Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1)

by Lyrica Creed

  When she didn’t immediately respond, he pressed. “Want a hit?”

  She shook her head, and he tipped it to the top of his hand, right above his thumb and snorted.

  “Damn, that’s good! Sure?” His head moved in an exhilarated shake.

  Without bothering to answer, she twisted her head toward the magnificent view of the canyon side.

  Colt continued, seemingly oblivious. “This straight edge scene you got going on—I respect that.”

  “Great.”

  A smattering of birds dotted the blue sky and dipped into the treetops.

  She didn’t care what he thought, and he laughed, clearly unfazed by her brushoff. “Shit. I said that all wrong. I just meant, I get it. And I was trying to say it without bringing up—you know—Tyler.”

  “Good. I hate when people talk about him.”

  “Yeah.” Now he seemed slightly remorseful and twisted at one of the rings on his fingers. “But what’s fixing to happen? I mean… Is that one of the reasons you’re in L.A.? Your John Hancock needed on a bunch of legal shit?”

  Now she looked back into his handsome face. This was one of those times when the personality difference between Colt and Gage was black to white. Colt was pushy. He had to get his way, no matter anything else. Gage, on the other hand, almost always prioritized her feelings and wants.

  “No. I came to see Ivy, but I’m leaving before my birthday. I will have to fly in for the legal stuff because it has to be done in California. But I’ll just be in and out. And if it’s too crazy—the press—the lawyers are going to meet me in San Diego.”

  At least that had been the plan. Until she had developed these mixed up feelings for Gage. Now, despite being furious with him, she wasn’t sure she could leave him to kill himself slowly as a junkie. Still, she hadn’t outright admitted that part. It was in the back recesses of her brain. Also, it still seemed insanely hard to believe Ivy was living it up with a hunky movie star and had not contacted her in some way to tell her. She didn’t want to leave without laying eyes on her friend, although if the chick was fine, she would probably punch her.

  “Well. I was asking because I was hoping you were staying. And you’re welcome here as long as you want. Hotels can be hell. Especially when it comes to privacy.”

  “Thanks.” She heard the hostility leave her tone. “Really.” Damn she could use a hit of that coke! Suddenly she was feeling the effects of a night of managing only a restless doze, and she stifled a yawn. “About Bradley Walker, did you ever figure out anyone with a connection to him?”

  He stretched his legs out straight and reached for his necklace. “Yeah. I did. It’s Gage. Gage has a cabin on Arrowhead, and so does Walker. I wasn’t thinking of it at first, because Walker’s never been there when I’ve been there. But now I’m sure I remember Gage saying Walker bought the place right up the road from him when it went up for sale, and brought down this insanely sick boat.”

  He was about to twist the cap from his bullet again, but stopped when a voice hailed from the direction of the house.

  “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

  Colt’s home appeared to be an older architectural design than Gage’s. Scarla had seen very little inside the main house but when passing through the previous night, she’d noted that despite its spaciousness, it was rustic with lots of wood and rafters. Instead of opening completely to the outside as Gage’s did, this one had French doors that folded back accordion style. Caroline stood in the doorway now, pushing one French door back until it stopped in the track. “Your house is stuffy,” she announced.

  “Can’t have that,” Colt returned. “The neighbors are stuffy enough.”

  Caroline giggled and made her way around scattered deck furniture to sit with them. “Aw, come on. In all fairness, the realtor should have disclosed a musician was living next door, with wild parties going on at all hours of the night and day—and naked women running through the neighborhood.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” Dipping his head, he replaced the necklace without partaking of its contents.

  “Nope.” Caroline sat back with a smug smile.

  “So, the brat’s home?” The affection Colt laced into the nickname was accompanied by a special light in his eyes and a smile.

  “Yep. He’s all yours for the next few days. Be good.”

  The current transmitting between the two of them was a tangible thing, and again Scarla found herself wondering about their relationship. How they could have this easy closeness, obvious affection, private jokes, and a child together, yet not be together.

