By Degrees

by Elle Casey

  He squeezes my head. “Because this time, it’s different. Way different. You and Tarin …” He sighs and drops his gaze to the bed.

  “What? Me and Tarin, what?”

  Scott looks up again and his expression is just short of tortured. “I think he reminds you of Austin too much. It’s messing with your head.”

  I swallow hard. I hate hearing him say this. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m not trying to be mean, I promise. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “There’s no way for me to get hurt. It’s not like that.”

  Scott reaching up and presses my nose. I think it’s the only place on my body that’s not bruised, but it still hurts. “Truth,” he says, and then he waits.

  My heart hurts more than my ribs now. “I don’t want to talk truth. It hurts too much right now.”

  “Too bad for you that I’m all about the tough love. Talk to me.”

  “Since when are you all about the tough love?”

  “Since Austin died.”

  “Ouch.”

  He shrugs unapologetically. “Just tell me the truth. That way I know we’re both hearing it.”

  Tears fill my eyes. “When did you get so mean?”

  He squeezes my hand so hard it cuts off my circulation. “I’m not being mean. I love you, Scarlett. We may not share the same parents, but you’re my sister, and I don’t want to see you get destroyed all over again. You almost didn’t make it after Austin. Do you know how hard that was for me? To lose him and then almost lose you too? I don’t think I could take that. Please just talk to me. Tell me I don’t need to worry about you doing anything stupid.”

  I yank my hand away and then grimace at the pain it causes my ribs. “Fine, you want the truth? I’ll tell you the truth. I like him, okay? Probably way too much. Yes … he reminds me of Austin. A lot. But that’s not why I like him. He’s different in tons of ways. He’s wilder. He’s darker. He’s … Tarin. He’s not Austin.”

  “No, he’s no Austin.” Scott sounds bitter.

  “Don’t say it like that. He’s not a bad person.”

  “No. He’s just a spoiled asshole.”

  “Stop. Come on, you know that’s not true.”

  “I just don’t like that you like him. That’s my truth.” He’s pouting, lower lip sticking out and everything.

  “Oh, I see what this is all about. You want me for yourself.” I smile despite the pain, knowing this will gross him out.

  “That’s just sick. Now I’m picturing you without your clothes on and that’s just … wrong.” He stands. “I need to go wash my eyeballs off with soap.” He disappears into my bathroom and I laugh through the terrible pain my body moving causes me.

  The main door opens and Tarin steps partway in. “Mind if I come in?”

  “No, I don’t mind.” I hate that my heart goes soft just seeing him standing there. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just faced the wrong end of a gun, but the whole world looks different to me, and he’s included in that world. He’s the main focus of it.

  He mumbles something to someone over his shoulder and then comes in, shutting the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Safer.”

  Tarin takes the chair Scott just vacated and pulls it closer. His worried face is so close, it makes me both nervous and excited. My pulse picks up its pace and sweat breaks out on my back and forehead.

  “I can’t believe that shit happened,” he says. “I am so sorry. I really am. The doctor wasn’t supposed to say anything to me, but he told me your ribs are only badly bruised. You’re going to be okay. I’m so, so sorry that it happened. God, I feel like such an asshole.”

  “Yes, I know. And you can stop apologizing. It’s not your fault. Not really.”

  “Don’t lie. We both know I’m to blame. I brought her crazy ass up to the lawyer’s office for crissake.” He drops his head, shaking it slowly. “When will I ever learn? Playing with fire gets you burned every single time.”

  I hate that the atmosphere is going so dark so fast. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Tell me about By Degrees.”

  He looks up, confused. “What?”

  “Tell me about the band name. Where’s it from?” None of Scott’s research had uncovered the story behind the name. Now seems as good a time as any to bring it up. I need to distract him from the whole scene I just suffered through with Posey. Just thinking about her makes me want to clobber someone, and Tarin is way too close to be safe from my ire.

