by Cari Quinn
“And you believed him.”
“No, I didn’t fucking believe him. But what was I supposed to do about it? The night before, you called out his goddamn name while I was inside you. I didn’t want to be part of it anymore.”
Shame heated her already scalding cheeks. “So you washed your hands of it.”
“Maybe I did. It wasn’t my problem. I warned him what he was risking, but fuck, Jazz, I’d just told him he could have you, that I wouldn’t interfere. Everyone thinks I’m a bastard anyway, so why not play my part?”
“Because you’re not a bastard. A bastard wouldn’t have just sat with me while I cried. You wouldn’t care if we saved a spot for him. You’d be hoping like hell he got thrown out.”
“Yeah, so maybe I like the guy now, all right? Maybe I get it finally, that what’s between the two of you had nothing to do with me. And so I’m not going to fucking cry in my milk and wish for him to get what he deserves. Because maybe he really does deserve you, more than I ever did.”
She walked over to him and cupped his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He gripped her hands for a second before letting go and stepping back. “Get dressed so we can practice.” Without waiting for her to reply, he pulled the door shut behind him.
She still hadn’t moved when she heard his voice on the phone.
“Ricki, I need your help.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Then
“Happy birthday, Jazzy.”
She turned at the slurred voice behind her, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of Brent in her bedroom doorway, his tie half undone and his jacket gaping open. He’d dressed up for the sweet sixteen party the Duffys had organized for her, but he was already half in the bag.
Didn’t anyone notice? Or maybe it didn’t matter. He worked now, and Mrs. Duffy treated him like an adult. It wasn’t any big thing if he wanted to have a few drinks to unwind after he returned from his shift.
“Hi. Thanks.” She tried to smile but the gesture fell short.
Nothing new when it came to dealing with Brent.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned back to her dresser. Tonight she would get to wear the aquamarine dangle earrings Mrs. Duffy had given her for an early birthday gift.
“I heard you singing, baby. What song was that?”
Ick, she hated when he called her baby. It made her skin prickle as if she’d gotten too much sun. When Gray used the same term, she loved it. That probably wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t deny her natural reaction. God knows she’d tried a million times.
“Elvis. Hey, is everyone here yet?” At the tickle between her shoulder blades, she turned, not feeling comfortable with him behind her. He’d moved up close—too close—and she bumped into the dresser, sending a few of her perfume bottles tumbling to the floor. She gasped and bent to see if the bottles broke, only to have Brent seize hold of her arm and tug her to her feet. “Hey, what are you—”
“Stupid slut. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He twisted her arm and forced her backward until she fell onto her bed. “Fucking tease. He thinks you want him. We’ll see about that.”
Panic spurted inside her, drowning out any logic she had left. She couldn’t think straight when he was looming over her, the bottle in one hand and his other on his buckle.
Oh God, he was undoing his belt.
“Brent, no.” She scrambled backward on the mattress and he grabbed her ankle, yanking her forward while she flailed and kicked. “Stop it, Brent! You got the wrong idea. I don’t know what you mean—”
“Cunt. Stop your shit. I’m going to prove to him that you’re not the sweet little bitch he thinks you are. I know you’re not innocent. I hear you in here, fucking that Daniels kid.” He moved to unzip his zipper and she went still, shock taking over.
This couldn’t be happening. She’d finally found her perfect home with the perfect family. The Duffys were going to adopt her, she knew they would. All she had to do was stay still and take it, just not make a sound so they would never know what she’d let him do.
He was right, just like her mother had said. She was a slut. Always tempting the men. First Jacob, now Brent. She deserved this, and if she accepted it without making too much of a fuss, it didn’t have to ruin anything. She could still become a Duffy. Gray didn’t ever have to know either.
She’d never have to see the disgust in his eyes if she just stayed quiet.
“That’s it, baby. I knew you wanted it,” Brent crooned, bracing a knee on the bed as he tugged down his jeans. At the sight of his boxer-covered erection, she choked and turned her face away, covering her chest with her arms. “Don’t hide yourself from me. Let me see those pretty tits—”
“No. Don’t touch me. God, please, just leave me alone.” She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. She’d die first. She slapped and kicked, fighting for everything she was worth.
“Stupid bitch, you’ll pay for that.” His big hand clamped around her throat, cutting off her air as he pinned her with his heavy, hot body, and she screamed the only thing that came to mind.
The only word she could still remember.
“Gray!”
The door flew open, banging into the wall, and then the weight was being lifted off her, vanishing so fast that she patted her sides to reassure herself she wasn’t imagining things. She still had her eyes squeezed shut but when she opened them, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Brent was fighting with…Gray? How could he be there? He was supposed to be at school. He’d apologized for not being sure if he could make it back home for her party, and she’d told him it was okay because she understood. He was busy, and she wasn’t his whole life like he was hers. It was just a stupid birthday.
Stupid slut.
She covered her head with her arms and curled on her side, away from the fight. She knew she should get up and help Gray but her legs had gone numb and the sensation was spreading. Higher, higher the cold crept, taking away the pain. She wouldn’t feel it soon. She could just float away.