  “Dad!” Seth hung over a balcony on the second level. “I’m going to skate, right? Jeter’s mom is picking me up in an hour. Hi, Scarla.”

  Scarla waved and listened to Colt and Caroline converse for a minute before Colt hollered his okay up to their son.

  Caroline lingered, visiting, for a bit more before standing. “I’ve got to get going. Second shift today. Nice to see you again, Scarla.” Here Scarla responded likewise, and then the other woman tipped her head to Colt. “Can you walk me out?”

  Scarla assumed Caroline had something more to discuss with Colt about Seth, and she used the opportunity to scurry toward the guesthouse. She would Google Bradley Walker’s home, and see if it was on one of the celebrity tours. She didn’t want to have to ask Gage for anything anymore.

  With that thought, she entered her accommodations and headed straight for the bathroom first. What she didn’t count on was the room being directly below the incline where Colt and Caroline stood conversing on the driveway and their voices carried clearly somehow, through the intake vent.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not asking for me! I’m telling you what I know. And if you want your band to stay together, you need to get her out of here.”

  “And you know about her and Gage how?”

  “I have eyes. It’s that simple. Keep your cock in your pants with this one. And if you’ve already fucked her, then get ready for the fallout!”

  At first, Scarla was startled and couldn’t seem to stop eavesdropping. But finally shocked enough by Caroline’s words, she backed out of the room.

  Chapter 26

  The walls trembled with the aftershocks of his frustration. Every agonizing emotion went into the instrument and manifested into a thunderous symphony of sound. The chord progression was angry, rising and holding through several measures before falling again. As the abuse to his instrument began to tax his limbs, his mind, and the jaw he’d held clenched for too long, the trip back down the G scale slowed. He plucked at the strings instead of tearing at them. The melody declined from a raging hurricane to a spring shower and then to the gentleness of falling tears.

  He ceased playing and flicked the pick aside. Using both hands, he tucked his sweat-dampened hair behind his ears. Ironically, when the hush fell around him, he could hear his cell phone ringing beneath the placid surface of the pool. This caused a fresh wave of pain—a reminder that only minutes before flipping out and chucking the phone into the water he’d maxed out the volume so he wouldn’t miss Scar’s text or call.

  Trading the guitar in hand for the pool skimmer, he scooped the now silent phone from its watery resting place and wondered how deep one point five meters was, when converted to feet. The factory advised safe depth must not have been exceeded, because the phone chirped with a text as droplets rolled from every surface.

  Nothing from Scar.

  He checked Colt-the-traitor’s thread to see if anything had been sent after the ‘idiot’ text.

  Nothing.

  He ignored all other blinking names. Returning inside, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and paced. He wanted nothing more than to crank his bike and roar down the mountain the few miles to Colt’s. Colt would only hurt her. He was capable of being a decent guy, but that wasn’t going to happen until he and Caroline got their shit straight and committed to one another.

  The next minute he
cursed Scarlette for the way she’d acted and hoped he didn’t see her again. Who was she to be judgmental? To assume because she didn’t agree with something, it was wrong for everyone?

  This seesaw from one emotional extreme to the other had plagued him all day. And what was beginning to bother him even more was the thought of the other Clear Morning packet. The one he’d been so sure he wouldn’t use—but not sure enough to dump it into the toilet this morning with the shredded paper of the empty one.

  He fisted his hair, trying to remember how far back he’d graduated from user to addict. He never deluded himself. But he had never cared either. Until lately. Colt had told him he couldn’t write a hit song when he was fucked up and it was true. But he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared he’d wasted the detox stage of rehab and that there was only one cure for his crawling skin, until Scar had made him feel like a loser junkie.

  The trash bag outside was calling his name.

  He ventured out to the containers and stood a moment. Rascal searched the tiny side yard, looking for a stick and finally broke off a twig from a hedge. Still eyeing the trashcan, he absentmindedly threw the ‘stick’ and wiped dog slobber from his fingers to his pants.

