretending to fan myself. It's a bit pathetic really, considering said sexy dude is passed out next to me. Covered in sweat. Dark hair in his face. Lips twisted in this deliciously wicked little half-smile. Wonder what he's dreaming about? If it features me and my tits bouncing while I ride his ass … Well, then I'm cool with it.
“Seriously?” Turner asks me, raising one perfectly manicured yet somehow still masculine brow. How, why, that is even possible, I don't know, but fuck the dude for being too frigging perfect. Irritating little twat sucker. I try not to be too mad at him though, considering the adorable Instagram worthy reunion he just shared with Trey. My brother might be passed out in the next room, but at least he has his own little team of doctors and nurses to wait on him hand and foot. Money can buy happiness sometimes, right? Or at least somebody who will smile while they clean out your bed pan. But man, that Ryker guy, he knows his shit. Not only is my brother here, with us, safe, but the dude is putting together a sort of family protection plan thing for everybody else's family members. I hope Indecency has a new album in the works because this type of security doesn't come cheap. They're going to have to write another dozen scream-y, angst-y, bad boy songs to pay for this shit.
“Seriously what, Turner?” I ask him, looking down at Dax McCann's sleeping face. I hear he got rabbit-punched by a tornado. Ouchies.
“You find Dax attractive? Like for real, for real?” I roll my eyes to the ceiling and then drop them down to Naomi's face. She is absolutely gorgeous. I'd feel threatened if I was inclined toward that sort of thing. But then, it all comes back to stripping. I mean, I've been doing it for like ten years now, ever since I was sixteen (and yes, I get that that's illegal, but I had a fake ID so get over it). Too many pretty girls, hot bodies, broken dreams. It's hard to intimidate me now.
“You are a strong, powerful woman with a solid career and a beautiful voice. Are you absolutely positive you want to waste that on this idiot?” I ask, gauging her reaction. Asking questions you know could be controversial is a good way to get to know someone. I get a smile. Thank God. So far, I like both Lola and Naomi. Things are looking up for the guys here. Now we just need to find someone for Trey and Jesse and we're golden. Behind every great man is a patient woman with a bigger set of balls.
“He fucks good so, you know.” Naomi shrugs and puts a cigarette in her mouth. Nobody in this group cares about no smoking signs, so fuck it. I pull out a Marlboro, raise it up in cheers, and plop it between my lips. “And his voice isn't half bad either.”
“Oh, please, baby,” Turner says, grabbing his junk (which is probably strangled to death in his too tight pants) and turning to Naomi. “You couldn't live without this.”
“Maybe not,” she says, still smiling at me. “But I could probably do without your mouth. Unless it's singing, keep it closed.”
“Huh,” Turner snorts, letting go of his balls and snatching the cig from Naomi's lips. “All I'm sayin' is that Dax is an emo bitch. I'm sorry, but I just don't see how anybody could find him attractive. I mean, Jesus. You walked in here, Syd, and it was like somebody had cranked up the heater. He had a rager, and I could practically smell the tuna salad you were whipping up over there.”
“That's fucking disgusting,” I tell him, looking back at Dax. Emo? Maybe. I mean, he's got a zombie with blood pouring down its face tatted right on his bicep. At the same time, when I walked in and saw him pounding away on his drums, something just broke inside of me. A dam was lifted and a flood of hormones poured out and consumed me. My whole body feels slick, and not just down below. I feel like I've been dipped in a vat of warm oil, and it's soothing as shit. I rub at my arm and take a deep breath, accidentally pulling in a mouthful of his scent. Hot, warm, sweaty man. Lust. Desperation. Anger. I swallow hard and stomp my foot on the floor. Yeah, my whole sensation thing is going crazy right now. Pretty sure there's some god out there that desperately wants me to fuck the crap out of this guy. “And yeah, I do find him attractive. He's … obviously hot. On the outside anyway. Inside, he's like ice.”
Naomi snaps her fingers at me.
“Right?” she asks, sounding perplexed. “Glad I'm not the only one that thinks that.” I look up at her in her sweatpants and her loose shirt. How fucking cool. Just proves that it's not the clothes that make the rocker chick. 'S the other way around. Naomi couldn't look more like a Rocker Chick Bitch than she does right now, damp hair and all. I've been listening to her music for a few years, on and off. I'd have listened more if that Hayden chick hadn't been the singer. Something about her voice just makes me feel skanky.
“Were you guys a thing once?” I ask, and I really, really don't like the slight inflection in my voice. I sound like a cougar getting ready to fight over a mate. Wow. I look back at Dax, at the very slight shadow on his jaw, his bow-tie lips, the slight pinch to the bridge of his nose. Mistake, big time future mistake, my brain screams. This strong of a reaction can only get an equally strong reaction. I walked in that door and saw him fucking his drums, his muscles bulging beneath his skin, his wide back, his – I cut myself off that train of thought and blink to clear away the cobwebs.
