Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (9 page)

T
he warmth of the shower raining down over my skin relaxed me enough that my tears finally poured. I’d been dry eyed for almost twenty-four hours, through the overnight hotel stay—I hadn’t made good on my threat to take an earlier flight. Through the flight home, I’d dozed—exhausted from tossing and turning, expecting him to give in and call. I’d let myself into the house and played a few minutes with Rascal before going upstairs to wash the travel-grime feel from my body.

The dam of emotion might have remained intact longer had I not been reading the lyrics on the tile as I lathered my hair.

‘Forever Scarred’ broke me. There were only six verses in Gage’s distinctive scrawl. But his feelings and intentions at that time of our relationship shone through.

After drying off, I carelessly let the towel fall, pulled on one of his tee shirts and a pair of black Diesel boxers, and climbed into the bed with Rascal. Still sniffling, I dialed Ivy.

Voicemail greeted me and I spoke. “Hi. I just got back. Call me when you can.” Hesitating, I combed through Rascal’s fur. “Gage broke it off.”

The phone rang the second I pressed ‘end.’ Ivy’s number and smiling face blinked. Managing a hello through the lump in my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to let the waterworks begin again.

“Are you okay, honey?”

I nodded and then realized my friend couldn’t see the gesture. “Yeah. Just sad.” Sad was such an understatement that my eyes betrayed me with more tears.

“He’s an idiot.” The three words were so vehemently spit through the speakers of the phone that I almost raised my fingers to my face to wipe it. “What happened? Tell me everything, hon.”

“We were…”
What had happened?
I cuddled closer to Rascal and shouldered the phone. “I went to visit. And we…” Letting my head fall back to the headboard, I watched the wall sconce on the wall over it blur. Now I did lift my finger and wipe a stray tear. “We had a good visit. And then he just went ballistic and turned on me. I was showing him a video of the stuff Seth is teaching me.”

“Why’d he lose his mind over Seth?”

“Because he assumed it was Colt teaching me the new stuff.”

“And when you told him it wasn’t?”

“Fuck him, just fuck him.”

“You didn’t tell him Colt has been on tour over a month?”

“If he doesn’t trust me then―”

“I know. Fuck him!”

My eyes burned and brimmed again, and when they flooded over and spilled down my face, I hiccupped out a “Fuck it all.” Through fresh sniffles, I croaked, “Want to come over tomorrow? Get drunk by the pool?”

Rascal edged close and rested his head across my leg. I cast my eyes about, looking for a tee shirt or anything near I could use on my dripping nose. Finally, I drew the edge of the sheet up and was too depressed to feel repulsed by the action. Forcing a deep breath through my mouth, I tried to calm myself, and wondered if her call had dropped.

Ivy’s words dripped with empathy. “Scarlette, I’m not in town. But I’ll be home Tuesday morning. Do you want to do something after your class? Are you going to class?”

“Where are you?” Another swipe at my nose while I tried to remember if Ivy had mentioned Bradley on location.

Again the seconds seemed long before Ivy chirped, “Auditioning. I’ll tell you all about it Tuesday. But you can call me anytime. In fact, call me when you wake up in the morning?”

I agreed. After hanging up, I placed the phone on the giant pillow next to me. The one with Rascal’s head on the corner instead of Gage’s. I reached for the lamp and then changed my mind. The house seemed emptier than it had since his leaving, and I was glad, not for the first time, of the bodyguard who was less than a minute and a panic button away.

K
icked back in the desk chair, feet propped on an open drawer, Gage assaulted the guitar strings. When the high E snapped, he welcomed the sting to his hand. Ignoring the hanging string, he continued, the beat battering his eardrums through the headphones.

The blinking of his phone caught his eye. He couldn’t deal with Scar. Worry, however, had him setting aside the instrument and swinging his legs to the floor. He didn’t want to disregard her reaching out in an emergency situation.

Instead of a text from Scar, he found one from Colt. Two words. Call. Me.

And he was just mad enough to do that. Carrying the phone, he marched down the hall since there was little or no signal in the ‘guest’ rooms as they were called.

Pacing just outside the common room, he glared at the twinkling stars and placed the call.

Mid ring, Colt answered with a “What the hell is going on?”

So Scarlette
had
gone running to Colt, either literally or with a phone call. The knowledge cut like a knife and twisted in his gut. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what? Have you lost your fucking mind? Why the hell would you do this shit to Scarlette?”

“The second I’m out of here you better watch yourself. I’m coming for you! I will fuck you up, motherfucker!”

“You know I’m not even home, right? There was a cancellation in the metal tour that passed on us during your last rehab stint and we’re on it.”

Fuck
.
Fuck so many things
.

“Fire Flight?” Immediately after kicking him out, they’d gone on tour?

