Faded (Faded Duet Book 1)

by Julie Johnson

  “We’re late for the party. We should probably go,” she murmurs, grabbing a tissue and slowly wiping the mascara from beneath her eyes. “I’ll fix my makeup in the car.”

  I give a frigid nod, then extend my hand. My heart stops beating as I wait for her to take it. There’s a long, frozen moment when I think she’s going to ignore me… but eventually, she laces her fingers with mine and squeezes lightly. My heart resumes pumping as we walk out of the bathroom together.

  I’ll fix this.

  I have to fix this.

  There’s no other choice.

  Chapter Thirty

  felicity

  I watch him from the corner of my eye as he chats with Aiden and Linc on the other side of the room. There are several people from the label clustered around them, congratulating them on the first Wildwood album. From here, you can hardly see the way he’s changed — the dark circles under his eyes, the jitteriness of his hands as they fumble with his cigarette lighter, the new sharpness of his cheekbones from one too many nights without dinner.

  Now that my eyes are open to it, I can’t stop seeing how much he’s changed.

  “The domestic pre-order numbers look strong,” Francesca’s saying, scrolling through her tablet. “We’re not moving as many units in the international markets as I’d like, but there’s room to grow there…”

  “Do you have to use that thing at a party?” I ask, sipping my seltzer. “Aren’t we supposed to be mingling or something? Isn’t that the whole point?”

  She arches an auburn brow at my tone. “The point, my dear, is to celebrate your first record.”

  “Right. Celebrate.”

  “Are you okay? You sound… off.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the reason you and Ryder were thirty minutes late for this event we’re throwing in your honor?”

  My hand clenches tighter around my glass. “We’re here now. Isn’t that what matters?”

  “Partly. But there’s still so much to do—”

  “Like what?” My voice is wrung out, completely exhausted. I’ve reached my emotional limit. “The press got their pictures of their new favorite couple, posing like lovebirds beside their album cover. The album itself is finished, polished, and, as far as I’m concerned, out of my hands. I’ve done every interview, said every line of your scripts, done everything you asked of me, even though this wasn’t my dream in the first place.” My voice cracks. “I was here. I showed up. I cried off my makeup and put it back on. I smiled pretty and made smalltalk like a good little girl. What more do you want from me?”

  Smiling politely at the people clustered nearby who’ve overheard my minor outburst, Francesca grabs my arm and leads me out of the main room, onto the semi-enclosed terrace. I tear my arm from her grip and haul deep gulps of air in through my mouth as soon as we’re outside.

  “Felicity.” She stares at me like she doesn’t recognize me. “What is going on?”

  “Nothing,” I snap. I realize I’m taking my frustrations out on her, but I can’t help it. If she’d never shown up in Nashville… if she’d never dragged us out here…

  No. It’s not her fault; I can’t blame her for this. It’s just so hard to blame the person who’s actually at fault, I’m having a tough time processing my feelings.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

  “I’m not. I’d much rather have you snap at me than anyone else in that room.” Her lips twitch. “I can take it.”

  “But you don’t deserve it.”

  She stares at me for a beat. “Admittedly, emotions are not my forte. But one thing I do know — the longer you let a wound fester without dealing with it, the greater the likelihood that infection will spread and kill you one day.”

  “How… scientific.”

  She grins. “Science makes sense to me. This is the closest I get to girl talk. Sorry I’m so terrible at it.”

  I crack a smile. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

  “Take a beat. Catch your breath. Come back when you’re ready.” With an arm squeeze, she walks away, leaving me alone in the dark with only my demons for company.

  For the next few minutes, my mind turns over her advice. Despite her rather frank analysis, she wasn’t wrong. I can’t just pretend nothing happened with Ryder. And unless I’m willing to cut the cord and walk away from him right now, without even trying to fix it… we have to work on this, confront it head on, or we don’t stand a chance.

  Maybe I’m a fool. Maybe I’m walking in my mother’s footsteps, choosing the wrong man and clinging to him instead of cutting him loose when things start to fall apart. Maybe I’m trying to save someone who’s drowning, who’ll only drag me down to the depths along with him.

  But as I’m terrified by what’s going to happen next… as much as it makes me nervous to take him at his word, that he’s not addicted to those pills…

  I can’t walk away from Ryder. I’m in this way too deep to leave him now.

  Not without trying to fix it, first.

  It’s not long before my solitude is interrupted. I’m so attuned to his presence, I sense him there at my back before he says a word.

  “Hey.”

  My eyes close at the sound of his voice. It’s like a magnet, drawing me in. Has been ever since the first time I heard it rasping over The Nightingale’s sound system.

  “Hey,” I whisper without turning to look at him.

  I hear his footsteps crossing the terrace toward me. Steady as his heartbeat used to be, the nights I’d rest my head on his chest in our bed. His arms hit the railing beside mine as he bumps into me with more force than strictly necessary. A jarring collision, meant to shake me from the dark place inside my mind where I’m trapped. Memories stir, of the time I once pulled a similar move on him.

