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Guarded

Page 21

by L. A. Witt


  And then of course there was that guitarist who we all wanted to believe was getting his shit together for real this time. There was nothing Jordan and I could do behind closed doors that would make a lick of difference to anything out here in the real world. I could protect him from fans, stalkers, and psychos, and I could give him some release and a temporary escape, but there was nothing I could do to protect him from his own life.

  The coffeepot dinged. I poured myself a cup, pausing to roll some stiffness out of my shoulders.

  Soft footsteps raised the hairs on my neck. Cup in hand, I turned around.

  Jordan met my gaze with sleepy eyes. “Morning.”

  “Morning. Coffee?”

  “Oh my God, yes.”

  I pulled a cup from the cabinet. “Feeling okay?”

  “Yeah.” The answer sounded half-hearted, and when I glanced at him, his eyes were down.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He met my eyes and managed something close to a smile. “Just tired.” I held his gaze, and after a second, he broke eye contact. “A lot on my mind, I guess.”

  Pouring his coffee, I said, “Anything in particular?”

  “The usual.”

  That didn’t need any elaboration. The sex was over, the sun was up, and now reality was elbowing its way in just like it always did. We could only avoid it for so long.

  “I was thinking.” I sipped my coffee and set it down on the counter. “Maybe we should talk about a few things.”

  Jordan stiffened a little. “Oh yeah? Such as…?”

  “Uh, well.” I chewed my lip. “Daniel.”

  Jordan dropped his gaze. “What about him?”

  “Well, you tell me.” Resting my hands on the edge of the counter on either side of me, I shifted my weight. “He’s not going to stay in rehab forever.”

  Laughing dryly, Jordan hugged himself. “Sometimes I wonder if that wouldn’t be good for him.”

  “Maybe it would, but we both know—”

  “Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “And he wants out sooner than later.” He swallowed like that simple action took far more effort than it should have. “He wants me to sign him out.”

  I watched him for a moment. “Do you want to do it?”

  “I want him to get better.” Jordan lifted his gaze and finally met my eyes. “But I also know he’s going crazy in there.”

  “Which might be a necessary evil. A lot of people get stir crazy in rehab.”

  “I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess when I go visit again, I can sit down with Daniel and his therapist. See what their recommendation is.”

  I nodded. At least the therapists at the rehab facility knew how addicts worked. They knew all the games, and they knew damn well how not to be manipulated. If the therapist thought Daniel was ready for the outside world, I was more willing to accept that than if Daniel said he was.

  “When do you want to go?” I asked softly. “Sounds like things didn’t go so smoothly yesterday.” Was it really yesterday? Last night had become like a giant gap between this morning and anything else that had ever happened. Yesterday seemed as far away as our first night together.

  “Probably sooner than later.” Jordan took a deep breath, setting his shoulders back. “It would probably be better for him if all that shit didn’t stay unresolved.”

  “It’d be better for you too.”

  Jordan didn’t say anything.

  “What about after he gets out?” I hesitated. “What... what then?”

  As quickly as he’d pushed them back as if to steel himself against seeing Daniel again, Jordan let his shoulders fall. “Christ. I have no idea.”

  “Well, maybe that’s what we should talk about now.” I picked up my coffee cup. “Let’s go sit.”

  We carried our coffee into the living room, and both sat gingerly—him more so than me—on the couch.

  After we’d sat in silence for a minute or so, Jordan said, “What do you think I should do?”

  “I can’t make that decision for you.”

  “I’m not asking you to make it for me.” He looked in my eyes. “But you’ve been there. I need... I can’t do this on my own. I need your advice.”

  I sat up a bit and put a hand on his knee. “I guess it depends on what you want from here on out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Daniel lives with you. He’s part of your band.” I watched my thumb trace gentle arcs along the inside of Jordan’s knee. “Let’s start with him living with you. Do you want him to stay?”

  “I…” Jordan exhaled hard. “I don’t think I should kick him out. He, uh, tends to do better—stay sober longer—when he’s living with me than when he’s on his own.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re obligated to let him stay.” Anger flashed in his eyes, but I gently squeezed his knee. “I know why you do, though, and I’m not going to tell you to throw him out.”

  “What should I do, then?”

  I reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear. “I wish I knew, to be honest. It’s not easy, and I won’t pretend it is.”

  I expected a sarcastic retort or something to the effect of “that’s helpful,” but instead, he released a long breath, and I swore some of the tension melted out of his posture. If it was possible to see a weight lifting off someone’s shoulders, I was pretty sure that was what I was seeing, as if he’d just needed to hear that it really wasn’t an easy thing and that he wasn’t stupid for grasping for an answer.

  “C’mere,” I whispered, and wrapped my arms around him. Just as I thought he might, he relaxed against me. I held him carefully, trying not to aggravate the welts that were still healing on his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. “I really wish I could give you a definitive answer. Some way to fix everything with him.”

  “I wish an answer like that existed.” He sighed again. “And now the label’s putting pressure on us to get back out on the road.” He lifted his head and met my eyes. “But I think that’s the worst possible thing for Daniel. And without him…”

  “Maybe you can work out a deal with the label.”

