“I have to slow down, babe, or I’m going to come too fast,” he uttered, his voice strained.
Her eyes jolted up to his from where they’d been admiring his hard-working muscles. She unclenched her fists and reached for him, barely clasping on to the sides of his ripped torso. “Come here,” she said, getting a grip and pulling him closer. He pulled out and let her slide up the bed so he could climb up on the mattress. He wrapped his arms around her body as he found passage again inside her, holding her so close, she swore she could feel his heart thumping against her skin.
He was a gear grinding against her, fitting inside her perfectly. Her hips rose to meet him, the rhythm emanating from the two primal beasts inside them. His skin slick against hers, his musky scent filling her nostrils, she hadn’t ever felt the spring inside her coiled so tightly, with enough energy to launch a rocket into space.
“Let go, angel,” he encouraged her with a grunt into her ear. Her hands traced down the firm muscles in his back as a bead of sweat ran down his face. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The other partners she’d had since taking her vow of exploration never felt like this, like him. They were separate entities from her, two distinct individuals using each other’s tools to find their release. Mechanical. Satisfying for a moment, but there was no longevity to that pleasure... It faded like cut flowers in a vase.
Something about Garrett, about them together, holding each other, their bodies functioning like one—it was so different. The pressure building inside her was deeper, rawer, more explosive than anything she had ever experienced before. And when her climax came, when she shuddered around him, it felt like tiny pieces of her were melting into him—and when he followed suit, she soaked him inside her so fully, so completely, he could never be washed away.
Eighteen
Opening night. He’d poured himself a drink to calm the nerves rattling through him.
He never got nervous before opening night. But being an understudy who was fired and then re-hired, not to mention barely having enough time to cram the script into his head, was enough to shake Shakespeare himself.
The stress had caused the voice of Clark Bowman to flare up in his mind until it became a raging wildfire threatening to consume him. A wildfire that could not be extinguished no matter how much he tried to douse the flames with booze.
“Boy, is that fag show of yours going on this week?” Clark had bellowed up the stairs when Garrett was getting ready to leave for the opening night performance of Godspell, the spring musical at his high school.
Garrett ignored his stepfather. He always tried to ignore him, but Clark was relentless. “Son, you better answer me, or I’m gonna come up there and beat your disrespectful ass.”
“Yes, it’s opening night,” Garrett had answered.
As soon as the idea that maybe, just maybe his stepfather wanted to wish him well for a change, tell him to break a leg, sprang to his mind, Clark ripped it away, like tearing a scab from a wound.
“I don’t know why your mother is so damn proud of you. I’m glad you ain’t my son—I’d never let no son of mine be in some fairy show like that. Goddamn fags!” Then he’d taken a huge swig of whiskey and belched nearly loud enough to rattle the windows.
That scene had been playing in Garrett’s mind on repeat all week.
The week before a show opened was always crazy. It never failed. He’d put in thirty hours at the theatre doing his “day job” and was there every night till eleven trying to get his head out of his ass and remember all his lines. It had been so much easier to memorize scripts and lyrics when he was in his twenties. He’d coped with the bottle again, just like he had after being escorted off campus after the Mara Atkins debacle.
Chase had brought him more tequila, laughing at him. “This is why I don’t do musicals, lindo. Memorizing lines is bad enough, but music too? Besides, I can’t sing worth a shit.”
Chase had come back from New York exhausted. Garrett asked him how everything had gone with the photo shoot, and all Chase said was that he’d visited some family while he was in town. But it didn’t seem like the visit had gone well judging by the look on his face.
“I can get you tickets to the show tonight,” Garrett had offered, trying to cheer him up. After all, Chase had been nothing but an angel to him—not to mention being his booze supplier that week. The least he could do is get his roommate’s mind off things for an hour or two.
“Hey, that sounds cool. Can I get two?”
Garrett’s eyebrows had waggled. “Wanna bring a date?”
