Marcella was sitting in a chair in the hall, looking as bone-tired as Mish felt. She rose and held up both hands, probably to forestall and questions. “He’s fine. Well, as fine as someone stabbed can be. Knife didn’t go too deep and hit nothing too vital, they say. They want to keep him overnight, though, to make sure.”
“Bet that went over well.” Mish had a suspicion David hated hospitals as much as she did.
Marcella’s weary smile was enough of an answer. “How’s the hand?”
Mish had ditched the cold pack in the SUV, which might not have been the brightest idea, since her hand was still pretty swollen. “It’s okay, but I should get it checked out.”
“Oh good. I don’t have to hound you.” Marcella brushed her hair from her face. “I also called our lawyer, and she’ll want to speak to you tomorrow—all of you.”
There was a little collective grunt about that, but Mish nodded.
“And,” Marcella continued, “that shithead is in jail for the night, so don’t you worry about him. We’re going to request that bail be denied in the morning—and by we, I mean our lawyer. Gonfaus already has people on it.”
“That it?” All good stuff, but she really wanted to see David.
“Yeah. Go on. He’s in the second room on the left.”
Mish went. Behind her, Marcella spoke. “How about you guys wait a little?”
Bless that woman. She’d been the right choice for their manager after all.
Mish slowed when she closed in on the door, took a deep breath to slow her racing heart, then entered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
More than anything in the world, David fucking hated hospitals. Granted, he hated most medical-related things, since so many doctors generally had no fucking clue how to handle the fact that he was trans. At least this round of medical shit hadn’t been so bad. He suspected that was largely due to Marcella handling the medical details, down to informing them about his sulfa allergy.
Everyone had used the correct pronouns, which sometimes didn’t happen despite the voice and beard, and all involved in his care had been respectful, thank goodness. Still, everything about medicine rankled his last nerve and past experiences kept him constantly on vigil and so damn aware of his body that he felt every brush of the sheet and the hospital gown on his skin. He wanted out.
They wanted him to stay. He was going to have to stay. Fucking fucker with the fucking blade.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed. The pain meds had certainly diminished his vocabulary. Back in the army, he’d have come up with a much better string of expletives to call that meat-headed lug.
David had been lucky. Knives were bad. Puncture wounds in the chest or stomach were even worse. So much could go wrong. So much hadn’t, which was a miracle. And Mish was safe. The stalker was in custody. Sure, David had been taken out of commission, but the danger to Mish had been removed.
She could go on with her life, and he had a reason to slip away and let her do that. Marly would keep her safe now. That was enough.
His chest ached for an entirely different reason than the stitched-up hole in his side, and he closed his eyes, wishing the drugs they’d given him would quiet his mind and soothe his soul, too.
“David?”
Mish’s voice crashed into him and took away all hope of easing his heartache. He blinked open his eyes.
“Hey.” He didn’t know whether to use baby or rock queen or princess or what. No clue what he was now. No longer her bodyguard. Not her boyfriend. “How are you holding up?”
She shifted closer, walking carefully, as if unsure the floor would support her. “Me?” She grunted. “I’m fine. Little bruised.” She held up her hand.
It was more than a little bruised and Mish was not fine. Any fool could tell that. But he knew better than to comment. “Better than me, then.” That, at least, was the truth.
Her smile was wan and sad. “I’m so sorry.”
“Baby.” That slipped out, and he shook his head. “Mish, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
Her lips twitched. “Everyone keeps saying that—but I didn’t run when you told me to.”
No, she hadn’t. Maybe if she had, he could have taken that shitstain down without getting hurt. Maybe.
He took a breath. “I don’t think he brought the knife for you—or not entirely for you. Dude wanted me out of the picture.” So he could have Mish to himself. Hell, he’d likely have taken out Ray, Zavier, Dom, and Adrian, too, if that had meant getting her.
Something shifted in Mish, and she looked away. “He had a knife back then, too. Probably thought it would scare me into silence.”
A yawning pit opened in David. “Did he hurt you then?”
Mish shook her head, a real smile gracing her lips. “Mom punched him in the face when I screamed. Like mother like daughter, I guess.” She lifted her hand again.
She wasn’t going to be playing bass any time soon. Good thing the tour had a break for most of July. “You should have someone look at that. Don’t want those cuts infected.”
“I’m sure Marcella already has someone waiting for me in the hall.”
“She’s good. Takes care of you all. You’ll need that.” Especially since he wouldn’t be there anymore.
Yeah, Mish had followed his train of thought, because the anguish on her face was mirror to the twisting of his soul. “David.”
“I can’t.” Those words came out as a harsh whisper. “You know I can’t stay.”
She closed her eyes, but a stray tear fell out anyway. “Fucking damn it,” she muttered, and brushed it away. “It’s not like you’re going to be able to work for a while.”
Not with this wound, no. It would take time to fully heal. He could take a few low-key jobs in a month or two, but nothing where he was expected to be very physical. None of that got to the heart of the matter.
