by Elle Greco
“But you didn’t,” I said into his chest.
“It scared the crap out of me.”
“I know. But I’m fine.”
“But we don’t know what this did to you long-term. You know?”
I extracted myself from his arms. “Dion, I am fine.” There was a firmness in my voice. “Don’t you start believing otherwise either. I am not Kyle.”
“But Jordan—”
“We don’t know that,” I cut him off.
He shook his head. “I just…” He stopped talking. Silence filled the space between us.
“You just what, Dion?” I whispered.
He paused, then took a breath. “The band can’t lose you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, slumping back onto the mattress. Dion was worried about the band. Not me. Not us. I mentally knocked myself over the head. There was no us. I had to stop thinking like that. “It’s late, Dion, and I’m exhausted. Maybe you should go. Meet up with the others.”
“I’m crashing here,” he said.
“Uh…” I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the tiny couch that was smaller than a love seat. “There isn’t really room for you to…”
He nudged me. “Scoot over.”
“Dion, I’m really not up for—”
“Scoot over,” he repeated, toeing off his shoes.
“I don’t think—”
He pushed his arms under me and literally scooted me to one side of the bed. It was over before I could react, and he was settled in beside me.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
He shushed me. I struggled up on one elbow to glare at him.
“Wanna hit the light?” he asked, pointing to the lamp that was on the wall over the bed. The pull chord was on my side of the bed.
“You are unbelievable,” I muttered, but gave the chord a tug, and the fluorescent light flickered off. I yanked the sheets out from under Dion’s heavy body and wrapped them tightly around me.
“Can I get some pillow?” he asked.
I pressed my head into the crappy hospital pillow, shoving my arm under it and curling it toward me. “No.”
“Fine,” he said, moving his head closer to mine and taking up residence on an exposed corner of the pillow. “Night, babe,” he said, his arm splayed across my stomach.
I stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, listening as Dion’s breathing fell into a steady rhythm. His fingers curled into my side as he slept, pulling my body tight against his. Too exhausted to fight him, my body gave up and, cocooned in Dion’s arms, I fell fast asleep.
13
My eyes popped open when I heard a door click shut. I felt the bed shift, and then weight came down beside me.
“What’s going on?” I mumbled, confused by the antiseptic smell and the hard mattress that was larger than the bunk on the bus.
“You’re up,” Dion said, curving his body around mine.
“Where are we?”
“Hospital,” he murmured into my hair.
The memory of the last several hours crashed down on me. “Shit.”
“You feel okay?” he asked, nuzzling into my neck.
“I think so,” I said, blinking at the ceiling.
“Need a coffee?” He brushed my hair back, and the tip of his nose slid along the exposed part of my neck, just under my ear.
“Uh, Dion, what are you doing?” I asked. My heart stuttered, and the heart rate monitor followed right along.
“Good morning,” he whispered, his lips tracing the same path as his nose.
“Dion,” I said, but it came out more like a sigh, and I tilted my head to give him better access.
The hand that was splayed on my stomach inched upward, tugging my hospital gown with it.
“What are you doing?” I repeated.
“Making sure you are okay,” he said. His hand came into contact with my skin and coaxed its way over to my ribs.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little sore.”
His hand stilled. “Where?”
“Abs,” I said. “From barfing up activated charcoal.”
“Shit,” he said. “Grimm wanted us in the studio today.”
His hand slipped down, and his fingers pressed on my stomach. The touch was gentle, intimate. My resolve began to slip.
I tilted my head up and searched his face, which was soft with concern. After last night, I expected Dion to push me away, to return to his brazen, ball-busting ways. Like he always did after he let down his guard.
“Am I getting released today?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he said, propping himself up on an elbow to brush my hair out of my face. “Don’t sweat it, Nik. We’ll figure something out.”
“When did all this happen?” I asked.
His lips thinned. “Grimm called about two hours ago.”
“I didn’t hear the phone,” I challenged.
“You sleep like the dead, babe,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
He wasn’t wrong.
I sighed and shifted in the bed, aware that my body ached all over. “Can you get down everything but the drum tracks? I’ll do those later.”
Dion’s face went hard. “Grimm threatened to fly in Frieze if you didn’t make it to the studio.”
Johnny freaking Frieze. The jerk who dumped Jett simply because her sister was the better drummer.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Jett will lose her mind.”
“I’ll lose my mind if I have to play with that asshat,” Dion said.
“I thought you were friends.”
“The guy’s a first-rate douche, Nik, and I’m not even talking about what he did to Jett,” Dion said. “And the dude can’t drum for shit.”
That made me smile, despite my aching body. “Then why would Grimm want him?”
“Because he’s loud,” Dion said.
Dion was not wrong. But since I’d taken the coveted spot, I didn’t feel comfortable slagging off on his musical abilities, even if he was a jerk. But what Jett saw in him was beyond my comprehension.
“Enlighten me,” I said. “All you guys used to hang. What changed?”
Dion sighed, his hand pushing a tumble of blond curls out of his eyes. “The dude is a vampire, Nik. Hell, ninety percent of the people we’re around are vampires.”
