Lost For You

by Jayne Frost

  I closed the distance between us, stopping a foot from where he stood gazing down at the busy street. “Chase …”

  Resisting the urge to comfort him for as long as I could, I finally gave in and slipped my arms around his waist. The muscles in his back, knotted and tense beneath his T-shirt, relaxed as my hand skimmed his chest.

  Bracing his palm against the glass, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “Sorry about that.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

  There were so many “its,” I didn’t know where to start.

  Chase spun around. And then his hands were in my hair, and his tongue slid between my parted lips. Hitching my leg around his waist, he reversed our positions. I fought for balance, gripping his shoulders.

  When he finally pulled away, he said, “Talk is overrated, baby.”

  Peeling me off the glass, he walked us to the bed and eased me onto the mattress. Stunned by the sincerity in his hazel eyes, I folded him in my arms. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay …”

  It wasn’t. But there was nothing else to say.

  After a moment, his fingers found the button on my jeans. Searching my face, he waited for my ascent.

  I nodded, my voice too choked with emotion to find any words. He finished undressing me and then stood, shucking off his clothes with a singular focus. Reaching into the nightstand, he took out a condom and then slid it into place.

  “Sweet Taryn,” he whispered, easing on top of me. I gasped when he buried himself with one thrust. “So fucking sweet.”

  He set a frenzied pace, gripping my thighs as he pulled my legs to his waist.

  “Come, baby,” he grunted through ragged breaths. “Please.”

  His mouth found mine as I tipped over the edge, spiraling to a place where there was no pain and no regret. For either of us.

  I flipped on the light in Chase’s bathroom. Reaching into the hamper, I picked through the mangled heap of discarded towels and cotton T-shirts until I ran across my silk blouse and lace panties. Stuffing the garments into my tote, I tiptoed back into the loft.

  A halo of smoke hung above Chase’s head as he sat on the edge of the bed, puffing on a cigarette.

  He lifted his gaze, studying me impassively. “I thought you left.” He flicked his ash into a half-empty bottle of beer on the nightstand.

  I walked toward the bed, cursing my flawed memory. I had a speech prepared when I got here. But our romp negated most of what I’d intended to say anyway.

  “I’m just getting my stuff.” I took a seat on the mattress and, unable to stand the awkward silence, I blurted, “Why did you leave without telling me anything?”

  He stared straight ahead. “When?”

  I studied his profile. When?

  “Yesterday, at the river.”

  Blowing out a breath, he shoved to his feet and then stepped into his jeans. “I had something to take care of.” He ambled toward the kitchen without a backward glance. “You want a beer?”

  “With Laurel?”

  He flopped on the couch. “Yep.”

  “You said she came with Logan.”

  “And she left with me.”

  My stomach fell to the floor. “Bridgette said she moved out. I thought … I thought y’all were just friends.”

  Friends … at least.

  Pain lanced through me when a smile curved his lips. “I have all kinds of friends, Taryn.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He dropped his head against the back of the couch. “I don’t suppose you do. It’s pretty simple, though. Laurel’s a fun girl. No complications. I don’t want to hurt you, Taryn. So it’s better if …”

  You don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.

  Stepping into my shoes, I forced a smile. It nearly broke me, that smile. “I get it. There’s nothing else to say. See you around, Chase.”

  As I said it, I realized it was true. I would see him. Chase would be on the fringe of my life. And if I did my job well, promoting his brother, he’d taint any triumphs with his presence. Excruciating pain spread through me at the thought.

  Awkwardly, I gathered my things while he waited, elbows propped on his knees, staring at the ground. He never looked up.

  In a daze, I drove the short distance to BlueBonnet Towers, stifling the sobs until I was safe inside my loft. But even there, I felt his presence. I could see the top of his building from every window.

  Too much.

  With shaking hands, I opened up my laptop. Tears fell on the keyboard as I tapped out an email to Trent, the record producer at Metro.

  Change of plans. I want to speak to you in person. I’m flying out tomorrow.