  Jordan furrowed his brow. “What kind of deal?”

  “Cut another album.” I touched his face just because I wanted some more contact. “Tell the label you’ll make another record, which will give Daniel more time to recover, and then by the time you hit the road to promote this one, the band should be back in its groove. Seems like a better idea in the long run than going out now, while Daniel’s still finding his feet.”

  Jordan exhaled. “Except that means the band’s losing all the money we would’ve made from the tour.”

  “But the label will make money off the new album.” I stroked his cheek. “It blows that you guys will take a hit, but it’ll keep you in Millennium’s good graces and be healthier for Daniel.”

  “Good point.” He paused, and then a smile cracked his exhausted expression. “Guess that gives me an excuse to spend some time writing more songs.”

  Returning the smile, I ran my fingers through his hair. “Do you need an excuse?”

  “Not really.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  His smile fell a little, and so did his gaze. “I should go see Daniel soon. Maybe tomorrow.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Better we hash things out now while he’s still in a safe place than do it after he gets home.”

  “Do you want me to drive you?”

  He looked at me again. “You don’t mind?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The smile returned with a bit more feeling than before. “Thank you.”

  “Any time.”

  “I guess I should call Martin first. See if this idea of yours is something they’ll even go for.”

  “More coffee first?”

  “Fuck. Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jordan

  Jase brought me home a little before noon. The house seemed weirdly quiet and still, everythin
g exactly the way we’d left it—Jesus, how many days ago? They all bled into each other, a blurry kaleidoscope of sex and pain and—

  Love.

  We’d gone and said it, hadn’t we? And there was no taking it back, not that I wanted to. For the first time in... well, ever, I’d started to hope this thing might actually go the distance. I’d felt like I was ready to shake apart for months now, but just looking at Jase standing at the edge of my balcony was enough to steady me. Just knowing he was close at any other time—either by the soft puff of his breath on my skin or his hand at the small of my back or closing my eyes and basking in his presence—unjangled my nerves and helped me breathe easy.

  “When do you want to go see Daniel?” he asked.

  I scooped up my phone, scrolling idly through the contacts. “I’d better talk to Martin first.” As if by telepathy, the scroll landed on Martin’s number. My thumb hovered over it, but I didn’t dial. “Should I ask him to come here, or go to his office?”

  “How many times has he been up to the house?”

  “A few. Mostly when there was some, uh, sticky business to work out.” Aka, deciding whether to send Daniel to rehab again.

  “He’ll know it’s urgent if you summon him here. It’ll probably rattle his cage too.”

  Martin could do with a little cage-rattling. Going behind my back to pay off my two exes proved he thought I was weak. Out of control. Time to show him just how wrong he was. I smiled grimly and hit the speed-dial.

  He showed up forty-five minutes later, sweat beading his forehead, his lips edged in white. Already nice and rattled. Good. Jase ushered him into the living room, but I didn’t offer him a seat. Best to let him know exactly where he stood—right in front of me.

  “I saw Daniel yesterday, but you already know that, right? He probably raced to the phone to call you the second I left.” He didn’t say a thing, but I could see the wheels turning. Trying to figure out the best way to spin this, as usual. “I know about you two conspiring to pay off Mark and Evan.”

  That got a rise out of him. “Jordan, we didn’t—”

  “Don’t you fucking lie to me.” I rose, catching Jase’s glance. He stood in the doorway, eyeing Martin with barely hidden contempt—whereas mine was on full display, and I had no problem raising it to the next level. “And if you want to keep your job, you’ll tell me what else you’ve done to stab me in the back right fucking now.”

  From his bulging eyes, that’d plainly put the fear of God in him. No Rules wasn’t Martin’s only client, but we were his biggest. Losing us would definitely put a dent in his bank account. “Nothing, I swear. Jordan, Daniel and I were only thinking of you—”

  “Funny how none of those thoughts involved talking to me first.”

  “Galloway and Carter were leeches. Opportunists. All they wanted was the money.”

  “Really? They told you that?” Now I really, really wished I was holding Jase’s whip. “You’re the one who put them in my path. You practically wrapped them up and sent them to me, didn’t you?”

  No answer.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he hissed. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. It was the only way to keep you in line—”

  “Keep me in line? Me?” I got right up in his face, hands curled at my side. Itching to punch him in the fucking throat. “I’m the only thing holding this band together, in case you haven’t fucking noticed—”

  “In between picking up guys from the crew and letting them choke you?” His face went red. “Do you know what kind of danger you’ve exposed yourself and the band to? Bad enough that old girlfriend of yours dropped a few hints to the tabloids, but if this hits the news, you can kiss all those big stadium shows goodbye. Remember what happened to Michael Jackson’s career after that trial?”

  “I don’t fuck kids,” I snapped, suddenly very conscious of Martin’s gaze landing on that strip of black leather around my throat. Shit. I should’ve asked Jase to take it off.