Chase had nodded. “I met someone right before I went to New York, and he happens to love musicals.” His striking eyes were even bluer than usual, which Garrett hadn’t thought possible. “I think you’ll be seeing him around the apartment soon.” He gave a wink.
Garrett imagined Chase had little trouble gaining interest from either sex with his gorgeous physique, charming demeanor, and killer smile. It would be a comfort to have a familiar face in the audience as well. It had been nearly two weeks now since he’d fooled around with Chase and Anjuli, and there was not even a lingering odor of awkwardness, for which Garrett was deeply appreciative.
If only things were as clear-cut with Anjuli.
Ever since they’d been together at her apartment after rehearsal the week before, she’d been distant. He didn’t understand it, either, though he suspected she disapproved of his drinking again. They’d had a somewhat serious discussion about their relationship, and she claimed she wasn’t interested in any type of strings. Garrett was surprised, but he realized Anjuli was focused on her career and her daughter—not to mention getting this show under her belt. As exhilarating as performing was, there was always that intermittent sense of just wanting it to be over, to have survived the grueling pressure and harsh lights of the stage.
She’d been so distant since that night, even though their romp in her bed was nothing short of legendary. Garrett had had his share of lovers, both male and female, and there were very few he had the same level of chemistry with as he did with Anjuli.
He was trying to think of what things might be like after the show ended—what if she ended their fling? Then he’d simply be a maintenance guy at the theatre again, no big role, no star power...and no more those eyes or sexy goddess in his bed several nights a week.
He finished his drink and poured another. He was still waiting to hear something from James McAllister, Sarah’s husband, regarding his brother. He’d given James the information the week before via email, but he hadn’t heard back. Just knowing it was another dead-end would be better than the crickets he was getting now. At least then he could move on to another avenue. He was still curious as to why Martin Foster’s parents claimed not to have heard from Jackson. Even Lilly said that was bullshit when he told her. There was definitely a mystery there he wanted to get to the bottom of.
He took some deep breaths and tried to do some vocal warmups, but his leg kept shaking. Thankfully the makeup artist had already finished with him. Now he was just awaiting the stage manager to give him his five-minute cue. He needed another drink to fully subdue his nerves.
He had been sleeping so much better, something he credited to Anjuli, but he hadn’t gone to bed with her since the night of their discussion. Meanwhile, his nightmares had come back with a vengeance. He tried to drown out the voices lingering there since he’d woken up that morning. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it was eight. The monitors would soon come alive with the first notes of the overture, and “All That Jazz” would be pumping through them soon after.
Energy surged through her as she waited for the lights to come up and the curtains to open. Frozen in place, she listened to the orchestra wind up like a music box, grinding out the overture until the sound soared above the stage. This is it, she told herself, the moment I have been waiting for.
She had been on this crazy, breathtaking journey to reinvent herself after her daughter flew the coop, and tonight Mishti wo
uld be in the audience seeing her mother as she had never seen her before. Anjuli had always wanted to get back on stage again, like she had in college. Performing a lead role had been a dream, one she never thought would come to fruition at her age.
But here she was. The cast was frozen in place, all ready to sing and dance. Garrett was backstage, awaiting his first song; and her beautiful daughter, her boyfriend, and coworker Scott and his wife were there cheering her on. Even if things were awkward with Garrett, even if she hadn’t been able to locate his brother—well, life was pretty damn good.
There was an expression her father used to say to her. It didn’t translate perfectly into English, but the closest equivalent she knew of was “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” As hard as it was to keep from thinking what if?, she was choosing to be happy with what she’d been given. And she’d sort the crazy stuff out with Garrett later. Actually, once the show was over and she didn’t have to see him every day, it would be the perfect time to close that door, take what she’d learned—and she had learned a lot about herself, her body and what really revved her motors—and apply it to something new, something more...realistic.
She heard her cue as if it came from inside her, she was so in tune with Roxie Hart. Gone was Anjuli Raina, it was time to shine...
