by Sarah Grimm
For the chance to have him smile at me.
The way he does now.
More than once, I’ve tried to explain my need to suck everything I can out of life. To experience as much as possible in the time I have left. Every time I do, every time I start, Joe stops me. And because I’m scared, so damn scared to witness the affection in his gaze change to pity, I let him.
I can’t bear the thought of his smile fading.
It would destroy me.
Number of days since I decided to live: 84
Number of days since I met Joe: 41
Current level of panic: 9/10
SEVENTEEN
May 20
Joe stood in the middle of the after party, bottle of Jameson in his hand. All around him people were laughing and carrying on, generally having a good time. People who tried to engage him in conversation eventually moved on. He had no desire for small talk. The only thing he wanted was to consume enough whiskey to be numb. To feel nothing where, right now, he felt everything—the incredible sense of joy coupled with a deep, all-encompassing panic. This was where Emma had found him so many weeks ago. In this place he hadn’t returned to since. This was where he’d been before her, drowning in whiskey and nameless, faceless women.
Could he survive returning here?
She loved him. Emma loved him. God, it was the most incredible feeling he’d ever experienced. Also the most terrifying.
Because he loved her more than his next breath. More than the music that fed his soul.
And he was losing her.
In that place deep down inside of him, buried so deep he’d hoped to never have to deal with it, Joe knew he was losing her. When she was gone, where would he be? Right back here with the fakes and the liars? With his old friend darkness?
Emma slipped away from him more and more each day. She was losing weight, appeared tired and drawn. Her arms trembled and pain showed in her eyes. It was there, buried behind her smile, her laughter. Pain—colored with fear. He didn’t even have to look too hard to see it. His ray of sunshine was afraid. And her fear crippled him.
Raucous laughter sounded to his left, grating his already raw nerves, mocking his pain. Some guy Joe didn’t recognize telling stories about the band like they were the closest of friends.
He shifted farther away, took another slug of whiskey and frowned when it didn’t dull the ache. He shook off the nameless blonde sidling up to him, unable to take his gaze off the one who’d just stepped in the room.
Emma.
Christ, his stomach clenched so tightly at the sight of her he thought he was going to empty it. Reject all the alcohol he’d consumed when what he’d really wanted was to inhale her. She was the only one who ever chased away the darkness.
Emma.
He needed her, to turn to her instead of alcohol. But tonight it hurt too badly to look at her, it hurt too fucking much. The thought of a world—his world—without her in it, damn near doubled him over.
She crossed the room, Gare a few paces behind. Even Gary knew something was wrong and had changed allegiances. They all knew. Though she’d yet to say a fucking thing.
Not that he’d given her a chance. Any time Emma started talking like she had something important to tell him, something life altering, Joe changed the subject. Convinced himself if she never gave voice to it, he wouldn’t have to deal with the cold hard reality that stared him in the face. It had worked, too. Until she’d blindsided him today with something he’d never seen coming. A declaration of love.
Fuck. What happened to the days when alcohol wiped away all feeling?
Oh, yeah, it never really had.
Goddamnit.
“Joe.”
Emma stepped before him and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and beg her to tell him he was wrong. That it was all a nightmare he’d yet to wake from. All of it but her love for him—that he wanted to absorb into his bloodstream with a desperation he’d never before experienced.
Her eyes darted to the bottle in his hand, then the woman at his side. Pain filled her. He could see it reflected back at him even as he was incapable of doing anything about it. Maybe the alcohol had done more than he thought. His limbs no longer listened to the commands from his brain.
“This again?” she whispered. “You’re back to the drinking, surrounding yourself with these people who don’t even know you?”
He didn’t want to be here. Save me, Em.
“What’s the matter? Did I scare the shit out of you in the bus today? Make you feel something you don’t know how to deal with?”
Yes. Damnit, why couldn’t he answer her? She deserved better than this. Better than him. He was no good, the asshole she’d called him from the beginning.
Emma sighed. “Jesus, Joe.”
When the nameless blonde shifted closer, brushing up against him, he startled. Hers wasn’t the touch he wanted. She wasn’t the woman he needed.
“Back off,” Emma told her and Joe smiled.
At least he thought he did. Why did the alcohol have to hit him now?
Gary stepped in and moved the woman away.
Emma inched closer, pressed in tighter. She placed her hand in the center of his chest, smoothed it down to settle atop his abs.
Joe sucked a breath. Even with the cloud of alcohol his body recognized her, welcomed her. His heartrate accelerated. His breathing shallowed.
“There’s no use denying it.” Her voice dropped to a pitch meant for his ears only. “It’s in your swift intake of air when I touch you, the way your hand always drops to my hip and you ease me closer. I don’t think you even realize you do it, but it’s there. All I have to do is get just close enough…”
She shifted and sure as shit, his hand fell to her hip, his breath hiccupped and he pulled her even closer. The noise of the room faded until all he could see and hear was her.