“I will be working again. I need to. It’s not the money.” He’d never asked for anyone else’s support. Always lived on his own dime ever since high school. Went into the military to pay for college. All of that.
“We could still—” She waved her hand, and let the rest go unsaid. It was the same argument they’d had before.
“What, with you off touring, or me off on a gig? We’d drive each other to distraction being together but apart. You know this. We just—baby, our lives aren’t the same. There’s no meshing them.” Not without him dropping his career and becoming another tagalong. Or a groupie. Or getting a job somewhere in their crew only because he was dating Mish.
“I nearly lost you!” Those four words, the way they poured out of her, took his breath away. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He didn’t have an answer for that, not really. “You have family.” He gestured out to the hallway, guessing that the rest of that little knot of people was out there. “You have them.”
“You could be part of that.” Mish brushed another tear off her cheek. “We thought you were part of that.”
Knowing that opened another hole in his chest, one deeper and more awful than any knife wound. “But I’m...just a guy, Mish.” He shrugged helplessly. “No one different from any other person.”
“That’s bullshit—you—” Exasperation seemed to take the words from her. “You were one of us.”
“Just visiting. And besides, a queen like you deserves someone better than a bodyguard.”
“Oh, fuck off with that nonsense.” She was beautiful in her anger when she rose from the chair. “You know me better than to try to pull that self-deprecating shit on me.” Took only a few steps for her to reach his side. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me.”
He met her gaze, and tonight her eyes were hazel and wet, and so full of pain and hope. He licked his dry lips. “You know I can’t do that.”
Because he did love her. Truly did. She was
the most amazing woman he’d ever met. But sometimes life didn’t let you have what you wanted.
“Then why? Why can’t we be together?”
“Because I’m not like Adrian. I can’t give up my life to follow you around the country.”
She blinked a few times, and he felt something slam shut inside her. “But you could for money.”
“That’s different. It was—”
“A job.” She straightened. “Yes, I know.”
“Mish.”
This time, it was her shaking her head. “I don’t think there’s anything more to be said. Except—if you think Adrian gave up his life to follow Dom, you really don’t know him at all. Or Dom, for that matter.” She crossed the room and paused by the door. “Maybe you’re right. Because it seems like you don’t know any of us, even after all we’ve been through together. I guess it was just a job.” She turned to go.
“It wasn’t! It wasn’t just a job, Mish! I wouldn’t be dying inside if it was.”
She looked back. “But you’ve made your choice.”
He had. What else could he do? “I’d...only be unhappy. That would be unfair to you.” He’d be a grouch and a bother and...everything he feared about himself. Bored. Useless.
Useless.
Mish’s stance seemed to soften. “You could have a place if you wanted. Ray’d find one. For family, he does. You could find a home with us. With me.”
David looked away from the inkling of hope in her. “I could tell you I’ll think about it, but we’d be back here in a month. I need to be who I am, Mish. This has to end.”
“Okay. Then let’s end it. Goodbye, David.” This time she took a step through the door.
“Mish. Keep Marly.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around. Her huff was full of anguish. “God, you are so fucking impossible, Altet. I’ll keep your bear. Have a nice Independence Day.” Then she was gone.
Fuck. He’d completely lost track of the days. That last bit stung, too. Yeah, he’d won his independence, but at what price? Part of him still was screaming why at the other part.
There was a murmur of voices out in the hall, but they faded away. He hoped Mish was getting that hand looked at. Wounds from mouths could get ugly pretty fast.
When he looked back at the door, he discovered Ray leaning against the frame, his expression unreadable. David could only stare back.
After a few silent moments, Ray heaved a sigh and straightened. “I’d hoped you’d change your mind.”
“Sorry. I need...” What? Something. Anything but this emptiness. This feeling he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, even if it was the right choice.
“I’ll have Marcella send you the paperwork and shit. Settle up and all that.” He took another long look at David. “I’m not lying when I say it’s been a pleasure to work with you, David. You were family.”
There was that word again. Deliberately used, no doubt. Ray was a wordsmith and knew his craft. “It’s been an honor,” David replied. “All of you are beyond—” He reached for a word and came up empty. “I couldn’t ask for a better group. I mean it.”
Ray stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked weary and sad. “I know you do. See you around, David.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
Then he was gone and David was alone with unshed tears, a stitched-up knife wound and a hole in his heart that was never going to heal.
For a moment, he’d had a family, and now he was alone. He only had himself—his pride and his independence—to blame for that.
* * *
By the time Mish returned to her apartment with her bandaged hand and a bottle of antibiotics, she was done with humanity. Completely. She was even too fucking tired to cry or punch pillows or shit. She sank onto her couch and put her face in her hands, then pushed them up into her hair, feeling the curls stop and trap them there.
Her luggage was strewn about the front room. Hadn’t even had a chance to unpack.
If only—
But no, she shoved that thought away, even as she slipped her fingers out of her locks. No ifs. David had made a choice, and while she hated it, didn’t agree with it, didn’t understand it, she had to respect it. And that meant not getting herself wound up by what she couldn’t change.