  “What if some kid decides it’s cool to strangle himself to get off, because he’s heard you do it? What if he ends up injured or dead? You and the band could be sued for millions.”

  “Only if people find out—”

  “Which they would’ve, the way you were going. Five, six different guys on the last tour? At least I know Galloway and Carter won’t say anything.”

  Fuck. Paranoid as it all sounded, Martin had a point. I’d been reckless in my choice of partners on that last tour. Went after whichever hot guy happened to catch my attention, assuming no one on our crew would ever betray me to the press, when I already knew that wasn’t true.

  Jase’s gaze locked on mine. Was he thinking the same thing, or—

  Had Martin put him in my path too?

  Swallowing, I turned back to Martin. “Book us some studio time, starting next month.”

  His eyes went wide, big, shiny dollar signs glowing in their bottomless depths. “You’ve got enough new material to start recording again?”

  “We will in a month.”

  An I guess you’re not firing me smirk flickered over his face. “What about Daniel?”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Jordan, listen—”

  “I said, I’ll talk to him. And let me clarify one more thing—if you ever go behind my back again, for any reason, I will fire your ass. I don’t need the rest of the band’s approval for it either.” Which was spelled out in black and white in our contract. Still, it couldn’t hurt to remind him who had the upper hand. “Leave Daniel alone. I’ll deal with him from here on out.”

  “But—”

  “Did I fucking stutter?”

  The icy look I shot him froze him in place. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

  “That’s what I like to hear from my employees.” I waited a second for that to sink in, then, “Call me when you’ve booked the studio time.”

  In other words, you’re fucking dismissed.

  I picked up my guitar and started strumming while Jase escorted Martin to the front door. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me when he came back, though he didn’t venture closer than the kitchen doorway. “You really threw into a scare into the poor guy,” he said.

  “Don’t feel sorry for him. He makes millions off us every year. Which is the only loyalty he has to us, obviously.” Sighing, I closed my eyes and started playing again, and—there it was, a snippet of that new verse I’d come up with the other night. A few more stray notes and it faded away, replaced by an awful thought that’d been rattling half-formed around my brain for the last few minutes. “Jase…” I glanced up at him, patting the cushion beside me.

  He ambled over and sat down, but he didn’t put his arm around me, like he usually did. Hell, he wasn’t even sitting close enough to touch.

  Not making this any easier.

  Dammit, just say it.

  “I don’t want to ask you this, but I have to,” I said. “And no matter what you say, I’ll still—”

  “No, Martin did not pay me to sleep with you. He didn’t pay me to break up with you either. That was your idea.”

  He didn’t sound angry, thank God. But he still wasn’t touching me, or even looking at me. “I know.”

  “You still don’t trust me, do you?” he said.

  “I do trust you. You know I do.”

  “But you still doubt me.” Now he looked at me, and the expression in his eyes was... well, heartbreaking was the only thing to call it. “I’m not your ex-girlfriend. I’m not one of those guys who betrayed you. I’m not Daniel.” He coughed out a short, ugly chuckle. “But I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t love Daniel that way. I haven’t for fucking ages.”

  “But what you have with him is stronger than what we have. And if I want to be with you, I’ll have to accept that.”

  “Not stronger, just…” What’s the right word? Deeper? Longer? Something sounding a little less like the back copy on a porno DVD? �
�I love you, Jase. But Daniel and I are family.”

  “Doesn’t exchanging ‘I love you’s make me family too?”

  “Of course it does, but…” I inhaled. “Before we left for LA, my mom made me and Daniel promise we’d always take care of each other. If I break my promise to him, I’m breaking it to her too.”

  “I don’t think your mother would want you to suffer the way you do over him. She sounds like a pretty wise lady. Which means she probably knew how to spot a lost cause.”

  Except I don’t—well, didn’t—think he’s lost.

  I reached for his hand. “I love you, Jase. Nobody else. I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life proving it if I have to.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything.” His expression softening, he leaned in to kiss me on the forehead, then picked my guitar up off the floor and handed it to me. “Better get back to work. You’ve got a month to write a whole album. No pressure, huh?” He winked and kissed me on the lips. “Shall I turn on the MP3 recorder?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He drifted back out onto the balcony while I started playing again. The notes rolled through me, but nothing interesting or even especially coherent. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions I couldn’t get a handle on. Confusion. How did Daniel dupe me like that? Anger at myself for taking him at face value when he’d proved over and over that he’d put his addiction above everything and everyone else.

  Including me. Martin would’ve never known about the guys from the crew if not for Daniel. Paying off Mark and Evan had to be his idea—Martin wouldn’t part with a dollar if you put a gun to his head. All to keep me occupied so I wouldn’t come between Daniel and his beloved meth and coke.

  I riffled through the pile of scribbled lyrics on the table, looking for that sheet of paper I’d seen the other day. The one with, He’s either gonna save me or destroy me on it.

  At this point it was pretty fucking clear Daniel wouldn’t be playing any part in saving me. But he might very well end me if I hung on much longer. As for saving him, was it even possible to save someone so intent on destroying himself?

  Maybe the best thing was to simply let him.

 

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