“No.” That's all Naomi says, doesn't elaborate. Meanwhile, Turner grits his teeth hard. Not good. There's another story here. I don't like stories; I like endings. Endings tell you what happen, sum up the drama, finish the pain. Stories, well, stories just keep on keepin' on. I don't want a chapter in a partially written book.
“She fucked Trey though,” Turner says, and I face palm. I just walked into the Den of No Fucking Return. This is a cave of weirdness that I'd rather leave far, far behind. But I can't now. Not after today. There's some weird shit, some dangerous shit, going down that I don't like. I have to stay and fight. What kind of girl would I be if I didn't?
“Maybe that's not particularly relevant right now?” Ronnie asks Turner in his best no-nonsense voice. He filled me in on the way over. I'm sure I haven't got the full story yet, but I will. It's easier to understand the rules of the game once you're playing it, r
ight? “Why don't we try and keep focused on our little problem here?” Lola's looking at Ronnie, but her eyes are tired and her hands are shaking, not like mine though. Mine are full of estrogen, desperate to cool their heat with a little bit of Dax's ice, if you catch my drift. Hers are twisting in her shirt, rubbing against her shorts, searching for an outlet. She doesn't know what to do next, where to go from here. Isn't it amazing what you can tell about someone from a little body language?
“What's there to talk about, man? Brayden will take care of that shit. All we have to do is fuck up these interviews, blow up L.A., and become legends. Period. That's fuckin' it, dude.” Turner leans back against the wall, his shirt riding up his abs and flashing a pair of lovely V shaped lines on his hips. Naomi looks purposely away. “After that, we buy some digs in town, raise your babies, and write more albums.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and turns it around, staring into the cherry thoughtfully. Turner Campbell pretends to be stupid; he's anything but. He's throwing up some false bravado to mask the gravity of the situation. Hmm.
“So, this man, this Stephen, he's simply in this to punish your manager for leaving him?” I ask Naomi. I'm still not quite getting it. I mean, I've seen some people handle rejection badly, but a decade old feud involving a half dozen murders? I just … hmm. My hand accidentally brushes Dax's arm as I adjust myself, and my skin tightens across my muscles. The tips of my fingers are tingling and my mouth parts gently, like I'm waiting for the taste of his tongue. It takes physical effort on my part to stand up and move away from the bed.
“Surely he's sociopathic or psychopathic or whatever the hell you want to call it,” Lola says absently, her voice drifting on the air like fog. “Let's just get whacked out and forget it. No matter what we do, it doesn't mean shit. Just look at today. Look at it. I'm knackered as a dime store whore on payday.”
“Brayden said he could get a message to your sister,” Ronnie says softly, putting a hand on her knee, wrapping his longer fingers around her leg. “You were in voluntarily, too. It's all based on manipulation, Lola.”
“I know that better than anyone, Ronnie. I also know how hard it is to get out. You know what they threatened me with. This last week has been the worst one of my fuckin' life. I can't even take a shit without KK dropping in on me and reminding me that I will never truly be free. Never. I killed a girl,” she growls, turning pointedly to me, pointing at her chest. “I murdered someone. I might as well start getting used to small spaces because I'm either spending the rest of my life in the slammer or six feet under.”
I raise my eyebrows, but I don't comment. It's hard to really respond to something like that. Ronnie gives me a wide-eyed look that I meet with a small nod. I'll keep my mouth shut. Only people on high can judge us down below, and let's face it, that podium's pretty empty up there. I try to imagine Lola, this petite little thing with big eyes and a pretty face, actually killing someone. It's not easy. I wonder about the circumstances. See, I told you. I don't have the full story.
“And I obviously can't go back. What do I do now? I'm jobless, band-less, homeless, hopeless.” Lola stands up and starts to pace, heels whispering across the carpet. After a moment, she bends down and reaches up her shorts, coming out with that gun I was so curious about earlier. She tosses it on the counter and then digs a small, plastic vodka bottle out of her pocket. “Cheers,” she says sarcastically and tosses it back.
“We'll figure this out, Lola. Ice and Glass might be done with, but that doesn't mean you can't start over again. We all get second chances.”
“Hah.” She finishes her drink and tosses it in the trash can. “Right-o, mate. Second chances. How do you know that?”
“Because,” Ronnie says, standing up and moving towards the door. His dark hair obscures his face for a moment before he brushes it back. I watch as he slips a pair of shades on his face and opens the door. “You're my second chance.” And then he disappears into the hallway. After a moment of silence, Lola follows after him.
“Fuck, man,” Turner says with a sigh. “This whole thing blows shit.” He stabs his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and stands up, pushing away from the wall and glancing over at Naomi. “Emo boy here looks like he's going to be out for a bit. I'm gonna go check in on Trey. Wanna come?”
“If you're going to booty call me, you can fuck off,” Naomi says which makes me grin maniacally. I like seeing sexy chicks whoop the cocky off guys like Turner.
