Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance

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Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 7

by Creed, Lyrica


  “I’m staying here.” I informed him and almost dropped back to the seat. But with a worried look at the clock, I shouldered my bag. “I need to talk to you. I’ll text later?”

  He agreed while gathering his own belongings. Trailed by Mike, I sprinted to class. Despite the distraction of what I’d learned about Gage, I knew the material well enough to ace the test.

  The rest of the day was mine to immerse in self-pity and anger. Mike held the door as I folded into the passenger seat of the Escalade.

  “I need to pick up a few things.”

  We stopped at the Canyon Store, an eclectic shopping experience just a few minutes from Runyon canyon. After pursuing the snacks and frozen treats, I paid for my selections and allowed Mike to relieve my arms of some of the bags.

  The radio was the only sound until we neared the dragon gates. When the volume lowered to almost nothing, I glanced over and saw a frown line above his shades. He braked, letting the vehicle poke slower than normal, and spoke.

  “The white Accord parked there on the other side of the street. You know it?”

  A film of reddish sand dusted the nondescript vehicle. I shook my head and chalked his inquiry up to the extreme caution that was part of his job description. It was common further down the road to see cars parked since there was a popular hiking trail entrance to the canyon. But he was right. This area was normally empty.

  The dragons parted, admitting us, and he parked inside the garage. “Do you have a minute? I have a couple of pictures if you wouldn’t mind taking a look.”

  Pictures? “Sure.”

  Rascal appeared with his normal enthusiastic greeting, and I knelt, scratching his head. Mike deposited my groceries on the butcher-block bar and then retraced his steps out of the kitchen. By the time he was back, spreading the pictures on the bar, I’d put away the freezer items and had poured myself a soda.

  “I’m sorry about this. I know you’ve had a full day. But it won’t take a minute.” When I shrugged my assent, he pointed. “This person. Any idea who he is?”

  The print was blurred a bit, as if it had been enlarged on the face of the forty-something year-old-man who was the focus. His hair was neither dark or light, long or short. The tattoo, a flame on one side of his neck was the only thing keeping him from being an average nondescript face.

  Slowly, I shook my head and picked up another and then another of the same person. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted when I noticed the mailbox of Gage’s neighbor in the background—and the dusty white car. A date graced the corner of each photo, all within the period of the last couple of months.

  “I don’t know him. He’s paparazzi?” I noticed the large bag swinging from his shoulder.

  “Seems to be. But I had him checked out and he’s not a regular.”

  “Are you asking because he’s been seen a lot? Around here?”

  “Around you. One of those shots is on campus.” With a forefinger, he tapped one of the photos. “So Gage said to ask you. In case you knew him from school or somewhere.”

  I hugged my arms to my chest. He’d talked to Gage. Gage had said to ask me. Gage hadn’t asked me himself. The hurt and anger balling inside me gathered more ugliness. He’d told Logan the date he was coming home. But not me.

  “I don’t know him. Sorry.” Hating the snippy, clipped way in which I’d delivered the reply, I turned away, busying myself with a refill of Sprite. Pulling in a deep breath, I offered over my shoulder. “I was going to order a pizza. You want anything?”

  He did and after we’d placed the order, he gathered the pictures and disappeared into the garage apartment.

  Probably to call Gage.

  Using fatigue as an excuse, I begged off in reply to a text from Seth concerning tonight’s guitar lesson. Then I called Logan.

  Chapter 15

  “She wants to do what?” Gage exploded into the phone, drawing eyes from the others around the pool area. Leaping from the deck chair, he strode out of the fenced in area and talked as he walked. “Tell me what she said exactly.”

  “She didn’t say much.” Logan spoke carefully, likely afraid of inciting further ire. “She said she wanted to be closer to campus and asked if I had any apartment recommendations. Naturally, because of her situation, I suggested a few of the higher security compounds. And then she asked if I wouldn’t mind emailing her the links. That she wanted to be moved in before the end of the month.”

