FLOWERS ON THE WALL (19 page)

QUINN LOOKED AT her reflection in the mirror. If it were as old as it looked, chances were it had hung over the equally ancient sink for a long, long time. Her face blurred in the wavy glass like something she would see in a funhouse at the carnival.

Quinn sighed. That was appropriate. Carnival. Ryder had certainly taken her on an emotional rollercoaster. What had happened? The change in him was so quick. Quinn racked her brain trying to figure out what had set him off. What had been the trigger? Something she said? Or didn't say?

It didn't matter anymore that she had made a special effort to look her best. The dress was new. Something she had splurged on when she finished a photo shoot last spring. Temptation called her name all the time when it came to clothing and shoes. It was a siren's call she usually ignored. However, when she saw the yellow silk dress with the flirty skirt and the thin shoulder straps, walking away wasn't easy. The light blue peonies that dotted the material made her smile. She would have resisted, but she made a fatal mistake. She looked at the price tag.

The gesture was meant to be the final nail in the dress' proverbial coffin. True, the cost had been dear. But it was
on sale
dear. Knowing it was a mistake and promising herself a month of nothing but Ramen noodles and peanut butter, Quinn gave in. The dress hung in her closet, unworn. She did take it out to admire. Touching the flowers. Holding the material to her nose as though she could take in their sweet scent.

When she donned the garment for the first time, Quinn had felt a thrill. It didn't matter that Ryder had no idea of the sacrifices she had made to get to this moment. She felt sexy and confident. That was all that mattered. And when she walked out of the bedroom and saw the appreciation in his gaze, Quinn knew the lack of variety in her diet had been worth every boring bite.

Splashing another handful of icy water on her face, Quinn took a paper towel from the dispenser. When had she become such a girl? Obsessing over a man, even one as fine as Ryder, was something she never did—not even when she
was
a girl. Yet here she was, obsessing because—boo hoo—a man had hurt her feelings. How pathetic was that? Quinn should have stayed in her seat and had it out with Ryder then and there.

One thing was for certain, hiding in here wasn't giving her any answers. Determined, she took two things from her purse. Powder for her nose and gloss for her lips. Her cheeks needed no extra color. They were rosy with unvented frustration. Pulling her shoulders back, Quinn reached for the bathroom door. Ryder could glare. He could try to give her the silent treatment—good luck with that. But he would not get away with shutting her out. Whatever the problem, she couldn't fix it unless he told her what was wrong.

Filled with righteous indignation, Quinn marched back not certain what she would say. It didn't matter. The table was empty, and Ryder was nowhere to be seen.

"Excuse me." As he rushed by, Quinn stopped the tall, dark-haired man who had taken their dinner order. "The man who was with me. Do you know if he is in the bathroom?" She couldn't imagine Ryder leaving her here.

"Are you Quinn?" Surprisingly, the man had a New York accent.

"That's right."

"Your friend left."

So much for her imagination. Normally vivid and unrestrained, it had let her down like a lead balloon.

"How long ago? Did he say where he was going?

"Just now. And no. But he asked me to make certain you got back to your bungalow safely."

Well, whoop dee-fucking-do.
It was exactly the kind of thoughtful gesture that Quinn would have appreciated—another time and another place. Right now, she wanted to kick him in the ass. Then something penetrated her red-misted self-involvement. Something familiar. It was music. But not just any music. A song on the jukebox. She listened closer. No. It couldn't be. They were in Aruba. In a small-town bar. It was the last place she would expect to hear
Flowers On the Wall.

"Did Ryder play that song?"

"Your friend? Nah. One of the locals plays it all the time."

"All the time." Quinn clenched her teeth. What were the chances? She didn't know the song's significance, but she had seen enough in Chicago to know it wasn't good.

"Why?" Quinn muttered. Was it a freaking cosmic joke? If so, she wasn't laughing.

Thinking Quinn was talking to him, the man scratched his head. "Huh?"

"How did my friend seem before he left?"

