The corners of her mouth rose into a smile that held no pity, no disappointment. If anything, she appeared to be proud of him. “You paid last week.”
She slipped her hand out from under his and went to the counter to pay.
Ethan chugged the last of his coffee and tried to pull himself together. Maybe it was a good thing she was ending the night here. If she let him continue, who knew what else might come out of his mouth. As it was, he’d probably revealed too much about himself. It wouldn’t take her long to put two and two together and figure out who he was.
And yet, oddly enough, he was okay with that. After all, she was Becca Shore. Even if she bore little resemblance to the person she’d been a few years ago, she probably still remembered how important privacy was when trying to stay clean.
He grabbed his helmet and followed her outside. A whiff of her perfume floated past him as she put her jacket back on against the cool autumn air. The scent evoked the memories of how well her body molded against his on the ride over, and a wayward twinge of desire stirred through his veins. “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.
She bit her bottom lip, her pupils growing larger under the glow of the streetlights. Her gaze flickered to his motorcycle and then back to him. She inhaled, her body tightening up with excitement. Then her shoulders slumped as she released her breath. She took a step back and shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going to have to pass. Besides, the subway’s right over there.”
Her rejection doused the heat in his blood. “I suppose I shouldn’t have offered. The anonymous thing and all.”
“No, it’s not that.” She gripped the shoulder strap of her bag, running her hands up and down it as she stared at the sidewalk. “As much as I’d like to, I know I shouldn’t.”
“Meaning?”
She looked up at him through her lashes long enough for him to see the attraction wasn’t one sided. But she continued to back away. “I’ll see you next week?”
His pride stung. She might have been turned on by him, but not enough for her to forget he was a recovering junkie. Thankfully, though, his wounded pride kept him from showing her how battered it really was. He stiffened his spine and got on his bike. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
He refused to let her know how much of a sucker he had grown to be for her company. “Maybe.”
Becca’s lower lip jutted out into a pout that practically invited him to take it between his teeth. However, this wasn’t some simpering trick meant to guilt trip him into saying yes. Based on the deepened furrow above her nose, this was actual bewilderment.
Good. Keep her guessing.
But when she turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, something shifted inside. His confidence fell like a trap door, plunging him into the pit of doubt. It dragged him under, surrounding him like quicksand and smothering the fragile hope he’d only recently discovered. His lungs burned for air, and his slick palms slipped off the throttle. She was leaving him alone with his inner demons. A black tunnel narrowed his vision, closing in on him.
He cried her name out in desperation.
She turned around, only few feet farther than she’d been. Not the miles his panic had imagined her to be. “Yes?” she asked, her voice rising with worry.
His heart rattled so hard a tremble shook his fingers, but the tightness in his chest eased enough to allow him to gulp in a breath of relief. She answered him when he called, just like she said she would. “Does it ever go away?”
He didn’t need to elaborate. Her eyes darkened with regret. “No, but it gets easier with time.”
“But there’s no cure? No way to be completely free of it?”
She shook her head. “But remember what I said about filling the void with something else.”
“And what if there is nothing else?”
Instead of fading in the distance, the click of her heels on the cement came closer. A set of fingers ran along his jaw and forced him to turn his head toward her. “Do you really believe that?”
The doubt grew louder, whispering in the back of his mind that he was nothing without his muse. “Do you?”
“No,” she said in a hushed voice.
He longed to lift her hand to his cheek and press his head against her chest, soaking in all the comfort she could give him. But his pride wouldn’t let him reveal how fucked up he was inside. He jerked his chin in the opposite direction and yanked on his helmet.
“Ethan, I meant what I said about calling me if you need to talk to someone. Don’t give in to the doubt, the despair. It does get easier, and I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
He revved up the engine and rode away before she discovered he was beyond help.
Chapter Four
Ethan placed his fingers on the familiar piano keys and willed them to create a melody. Growing up, he’d always found solace in music. Whenever he’d been frustrated with school or teased by his brothers, he could always sit in front of his mother’s piano and release his angst through the dark and dreamy sonatas of Beethoven to the bright, bouncing beats of Gershwin. As he got older, he traded the classics for his own creations, expanding from the piano to his guitar. Whatever the song, he found peace through playing it.
But that was before music became a double-edged sword. Before playing what made him happy became what the record label would release. Before the pressure was laid on him to continue to write songs people would pay to hear. Before the thing that fed his soul only fed his bank account.
He banged his fist on the keys with a dissonant crash of notes and got up from the piano. It was eleven o’clock, a time when most normal people were getting ready to crawl into bed, but a nervous energy flowed through his blood, making sleep nearly impossible for the last three nights. The seed of doubt that had taken root as he left Becca the other night had bloomed into a dark jungle that threatened to swallow him whole.
He paced along the floor, the heel of his hand pressed against his temple. “Find something to fill the void. Find something to fill the void.”
Once upon a time, that had been music, but now, that had been poisoned by heroin. He hadn’t written any songs over the last three years without getting high. And no matter how hard he tried to go back to the way things had been, the craving proved stronger.