  The end of the month being his return to L.A. That part went unsaid, but it rang loud in the dialogue pause.

  “So just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll get right on it.”

  Smart man. Logan knew where his paycheck came from. Gage, slowed, and finding the courtyard empty, turned into it. “Fuck. Just fuck.” He squeezed his eyes closed and reopened them, wishing he would find he was dreaming the last four months. Wishing he would open his eyes in Cabo or Lake Arrowhead or his own bed with Scar beside him. “Send her the links. Send ’em to me too. I’ll send them to Mike and have him advise.”

  “Will do. I emailed your flight itinerary yesterday.”

  “I got it. Thanks.”

  “No problem. So, I’ll get this other taken care of then.” Logan seemed to hesitate.

  “Was there anything else?” Please, no more bad news.

  “That’s it. I just… Well, you and Scarlette… I wish the best for you.”

  “Thanks.” What he himself wished was the best for Scar.

  They ended the call and Gage considered his and Scarlette’s relationship as it appeared to outsiders. Like Logan. They had kept things between them on the down-low. His priority at the time had been saving her from the ensuing circus if the tabloids decided to exploit their past step-sibling relationship. At least until she knew what she wanted. He hadn’t been positive she would be along for the full-on musician-with-plenty-of-baggage experience once her life changed. So why put her through the embarrassment if they ended up apart? Then the sex clip had outed them. Headlines had been as vicious as he’d feared and late night shows had their fun with roasts. For the most part, she’d laughed her way through it all. But she’d left him in the end—she hadn’t said as much yet, but he knew.

  Her ‘thinking time,’ as she had called it after their fight, had gone on for days before he’d finally texted her. And although she’d texted back, and they’d spoken on the phone and texted in the weeks afterward, he’d felt the chilly aura even miles away. She was waiting to break it off in person. He wasn’t stupid. He knew.

  And he didn’t blame her one bit.

  He’d done nothing except screw up his life and bring bad publicity onto himself, his band, and anyone unlucky enough to be associated with him.

  Chapter 16

  I was building a sandwich when the call came. Without taking the time to wipe my hands, I snatched up my phone, drinking in Gage’s picture and number flashing onscreen. My throat constricted, and I fought a bout of hyperventilation while mentally prepping myself for the conversation.

  The rings stopped. For a moment, I gazed around my cozy kitchen in relief.

  Moving into my new place had happened quickly. Mike had suggested a duplex he knew of, and at first look, I had fallen in love with the upstairs one-bedroom apartment in the old Victorian house. I suspected the drill-sergeant-looking downstairs tenant who always seemed to be home was on Gage or his father’s payroll.

  Even though Rascal had an auto feeding station, rather than leave him alone with only housekeeping coming and going—and Mike if he continued staying in the garage apartment—I had delayed fully moving out until Gage’s last day in rehab.

  For almost a week, I had been on needles and pins. Sleeping was impossible. We hadn’t spoken or texted in a month, so wondering how he was going to handle us—our relationship or lack of one—had plagued me. Wondering how I was going to handle it had been another source of insomnia. When two days had gone by and my phone remained silent, I’d considered maybe he had gone straight to a vacation
destination, but when checking with Logan, I’d discovered Gage was indeed home.

  The buzz in my hand drew my attention. A voice message. Now I did wash my hands. Anything to prolong the inevitable. After drying each finger, I retrieved the phone and punched in my voicemail code.

  “Call me. ASAP.”

  At one time, I’d thought ‘I love you’ were three scary words. But these three, clipped in the super sexy smoky voice I loved were a new contender.

  As my finger hovered over the call return icon, a rap on the door almost made me drop the phone. Fear buzzed every cell, and I eyed the keypad, my consideration now on nine-one-one rather than redial.

  Silly. I tried to calm myself. There were plenty of white Honda’s. The one I’d seen on my street earlier today hadn’t been the same as the one outside Gage’s house. No way.