  “What was that for?” I ask, voice soft.

  “For keeping your eyes from mine all night. I miss them.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I glance up and meet his gaze. It’s full of so much sorrow, so much love, I can hardly stand to look.

  “There they are,” he murmurs.

  I blink and tears spill down my cheeks. Before I can wipe them, Ryder leans down and kisses them away. His mouth starts to pull back, but I don’t let him. I launch myself up onto the balls of my feet, throw my arms around his neck, and crush my mouth to his. I taste the salt of my own tears on his lips as he kisses me back, his tongue tangling with mine, a low sound of lust moving in his throat.

  I let myself fall into him and pray, pray, pray he doesn’t drown us both.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ryder

  My phone buzzes softly on the nightstand. I ignore it, tightening my hold on the sleeping girl in my arms. But when it buzzes again a minute later, three insistent vibrations, I sigh and roll over to look at the screen, careful not to wake Felicity.

  A jolt moves through me when I see several texts from Lincoln. I’m surprised to hear from him. He’s out at The Viper Room with Aiden, but he already knows I’m staying in tonight — and for the foreseeable future — with Felicity. He also knows how hard I’ve been trying to fix things with her, since our confrontation before the launch party last night.

  My brow furrows as I slide open the tab to read his messages.

  Hi —

  Found this phone on your friend at The Viper.

  You were the last contact he texted.

  He’s in rough shape. Any chance you can come get him?

  If the bouncers find him, they might call an ambulance.

  Or the cops.

  — Good Samaritan

  Shit.

  I slide out of bed, feet moving soundlessly on the carpet as I pull on my jeans and tug a t-shirt over my head. I cast one last glance back at Felicity before I leave. She’s curled around a pillow, sleeping soundly. Her mouth is parted slightly, her hair tumbling loose across the pillows in the moonlight. My throat tightens.

  S
he’s so goddamned beautiful.

  I can’t believe I almost lost her. I can’t believe I ever put what we have together at risk. It’s the most important part of my life. She’s the most important part of my life — a fact I plan on proving to her today and every day for the rest of our lives, if she’ll let me. My eyes linger on the bedside table for a moment and a smile twists my lips up.

  All day long, whenever the need to pop a pill has surged through me, I’ve focused on my future with Felicity and the cravings have seemed slightly easier to shoulder. I feel like utter shit — keyed up, pounding migraine, sweaty and pale — but like I told her…

  If it’s a choice between you and some pills… I choose you, Felicity. I choose you every goddamned time. From now until forever.

  I contemplate leaving a note, but quickly decide against it. I’ll be back before she can miss me, and there’s no time.

  If Linc’s in trouble; I’m there. No questions asked.

  I pull on my boots at the door, grab my keys off the hook, and start running. It’s not far — fifteen minutes, tops. Faster, if I manage to flag down a cab. I just hope I make it in time.

  The Viper Room is a popular spot for both tourists and locals hoping to catch a show on the famous Sunset Strip. Everyone from Johnny Cash to Elvis Costello to Tom Petty has performed within its dark walls and it’s quickly become one of Linc’s favorite places to spend a night out. The bouncers recognize me at the door — a new perk of my life as a quote-unquote star — and let me skip the line without so much as blinking.

  I move through the club looking for Linc’s familiar blond buzz cut, cutting through the dense crop of people head-banging to the grunge rock band on stage. There’s no sign of him on the dance floor, at the tables, or by the bar, so I head for the bathrooms. The red walls are covered floor-to-ceiling with stickers from all the bands who’ve performed here over the years. I pass by the urinals and finally spot two feet sticking out from beneath the last stall on the left. Linc is slumped beside the toilet, looking a bit worse for wear.

  “Linc!” I slap his cheek lightly, trying to rouse him. “You okay, man?”

  His glazed eyes crack open a sliver.

  “What did you take?” I ask, shaking him.

  “I’m fine,” he murmurs, speech so slurred it’s hard to make out a single word. “I’m good.”

  He’s definitely not good by any stretch of the imagination, but I take it as a good sign that he’s sober enough to form words.

  “Let’s get you out of here, Linc.”

  “Jacket,” he mutters.

  I roll my eyes, grab his jacket from the disgusting floor, and loop it over my free arm. His wallet and phone are sitting in a puddle of something vile beside the base of the toilet, but I shove them into my back pockets anyway.

  Bastard owes me a new pair of jeans.

  “Come on, buddy.” I loop his limp arm over my shoulders and heave him up, staggering a bit under his weight.

  With lumbering steps, I manage to get him out of the bathroom, through the side exit. We end up in a litter-strewn alley. It smells like piss and rotting garbage. Linc leans against the brick wall and vomits noisily.

  “That’s good, man.” I pat his back. “Get it out.”

  The faster that shit gets out of his system, the better.

  When he stops throwing up, I pull him away from the wall and start leading him toward the mouth of the alley. He leans heavily on me, his eyes half-closed. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get him home. He reeks of piss and vomit — no cabbie in their right mind would let us in their car, right now.

