Wrecked (Blind Man's Alibi #1)

by Sarah Grimm

  Number of days since I decided to live: 22

  Number of days until Blind Man’s Alibi concert: 20

  Current level of panic: 7/10

  THREE

  April 4

  Emma walked out of the arena and sucked air like an addict snorted cocaine. Unable to summon the energy to endure the harsh glare of the overhead lights, she kept walking down the ramp. She needed someplace quiet and dark. She needed to breathe, to find some sort of center.

  Her arm still looped in his, Joe walked at her side. He stood close, close enough she could tell that while, on the outside, he appeared relaxed and at ease, his body was fraught with tension. The muscles in his arm shifted and flexed as she steered them to the darkest spot she could find. Right alongside the tour buses.

  He came to a stop, his head swiveling from side to side, taking it all in. Perhaps he was looking for something, what, she had no idea. There was no longer a flurry of activity, no people running in and out of the building. The semis where gone. They were completely alone.

  Emma stared at him a moment, her eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. “What’s the matter?”

  “Tell me again why we’re out here?”

  “I needed some fresh air.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” He let out a long breath and looked at the foremost bus. His muscles locked up tight under her touch and his feet shifted.

  “Relax.”

  “What?”

  How was she supposed to ignore The Monster when he couldn’t stop fidgeting? “You really need to learn to enjoy life a bit.”

  “You don’t think I enjoy life?”

  “Not the important stuff.”

  “Like?”

  She looked away, tipped her head back, and drank in the night. The moon was full, an illuminated circle of light set against a star filled sky. “Like take a deep breath of fresh air every once in a while. Look up and appreciate the stars. They’re amazing, aren’t they? The universe is so large and we’re but a small part of it.”

  At first he didn’t move, and although she couldn’t be certain, Emma felt that his eyes were on her. Finally, he blew a second breath and tipped his face to the sky. “Before we were headliners we played a lot of outdoor venues. They’re still my favorite.”

  “You don’t play them anymore?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “What, it’s a rule in the rock star handbook—no outdoor venues once fame is in hand?”

  His laughter drew her gaze. He stood beside her, hands in his pockets, head tipped back, crooked smile in place. And damn, if someone were to ask her at that very moment which she wanted more, the man next to her or a few more months, she would’ve been hard pressed to choose. “Dance with me.”

  His expression managed to be shock and amusement at the same time. “What?”

  “Dance with me beneath the stars.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  He was looking at her now so he knew she was. She flashed him a smile. “Afraid someone may see you?”

  “Yes. I can’t dance.”

  “So sway with me to the music.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Sunshine, but there is no music.”

  “You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you’re a songwriter, yet you can’t imagine music where there is none?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Think of it as an opportunity to get me in your arms. Bodies pressed together intimately, hard angles against soft—” She was pulled in so quickly, she lost the oxygen from her lungs. Men. They are so easy sometimes.

  He hadn’t lied, he couldn’t dance. Emma didn’t care. She closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his chest. The tempo of a firm and steady heartbeat proved incredibly therapeutic. The pounding ache in her head eased a bit.

  A few ins and outs of his breath passed before the tension in his body began to abate. “You were just fucking with me, weren’t you? About…going it alone?”

  She stayed there in his arms, the rumble of his voice all she could hear as the rest of the world stopped existing. He was strong and solid. There was nowhere else she would rather be.

  When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “Either way, thank you. It was the distraction I needed.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  One hand on her hip, the other sliding up and down her spine, he hugged her closer. “There’s something about you, Emma.”

  She pulled back enough to look into his eyes.

  “It draws me. A light, a spark, fuck, I don’t know what it is” He sighed. “Listen to me, going on like a complete prat.”

  “I have no idea what that is,” she admitted. Then, because she couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to, Emma reached up and cupped the side of his face. His short beard caressed her palm as she slid her hand down, trailing the tips of her fingers from just below his ear to the corner of his mouth.

  His hand fisted at her back, the muscles in his arms flexed.

  Her pulse accelerated to where she could feel the beat of her heart in her chest.

  His lips were soft, surprisingly so, as she traced the tip of her index finger from one corner of his mouth to the other. The seam of his lips parted and she dipped inside, just enough to trace a bead of moisture down the center of his bottom lip and over the strip of facial hair connecting to his beard. Oh, how she loved that bit of hair, and spent a few precious seconds running her nails over it before lifting up on her toes and taking a nip.

  Before she could open her mouth for another bite she was pulled into his arms for a crushing kiss.

  His mouth devoured hers as he lifted her off her feet. Her back made contact with something metallic and cool enough it brought chills. Then the heat of his body pressed against her, trapping her in place. His palms slid down her back until the globes of her ass filled each hand, tightened as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

  The groan he released thrilled her, made her dizzy and wet. Her palm still cupping his face, she pushed the tip of her finger into his mouth. His teeth clamped down on the fleshy end, causing her to gasp, then he was all over her. His right hand slid up her hip, across her stomach and curled around the wrist of her left arm where it was pinned between their bodies. He lifted her arm out of the way and pressed it above her head as he moved in closer, sinking into the space. Then closer still, until there was no mistaking how aroused he was.