  Still. This house was a fortress protected by an outside security gate, as well as a secured courtyard, and a locked exterior door. I had buzzed no one through any of these layers.

  Another hum, and my phone blinked with a text from Gage. Bringing it up as I padded cautiously to the front room, I read:

  Gage

  It’s me

  7:22 PM

  A press of my eye to the peephole revealed Gage’s presence in the hallway. Well, that confirmed my suspicions about the security of this dwelling being the doings of a Remington. Wrenching the deadbolt clockwise, I drew in a deep breath and then swung open the door.

  Being face to face with Gage unleashed a torrent of conflicting emotions. Love. Regret. Anger. Many more. The feelings battled for supremacy. I had no control of any, least of all the winner of that war.

  Flinging myself flat against his length, I buried my face in the comfortable spot against his shoulder, just below the crook of his neck, and inhaled his essence. His hand cupped the back of my head, and as he curled his fingers into the tresses of my hair, I banded my arms tightly around his chest until my fingers pressed into his back.

  Time fell away. I had no idea how long we stood, swaying slightly, when his husky words again tickled my eardrums—this time bathing my outer ear with a warm breath. “Can I come in?” Although he had apparently authorized himself through both gates and the downstairs entry, he hadn’t so much as nudged me so he could cross the threshold into my home.

  Silently acquiescing, I fell back and closed the door as he eyed my new digs.

  “Nice.” He nodded as he made a round of the room. The musician in him wouldn’t let him pass up the Collings 360 I’d treated myself with shortly after my birthday. Kneeling before the stand, he ran his finger down the quilted maple tiger-eye finish, but possibly, because it was the guitar from the fateful video that had spurred our breakup, he didn’t comment. Instead, he straightened, resumed prowling, and paused before the fireplace where he seemed to scrutinize the safety of the flat-screen’s wall mount. “I guess being closer to the college is a plus.”

  I didn’t know what to say, as we both knew proximity was not why I’d moved from the canyon. When I discovered my hands shaking, I clasped them behind my back. “Was Rascal crazy to see you?”

  He leaned against the mantel and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah. He’s pretty happy. Doesn’t leave my side.” His dark eyes roamed from my face to my feet. “You look good.” And then he threw me when he added, “Happy.” Was he fishing?

  I’m not. I put on my brightest smile. “Thanks.” My gaze slid down from his face in my own appraisal, but I froze before reaching his waist when a pang pierced my heart. Lifting my eyes back to his, I wrung my hands unseen. “You look good too.” I didn’t say happy. Because that would be as much a lie as the word had been to describe me.

  Although in prime physical form, his lean physique now filled out and cut, he bore shadows beneath his bedroom eyes and stress lines at the corners of his sexy lips.

  “Where do we go from here?” He moved a few paces in the other direction and then turned back. “You said you needed to think about things. And we never talked about it after that.”

  Swallowing the aching clump in my throat, I parted my lips, but speech didn’t come, and he continued.

  “You avoided my calls. Didn’t return messages.”

  “It wasn’t like that!”

  “It was exactly like that. Until that day, in the barn, you replied to every text. Answered every time on the first ring. Afterward, I was lucky if you got back to me every other time. And you know what? You never reached out to me first, ever again.”

  “You killed us. Not me.” When his face went ashen, I realized what I’d said. There was his answer. We were going nowhere from here.

  “I can say it a thousand times, and you’ll still never know how sorry I am. How fucking much I regret being an idiot.” His words were almost a whisper.

  Thinking about the senselessness of all that had happened was infuriating. We had withstood with superhero strength the aftermath of a viral sex video, and yet, my stupid selfie video had been our kryptonite.