  Finally, he scrolled through his phone looking for the brunette from a couple of months ago who had refused all party favors except beer. It took several minutes to skim through the notes by the contact names until he found the one he wanted.

  Her face filled his phone screen on the second ring and she smiled a happy grin. “Hey.”

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “Hi!”

  “Want to hook up?”

  And what happened next was not surprising considering his day. From beyond her side of the phone, a male voice demanded to know who she was talking to. The screen went black, and he heard her call back to this unseen man, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  And then in a normal tone she spoke back into the phone with a giggle. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  “What? No. No you won’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “Who’s that? With you?”

  “My boyfriend. But we have an open relationship.” She practically whispered.

  “No you don’t. Go fuck your boyfriend.”

  His thumb ended the call.

  What the hell had just happened? For sure, he never knowingly messed with married women. But boyfriends; game on. What was going on inside his fucked up head? The trash bin tempted him again. It was easy to imagine his black goodie bag inside the knotted plastic bag.

  Unlocking his screen, he dialed desperately again. Please. Please. Please. He put distance between him and the trash and threw a fresh ‘stick’ for Rascal. The rings went to voicemail.

  “Hey. Scar? I wish you were here. But I understand why you’re not. I do. Yeah, I do. I’m not happy about it, but… Anyway, I was just hoping to hear your voice. To talk…”

  He ended the call.

  Wandering to the trash can, he opened the lid. Flipping open the blade of his pocketknife, he slashed a hole in the bag and retrieved his kit. It was early, but he made sure the house was locked and turned out the downstairs lights before going up to his room. Dropping the kit to the vanity, he pulled the zipper and delved his fingers inside for the folded paper.

  For several seconds, he lost himself, eyeing the stamp. A half sun and half cloud. He unfolded it, dumped it into the toilet. As he’d done this morning, he ripped the paper into tiny bits. But this morning, the paper had been empty. Now, when he flushed, both paper and powder swirled in the whirlpool of the bowl before disappearing.

  That was that. Temptation removed.

  Chapter 27

  They went to the sushi restaurant Colt had suggested when asking her out the day she’d met him.

  She drank too much wine and knew this to be the case when she found herself wanting to slide into his lap. He’d pinched a rainbow roll between his chopsticks and held it out to her to try. That’s all. No holding her hand or sneaking a touch here and there. No brush of his long legs against hers at the bar. A freaking taste when she’d shaken her head that she’d never eaten that flavor, and he could have pulled her into his lap and had his way with her.

  Excusing herself, she escaped to the bathroom and wiped at her neck with a cool hand towel. Giving herself an extra couple of minutes to sober up, she pulled her phone from her purse and saw the missed call. Putting it to her ear, she listened to Gage’s voicemail. If she hadn’t known him so well, hadn’t grown up with him, she might have missed the forlorn pitch of his voice.

  Quickly, she dialed and breathed in relief when he answered, but then she found herself tongue tied after the initial greetings.

  “I miss you.” He repeated that part of his voicemail. “You still at Colt’s?”

  “Yeah. I mean, we’re eating now at that place he’s so crazy about. But yeah.”

  “You’re breaking up. Sorry I didn’t get that.”

  “I said yes. But we’re not there right now. At his house.”

  “Dammit, I can’t… You’re breaking up.”

  “I’ll call you in a little bit.”

  “Yeah. Dammit.”

  When the call ended, she texted him for good measure and hoped it went through.

  Feeling surer of her ability to resist the rock star charm, she rejoined Colt, and they left the restaurant. While they were waiting for his car to be brought around, he asked with amazing ESP, “Heard from Gage yet?”

  “I missed a few calls from him. Tried to call him in the ladies room just then, but there was no signal.” As she slid into the passenger seat and watched him tip the valet, an idea struck her. When he folded into the car, she asked, “You hear from him?”

  “Sort of. This morning. He wasn’t in a talking mood.”

  “How often does he… How often does…” She couldn’t say it.