  Frowning, he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out right away. Then the door to the bathroom opens and Scott comes in, cutting off whatever Tarin was about to say.

  “Oh. You’re here.” Scott sounds very unhappy about the idea.

  Tarin turns. “Yeah.” He stands and walks over to Scott. “Listen, man … I’m sorry. I know how close you two are, and I just want you to know how sorry I am this happened to her. I’m taking the blame.”

  “Good, cuz you should. It’s your fault.”

  “Scott!” I struggle to sit up, but give up when the pain makes it too difficult.

  “If you hadn’t messed around with that chick earlier, she never would have thought it would be okay to go to your house. You practically invited her in. You can’t manage fans like that. Too many of them get the wrong idea.”

  “I know, man, I know that now. I’m sorry, I made a mistake.”

  Scott scoffs at that. “A mistake? As in one? Yeah, right. Be honest. It wasn’t just one mistake. You keep making them, don’t you?” He looks over at me, and I get the distinct impression he considers me one of those mistakes.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask Scott. This temper tantrum is coming out of nowhere. Yeah, I got hurt, but the only one really at fault here is Posey. I don’t know why he wants to lay it at Tarin’s feet so badly.

  “Just take it easy,” says Tarin. “I’m going to make sure nothing like this happens again.”

  “I’m already on that,” says Scott, moving past Tarin to get to the door. He looks over at me. “I’m going to make some calls and pull in some more security. Just tell the nurse if you need me. They all have my number. I’ll be here in the hospital, and I’m not leaving until you do.”

  “Thanks, Scott.” Now’s not the time to rip him the new one I think he’s begging for, so I leave it at that. The door clicks shut quietly behind him.

  Tarin stares at the door. “He really doesn’t like me, does he?”

  I sigh heavily. “No, he does. He’s just worried about me. I’m pretty much all he’s got and he’s just freaking out a little.”

  Tarin comes over and sits down. “I thought he had a dad still alive somewhere.”

  “He does, but he lives really far away and he’s retired … totally not the place Scott wants to be or would be happy in. He likes it out here in L.A., but if I wasn’t here, I don’t know if he’d stay.”

  “You guys are tight.”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Maybe he likes you. You know … maybe he’s jealous.”

  “No, that’s not it. He’s like my brother. But he’s got nothing to be jealous of anyway.” My heart spasms at my words and the awkward silence that rises up to smother me. I have to focus not to breathe heavily with the stress.

  “Yeah.” Tarin clears his throat. “So … uh … you wanted to know about the band name?”

  “Yes,” I say, happy to be on solid ground again, “tell me. Where’s it from? Did you come up with it?”

  He starts picking at the hospital bracelet on my wrist. “My last name is Kilgour. It’s Scottish.” The bracelet goes around and around as he spins it and talks. “Every clan in Scotland has a motto, and the one for the Kilgour clan is By degrees.”

  “Oh. That’s cool.”

  “But it’s more than that to me.”

  “Tell me,” I say, unable to tear my gaze from his face. He’s wide open, laying himself bare to me. I feel as though I’m the only person in
the world he’s shared this with.

  “You know how you see something and you think ‘I could never do that’ or you think ‘That’ll never happen to me’?”

  “Yeah …”

  “It’s not true. You have to know that those things aren’t true.” He pounds my hand gently with his fist to emphasize his words. “Just. Not. True.”

  I frown, wondering if the pain medication is interfering in my ability to understand what he’s saying. “I don’t get it.”

  “By degrees is a way to get past any obstacle. It’s also the way things can change in your life and you can become something you would never imagine for yourself. By degrees … little by little.”

  My throat closes up and gets sore with unshed tears. I can’t stop thinking about my past.

  “Like Austin,” he says, reading my mind and making me feel sick again. “He was the coolest guy, you know? I knew him when his career was just taking off. I was a nobody, but he took time to introduce me to people, to get me gigs, to make sure people listened to me. Even when I was doing things that other people were saying would never work, he believed in me.”