  “I know you’re sorry. But apologies don’t change the truth. It happened. You thought that shit of me. That I would be alone with Colt and God knows what else with him. That’s insulting but understandable given the shitty stuff we’ve both seen and lived through. But you broke it off. Without asking me to explain. Without wanting me to tell you the truth. And that right there… I can’t get past that. I can’t get over that.” My breath hitched dangerously. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be in tears in two seconds. “…that to you I was so easy to throw away…”

  “You weren’t! Nothing about that—this—is easy!”

  “You know what, Gage? If that had happened the other way around… If I’d seen a video of you and that girl at your rehab, and my mind got all twisted up, I would have asked you—begged you to tell me something other than what I was thinking. And then no matter how outlandish and no matter whether or not it was the truth, I would’ve believed you. That’s how much I loved you. And I thought you loved me back that much.”

  Looking as if he might cry too, he moved in, reaching out.

  In my haste to back up, I tripped. Nothing new. Emotions and motion were not compatible in my body.

  He dropped to his knees beside me, tenderness and regret brimming in the brown of his eyes. When his fingers curled gently around my wrist, I snatched it back. “Go. Just go. Please!”

  He was slow to rise, but when he did, he pulled me up with him and inclined his chin in a nod of acceptance. Drifting toward the door, he forked his fingers through his hair. His lips parted, his words barely audible. “That’s why I didn’t ask. Exactly what you said. I knew I would believe anything. And that scared the fuck outta me.” He looked as if he wanted to say more. But without a word, he twisted open the door, and disappeared into the hallway when he pulled it closed behind him.

  Chapter 17

  Randomly grabbing a guitar, he dropped onto the studio couch. But he didn’t play. The silence of the house pulsated inside his skull.

  This was how it was supposed to be. He’d always known. Deep in the back of his brain. That he’d lose her. And even if he didn’t, he should. He wanted better for her than him. She had lived a life of mental adversity too. She deserved to fly through life from this point on with no checked baggage—i.e. his baggage.

  But it hurt. Fuck, how it hurt.

  Rascal climbed into the couch and propped his head across the hem of his jeans.

  Without thinking, he strummed the Taylor, and eventually he hummed along with the chords of each mournful key.

  A process of elimination. Mentally, he went through the possibilities. A chemical fix was out. Alcohol? No. Drinking while he was like this would only lead to a drunken binge, which would lead to God knew what else. So what? What would blur the sharp edges of pain?

  A-minor, he switched, plucking out an even more somber tune, continuing to modulate the humming hurt from his throat to harmonize.

  He shouldn’t have come home. Should have gone straight fr
om Scar’s to… To where? Where did he have to go? He had been a loner so long that he had no one.

  Along with chemicals, women had once filled this chasm in his soul, but he had no desire for companionship of the opposite sex—unless it was Scar.

  The person besides Scar he was closest with? Colt, who had evolved into a brother from another mother. Except the new lineup of Fire Flight had changed everything between them. Colt was Fire Flight’s new frontman, just as he had threatened. Although he’d tried not to, he felt betrayed. In their few texts and calls, Colt had never mentioned the new guitarist. However, when he had searched this new addition to Fire Flight on the internet, the pictures he found that included Colt showed the two looking pretty chummy.

  The night he’d perused these pics, he’d wanted to call Scarlette. But she’d already distanced herself at the time and he’d resisted the impulse. Just like now, as weird as it was, he wanted to lean on Scar for support of their own breakup! How fucked up was that?

  Rascal began licking at his jeans. Intently, as if he’d spilled steak drippings on his knee. The action was so weird, his fingers tapered off. Only when the guitar went silent did he hear himself and immediately hushed his keening cries.

  Bringing a hand up, he was startled to find his face wet. In a panic, he wiped at his eyes and cheeks. Crying? He was fuckin’ crying. And wailing aloud! Un-fucking acceptable.

  Leaping up, he traded the acoustic for an electric and powered up a laptop. Work was the only thing that would get him through the night. No matter that for the first time since he was a teenager he had no band. He’d block that part out of his head and create.

 

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