She had changed the shit with her stalker, though. He was gone, and that was a damn good thing. Relief eked through the sorrow of losing David. No more comments or emails. Sure, there’d still be troll stuff, but nothing like that controlling bastard. Maybe she could get her ring back, too. She’d have to ask the police about that.
Mish stood and started her nightly routine, moving from her living room into her master suite and ignoring the hollow in her heart and focusing on the weight that had been lifted. Later, later she’d acknowledge the loss in her soul. But that was too raw and new. Too much, after everything. Did David think they wouldn’t come see him in the hospital? That with this over, they wouldn’t—she wouldn’t want and need him anymore?
Mish pressed her hands down onto the cold hard marble of the bathroom counter. So much for ignoring that. Fucking hell. Tears welled in her eyes.
Someone buzzed her apartment. Gave her an excuse to wipe her eyes and stop looking at her horrible reflection in the mirror. She figured it was Ray, or maybe Dom. They were the most likely to come to see her after really emotional shit went down. But when she called the front desk, it was Marcella who’d come.
A couple of minutes later, she stood in Mish’s apartment, Marly in her hands.
“Oh.” Mish reached for the bear and pulled him into her chest. “David wanted me to have him.”
“So he said.” Marcella hesitated for a moment. “Do you need to talk? Do you want me to stay?”
Wasn’t like Marcella at all to offer an ear, but then again, here she was. “I’m—” She wasn’t fine. “Yeah, maybe.” Mish gestured at the couch in the living room. “You pull the short straw or something?”
Marcella huffed. “No. I’m here because I care. And honestly, the guys have no idea what to do. Not about David, at least.” She sat.
Mish joined her. She could only wince at his name and hug the bear tighter. “I don’t know what to do about David. I want to throttle him for being so fucking dense. But I also get his need for independence. It’s not that easy when you’ve always relied on yourself to hitch your wagon to others.”
Marcella tipped her head. “You did.”
Mish pressed her nose into Marly, hoping to catch some scent of David. His skin or shampoo or soap—and yes. There it was.
She lowered the bear. “I did. I bet if you ask Ray and Dom, they’ll tell you I didn’t rely on them. Ray was the leader and all, but I took care of those guys for a long time.”
But then Zavier had joined the band during that tumultuous tour. Life had been stellar and horrible at the same time, and they’d all learned to help each other. It had propelled Ray to take care of them all—then Adrian had joined their group, too. Dom had found his own stride.
“But they don’t need me anymore.”
“Oh god, Mish. They need you more than you know. Those men would walk through fire for you.”
“Family,” Mish said. “I thought David—” Her throat seized up.
“Yeah, we all did.” Marcella poked at the books Mish had left on her coffee table. “Zavier’s beside himself—well, as much as he ever is.”
That teased a smile from Mish. “He hates being wrong. But not, like, hate hate. It frustrates him when he doesn’t understand people.”
“Yeah, I noticed. People aren’t always understandable, though.”
Wasn’t that the truth. “I loved him. Love him. David, I mean. Love Zav, too, but...”
“Not like that.”
They sat in silence for a while. “I guess I should also be upset about the stalker, but hon
estly, I’m glad we finally got him. That he showed himself. And punching his smug face was so fucking satisfying I can’t even put it into words. Like, that was enough.”
“Well, there’s still a ton of stuff you need to do there. Speak to our lawyer. Probably talk to the cops again. We’re going to have to issue a press release about the whole incident. It’s not going to be over for a while yet.” Marcella made a face. “Plus, there’s your hand.”
“It’s not broken. Not even sprained this time. Just swollen and cut.”
“I doubt you’re picking up your bass tomorrow.”
“Okay, yeah. I’ll be out of commission for a bit. But we have a break anyway. I don’t think we’re gonna have to cancel shows.”
“Ray said the same.” Marcella pushed at the books again. “But I have to think of all the angles, you know?”
“It’s what a good manager does.”
Marcella got a strange look, both sadness and joy mixed. “I’m glad I can be there for you all. I’m still pissed that you’ve had to go through so much.” She chewed her lip. “David was stabbed. There’s gonna be fallout from that.”
“And our breakup, too, I guess.”
Marcella shook her head. “We’re not going to comment on that. I don’t think the sites will pursue that angle for a while, since he was injured. There’s recovery time for both of you. You guys can...disappear for a while.”
“He’s gonna be all right?”
“Yeah. Apparently he’s had worse injuries while in the army. Take a couple of months before he can go back to work, but...”
“He can go back to work. He will go back to work.” Mish pressed Marly against her chin. “That’s what we fought about.”
“Because if he’s working a job, he’s not going to be here with you—wherever here is.”
“I suppose it’s not fair to expect him to follow me around—”
“—but there’s space for him. In the crew. In your—”
“Our. You’re a part of this. Our family.”
Marcella froze for a moment. “Oh.”
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