  Chapter 31

  Chase

  The shit hole of a dressing room stank to high heaven. Sweat and alcohol and desperation clung to the worn-out furniture and filthy carpeting.

  I looked up when the haggard waitress peeked her head in the door, her gaze fixed on Pierce.

  “Havoc—you got ten minutes!” she boomed, her lip curled into a sneer. “And nobody better pass out tonight. You’re wearing out your welcome.”

  “Got it, Cruella.” Pierce snickered as he reached for the blunt. “We’ll be there.”

  She flipped him the bird. “And don’t call me Cruella.”

  He looked her up and down with glassy eyes. “You’re right, sweetheart. Cruella Deville was kinda hot.”

  She slammed the flimsy door, nearly knocking the cheap plywood off its one good hinge.

  The bar had seen better days. It was a dive when I played here at sixteen, and if possible, it was worse now. Not that I cared much about my surroundings at the moment. I was too high to notice. But apparently not high enough. I could still see Taryn’s stricken face as she stood in my living room. No amount of drugs could wipe the image from my mind.

  Which was ironic, since drugs were the reason I sent her away in the first place.

  When she showed up last night and witnessed the scene with my old man, I saw it as a sign. I buried myself in her sweet body, hoping that she’d save me from myself and the cravings. It worked for a minute. But sure as shit, as soon as she slipped out of my arms, I started bargaining.

  Just a little something to take the edge off.

  After formulating an elaborate scheme to sneak away and feed the beast, the truth hit me. Taryn couldn’t save me. Nobody could. So in a moment of clarity, I lobbed a few verbal grenades, hit all the soft spots. And she left.

  Then I took an Oxy, and waited for the void to swallow me. But it didn’t. She was there, like a sliver embedded in my mind.

  “Noble.” Pierce jabbed me in the ribs and shoved a small mirror into my hand. “Take a bump. You look like you’re ready to pass out.”

  Closing one eye, I looked down at the powder. “Coke?”

  “Not unless you’re buying, dude.” He laughed. “That’s Crystal.”

  Shrugging, I took the straw. Meth. Coke. It didn’t really matter. The Oxy was kicking my ass. And besides, I was only going to do a line.

  The white granules hit the back of my throat, and I winced, tears springing to my eyes.

  “Hurts so good, don’t it?” Pierce chortled.

  As soon as the euphoria crept over me, all my good intentions fell by the wayside. One line was never going to be enough.

  I clutched the mirror when Pierce made a grab for it. “I’m not done.”

  I gave him a smile to hide the edge in my voice. My heightened awareness brought with it the notion that four of us were sharing this paltry stash.

  I snorted the next line before Pierce got any ideas. “Does your guy deliver? This shit ain’t gonna last.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “No worries, dude. My guy will get someone to make a run, as long as you got cash.”

  Cash I had. It was my common sense that had left the building. My gaze shifted to the door when a familiar voice scratched the inside of my brain.

  “Get out of my way,
or I’ll put your ass on the ground,” Cameron bellowed, knocking someone aside as he barreled through the door with Logan on his heels. They wore equal looks of disgust as they scanned the room.

  “Cameron, dude!” Pierce exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. “Long time, no see.”

  My brother tore his heavy gaze from mine for a second to take in my friend. “Pierce,” he muttered.

  Frenetic energy crackled between Cameron and me. Even in my fucked-up state, I felt it.

  “We got a show,” Pierce said, stepping out of the line of fire. “Y’all stick around. We’ll party when we’re done.”

  I thought about responding, but the effort was beyond me. Rooted to the shitty couch, I watched listlessly while Pierce and his crew scurried to gather their stuff.

  “You want me to make that call, Chase?” Pierce raised a brow. “The dude does business at that titty bar off Airport Row. I could always go for a lap dance.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “You can come too, little brother,” Pierce said to Cameron as he headed for the exit. “Good drugs and easy women. We’ll make a night of it.”