The only way to find peace was to give into his muse.
A snarl of frustration rolled up from the base of his throat, and he punched the brick wall. The pain in his hand dulled the ache in his heart. Now he understood why Ty could never give up his addiction, why his best friend never wanted to get clean and sober. When he was high, nothing mattered but the music, and the music calmed his soul. When he was high, he didn’t hear the doubt. When he was high, he lived in a world of ignorant bliss, never knowing how close he actually was to losing it all.
“Find something to fill the void,” he repeated.
He pulled Becca’s number from the back of his wallet. His hand trembled as he stared at the numbers. All he had to do was call her, to hear her tell him he could get through this. His heart pounded as he imagined what he’d tell her. He was cracking up. Weak. A failure.
I’m not ready for that. I can get through this.
He crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket filled with the shredded sheets of half-hearted compositions from the last three days.
If he couldn’t play the music himself, then maybe he could find solace in listening to someone else play.
He grabbed his motorcycle and headed downstairs.
***
The Tin Lily hadn’t changed much in the last past five years. It was the venue to play for rising rock groups, and the quivering in his gut as he walked through the front door reminded Ethan of the first time Ravinia’s Rejects had been asked to take the stage. The East Village bar was loud and packed with a crowd that would either dance along with the music if it rocked or physically force the musicians off the stage if they sucked.
&nb
sp; When he’d stepped up to the microphone that first time, he wasn’t sure how the set would end for him and his friends, but Ty had given him a cocky grin and a wink before shredding the opening riffs of the song. Between the power of the music and the confidence Ty had instilled in him, he’d been able to open his mouth and give the performance of a lifetime. Two months later, that very song was sitting at the top of the rock charts, and Ravinia’s Rejects was the band everyone was talking about.
Tonight, though, the vibe was much more subdued. A small group of dedicated rockers bobbed their heads up and down to the beat of the music, but the song played by the eighties cover band fell flat for him. He ordered a bottle of water at the bar and hoped the next song would be more inspiring.
But instead of getting lost in the music, he found himself picking it apart. A missed note. A wrong chord. A moment when the band was out of sync. And more than a dozen times when the lead singer was off pitch. No wonder they were just a cover band playing the late show on a Wednesday night.
He finished his water and was about to leave when a burly giant of a man blocked the path to the door. He cracked his knuckles in a way that dared Ethan to challenge him and said, “Someone wants to see you.”
A slew of four-lettered words rolled through Ethan’s mind as the moving mound of muscle led him up the balcony to a lone man leaning on the railing. A spotlight flashed on his face, and Ethan immediately drew to a stop.
Fuck!
If there was ever a time to avoid Ace, it was now.
The man came over to them, a big grin on his brown face. “Ethan Kelly, I thought that was you. I’d never forget that jacket of yours.” Ace pulled him into a chest bump. “Long time no see, bro.”
“Hi, Ace,” he muttered out of mere politeness.
Ace’s grin never faltered as he dismissed his henchman. “So, what brings you in tonight?”
In the past, that question would’ve been answered by asking what the dealer had on hand. Ace was a product of the hodgepodge of the Bronx—part black, part Dominican, and a mix of just about everything else. His global connections meant he had the best shit in Manhattan, and he’d grown rich supplying the rich and famous.
Ethan kept his attention fixed on the stage. “Just came to hear some music.”
“Bad night for that, but you chose a good night to run into me. I just got a load of some awesome brown sugar.”
Sweat prickled along the back of Ethan’s neck. In the past, he would’ve taken Ace up on his offer, taken it back to his hotel room, and let reality slip away for a few hours. But not tonight. He squeezed the railing to keep from giving into the craving. “Sorry, Ace, but I’m not into that anymore.”
A look of shock slackened the dealer’s features, followed by a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I heard about Ty. Sorry he’s gone, man.”
Yeah, I bet you’re sorry. Ty had been one of his biggest clients.
“Then you understand why I’m no longer interested in your goods.” Ethan pushed back from the railing.
“Hold on a minute, bro.” Ace threw his arm around Ethan’s shoulder and pulled him deeper into the balcony’s shadows, his other hand in his pocket. “Let’s talk about this.”
A ripple of fear ran down Ethan’s spine. Despite his friendly demeanor, Ace was not a man to be crossed. And if he was the least bit worried Ethan would rat on him, he wouldn’t even bother with issuing a warning to be silent. He’d personally make sure Ethan wouldn’t say a word to anyone.
But instead of pulling out a knife or a gun, he pulled out a tiny plastic bag with three glassine envelopes in it.
Ethan’s pulse jumped. His brain warned him to leave now before he gave in to temptation, but he was mesmerized by the perfectly portioned hits of heroin.
“Listen, man, I don’t normally do this, but you and Ty have been such good customers that this one can be on the house. And this ain’t some crap, either. This shit is pure enough to sniff, but if you mainline it….” Ace rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and made a mm-mm sound more appropriate for a meal at a four-star restaurant. “Ah, it’s absolute heaven.”