"How should I know? I came down here to get away from my family's shit. I sure as hell don't want to get tied in yours," he mumbled. When Quinn's eyes narrowed threateningly, the waiter held up his hands. "Jeez, why are women so bossy? All I know is that he bought two shots of tequila, slammed them down bang, bang, and left. West. But don't worry. He paid me five hundred dollars to walk you home."

Tequila? That couldn't be good. Whatever Ryder was going through, like his friends gathering around him when he needed them, Quinn wasn't going to let him go through this alone.

"Come on." Quinn grabbed the man by the arm and headed out the door. "What is your name?"

"Alvin." When Quinn turned in the opposite direction he expected, Alvin tried to pull back, but he was no match for her. The man was tall and wiry, but Quinn had the power of a worried, determined woman on her side. Even in heels, Quinn easily hustled Alvin out of the restaurant. "Hey. I'm supposed to take you home."

"Too bad."

"But what about the five hundred?"

Money
, Quinn sighed with frustration.
It truly made the world go around
. If that was all it took, then she could play the game.

"Help me find my friend and you can keep his money. And I'll pay you five hundred more."

That was all the incentive Alvin needed. He rushed down the street, Quinn close behind. Ryder wanted to handle this on his own? Fight his own fight?
Too bad, Mr. Hart.
Almost twisting her ankle on the uneven sidewalk, Quinn quickly removed her shoes. Barefoot worked. She didn't know what kind of shape Ryder would be in when she found him, but she wouldn't stop until she knew he was safe.

Hurrying to keep up with the suddenly swift Alvin, Quinn crossed her fingers and said a silent prayer.
Please, let him be all right.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE TEQUILA SANG in Ryder's blood. It had been a long time since he had indulged in anything stronger than a beer or two. It had hit him fast—but not hard. Two shots. Enough to give himself a buffer but not enough to send him over any cliffs.

Ryder had almost forgotten alcohol's power. How it loosened his body and eased his mind. Booze could turn an introvert into the life of the party. Or, in the case of his father, create a monster. Some people could handle a drink or two—or three. Some should never take the slightest sip. Bennett Hart had fallen into the latter category.

It wasn't that Ryder's father came apart after one drink. Or two. However, one or two was never enough. They led to three. Then four. Around five, Bennett switched on the old turntable, set it on repeat, and removed the record from its beat-up cover. A forty-five. It wasn't the only music he owned. But it was the only one played when he was drunk.

Over and over and over again.

The road in front of him wasn't blurred. Ryder didn't stumble as he walked toward the beach—the one far, far away from the idyllic one he and Quinn had romped on for the past week.
Quinn
. He shouldn't have left her in that restaurant, but she was safer with an unknown waiter than with him in his current state of mind. Hell, Ryder wondered if she should be around him at all. He had nothing to give her—nothing beyond a few weeks of fun.

There was a mantra he and his bandmates stuck to.
Fuck 'em and flee
. It was crude but accurate. Though Quinn knew the score—though she understood how things worked—she deserved better. The problem was, Ryder didn't have better to give.

By the time he reached the edge of the water, that instant buzz from the tequila had worn off. Ryder should have taken the whole bottle. He sighed, letting the ocean breeze rush over his heated face. Cool. Tipping his head back, Ryder stared into the clear, moonlit sky. He knew that alcohol was only a temporary fix. Problems never disappeared. They lurked in the corner, ready to jump at you the next morning. They didn't care about your pounding head or your roiling stomach. If anything, your problems rejoiced. Now, everything had an extra layer of shitty and the few hours of respite were a distant memory.

Ryder had tried drinking. He experimented with drugs. It didn't take him long to realize that they were false prophets. There was no salvation in the bottom of a bottle, only ruination. Drugs made you sloppy and stupid. Ryder gave up on them before he turned sixteen when he had a true, life-changing revelation.

There was only one way to maintain his sanity. Only one source of goodness and light in the world. Music. It had saved Ryder's soul and made him a very wealthy man. He had a good life. Great. Yet it was a song that could cut the legs out from under him.

The irony of that was not lost on Ryder. A damn good song at that. But all it took was the first few chords and Ryder was back in that tiny trailer. Scared. Helpless. The swing of his father's arm as he wielded his belt over and over again, matching the beat in a kind of sick, syncopated duet.