  God, this was crazy. His taste—the very fact this was happening—blew her mind. Awareness flared through her. The press of his hand on her ass. The strength of his body. The raw scent of aroused male. Her lips fell open on a gasping moan, and his tongue slipped between, stroking, searching, exploring. Leaving her breathless.

  Tightening her legs around his hips, she pulled him closer, until nothing but their clothing separated them. Even that was too much. Her free hand found his hair, soft and thick, and fisted. Her sex pulsed. She shifted as much as her position allowed, tipping her hips and pressing harder against the firm ridge of his erection. He released a sound that was nearly a growl so she did it again.

  The blare of a car alarm shattered the night.

  He went still. Chest heaving, he dropped his forehead to the bus. “What the fuck?”

  “Red truck,” came the response, reminding Emma they were not alone.

  She peeked over Joe’s shoulder and found Gary about thirty feet away, his back to them. In the distance, beneath the lot light, sat her pickup, lights flashing a warning, horn honking. “That’s mine.”

  Joe had her left hand pinned beneath his above her head. Her right hand was still in his hair. When she wiggled to be let loose and came into contact with his raging hard-on she knew exactly what had happened. The intimate press of their bodies had triggered the truck’s panic button.

  He released her, remaining close until she got her feet back under her, then stepped back. “Yeah?” He shook his head as she dug her key fob from her front pocket and silenced the alarm. “That’s your truck?”


  She smiled at him. “My Valentine’s present to myself. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  He just looked at her.

  “What?”

  “You continue to surprise me.”

  She wasn’t certain how she should respond to that. Before she had to, voices sounded from the top of the ramp. She gazed toward the arena. Through the darkness, she could just make out the band stumbling toward her and Joe. “Looks like our time is up.”

  “Yeah. Christ.”

  As much as a part of her loathed the idea of his leaving, she’d known it was coming. And fast. After all, the semis had already pulled out, it only made sense that the buses wouldn’t be too far behind.

  Forcing herself to take a calming breath, she pressed her palm against her stomach. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she kept her features neutral. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Is there protocol for this?”

  Joe’s gaze held hers, dark and filled with things. Things she had no idea how to interpret.

  “No?” Jesus, she was babbling.

  Neither of them moved. They just stood there as the band walked past them, climbing into the bus she was still leaning against the side of.

  Emma ran her hands down herself, belatedly making certain everything was covered. “Is this bus yours, too?”

  He shook his head, his eyes taking her in carefully. “The foremost one is mine.”

  “Just you?”

  “Me, Gary, and Kirk. Although it looks as if Kirk is riding with the boys tonight.”

  She straightened, needing to get out of there. “Okay then, I guess I’ll go.”

  He reached for her, but she shook her head. “I’m sure you’re used to this… Saying good-bye to women.” As she spoke, she backed toward the bus he’d said was his. “But…it’s best if I just leave.”

  “Emma.”

  “It was great meeting you.”

  “Emma—”

  She didn’t stick around to see what he had to say. Turning on her heels, she started across the lot, kicking herself with every step. The urge to look back at him nearly overwhelmed. Instead, she glanced at Gary. And stopped dead in her tracks.

  Gary arched a brow.

  “What am I doing?”

  He started to say something then stopped.

  “I—” Damnit Emma, you can’t just walk away. Letting out a long breath, she turned and found Joe standing in his bus’s open door. “Two nights with a rock singer and I don’t even get a lousy T-shirt?”

  He flashed a wicked, naughty grin, then reached an arm over his head, gripped his shirt at the shoulder blade, and pulled it over his head in that sexy way men do. He dangled it on the end of a finger. “Now what about me?”

  Emma swallowed hard, her mouth going dry. She snagged the marker out of Gary’s back pocket and walked back to Joe. Stepping onto the bottom step put her eye to eye with the dragon on his pec. “Turn.”

  When he turned, she pulled the cap from the marker and wrote “To my biggest fan’ on the back of his right shoulder with her telephone number just beneath.

  He looked over his shoulder, trying to see what she’d written as she replaced the cap. “Do I want to know?”

  She settled her hand in the center of his chest once he faced her, holding the marker in place. He covered her hand with his and was left with the marker when she slid free and curled her fingers around his shirt. “I don’t know. Do you?”

  He absorbed that, looking as if he might comment, but he didn’t. Instead, he cupped his large broad hand behind her neck and hauled her up to him. On her toes and off balance, Emma curled her fingers in the waistband of his jeans as he consumed her with a kiss so aggressive and needful it left her dazed.

  His release was just as quick and had her wobbling on the step, her hold on him the only thing keeping her from stumbling. Struggling to regulate her breathing, she ran her gaze down his body until it snagged on her hand, inches away from where his erection threatened to burst the buttons on his jeans.

  God, he was beautiful. It wasn’t fair just how beautiful. Emma opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, not sure what to say. She released her hold on him and stepped back to the ground.