She started singing Elvis again, louder and louder until she was screaming the words that only a while ago had made her giggle and dance around the room. Now they burned her throat as she shouted them, tears pouring down her face, anything to drown out the sounds taking place behind her.
Stupid cunt, you did this. You.
“Jazz, baby, are you okay?” Gentle hands smoothed over her back and she shrieked and rolled away, pressing herself to the wall.
“No, no, no. Don’t touch me.” She sang louder, rocking faster, anything to block out the hands pulling at her. She couldn’t feel them. They couldn’t hurt her now. Her knees banged the wall as she tried to ball herself up to make herself too small to be seen, but it didn’t work. He was still there. His hot breath still blew over her skin. She shuddered and pressed her arms together. Smaller, smaller. She was tiny. She could disappear.
“I’m here. It’s me, baby. Jazz, it’s Gray. I’ve got you.” He scooped her up and she turned into him, following his voice through the darkness that had claimed her.
“Gray,” she whispered brokenly, clinging to his neck. A seeping wound marred his forehead and cheek. She touched the blood and shrank back at the sight of it on her skin. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t let go.”
“I won’t. I won’t, ever.” He buried his face in her hair and rocked them both. “Oh God, I’ll never let him hurt you again.”
She lifted her head, blinking through the haze of tears as Mrs. Duffy bolted into the room. “What happened?” She pinned Jazz with her accusing gaze. “What did you do?”
And just like that, the last of her dreams crumbled through her fingers like sand. She’d never had a chance in hell of anyone wanting her to be theirs anyway.
She was on her own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Now
Backstage at Trix, the venue for that night’s show, Nick gripped Jazz’s hands. �
�How do you feel?”
“Like I’m about to puke.”
“You’re not going to puke. We ran through the entire setlist back at the cabin and you only flubbed a few notes. Completely unnoticeable notes, I might add. With me beside you, everyone’s going to be too busy admiring my fingerwork to even notice yours.” The smile he flashed her didn’t do a thing to mitigate Jazz’s nerves.
She flexed her fingers and tried not to think about how she was holding Gray’s beloved Epiphone. She tried not to think at all, period. That was the only way she was going to get through tonight.
As soon as the show was over, she could—and probably would—collapse. But right now, she had to do this for Gray. She would make him proud of her and offer up every song she played tonight to whatever god happened to be watching out for them. And in every spare moment, she would continue to pray as she had since that afternoon.
Please take care of him. Please let him know how much I love him. Please bring him back to me.
Every hour that passed without contact from him increased her dread. There was no universe where Gray would’ve gone this long without calling her. He would never miss a show.
So he must not be capable of contacting her. That didn’t mean he had OD’d. Once she’d realized he had taken Harper’s catering truck, she’d started weighing other scenarios. It could’ve been a car accident. Not a fatal one—God no—but one where he had to deal with cops and other drivers and damage. Maybe his cell phone wasn’t working. Dead battery. He might’ve run a light and gotten a ticket and fought with the police. Even imagining him in jail was preferable to any of the other scenarios scrolling through her mind.
Deak strolled up beside them and lifted an eyebrow at Jazz wearing Gray’s guitar. “So you’re our second guitarist tonight, huh? And the Brooklyn Dawn chick is filling in on drums?”
“Yes,” Nick said, answering for Jazz. “Jamie. She’s really good. Plus, she’s super hot. Jugs for days, man.”
As usual Deak ignored their guitarist and his sexist commentary. “And what’s this about Gray borrowing Harper’s truck? She’s meeting with a new client tomorrow—”
“He had a family emergency and wasn’t able to get back in time,” Jazz said, reciting the speech that she and Nick had settled on. “He’s really sorry for the inconvenience and promises to pay her for any loss of business. It was unavoidable.”
“Another family emergency, hmm? Can we talk alone for a minute?”
“There’s no need for that,” Nick began.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” She shot Nick a calming look and led Deak a few feet away. Before he could speak, she held up a hand. “I know it all sounds weird, but please, Deak, just bear with me tonight and let’s get through the show, okay?”
Evidently he heard the plea in her voice because he nodded and pulled her into a hug. “I hope like hell that whatever’s going on doesn’t get you hurt,” he said gruffly.
She hugged him back and forced a smile as she stepped away. “Me too.”
“You sure you’re okay to play tonight? That’s a lot of material for you to learn when you’re used to being behind the kit.”
“I started on the guitar way back when. It wasn’t that hard to pick it up again.” It had surprised her how easy it had been to play, especially since she’d had Nick at her side instead of Gray. But maybe he was helping her from wherever he was. He’d always given her a little extra boost, so why should tonight be any different?
So what if she didn’t know where he was? He was out there. Okay. He had to be. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to function. She would know.
“All right, if you insist.”
“I do, thanks.” She patted him on the arm then headed toward the stage, where the ladies from Brooklyn Dawn were trying to get her attention.
As always, Jamie wore a kickass outfit—lots of leather and denim paired with thigh-high boots and huge silver hoops. On another night, Jazz would’ve been jealous of her killer style. Tonight all she could do was lean in to give her a quick hug and a quiet “thank you.”