His mouth watered. It sounded so simple, so easy to take Ace up on his offer and use it to get the music flowing again. One hit would be all he needed. One hit wouldn’t put him in danger of an overdose.
But one hit would put him back to square one.
He buried his hands in his pockets to keep from touching it. “Ace, I—”
“You don’t have to say anything, bro. I got you covered.” Ace shoved the bag into Ethan’s back pocket. “And when you need some more, you know how to reach me.”
He wrestled free of the dealer and took a step back toward the stairs. “I won’t need any more.”
Ace laughed again, this time without the nervous vibe. It was hard and mocking. “Say that if it makes you feel better, but you and I both know you’ll be back. Guys like you are nothing without the dope.”
Ace waved him off, and Ethan ran down the stairs and out of the club as quickly as he could. The cool night air bathed the inside of his lungs with every breath he took. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the autumn rain wash away the contamination of the club.
This was his chance to throw away the bag Ace had stuffed into his pocket, but some part of his brain refused to let him. He had it if he absolutely needed it, but he wouldn’t fall back on it. Not yet. He’d give himself a little more time to find the music before surrendering to his dangerous muse.
He rode home, threw the little bag on his coffee table, and stared at it from the sofa until the sky began to lighten.
***
Becca slipped into the empty seat next to Ari at Temple Israel. “Thanks for saving me a seat,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” Ari nodded toward the man and woman seated five rows ahead of them. “Although it might be nice if you sit with your parents.”
“Too late now,” she replied as the rabbi called the congregation together for the start of Rosh Hashanah services.
Becca listened to the prayers and readings she’d grown up hearing every year for as long as she could remember, but this was the third year she’d chosen not to join her family in celebrating the Jewish New Year. Her heart cautioned her about the sin of pride, but there was a reason why she had to cut herself off from her parents. She wasn’t strong enough yet to deal with the void they created inside her. As much as it hurt to avoid them, it was far better than falling back to her old ways of coping with their constant expectations of perfection.
During the silent Amidah, her thoughts wandered to Ethan. She hadn’t heard from him, which was a good thing, but that still didn’t keep her from worrying about him. Before he left Monday night, she could sense the rising desperation in him. Just hearing the pain in his voice when he described the loss of his best friend had her on the brink of tears, and it had taken every inch of willpower not to hold him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay. He was at the point where all recovering addicts were tested, and she offered her own prayer that reminding him of why he quit would be enough to keep him from relapsing.
A chill ran up her arms as she remembered the dark days of her own addiction. She glanced down at the veins in her arm and rubbed them, remembering all the times she’d celebrate finding one large enough to inject. Now they were scarred and shriveled up, a constant reminder of the damage she’d done to herself.
Becca turned her attention to her parents and caught her stepmother looking back at her. Her own mother had died from an overdose when Becca was still an infant, so Claire was the only mother she’d ever known. Her stepmother had spent the last two years trying to repair the gap between Becca and her father, but neither one of them yielded. Their gazes locked, and Becca caught a silent plea for forgiveness. It was so tempting to believe her father wanted to make amends, to make their family whole again. Claire turned away as the rabbi blew the shofar, leaving Becca to mull over the unspoken message. Maybe it would be nice to speak to her parents
after services. Maybe they could go to the park afterward for the Tashlich and use it to cast away the pain of the past and begin again.
The idea grew on her as the service continued, but as she was kneeling during the closing prayers, the screen on her phone illuminated with a text message that chased away any thoughts of reconciling with her parents today.
Becca, it’s Ethan. I really need someone to talk to. Now.
She discreetly pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the call log.
Eleven missed calls, all from the same number.
Shit!
She’d had her phone on silent for the prayer services so she wouldn’t be disturbed, but now she risked losing the fragile trust Ethan had given her. She’d said she’d be there for him if he needed her, and she hoped God would understand if she exited Rosh Hashanah services early to help him.
She grabbed her purse and snuck out of the sanctuary, her head lowered until she was out on the street. Then she called him back. “Ethan, it’s Becca.”
“You said you’d answer.” His voice was a growling mix of anger and panic.
She tried to combat it by adding layers of soothing tones to hers. “Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I had my phone on silent while I was at the Temple, and I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m here now.”
Silence hung on the line for nearly half a minute, and she prayed that Ethan would forgive her enough to tell her what was wrong.
“I need help,” he said, his voice cracking.
“And I’m willing to do whatever I can to help. Just tell me what you need.”
Another pause, followed by, “Oh, fuck it.”
“No, don’t say that.” She wandered down the familiar sidewalks of 75th Street like a lost tourist, meandering from side to side and trying not to get run over. “Please, just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
A sarcastic snort of laughter answered her. “What about the whole anonymous thing?”
Sure. Throw that back in my face when you need me. The only reason she’d declined a ride back to her place Monday night was because she feared she’d invite him upstairs and totally screw over their relationship by screwing him. “Fine, we can meet in a public place. How about Gitta’s café?”
A Seductive Melody (The Kelly Brothers Book 5) Page 5