  “See you around, Sunshine.”

  Yeah, like that was going to happen. “Bye.”

  Heart thundering in her ears, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to ground herself. Sorrow nearly choked her. She managed to keep her composure as she passed Gary. “It was nice meeting you, Shrek. Take care of yourself.”

  His soft chuckle carried to her as she continued across the lot. “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

  Emma drove home to her two-bedroom condo just a few minutes west of the arena. She’d bought the place after stopping chemotherapy and, although the modern design wasn’t really her style, the expansive floor to ceiling windows in her corner unit had been impossible to resist.

  She’d slowly decorated and painted as her energy level allowed, softening the stark lines and neutral palette with splashes of color and furniture with rounded edges. Plants helped marry the interior with the exterior landscape and art placed strategically about brought it all together. As a result, the place had become her home, a haven of comfort and warmth where she didn’t feel confined to a box or trapped in darkness.

  She loved it here.

  But at the moment, she needed darkness.

  Her hands shook as she unlocked the door, nausea surged. The ache at the back of her skull had become a pounding that mirrored the beat of her heart and brought tears to her eyes. She told herself the tears were from the pain, as anything else was unacceptable. Her feelings for a certain singer had nothing to do with it.

  Alison rushed forward as Emma stepped inside. She was twenty-four, willowy, with dark brown hair that hung to the middle of her back. “Emma, my God, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I was afraid something happened after I left you at the concert.”

  They’d been best friends since middle school where they’d crushed over the same boy. Through the years they’d survived more than their fair share of highs and lows, lows that often required Alison’s help to shore her up. So Emma wasn’t all that surprised to find her here now. “I don’t have my phone.”

  Alison’s eyebrows drew together as she studied Emma with a worried tilt to her mouth. “It was on your nightstand. Dead battery.”

  She had a habit of doing that. Turning away from the glare of the living room lights, Emma stumbled down the hall.

  “Emma?”

  “I need my medicine.”

  “I’ll get it. You lie down.”

  She entered her bedroom, where she dropped Joe’s shirt and her backstage pass atop her dresser. She closed her eyes on a wave of dizziness, doing her best not to throw up what little she had in her stomach. As she stumbled for her bed, she stripped, leaving a trail of clothing in her wake. Naked, she slipped beneath the covers, the cool sheets a shock against her overheated skin.

  Eyes closed, she practiced the breathing techniques she’d been learning about on the internet. Deep, controlled breaths meant to slow her body down. She’d been doing okay tonight, until the tears started. Tears were a weakness, an admittance of defeat, and they always brought a triumphant surge of victory from The Monster. And made him that much more difficult to ignore.

  Alison stepped back into the room, leaving the light in the attached bath on. She pressed Emma’s single dose auto-injector into her palm then shuffled away, never able to stand to watch as Emma administered the pain medication.

  “I’m sorry.” Emma rolled to face away from her bath and the offending light. She spotted Alison at her dresser, the all access pass in hand. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Where… Have you been with him this entire time?”

  “I was home all day.” Her phone battery must have been dead the whole time. “I went back.”

  “You went back for the second show?”

  “After the show.�
� The mattress dipped as Alison sat at Emma’s side. A cool cloth brushed her forehead and she nearly groaned aloud. She dropped her hand away from her eyes as Alison washed her face.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  What? “Why would you think—?”

  “You’re crying. You’re kind of freaking me out.”

  This wasn’t the first time Alison had played caregiver. She’d suffered through this disease alongside Emma. Through many nights filled with tears. So what made tonight different?

  “Joe didn’t hurt me. He…” Pissed her off, broke her heart, and charmed her all in the span of a few hours. But he hadn’t stopped there. No, tonight he’d managed to worm his way into her heart just enough so that, for the first time in a long time, she was suffering a bit of self-pity. “I’m sorry I’m freaking you out.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, it’s not your fault.”

  “It is. I knew when I left the house that this was coming. I went anyway.”

  The cloth brushed Emma’s forehead again.

  Alison went quiet a moment. “What’s he like?”

  “Sad.” Her eyelids grew heavy as the medication kicked in. “He’s sad and lonely.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sexy.” Dear God, was the man sexy. “Built.”

  “I know that mu—”

  “He smells fabulous and his kisses make me want to take all my clothes off and—”

  “Wow, okay, your drugs are kicking in because you are definitely oversharing.”

  Emma smiled wearily. “You asked.”

  Alison released a whisper of a laugh. “I suppose I did.”

  “Al?” Emma’s muscles relaxed. Sleep pulled at her. “You’ll stay? While I sleep?”

  “Of course. I’ve already made up the couch.”

  March 27

  I sat in the corner of my shower and cried today. Not out of sadness or self-pity. Not out of pain or loneliness. Joy is what brought tears to my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks. Joy at being alive, at having an amazing friend like Alison in my life, at needing a haircut. I stood in the shower washing my hair – my hair! – and thinking I might need a haircut, and I began to laugh. Riotous laughter that quickly turned to tears.