“You’ve got a belly full of fear mixed with a big ball of emotion swimming around in you right now, don’t you, Joe? And it frightens you so bad, you’re willing to push me away rather than having to deal with it.”
He didn’t want to push her away. He wanted to go back in time, to before the weight loss and dark circles, before he loved her so much he feared for the man he’d become when she left him.
“You’ll fall back on old habits, the whiskey, the groupies? The people who allow you to hide from life, who accept this hollowed out version of the man you really are? You’re drinking because you think it will take the edge off. But it won’t. You know it won’t.”
He did and it wouldn’t.
Her eyes teared, and fuck if his didn’t, too. Yet, he couldn’t seem to do anything but stand there and bear witness to her pain.
“You’ll wake up tomorrow and what you’re feeling right now will still be there.” She smoothed her hand back up his chest, settled it atop his heart. “Only I won’t be. I’ll be gone.”
Panic drove the air from his lungs, left him struggling for breath.
“You follow through with this and I’m leaving you, Joe. I won’t let you hurt me this way and I sure as hell won’t watch you fall back into the shit.”
She stepped away from him. Far enough his hand dropped to his side.
The ache in his chest grew.
“Do you know how many people would give anything for what you have? Not the fame or wealth—the opportunity to wake up tomorrow healthy, pain free and with a future stretching out before them?”
There it was. The truth he’d been struggling to ignore. She was talking about herself. How she would give anything for what he had.
“Emma, please.”
She continued to step away from him, a tear sliding down her cheek. When she spoke, her voice cracked and she dropped it low enough he had to strain to catch the words. “When you’re gone and people remember you, what will they say about you? That you were happy, generous and kind? That you loved big? Or that you were the drunken singer in a rock band?”
Emma turned on
her heel and walked away. The noise of the room returned so quickly it was painful.
Son of a bitch.
Gary materialized in front of him. “You’re just going to let her walk? What the fuck, Joe?” Gary unclipped the radio from his belt and slapped it in the center of Joe’s chest. “That little voice in your head that says you don’t deserve Emma?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m beginning to think it may be right.”
Joe knew it was.
Gary stepped away, the radio clattering to the floor between them, and Joe scowled. “Where are you going”
“Where you should be going. To reassure that beautiful woman you’re not the insensitive ass you appear to be.”
Emma bolted out of the room and headed straight for the back exit. Immediate escape was the only answer. If she could get the hell away from there, maybe she could find a nice quiet place to break down. Then she could figure out her next step. Decide where to go. There were really only two options—stay or go. But neither was pain free. Not anymore.
A sleek black Escalade sat idling just outside the exit. The rear door opened and Vivian Johnson stepped out. She took one look at Emma’s face and her gaze skittered away.
Perfect. Not like Emma wanted to talk anyway. She made a beeline for the bus and almost made it before her tears turned to sobs.
Knees weak, she grabbed hold of the door handle. Her arms shook, her whole body shook, and there was no way to know whether it was from heightened emotion or something worse. Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead to the door and waited for the trembling to pass.
“Emma?”
“You’re talking to the wrong girl, Gary. You need to be over there by the Escalade.”
“No. I don’t.”
A deep breath helped, but not nearly enough. She opened her eyes, swiped at her cheeks, but didn’t take her forehead off the bus. The stainless steel exterior felt too good against her overheated skin.
A tissue appeared in her peripheral vision. “You and your damn pockets,” she mumbled and accepted it.
“Come with me.”
Any other time, she would have challenged him and his commanding tone, even if just in fun. Tonight she didn’t have the energy. The stabbing pain at the back of her head that never seemed to go away, combined with her inability to control her emotions today, sapped all of her strength. “I have to figure out what I’m going to do.”
He softened his voice. “Not just yet, you don’t.”
“I’m not going back inside.”
“Neither am I.”
Her arms no longer shook. With everything else that had gone down, at least she had that. Emma faced Gary.
The Escalade pulled away, but he just looked at her, his dark eyes filled with enough concern it was evident even in the low light. He held out his hand. “Walk with me?”
She hesitated, giving the SUV one more glance. “There’s still time to stop her.”
He sighed, hand still held out for her. “I’ve made my choice, Emma.”
Damnit. She’d just gotten her tears under control and he was going to kick start them again. “Yeah, the wrong one.”
His phone alerted as she placed her hand in his and they started walking. Using his free hand, he slipped his cell from his pocket, checked the message then promptly powered it down.
Emma shifted her hold from Gary’s hand to just above his elbow. “I’ve never seen you turn off your phone before.”
He shrugged. “I’m off the clock tonight.”
“Ha! You’re never off the clock.”
“It’ll do him some good to sit and fret.”
Joe.
The muscles under her hand tightened. “If he wants to know where you are, he can contact you,” Gary growled.
“That’ll be difficult since my cell is sitting on the bus with a dead battery.”
He glanced down at her as they waited for the intersection to clear so they could cross the street. “Do you want to go back?”