She was in place for her scene with Curt Oliver, the man who played Fred Casely, her lover. This was her least favorite scene in the entire show, but at least it was first and then over with. The characters are just getting dressed after doing the deed, and Roxie begins to harass Fred about meeting up with some of his show-biz connections. Roxie isn’t very happy when Fred admits he doesn’t actually have any connections and just used that line to get her into bed.
Anjuli felt the anger and resentment burn inside her toward Fred. She only had to picture Mishti’s father, the man who walked out on her when she first found out she was pregnant. Curt didn’t look unlike Mishti’s father, actually, so that helped. She reached for the gun on the side table by the bed and turned to point it at Fred.
“But sweetheart,” he tried to negotiate.
“Don’t sweetheart me, you son of a bitch,” she sneered, aiming the gun toward his head. She paused for a moment, waiting for the sound tech to play the gunshot sound effect, but it didn’t come. She felt a lightning bolt of nerves race down her spine as she inadvertently pulled the trigger, not expecting anything to happen.
Boom!
An ear-splitting blast rocketed out of the gun, and Fred fell over as the lights dimmed on their side of the stage and re-illuminated on Velma’s side with the cabaret dancers. Anjuli’s heart was about to explode as she scrambled to Fred to make sure there hadn’t been a bullet in the gun. He lifted his head just before she let out a scream, but then—
Then a shout rang out from the backstage area. It sounded like a woman, it was so high-pitched and shrill. Anjuli scrambled to her feet just as “All That Jazz” finished, and the audience roared with applause. They didn’t realize the gunshot wasn’t supposed to happen.
Her heart still thundering, Anjuli rushed backstage. It was dark, but she heard a hum of activity down the hallway where the dressing rooms were. She couldn’t tell if the show was still going on or not; the monitors had fallen silent.
A crowd of cast members had assembled outside the men’s dressing room. Her heart still ready to take flight out of her ribcage, Anjuli pushed her way through the mumbling actors until she caught sight of Garrett’s long frame sprawled out on the floor of the dressing room with Nigel hovering over him.
Her hands flew to her mouth. “What happened?” she gasped, barging her way through the remaining obstacles until she could see Garrett’s face. His eyes were closed, his fire-red hair in disarray from the slicked-back style he wore for the role of Billy Flynn.
“I don’t know what’s going on!” Nigel rushed out. His eyes were glistening with tears, and she realized right then it was Nigel who had screamed.
“Call 9-1-1,” she blurted out, her training kicking in. She saw the glass bottle and plastic cup on the dressing room table by the mirror. Fuck, she was afraid he’d started drinking again...
“I did,” said a voice behind her. It was Tom, the building manager and Garrett’s boss. “They’re on their way.”
Nigel stood up, sniffling, his whole body shaking. “I came in here to make sure he was ready, and when that gunshot went off, he just fucking collapsed. What the hell happened out there, anyway?”
Now tears were streaming down Anjuli’s face too, wet and hot on her cheeks. “I don’t know; I don’t know. The sound effect didn’t happen; I just pulled the trigger. I didn’t know it was loaded.”
“Just blanks,” the props manager said from the crowd. “There are only blanks in the gun.”
“Why didn’t the gunshot sound effect go off?” Anjuli shouted. Her body was trembling with so much adrenaline, she thought she might be able to lift Garrett up and fly him to the hospital with her chemical-induced strength. She knelt beside him and checked his pulse. “He’s still breathing.”
The sound tech, Brad, had run down the stairs from the loft shouting apologies. “I’m so sorry, Juli, fuck! What the hell happened?”
“We don’t know,” Nigel explained as the cast members who had just finished “All That Jazz” filed into the hallway.
“What’s going on?” the man playing Fred Casely yelled. “I thought you fucking shot me, Juli!”