Jamie was more of a guitarist than a drummer but Nick had said she’d offered her help without hesitation. Lindsey, Brooklyn Dawn’s keyboardist, had done the same. The pretty blond wore a less flashy ensemble of an off-the-shoulder top and fitted pants but her beauty turned the ordinary into extraordinary. Nick had suggested Lindz add some piano accompaniment to a couple of their songs to make it seem more like a joint band collaboration, and Jazz had agreed. Why the hell not? Maybe if they crammed more people on the stage, she would stop looking at the spot beside Nick where Gray should be.
The spot she would be filling soon.
“Thank you too, Lindz,” Jazz said, giving the blonde a quick hug as well. She hadn’t talked too much to either of the girls before, but from the sympathetic looks they were giving her, she had to wonder how much Nick had told them about her missing fiancé.
Not that it mattered. They were there to help get them through the show. The rest had to wait until she’d put this night in the rearview mirror.
“No problem at all. We’re excited to jam with you guys.” Jamie slipped behind the kit without removing her boots and Jazz did a double take.
Wow, she was going to play in those? That chick was hardcore. Many of the drummers Jazz had known over the years were like her and preferred to play barefoot. But Jamie appeared supremely confident so Jazz had to assume she knew what she was doing.
“Absolutely. This is going to be one hell of a show. We already know a lot of your classics, so to get to play with you is incredible.” Lindz squeezed Jazz’s hand and moved off to take her spot behind the keyboard.
Jazz dampened her dust dry lips and looked down at the guitar she wore. It was too big for her and she’d probably be sore from playing by the end of the night.
But nothing could touch the numbing pain in her chest. It was slowly moving outward to encompass the rest of her body. She wasn’t even nervous about what she had to do anymore. Her only thought was Gray.
When Nick joined her onstage, she struggled to give him a smile. He’d coached her through this, and someday she’d thank him for all his help. Right now getting through each minute taxed her to the point that speech had become impossible. She had no idea how she was going to sing.
“Jasmine, look at me.”
She looked. She couldn’t do anything else.
“Gray’s going to watch this tape later and be so fucking turned on by watching you kill it on his guitar that he’ll probably nail you in ways I haven’t even thought of,” he said, surprising a laugh out of her when she’d thought the laughter inside of her had finally run out.
“I needed that. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, show me up. I’ve never dueled with a girl before. Sounds fucking hot.”
As soon as the finished speaking, the house lights went down and Simon swaggered on stage to greet the crowd. “How are you beasts doing tonight? A little cold out there, so we’re ready to make it hot up in here!”
After the cheers died down, Simon tugged his old school mic up to his mouth and whispered, “Guys, I’ve got a secret. We lost our motherfucking guitarist, so we got ourselves an amazing replacement. Y’all give it up for our sweet Jazzy stepping out from behind the kit.”
The cheers and whistling from the audience made it easier for her to step forward and give a bow. She didn’t quite manage a smile, but at least she didn’t freeze. The anxiety had bled away into a dull resignation. This was her band, and she would make it work.
Nick let the first few licks of “Taste of Candy” rip, her cue to shake off the rust and join him. She allowed the muscle memory to take over and focused on just getting out the right notes in the right order, following Nick’s lead. He glanced over at her every couple seconds, almost like a papa duck checking on his duckling. It made her smile and try that much harder.
She wouldn’t let Gray—or Nick—down.
Jamie had no trouble keeping th
e beat on the drums, adding her own sense of flair to the rhythm. Speeding up in places, slowing down in others. She had a sense of the dramatic and made damn good use of her hi-hats, slamming on them with a vigor that Jazz had to appreciate. The girl was fucking amazing with her black hair flying everywhere and that demonic grin stretching across her face. There was someone who was enjoying herself, not just getting by and getting through.
Lindz offered her own contribution to the music, providing a texture they hadn’t had since the days Margo had sat in with them on their first big smash, “The Becoming”. Lindz didn’t have the same aggressive attitude that Jamie did but she was no less showy than her bandmate, easily bantering with the crowd in the few moments that Simon took a break to guzzle water and suck on throat lozenges. Guess his “scratchy throat” complaint hadn’t been a fib after all.
Jazz just played her part, even going back to back with Nick on “Ripcord” as Gray always did. Having those firm shoulders behind her offered her a place to sag when she wasn’t sure she could go on another second. Sweat dripped into her eyes and soaked her hair. The lights seemed way too bright, hazing her vision. Her arms vibrated from the unfamiliar stress of playing, and her whole body felt sore from crying. She tried her hardest to lose herself in the music, to let the hard, driving beats of the songs she loved carry her away, but there was no song that could distract her from the montage of terrifying images rolling through her mind.
Gray, hurt and bleeding. Those beautiful eyes forever closed. When the pictures hit her, stealing her breath and a cry from her throat she couldn’t swallow back, Nick was there, dragging her through the songs with him, willing her to play. His solid form at her side helped her forge on when she didn’t think she could pluck another note. When her voice ran hoarse because she was using all of her energy to try to hold back her sobs.
“You’re doing fucking amazing,” he whispered in between songs, nudging her arm in his version of a fistbump.