  As soon as the door slammed shut, Cameron grabbed the mirror I didn’t realize I was holding. “What the fuck are you doing?” he seethed. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  I grabbed a beer from the table. “You need to run along. This is a private party. By invitation only.”

  Cameron laced his hands behind his head and muttered to himself while Logan leaned against the wall, his features schooled into a mask.

  I reached for the blunt, and Cameron grabbed my hand. “Don’t make me drag you out of here,” he growled.

  It took all of three seconds before I was on my feet, nose-to-nose with my baby brother and his ticking jaw.

  “You’d need a forklift to drag me anywhere.” I felt the scowl coat my face, the combination of the speed and adrenaline pushing me over the edge. “Get out of here. I don’t need a chaperone.”

  Logan pounced like a cat, his fingers coiling around my bicep. “You’re going to need a fucking doctor if you don’t come with us.”

  The madman currently in control of my body caught Logan’s wrist and twisted hard. “We can get a room for two.” I smiled, tightening my grip. “Because you know I ain’t going down alone.”

  “Fine by me,” Logan spat. “I got a few minutes to kill, and I’d love to put you on your ass. You’ve been asking for it for days.”

  The door burst open, and the owner of the bar stepped in, a Louisville Slugger at his side. The old man hadn’t changed a bit since I was sixteen.

  “You having a problem with these guys, Noble?” His brow furrowed as he gave Logan a once over. “Cage,” he grumbled. “You’re not any more welcome in my bar than your old man. I told you that years ago.”

  “I’m just here for my friend.” Logan looked down at the bat in the old man’s beefy paw. “And that little toothpick you’re carrying don’t scare me one bit.”

  When the rational side of my brain made one final attempt to assert its will, I lifted my hands in surrender.

  “We were just leaving.” I patted the old man on the arm as I strode by.

  My attempt at a carefree swagger was hard to maintain as I bounced off the walls, the red exit sign at the back of the building growing closer with every stride. I pushed through the door, sweat pouring off my brow as I staggered to my car.

  Cameron grabbed the door handle when I slid behind the wheel. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Back to the loft,” I said, my most reassuring smile in place. “You didn’t give me much choice now, did you?”

  “Get out,” he ordered. “You can’t drive.”

  I shrugged, and Cameron loosened his grip. It was almost too easy, fooling my brother with that lame ploy. I slammed the door and then turned the key.

  “Chase!” He beat on the window, his hazel eyes blazing with fury. “Open the fucking door.”

  Cameron took futile steps to block my path. But he wasn’t fast enough. Dirt and gravel spit from my tires as I careened toward the entrance, leaving my brother under the street lamp.

  I popped the last Oxy into my mouth as Cameron’s silhouette grew smaller in the rearview mirror. The farther I drove, the fainter the shadow became until it disappeared altogether, and there was nothing left but my own eyes, staring back at me in the reflection.

  My smile melted as I took stock of what I’d become. I no longer feared the monster inside of me. I embraced him.

  Chapter 32

  Taryn

  I got off the plane at LAX, dragging my worn suitcase behind me. My stomach churned, the strong smell of airline fuel wafting into the cramped hallway.

  Dread washed over me as I thought of the photographers congregating at the bottom of the escalator, hoping to get a shot of the flavor of the week so they could auction it off to the highest bidder.

  Standing in the corner of the crowded bathroom, I tucked my long hair under an LA Dodgers baseball cap.

  I slipped through the throngs of people unnoticed, breathing a sigh of relief when the automatic doors whooshed open, and I spotted my regular driver hovering next to the unassuming black sedan in passenger pick up.

  Out of nowhere, a paparazzo stepped in front of me, walking backward with a video camera trained on my face.

  “Taryn! Where’s Becks?” He pulled the lens away to judge my reaction. “Are you here to confront Maddy?”

  Another cameraman joined the fray. And another.

  Sidestepping the boldest reporter, blocking my path with his thick body, I passed the driver my bag. “You guys must be really desperate.”