Tom stepped out again from the crowd. “Nigel, you’re going to have to go cancel the performance. He’s out cold.” He shook his head and made a tsk sound. “Damn drunk. Should’ve known better than to let him come back.”
Nigel took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as if he was accepting the role of bearer of bad news. Anjuli remained crouched by Garrett’s side, squeezing his hand and waiting to hear the sound of the ambulance whine and whirl from the street.
It happened almost as soon as she thought it. The hospital was just around the corner, a small consolation. It was all a blur, the mumbling of the crowd, the conjectures, the sound of the paramedics’ radios going off as they made their way into the dressing room with a gurney.
Nigel returned from his announcement as the EMTs were making their way back to the loading dock. “Are you going to the hospital?” he asked Tom and Anjuli.
“I’ve got to tell my daughter,” Anjuli said, “and I’ll be there after that.”
Her body was moving on auto-pilot as she dodged the clumps of patrons in the house. There were whispers falling all around her as she searched for Mishti. She ran into Chase first, who was holding the hand of a handsome younger man with wispy dishwater blond hair and engaging gray eyes. “What happened?” Chase asked, his features pulled tight with concern.
“Garrett just passed out,” Anjuli explained. “I gotta find my daughter, then I’m going to head to the hospital.”
“Oh, is that her?” Chase’s face brightened as he pointed over his shoulder at a young couple standing near the exit to the lobby. “She looks just like you. I noticed her earlier and thought for sure she must be yours.”
Anjuli couldn’t suppress the smile that crept across her face. “Yes, thanks. Do you want to go too? Or—wait, are you on a date?” As soon as she said it, she realized she might have just intensely embarrassed the poor guy, but fortunately Chase’s grin widened as he nodded.
“Is Garrett going to be okay, though?” He saw Anjuli was flustered, so he waved off his question and insisted, “Go get your daughter. We’ll meet you there.” He looked at his date, who nodded solemnly.
Mishti made eye contact with her mother and began to walk toward her, a young man following behind. “Mom?” she asked when she got within six feet. “What happened? Did someone get shot?”
“No, no,” Anjuli assured her daughter as she pulled her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, though. One of our leads passed out. They just took him to the hospital.”
“We heard the ambulance. What happened? That gunsho
t sounded real—we were afraid you killed that dude!” Her beautiful features loosened with relief, almost able to find the humor in her statement, but still tentative.
“We aren’t sure yet...” She didn’t want to tell her daughter about Garrett’s drinking problem—what if it came out later they were lovers?
What would Mishti think about that?
She didn’t think she wanted to know.
“Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry. This is my boyfriend, Jensen Murray,” she said, turning to the young man with a shock of red hair and pale skin. Anjuli felt her face burn when she realized her daughter’s boyfriend’s hair was just as fiery red as Garrett’s.
What are the chances of that? No beard, though. Fuck. This is weird.
“Jensen,” Mishti continued, “this is my mother, Dr. Anjuli Raina.”
Anjuli didn’t miss the way her daughter emphasized the word “doctor,” and she couldn’t help that it made her chest puff out a little. But her thoughts were quickly torn away and directed to Garrett. What the hell happened? She had spoken to him before the show, and he seemed fine. Not even nervous. Less nervous than she felt, for sure. He was a veteran performer, after all.
“Mom?” Mishti prompted.
She looked down and saw that Jensen’s hand was extended, and he was looking at her expectantly. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s nice to meet you, Jensen.” She turned to her daughter. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried about my friend, and no, that gunshot wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It was supposed to be a sound effect, and I still don’t know why it didn’t go off like it was supposed to. I guess I pulled the trigger.”
“Literally and figuratively,” her daughter joked, elbowing her boyfriend in the side. He got a goofy grin on his face and stared at Mishti with adoration.
“Mom, we have something to talk to you about,” she said, her face going serious again. “Are you going to change out of your costume and meet us at home, or did you have other plans?”
The Navigator (Mountains Series Book 5) Page 18