I leaned away from him. “Dion, what are you talking about? We’re, like, in Twilight all of a sudden?”
His lips turned up. “No, babe, I’m talking psychic vampires. The people that take so much that they suck you dry.”
“Oh,” I said, worrying my lip with my teeth. “Ninety percent, huh?”
“Feels that way.”
I was doing some mental math, wondering if I made the 10 percent window. Since I came with my sisters, I expected maybe I didn’t. I was the one who muscled our way onto Rogue’s tour after all. It was Dion’s time to shine, and Satan’s Sisters had ended up taking the spotlight.
“I’m sorry, Dion, I didn’t mean to—”
He pulled his head back. “You think I’m talking about you?”
“Well, yeah.”
Dion’s eyes widened. “Are you mental?”
“I mean, you made it clear the day Vince and Pamela met that you thought we were all hangers-on,” I pointed out.
“I thought Pamela was a hanger-on,” he said. “I thought you were kind of cute.”
“Ew, Dion, I was twelve.”
“Yeah, and I was sixteen,” he said. “And that’s why I said you were cute. Then you grew up.”
“Oh. So, not cute,” I said. I didn’t want to be cute, but it cut just the same.
“Nope, not cute,” Dion said, dipping his head to mine. “You grew up to be sexy as fuck.”
Delight hit me right in my sore gut, and I tried to mask it, but my poker face was shit.
Dion kept going. “Fuck, why do you think when you turned eighteen we stopped throwing parties?” My answer was a shrug. I figured they wanted to hit the clubs. “Because all our friends were noticin
g you. Then Frieze hooked up with Jett. That shit was not expected. I thought she was the smart one, you know?”
There wasn’t anything I could do but agree with that. “Johnny Frieze was not one of Jett’s better ideas.”
“Understatement,” he muttered. “But once Johnny pulled that shit, suddenly my stepsisters were free rein for anyone with a dick that walked through Vince’s front door.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes going wide. “Presley never—”
“That’s because Presley’s a bitch,” he said. “She can handle her own shit, and she has her eyes in one direction: career.”
My head tilted as I worked through Dion and Rafe’s roster of party friends. “Yeah, there was no one in your posse that could help her career.”
“Exactly,” he said. “She was fucking Teflon with the come-ons. You, on the other hand…”
“Dion, trust me, none of your friends hit on me.”
“Yeah, because I pulled the plug on the parties.”
“No, before.”
Dion laughed, the rich sound filling the room. “Baby, I cockblocked you.”
I pushed myself up on my elbows. “You mean to tell me that you were the reason for this year’s dry spell?”
“No one was tagging you,” he said. “Not on my watch.”
“That was a shitty thing to do.”
His shrug was half-hearted. “Yeah, it was.”
My sore abs gave out, and I flopped back down on the hard mattress. “But why?” I asked the ceiling.
He twisted toward me, and his lips hit mine with a gentle urgency. His tongue teased my mouth open then slipped inside to tangle with mine. My nipples pebbled under the thin hospital gown as his chest pressed into me. I sighed into him when he gave me a small amount of his weight, just enough to make me feel secure.
He broke the kiss, but kept his face close to mine. “That’s why.”
“Oh” was about the only response I could manage. My head felt light, and I had a hard time focusing.
That’s when I noticed that Dion was still talking. “With Jordan doing what he did and Devlin booting him off the tour, now the roadies are pissed, never mind that the dude fucking dosed you—”
I pushed my hand into the thick curls at the back of his neck to get his attention. “What are you talking about?”
“Tour’s done, Nik. I’m pulling the plug after Spokane.”
“You can’t do that,” I said.
“I can, and I will,” he bit out, pulling away from me.
“But—”
“Nope, decision’s made, Nik.”
“Fuck you,” I snapped, and his head whipped around to me. “You talk to Rafe about this?”
“I don’t need to.”
My face flushed. I curled my fingers and dug my nails into the bedcovers to keep from clawing at him. “You came to this decision without talking to either of your bandmates?”
“It’s my band.”
“It’s our band,” I said, my voice getting louder.
“Nik, keep your voice down,” he hissed.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” My voice went even louder, and this time he shushed me. “And don’t you dare shush me. You are a first-rate ass, Dion Davis. We are not cutting this tour short because one of the roadies was a creep.”
Dion launched himself off the bed. “No, we are cutting the tour short to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what? Jordan’s gone.”
“The roadies—”
“Will get over it,” I said. “And the ones who don’t? Kick their asses off.”
His hands fisted. “Don’t you get it?”
“No, Dion, don’t you get it?” I asked, shifting my body so I sat up all the way. “You cut the tour short, Jordan wins.”
“This isn’t about Jordan. It’s about you.”
“Then don’t you think I should be the one to make this decision?” I asked. He just shook his head. “My God, you are infuriating!”
“Sounds like everything’s back to normal,” Rafe said, popping his head into the room. I flopped back down onto the mattress.
“Yeah,” Jett said, pushing her way past him. “We could hear you two shouting from the elevator.”
I glared at Rafe. “Tell Dion we aren’t canceling the tour.”