“No.” She shook her head then followed it with a shrug. “I don’t know what I want.”
What a joke. She knew exactly what she wanted and it wasn’t to be walking through the city, no matter how warm and beautiful the weather. Sure, this was her nightly ritual, to spend some time beneath the stars after far too much of it trapped indoors. But tonight, what she wanted more than anything was Joe—holding her, whispering reassurances to her.
Loving her.
Since it was no longer that simple, she settled for a walk with Gare. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with talk and she was glad for that. Especially, when time passed and her throat began to burn again. Tears started down her face.
“Stupid,” she muttered, using both hands to wipe her cheeks. “This is so damn stupid. And so is he.”
Gary offered her another tissue. “He’s getting smarter.”
“Yeah? How do you figure?”
They stopped in front of a high-rise while Gary powered up his phone and sent a text. Once he was done, he dropped the phone back into his pocket and looked down at her. “He’s with you now.”
She chuckled, or tried to. It came out more as an exhalation of air. “I suppose you heard all of that back there?”
His gaze darted to the building’s glass front. “I heard nothing you don’t want me to have heard.”
“You hear everything.”
He smiled.
It was a moment before she realized he wasn’t smiling at her comment, but at a man walking toward them from inside the building—a security guard. He stood about six or seven inches shorter than Gary, but was damn near as big in muscle. His hair was brown, cut short and thinning a bit on top. He had a hard look to him, until he smiled. Then his face softened.
He smiled as he swung the door open and motioned them inside. Gary took her elbow, guiding her into the building before releasing her.
The moment the door clicked shut the security guard stuck out his hand. “Garrison, you son of a bitch! How the hell are you?”
Garrison?
“Pretty good, Matheson, you?”
The men did that whole ‘handshake that becomes a brief hug followed by a thump on the back’ thing. They whopped each other pretty good, too. Like it was some sort of unspoken test to see who would cry uncle first.
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Not bad,” Matheson replied. “Not bad at all. Damn it was good to hear from you today. Is this your girl?” His smile remained, as he looked her over with a keen eye. The perusal took seconds, but being on the receiving end left Emma feeling like he hadn’t missed a thing and, if pushed, could recall in detail something as insignificant as the shape and color of the earring in her tragus.
Gary shook his head. “Joe’s.”
Matheson raised a brow. “He know you swept her away tonight?”
“He does.”
Even though Matheson checked her over again, there was something about him that put Emma at ease. Maybe it was the smile. Or the fact that Gary obviously liked and trusted the man.
“Joe know you made her cry?” Matheson asked, puffing up.
Suddenly what she liked about the man became clear. He had the same fierce warrior vibe as Gary. Something that brought her comfort at a time when she was feeling fragile.
Gary frowned. His body went taut.
Emma knew what that meant. He was about to go big scary ogre on her.
“Whoa, whoa, okay, too much testosterone in the room right now. Let’s take it down a notch.” She kept her gaze on Matheson, while patting Gary on the arm. “Joe made me cry.”
“Ah.” Matheson pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “So my man Gare was the one to swoop in and save the day.” He nodded and turned for the bank of elevators at his back. “This way.”
Emma looked up at Gary. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me,” he replied, and motioned for her to go before him.
They stepped into the elevator farthest right, thankfully
one with a view.
Matheson stuck a key in the panel and pressed a couple buttons, then stepped back out. “Enjoy.”
The doors closed and the elevator rose.
Emma faced the glass wall and the view of the city. “How do you know that man?”
“He’s an old friend of mine.”
She’d already figured that out. “A friend from your military days.” Emma didn’t state it as a question. He was just going to deny it anyway, like he always did.
“Yes.”
Startled, she faced him. “You’re no longer evading. That’s bad, isn’t it? Next, you’re going to tell me you really were S.A.S.”
He just looked at her.
The elevator continued to rise. Higher and higher, past all the floors designated on the panel, before it stopped and the doors opened.
Gary stepped out and crossed a landing to an outer door directly opposite.
Emma followed. “Is that why you brought me here? You’re not going to pull some double-o-seven move and toss me from the roof are you?”
“That’s British Secret Service.”
“Whatever.”
“Your imagination is terrifying.” With a shake of his head, he pushed the door open. “I brought you here because you needed to get away from the bullshit at the arena. And because I figured you would like the place.”
The night breeze kissed her cheeks as she stepped through the door and onto the roof. Not just any high-rise roof, though. This one had been turned into a garden. Flowering plants and small trees surrounded her, welcomed her into their comforting embrace. Cushioned chairs were scattered about the space, along with tables lit with solar lamps. But the best thing about it was, this high above the city, the air wasn’t tainted with exhaust.
“It’s beautiful.” And obviously meant for another woman. Next to the table sitting in the center of the garden, sat an ice bucket and a bottle of wine. Emma ran a fingertip around the rim of the bucket. “Gare—”
“Don’t.”