  “Linc, how you doing?” I grit out, straining to keep him on course.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” he slurs, falling back against a nearby wall.

  “What did you take?”

  “Coke. Just coke, I think.”

  “You think?”

  His eyes crack open a bit, focusing on my face. I think he’s going to say something, but instead he leans forward and vomits again — this time, right on my shoes.

  “Fuck!” I exclaim, reeling backward. I slam straight into someone who’s just walked into the alley where we’re standing. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, turning around to apologize. My eyes widen a fraction as I take in the sight of an LAPD officer standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

  He looks highly unamused.

  The handcuffs chafe painfully against my wrists as the officers put me into the back of the squad car, one hand pushing down on my head so it doesn’t bash against the roof. They slam the door at my back with chilling finality. My nose wrinkles when the smell of vomit wafts up, overwhelming in the enclosed space.

  Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any shittier…

  Linc is with the paramedics, probably headed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. For that, at least, I can be grateful. That way, he’ll still be alive for me to strangle. I could kill him myself for dragging me into this mess.

  After I slammed into the officer, he ordered me to brace my hands against the wall of the alley. I did as he said, not putting up a fight as he kicked my feet apart into a wider stance and performed a quick search of my person. I tried to tell him I was clean — no illegal substances or weapons of any kind. He might’ve even believed me, if he hadn’t found the bag of cocaine in the pocket of the jacket I was holding.

  Linc’s jacket.

  But possession is nine tenths of the law, and frankly neither the officer or his partner seemed too keen on hearing anything I had to say to defend myself after they found the eight ball of blow. They slammed me up against the wall so hard I saw stars, folded my arms behind my back, and slapped cuffs on my wrist so fast, I barely had time to realize it was happening.

  I watch the red-blue lights flash against the brick building, rhythmic as a metronome. My mind is consumed by worries about the shit-storm I’m about to cause — with the press, with the police.

  With Felicity.

  Fuck. I really should’ve left her a damn note.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  felicity

  I wake up in the morning and he’s gone.

  No note. No kiss goodbye.

  A fissure of unease unfurls as I push to my feet and start walking through the loft. His key are missing from the hook; his boots are no longer sitting by the door. I peek in Linc and Aiden’s rooms and find them empty, too.

  Odd.

  I kill an hour or so by making coffee and cooking myself breakfast, trying to ignore the anxiety spreading through my system. I can’t stop wondering where he is, what he’s doing… I obsess about everything that could be going wrong as I wash the dishes and stack them in the rack to dry.

  Yesterday, when we woke up after the launch party, we had a long talk. Our first in a long time. He was so open, so honest — about the stress he’s been under to make this album work, about his need to make things right with the guys, after what happened during the Red Machine fiasco. He even opened up about his father’s struggles with alcohol, and I shared stories about my parents in return.

  After dinner, we sat on the balcony together, playing music and laughing about the insanity of our first record being out in the world. I made a pot of chai and we toasted to our future with brimming teacups before falling into bed.

  My last thought, as I fell asleep in his arms, was a hopeful one.

  We can do this. Together, we can put this back together.

  But now, as I look around the empty apartment for signs of him, I feel nerves flutter back to life inside me. Some of that happiness we reclaimed last night feels shaky in the pale light of day.

  How many times did Mom and Dad seem like they were on the right track, only to fall off again? How many times did you get your hopes up, only to have them shattered when you found them high on the living room rug?

  My past is working against me, tearing at me with razor sharp claws. I know, in my heart, that Ryder isn’t the same as the people who raised me. But I can’t help m
yself from automatically jumping to the worst case scenario. From making comparisons.

  Where is he?

  Another hour passes by before it occurs to me to check my iPad for news. When I power it on, my screen inbox practically explodes with emails from Francesca and about a hundred other in-house PR people from Route 66 who I’ve never met.

  SUBJECT: ** CALL ME ASAP! **

  _______

  Felicity,

  Ryder and Linc were arrested for drug possession last night at The Viper Room.

  We’re handling it. The lawyers are in route now. I’ll follow them shortly.

  There will be paparazzi outside your place, hoping for a scoop. Avoid leaving the loft if possible.

  I’ll be in touch soon.

  Francesca

  My heart sinks to my feet as I sink to the floor.

  I’m numb with disbelief. Stunned that he’d do this.

  There’s no anger. No sadness. No heartbreak.

  Just… emptiness. An aching, hollow desolation in the left side of my chest, a space that used to be reserved for Ryder.

  When I finally rise to my feet, I float like a ghost through the apartment, methodically gathering my things. My silver watch from the counter; my sweater from its spot on the couch; my favorite pair of sandals from the mat by the door; my new suitcase from the closet, where it sits beside the matching one Ryder bought for himself.

  For when we take our first trip together, he’d said, grinning at me.

  The tags are still on. My hands are steady, my breaths are even as I reach out and yank them off. I let them fall to the floor in the middle of the hallway, fluttering like leaves in the wind as they descend.

  It doesn’t take long to pack. I don’t have much.

  New clothes. New wallet. New tablet.