It had hit Ryder hard and fast. Though the worst had worn off, he couldn't go back to Quinn like this. He felt jumbled. Unsteady. Unpredictable. It was the last one that worried him. There was no fear that he would do her physical harm. Never, not even in the middle of his hardest drunk, had he ever raised a hand to a woman. Perhaps that had been the point of those drunken benders. A test to see how much of his father was in him. To his relief—and joy—he found out there wasn't much.

However, Ryder could say some stingingly bitter things when provoked. During the early days with Dalton and Ashe, they had gotten into a couple of shouting matches that came close to breaking apart the band. Ryder knew how to push their buttons, and they knew his weak spots. It made for some volatile times. Luckily, the three of them never held a grudge—not over a few words. They were friends. Brothers by choice. And incredibly young. For the most part, the arguments ended as they matured. The friendship and the brotherhood grew stronger. It was an unbreakable bond that had survived the ups and downs of an industry that had no patience for anything but success.

Dalton, Ashe—and Zoe—had been there through the early struggles. They celebrated together the astronomical high they were currently riding. And they would be there when the inevitable cool off occurred.

Zoe understood Ryder's demons. Ashe and Dalton knew what they were. If he went off the rails, they gave him some leeway, taking whatever he said with more than a few grains of salt. Quinn wasn't prepared to deal with his shit. Until he was certain none of it would fall on her, he had to stay away.

The sea looked so different at night. A stand-offish inky black instead of an inviting deep blue. But the dark depths didn't scare Ryder. He knew trouble when he saw it. Under that deceptive surface was nothing but smooth, calm water. And it called his name.

Whipping off his shirt, Ryder kept his gaze locked on the moon's reflection. He made it his goal. Not far from shore. A brief swim there and back. Tossing the last of his clothing into the pile, Ryder took one step forward. The water was wonderfully cool, lapping at his ankles. This was what he needed. There and back. Hopefully, he would leave the rest of his waning tension in the saline depths and be ready to return to Quinn.

Lovely Quinn. Ryder didn't realize that it was the thought of her, not the water, that calmed his soul and lightened his mind. He wasn't ready to delve into those feelings so his subconscious refused to acknowledge their existence. Not tonight. Not when he felt raw and vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, Ryder blindly plunged in.

Quinn reached the beach just as Ryder disappeared under the dark water. Heart pounding, she waited for him to surface. And waited. And waited.

"Holy shit, did he kill himself?" Alvin took a step back. "I've never seen a dead body."

Quinn had the same fear, but she wasn't going to say it. Not to Alvin, nor to herself. Saying something made the possibility real.

"He didn't kill himself."

However, if that were Ryder's intent, Quinn didn't plan on standing around watching. She threw her shoes away, running toward the shore. She had her dress over her head seconds before her feet touched the water.

"I can't swim," Alvin called after her.

Quinn didn't give a shit. She could.

RYDER TIMED HIS ascent perfectly. Breaking the surface of the water so close to his original destination, he forgave himself the few inches of difference. Moonlight bathed his face without the welcoming warmth of the sun, but no less inviting. The allure was just as potent and, at the moment, infinitely more soothing.

There was nothing like the caress of water against his naked skin. Except Quinn. Her touch couldn't be equaled. But all things considered, this was a decent substitute.

As he let the sea free his mind, Ryder had a thought—an idea that the more and more he pondered, made more and more sense. This—Aruba—might be the answer. He needed a place to live. A home where he could find the peace and quiet to regenerate after a long tour. A place where he could wander around in a pair of board shorts—or nothing at all—without the worry that his picture would wind up on the next edition of
TMZ.

Hmm
, Ryder smiled—he actually smiled. It was definitely something to think about. The brush of something against his leg made Ryder frown. The body shooting out of the water almost stopped his heart.

"Are you suicidal or simply stupid? Tell me now so I can act accordingly."

"Quinn?" For a second, Ryder wondered if the tequila had been laced with a hallucinogen because he was definitely tripping. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Me?" Quinn tread water with one hand while pushing her hair out of her face with the other. "Me?"