  “Come on, Taryn,” he pressed, nearly falling off the curb in hot pursuit as I ducked into the backseat. “Are you here with Beckett?”

  I slammed the door on the interloper.

  “Sorry about that, Ms. Ayers.” The driver met my gaze in the rearview mirror, a sympathetic smile lifting his lips. “You know how they are.”

  I nodded wearily, and looked out the tinted windows. The LA skyline, with its blanket of haze, deepened the gloom settling on me. Tori’s ringtone pierced the air.

  Not now, Belle.

  I hit ignore, sending the call to voicemail. Likely, her tone would mimic the flavor of the dozen texts she’d sent since this morning when I apprised her of my plans. Resting my eyes for what I thought was a second, I jolted awake when the sedan pulled to a stop and the driver lowered the partition.

  “Sorry to wake you. We’re here.”

  I punched in the code for the wrought iron security gate, glowering at the girls loitering on the perimeter of the property. Drained and bone tired, I stepped into the perpetual California sunshine.

  “There you go, Ms. Ayers,” the driver said, exchanging my suitcase for a generous tip. “See you next time.”

  I surveyed the façade of the two-story, six room Mediterranean mansion. A shit ton of bad memories overshadowed the opulence of the charming estate. But since I was only going to be here a couple of days I didn’t see the use in going to a hotel.

  I dragged my suitcase over the threshold, the wheels sliding on the polished marble as I made my way to the staircase.

  A cloud of stale perfume assailed me as I stepped inside the guest room. Assuming Harper Rush was the previous occupant, I threw my suitcase on the bed, ignoring the cloying floral scent. I froze when I pulled open the dresser drawer and came face to face with a stack full of publicity shots of Maddy Silva.

  Gathering my things, I did the only thing I could do. I walked straight to the double doors at the end of the hallway. As I glanced around the room I never wanted to see again, I spotted several pictures of me on the dresser.

  An eight by ten glossy of me at seventeen sat on the nightstand, facing the bed. Beckett’s tribute fell flat when I thought of all the women that must’ve seen the photo and felt sorry for me. But I was too exhausted to care.

  I caught a whiff of Beckett’s soap, lingering on th
e feather pillows. It was strangely comforting in an odd way. Whatever else Beckett was, he was home to me.

  Taking a deep breath, I blocked out the sound of Tori’s ringtone. I’d deal with the fallout when I was rested.

  My eyes drifted shut, and Chase’s smile awaited me in a dream. The fifteen hundred miles that separated us wasn’t far enough to drive him from my mind. But it was a start.

  I took the last bite of my Hershey bar and then began the search for my laptop. It was somewhere in the bed. As much as I dreaded sleeping here when I’d arrived, I hadn’t left the safety of the room in thirty-six hours.

  Throwing back the heavy comforter, I spotted my MacBook. A glimmer of hope resounded in my chest when I saw the little yellow “away” symbol next to Tori’s Skype handle. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Gingerly, I hit the button and held my breath.

  “Taryn!”

  I could hear her voice, but there was no live feed. Thank God.

  “I’m here,” I replied dully.

  “I can’t see you.”

  “Hit the button with the camera in the middle of the …”

  “Where have you been?” she demanded, her brows pinched in anger. “And why haven’t you picked up the damn phone?”

  “I did,” I protested. “I sent you a text. I’m in LA.”

  “No shit.” She lifted the energy drink to her lips, the aluminum can crunching under the pressure of her grip.

  “I’ve got to handle that business with Trent.”

  I conveniently omitted the fact that I’d skipped the meeting and had yet to reschedule.

  “And you had to fly out there personally—without telling anyone where you were going?”

  “We just talked about this.” My diplomatic tone edged with irritation. “You told me to handle Trent, and I am.”

  “We’ve got a meeting with the vendors about the memorial show. That’s the priority.”

  At the moment, I was the priority. But Tori didn’t see that. She didn’t even ask.

  “You don’t need me for that,” I bit out. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

  Tori contemplated for a moment, then lifted her chin. “No.”