  “Get strung out?”

  She nodded.

  “A lot now. It was a ‘once every few weeks’ thing until this last year. Then the second we were off tour, he’d be fucked up all the time. He cleaned up enough to make another album, go on tour again. But halfway through the tour he was using so much he was fucking up the shows. And getting us sued.” Here he downshifted and threw her a meaningful look. “I know you think the rest of us have no pity at the possibility of him doing time. But that may be the only way to clean him up—the only place he can’t walk out of.”

  A tremor ran through her limbs at the idea of Gage behind bars.

  Colt only scanned music stations, and a few miles, exits, and turns later stopped in a parking lot. “Want to see something cool?”

  She was already beholding the ocean at sunset, and the sight rendered her incapable of much more than an agreeable nod. Golden hues shimmered on cresting waves, and an ethereal glow bathed pedestrians as the sun melted into the horizon.

  The car locked as they left it. Colt was carrying a hoodie and a cap. He slipped his signature-tattooed arms through the jacket and jammed the cap onto his skull, pulling the bill low over his forehead. A pair of shades completed the transformation of rock star to average Joe.

  Yeah right. Only if the average Joe wore over a grand of clothing and accessories!

  Rubbing her bare arms against the chilling gusts rolling in from the sea to the left, she enjoyed the beauty around her as they traversed a concrete path in the sand, which ran parallel to the beach. When the sight of the surf disappeared behind walls of graffiti art, her eyes rounded. They roamed the exhibition, and although she knew he’d seen it hundreds of times, he was patient while she took it all in. Even the trunks of the palm trees were beautifully painted.

  They resumed following the path, and the beach-at-sunset view on their left was again unhindered. His destination was just ahead. As they drew closer, she saw bodies in various gliding stages. Scattered spectators watched skateboarders leap from ramps, glide around concrete bowls, and what she later learned were ollie stairs. Colt chose a vantage point near a large curved r
amp, and she propped on the guardrail beside him.

  It was amazing to watch the skaters, who ranged from nine or ten, through to adult, navigate the course. When one particularly skilled teen glided by, his long hair cascading from beneath his helmet and flying behind him, Colt elbowed her. As the skater circled again, she recognized Seth. The board gathered speed, ramped up the wall, caught air, twisted, and came down again.

  This impressive display incited shouts and calls from specific bystanders, including the two of them. A particularly vocal group of teen girls shouted his name along with hoots of encouragement… “Helluva handplant, Seth! Yes!”

  Colt flicked his eyes their way, and thinking he’d be proud his son was apparently the babe magnet he himself was, she teased, “Hot fan club.” But the curve of Colt’s lips was more automatic than amused, and he didn’t reply.

  After a few more minutes of filming with his phone, Colt sent a text—apparently to his son. Because almost immediately, Seth waved at the girls as he glided beside them and then stopped in front of his dad. As dusk encroached, the bystanders had thinned, and an exodus had begun from the skate park.

  Colt and Seth high-fived, and Seth skated alongside as they began to walk toward the car. A few boys rolled over and some goodbyes were said. One of the teens joined them in the migration to where Colt had parked. Now it made sense why Colt had opted for the Jeep and not one of his sports cars.

  “Jeter’s getting picked up at our house.” Seth spoke of his friend.

  “Okay,” Colt agreed, and then teased Jeter. “We’ll see you when we get there then, buddy.”

  The boy expelled an embarrassed laugh, and Seth rolled his blue eyes. “My dad thinks he’s sooo funny.”

  At that point, Colt grinned and sent an identical smoky-blue eye roll to her. “I am sooo funny. Scarla thinks I’m funny. Right?”

  She responded with a smile and he reached for her hand.

  At the boys’ request, Colt swung through a Taco Bell drive-through. While waiting for their food, which included at least half the menu, Seth asked to borrow his dad’s phone. Colt passed it back without question, but Seth alluded to his intent reprovingly. “You haven’t tweeted in days.”