“I think I'm in love,” I say to her around my cigarette, inhaling and drawing my eyes back to Dax. Dax. Dax McCann. Hmm. Just one fuck shouldn't be the end of the world, right? I could risk that. I look away again and pray he doesn't wake up until after I leave. His eyes are so different. I've never seen a gray like that on another human being. They remind me of the lake in the morning, just before the sun comes up, and there's that soft mist drifting across the water.
“With me?” Naomi asks with another smile. I think we're going to be good friends, me and this chick. “Good luck. I hear I'm hard to get.” Turner rolls his eyes and stomps towards the door. I don't know if I've ever really seen him just walk. When he's in a good mood, he swaggers. When he's pissed, he slams his feet against the floor like it owes him money.
“Don't you bother my brother, ass weed,” I tell him as he starts into the hallway. “He just woke up from a near death experience. The morphine makes him think he's okay, but he's not. Remember that.”
“Uh, yes, Mommy Dearest, I fuckin' got it.” And then he leaves, slamming the door behind him. The sound startles Dax out of his sleep, sending him straight up in bed, chest pounding, eyes darting every which way. Until they find me. My own breath gets caught in my throat and threatens to strangle me. I want to be buried in those depths in an unmarked grave. I want to get lost in the gray fog of his gaze and never find my way home. I seriously almost fucking swoon. And how often does that happen? Yeah, never.
“Shit,” he groans, and just the sound of it almost convinces me that I should jump his bones. Almost, but not quite. “I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me.”
“Dax, please,” Naomi says, her voice friendly but not overly affectionate. I still want to know what their story is. As soon as I look back at him and see him looking at her, I get part of it. Ah. Dax is staring at Naomi and then flipping his eyes back to me. Back and forth. He does this for a minute and then swings his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing roughly onto his face and digging his fingers into his scalp. He likes her. And me. Well, he's got a thing for her, and he wants to fuck me. When Dax stares at Naomi, his expression softens and his mouth relaxes, but when he looks at me, he swallows too much and runs his tongue over his lips. “You've been pushing yourself too hard. You need to take it easy.”
“What happened at the hospital?” he asks her, carefully keeping his gaze trained on her face. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything's fine,” Naomi says, pauses, touches her hand to her blonde hair. “For now. Just … rest up, take a shower. We can talk later.” She glances over at me and an awkward silence descends on the room. Everyone has a system here, a group, a set of people they should be with, things they should talk about, places to go. Me, I'm new here and I don't fit. I can't call a horde of demons to my hands and smash them into an instrument. I can't fight with that fury and that rage that I saw Dax in earlier. I'm not a singer or a musician or even an artist, I'm just a stripper with a stupid baby brother and his dumb friends. But I'm here to help, not make things more awkward.
“I'll be in Milo's room if you need me,” I say, and then, with one last glance at the beautiful, dark eyed drummer before me, I turn away and walk out the door.
“I'm not doing this again, Hayden,” I say, pushing her off of me. It takes a lot of effort. Sometimes, I just let her hang on me, touch me, whatever, because it takes so much work to get her to stop. Especially on days like today when I feel like I'm going to throw up. I should have never slept with her. That was my mistake. She's been a lot more lovey since
then, usually when we're in private. But that day she came back … I was so wracked with pain over Naomi's supposed death. And Hayden seemed so upset, looked up at me with those eyes and told me horror stories. I'm such a bleeding heart fuck, I tell myself as I check my cellphone. There are no missed calls, no messages. Did I expect something different? A good job, son or something? If my dad even watched the concert – which is doubtful – then I probably don't even want to hear anything he has to say about it.
I sigh.
“I'm not mad, Dax,” she coos, turning away and busying herself with running a comb through her long hair. She's not wearing much, just a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top, no bra. Hayden is cute, but I can't look past the damage. And she is damaged. Maybe irreparably so. I want to help her out, fix her, but maybe that's not my job? Maybe she's the only one that can fix her? Fuck. I don't even know what to do anymore. I don't know which parts of her stories are lies and which ones are truth.
“Not yet,” I tell her as I run my hands down the legs of my sweatpants. Finally, I got a chance to shower and put on some clean clothes. I had to settle for a loose, old tee and some holey black pants because there was no way in hell I was getting into a pair of jeans or a tight fitting shirt. I can barely stand up. America made me see the medic, but all he could do was hand me some more pain pills and tell me to go sleep it off. I keep picturing that day the tornado hit and trying to figure out what exactly it was that got me. I saw this flash of metal and then nothing. I'm pretty sure it was a car door. “But when I tell Naomi everything, you will be.” Hayden freezes, going so still I'm not sure for a second that she's even breathing. The comb falls from her fingers as she spins around. I try to keep my gaze focused on the rose tattoo below her bellybutton, but inevitably, my eyes are drawn back to her face.
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