“Are you hearing what I’m saying? Seth is teaching her guitar.
Seth
! Not fucking me! Scarlette is a fucking mess. You need to fix this shit now!”

His relief upon knowing the truth was as great as his guilt. The jealousy didn’t completely subside. How did Colt know there was a mess? Obviously because she called him. And that, right there, was something he couldn’t seem to get past. The freaky friendship she and Colt had. The hate-one-minute-and-best-friends-next-minute rapport they had.

Inhaling a calming breath of night air, he ended the call. Fuck Colt. Fuck Scarlette. Fuck this shit that was his life. If he walked out now, he could… But no. He was learning to handle his shit. To not let his emotions fuck up his life. And walking out of here would screw up everything.

I
was drifting into an exhausted doze when the pillow next to me vibrated, and Rascal picked up his head. My heart pounded as I pulled up the message.

Almost immediately, he called. Continuing to hold the phone, I watched his face flash on the screen until the call routed automatically to voicemail. When a chime indicated a message left, I hastily put the speaker to my ear.

‘I’m sorry. So, so sorry. If you’re awake, call me.’

Holding the phone to my chest, I watched Rascal settle back down and debated dialing. It was late. From what I understood, his phone wouldn’t take or receive calls inside his room. So was he waiting about somewhere to see if I would call back? For this, I felt a niggling tug of guilt. As badly as I had wanted to hear from him, now I realized it made no difference.

It was early when he called the next morning. This time, the rings woke me from a dead sleep, and I didn’t think it through. I answered. His sincere apology and the sexy timbre of his voice in my ear further blended my mixed emotions.

“I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry.” And when I remained quiet, he whispered, “I fucked up, Scar. I feel like shit. Hell, I am shit. I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“I know.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, just below the tear ducts, which had begun weeping again.

“I wish I was there. I wish I could hold you.”

Pushing aside the covers, I sat up, drawing my legs up and curling an arm around them. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah. It does. I was wrong. Way wrong.”

“I know.”

The seconds stretched into a minute. My phone shook with an incoming text, and I ignored it while listening to his quiet breaths.

“Talk to me, Scar. Yell at me. Something.”

“It doesn’t matter. Because there’s something so screwed up about you even thinking that.” Somehow, I forced the next words out. “This isn’t going to work. We’re not going to work.”

“Don’t think like that. Okay?” His voice was raspy. As if his throat was as closed up as mine. “What you’re saying is true. And you know I know that. I told you. I fucked up. But
we’re
going to work. I promise you that. I
promise
you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can.”

I had no doubts Gage would fluctuate back and forth until I gave in. He was stubborn, but stubbornness didn’t make what he was saying true. A piece of me was afraid he would walk out of rehab. He’d done it before for much less. Right?

And so I threw him a bone. “I just need to think, okay? And Rascal needs to go out.”

Rascal picked his head up and stretched. I swung my feet to the floor and padded to the bathroom. A hellish version of myself stared from the mirror.

Finally, he spoke. “Okay, darlin’.”

And the call ended.

T
he student center was a main artery of the campus, pulsating with laughter and chatter. These days, I dreaded happy faces and avoided crowds. However, this afternoon, I was lured by a double express latte. Mike swung open the door, and with a smile of thanks, I preceded him.

Did one ever get used to being shadowed by Rambo? At least I wasn’t the only one with my bodyguard squeezed into a chair half his size in the classrooms. In one of my classes, a young woman I had heard was a sitcom star breezed in each morning with her own burly escort. Ignoring him, the starlet always left him to take a back seat while she held court near the front of the class. I tried to follow her example but it proved impossible.

Most days, like today, he was a visible inclusion in whatever I was doing. Swinging around with a coffee in each hand, I made my way around tables and back to him. He accepted the steaming cup from my hand with a grateful smile.

“I’ll just be a few minutes. I need to cram a bit before this next test.” Stifling a yawn, I scanned the area for an available place to study.

The fall schedule was already grueling. I hadn’t been able to scrounge together everything needed to be considered for admission to Bastyr in time. Instead, I’d begun an accredited school of allopathic studies here in L.A. and shuttled between it, USC, and clinicals. The previous night, I’d been up until the wee hours of the morning studying for mid-semester exams.

“Scarlette?”

I looked up from powering up my tablet to find Logan bearing down on me, wearing a huge smile of greeting. Great. Now I had to pull a smile from my miserable soul. “Hey.”

“How’s it going? Surviving midterms?”

“Barely.” I skimmed my gaze down his attractive features and tried to disassociate him from Gage’s assistant and reallocate him as a friend who had helped me. A friend on Gage’s payroll.
Sigh
.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all. I’ve got to brush up on these chemical compounds though.”

“I’ve got statistics to cram before next class.” He waved his own tablet as he lowered into the adjacent chair.