  “Yeah. He was good like that.” I want to cry for the loss of Austin’s kindness all over again. But all the tears I had for that are gone and the only thing left is a dull ache.

  Tarin continues. “But you know … he started to change. It wasn’t abrupt or big things. Just little by little. By degrees. First thing I noticed was him not returning calls. He got too busy for everyone. Then he started being a dick to fans and other new guys coming up on the scene.”

  “And other people who loved him,” I whisper, adding to Austin’s list of offenses. It feels wrong to join in, but I do it anyway. He did so many hurtful things before he died. It makes me angry to remember some of them, but saying them out loud is almost like therapy, like maybe if I launch the bad stuff out in the air around me, it can stop eating me up from inside.

  “Yeah. He was a dick to the people who loved him. To you and Scott. Then came the drugs and the … well, the other stuff.”

  “The other girls, you mean. Don’t worry … I know about them too.”

  “Yeah.” Tarin drops his gaze again and puts his warm hand over my cold one. “Austin went from being my hero to a being guy I hated, but it didn’t happen overnight. It happened by degrees. That’s how it always works. Little by little, things fall away. People change. You let things fall away and lose them forever. Yourself, even. People lose themselves, but it never happens quickly enough. It goes so slow, in such small increments, you don’t even notice it until it’s too late.”

  I almost can’t get the words out, but I know they have to be said. “You went from being a talented musician with a promising future to being a man who reminds me way too much of another.”

  I hear the loud swallow that nearly chokes Tarin. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m a fuck-up. A class-A, number one fuck-up. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with me.”

  I turn my hand over and lace my fingers with his. “You’re not a waste of time. We’re going to fix this. This is my job. This is what I do, and I’m good at it.”

  He looks up at me and his expression is nothing less than tortured. “I wasn’t talking about your job.”

  I rewind his words in my head. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with me.

  Tarin lifts my hand and kisses my fingers, wrapping his other hand over ours and enclosing my hand completely inside his. “Is this how it always is for you and your … clients? Do they all just get so wrapped up in what you do that they totally fall for you?”

  “What?” His words don’t compute. I try to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let it go.

  “Jack did. I know he did. That’s why he wrote that song. I heard the lyrics. He sent me the mp3 of it last night and I listened to the whole thing. You’re his muse.”

  I finally succeed in yanking my hand away. “No, I’m not. I’m nothing to him. We’re just friends. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Never mind Jack. The fact that Tarin’s confessing something to me, about feeling something for me, is freaking me out. It doesn’t matter that I was just doing the same thing about him to Scott. I never expected Tarin to go soft on me, to somehow convince himself he was falling for me. It was okay in my mind when it was all one-sided.

  “This isn’t …” Tarin looks stricken. He scrapes his chair back and stands. Running his fingers through his hair, he stammers through a goodbye. “Okay. So, I … uh … have to go. I’ve got … stuff to do and a meeting …” He moves backwards to the door. “You coming back to the house?”

  “Yes. For now. If that’s okay.”

  He’s back to being cool. “Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Stay as long as you want. I’ll see you there later.” He looks at me quietly for a few seconds. The silence stretches between us until I want to throw the sheet over my face and hide. I can’t stand to see all the emotion torturing his mind and reflected in his eyes.

  “By degrees, Scarlett. That’s how it works.” His sad half-smile is the last thing I see of him until I’m back at his house later that evening.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “WHO GOT HER INTO THE house?” I ask, resting on Tarin’s couch in his family room. My bruised ribs are bound up tight and the last twelve hours of medical attention, a shower, and a nap has made me almost comfortable again. At least now I’m not getting my ass kicked by a psycho Barbie. How humiliating. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my ribs aren’t broken. She had cheer sneaker’s on for crissake. Who gets broken ribs from cheer sneakers? Not me, thank you very much.