“Dude,” Rafe said, cocking his head to the side, “why would we even do that?”
“Did you see what happened to her?” Dion choked out.
“Yeah, and it looks like she’s in fighting form again.” Rafe feigned a few punches to drive his point home.
“Literally,” Jett muttered, positioning herself in the wheelchair beside the bed.
Dion looked at her. “You don’t even want to be on tour, right, Jett? Talk some sense into your sister.”
Jett crossed her arms and looked between me and Dion, her face peevish. “No, I don’t want to be on this tour, but this is important to Nik. And I put my life on hold to do it. Ergo…” She spread out her arms, palms toward the ceiling.
My heart sank. “Jett—”
She held up a hand to shut me up. “Nik, I’m doing this for you. I am happy to do this for you. I want to do this for you.”
“But school—”
Her extended hand waved. “School will be there next semester.”
Dion turned his focus to Rafe. “What did you do to her?”
“Me?” Rafe asked, holding up his hands as if he could block his brother’s wrath.
“Yeah, she didn’t want to be on this tour.”
“Uh, guys, I’m right here,” Jett said. “And, no, I did not want to go on tour, but here we are, on tour. So let’s finish what we started.”
Dion blinked at Jett before his eyes swung to his brother. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“You ever try to tell a Benson woman what to do?” Rafe broke into a smile, the gap between his two front teeth making him nearly irresistible. “Oh, right, just now. How’s that working out for you, bro?”
Dion retreated to a corner of the room, his arms crossed at his chest. He glared at the three of us.
The sound of cell phones buzzing came from both sides of the room. Dion and Rafe pulled theirs out at the same time. Both of their faces clouded over.
“The fuck?” Rafe breathed.
Dion looked at me. “We gotta get to the studio.”
“Now?” I asked.
He held up his phone. “We start paying for time in less than three hours.”
Jett rose from the chair. “But Nik’s not even discharged.”
Dion’s eyes flew to Jett. “Grimm said he’ll fly Frieze up if Nik isn’t there.” Jett’s light eyes went wide and met his.
“Shit,” Dion muttered when their phones went off again. “Dad said Grimm’s getting Nik released this morning against doctor’s orders. We need to get our asses on the bus and get to Spokane.”
“That’s like a four-hour drive,” Jett protested.
Rafe shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Then we’d better get our asses moving. We need to be there in three.”
“But the doc wanted more tests done before he let her go,” Jett said, ignoring him. She was now beside me, a protective arm around my shoulders. “How can they do that?”
“Grimm,” Dion said.
It was all he had to say. Gary Grimm was a man who got his way.
14
Vince waved at me from behind the glass of the recording studio. I took in the ridiculous image of Vince Davis, American Rock God. His gray-tipped hair poked out in wild tufts, which he pulled at with one hand while making wild gestures with the other. His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear a thing.
I blew out a breath and popped the plugs out of my ears. “What’d you say?”
“I said,” he began again, his annoyance bleeding through his voice on the intercom system, “this is supposed to be a ballad. You are beating the shit out of those drums. Ease up.”
Rafe leaned against the soundproofing that lined the walls
. “Honestly, Nik, this was your beat. What the hell are you doing?”
I circled my wrists. “I’m just...”
“Arms bothering you?” Rafe asked, cocking his head to the side.
I shrugged. “I’m just wiped.”
“Can we get Nik a Red Bull or something?” Rafe yelled through the glass.
“Nobody gets shit until this track is down,” Vince barked back.
Dion sat beside him in the booth, leaning forward, his arms on his thighs. His vocal tracks were down, but he was coiled with tension. “Come on, Dad,” he said. “Nik shouldn’t even be doing this right now.”
“Just this last track, and we’re golden,” Vince said, changing his tactic. “You guys are getting a hotel room for the night.”
I blinked. “Hotel?”
“I’ve booked you rooms at a Motel 6.”
“And you’re staying where?” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that, Nik?” Vince called over the intercom system.
“I said, are you staying there?” I shouted through the glass.
“Just remember who the rock star is here, Nik,” he said. There was no measure of irony in his voice. Jerk.
“Right,” I muttered, shoving the earplugs back in. “Let’s just get this done.”
It took another hour, Vince barking at me the whole time, but we got the track down. Vince and Dion stayed behind to work out the mix, and I headed to the club for sound check. After an OD, a restless night in the hospital, a three-hour speed drive to Spokane, then a rushed afternoon recording session, exhaustion leaked into my bones.
My sisters were perched on barstools when I arrived. Presley was sipping a Shirley Temple.
“What’s with you?” she asked, her lips pursed around the straw.
“I need a nap,” I said. “They got any Red Bulls?”
She shrugged. “The bartender finished her setup and split.”
“Crap,” I mumbled. Just my luck.
“How’d the recording session go?” Presley asked.
I yawned. “It was shit, but Vince seemed happy by the end.”
“Did you hear about tonight?” Jett asked, practically giddy. “Where we’re staying?”
I was too tired to drum up any enthusiasm about where we were crashing. “Motel 6? Yeah, Vince mentioned it.”