  “Brett Campbell,” says Scott, holding up another pillow he wants to put behind my back.

  I shake my head no to the extra support. He’s mothered me to the point that I’m starting to feel suffocated. “Who’s Brett Campbell?” I ask, searching my memory for the name. It’s familiar.

  “One of the guys on our scratch-off list.”

  “Ooooh, yeah … the drug guy.” I nod, remembering the loser’s promise to get me back for kicking him out of Tarin’s life. “I thought we told Zack and Leonard to get his keys back and stuff.”

  “Yes, but we failed to mention that they needed to change all the passcodes on the doors. Major brain fart on my end.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, for shit’s sake … we shouldn’t even have to say that!”

  Scott holds up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know … believe me, everyone feels righteously stupid over it now. I guess at the time they never thought something like this would happen. I mean, who knew Posey would find a way to connect with your worst enemy. Zach and Leonard aren’t professional security, okay? They’re just friends.”

  I nod, already tired with dealing with all of this. My pain meds are like sleeping pills, making my eyelids heavy. “I’m not mad at them … I’m just mad at myself. This job has thrown me for a complete loop. I’m losing my edge.” I stare off into the distance, hating that I feel so defeated. Hating that I’m falling for a client who also thinks he’s falling for me.

  “I was meaning to talk to you about that…” Scott sounds worried.

  I look over at him, just using my eyes. It hurts to even turn my head. “What? You’re not going to give me shit again, are you? Because trust me, I’ve done enough of that to myself for the both of us and the first time was more than sufficient.”

  “No, no, it’s not that. I’m not going to give you a hard time about this job. I’m just … I’m worried about you. Kind of like Jack is.”

  “Please, Scott, not now. Not the Jack thing. Don’t you have something better to do with your time like writing a panty-tossing song or torching those cat pissery shoes?”

  He puts his hand on my arm and looks very sincere, which is weird for him. It puts me on edge. “Don’t play that game with me, okay, Scar? Seriously. It’s me sitting here. No one else is even in the house. You can yell, you can cry, you can slap me … whatever you want. No one’s going to
judge you. You’re safe.”

  “Are you sure?” I say. I’m feeling really petulant right now. “Maybe there’s a nutbag upstairs rifling through Tarin’s drawers who’d like to give me a few more kicks to the ribs.”

  He sighs. “Shut up or you’re going to force me to put my running shoe in your face again.”

  “God, they’re so powerful, they’re like smelling salts.”

  “I know.” He looks and sounds way too proud of that.

  I close my eyes at the memory. “Why do they smell like cat pee when you don’t even have a cat?”

  “Because I sweat, okay? It’s normal. Guys have smelly feet.”

  “Nothing that heinous can possibly be normal. It’s like … nuclear awful. Morgue resident awful. Zombie apocalypse awful. You should get that checked out. I pay for medical insurance, so use it, already.”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. Right now we’re talking about you, not my feet.”

  “I don’t want to talk about me. And I don’t want to talk about your feet either, for that matter. I want to talk about … the weather. What’s it like outside?”

  “Okay, I get it, you don’t want to talk about you. But I do, and for once, I’m putting my smelly cat piss foot down.”

  “Weather,” I insist. “Tell me the temperature.”

  “You go ahead and talk about the weather while I talk about Scarlett.”

  I ignore the pain and look towards the back of the room. “I see some sun through the window over there. Looks like a good pool party day. Maybe we should tell Josh to barbecue.”

  “You’re not dealing with Austin’s death very well.”

  “You should go for a swim while the sun’s out. Wear that porn horn bathing suit you have … the banana hammock. That’s my favorite. I’ll stay inside and admire you through the back window.”

  He snorts, but continues on his mission: Operation Brain Dig. I really hate having people mess around in my head, and he totally knows it.

  “I thought you were cool with everything and moving on from Austin, but now I think being around Tarin is fucking with your mind or something.”