Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (18 page)

Chapter 21

I was brushing my teeth, and I glanced up at my reflection. I watched the blue foam covering my lips drip down my chin when someone knocked on my door. I stared in the mirror before looking at the clock in my bedroom.

It was eleven o’clock at night.

I quickly rinsed my mouth and wiped my face before making my way out into my living room.

Another soft knock.

I peered through the peephole and saw Jag standing at my front door. I didn’t try to dull the smile when I yanked the door open. I was happy to see him, relieved that he’d come by as soon as he set foot off the tour bus. I liked when he surprised me because it made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. He didn’t say a word, he just walked in, wrapping his arms around my waist and taking my mouth in a claiming kiss. He backed me inside and used the heel of his boot to slam the door closed. His fingers laced in my hair and he pulled away from my lips, tightening his hold on the strands entwined within his fist.

“Don’t ever,” he shook his head, “do that to me again, okay?”

I was lost.

I’d missed something, because I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Do what?” I searched his eyes.

“Leave me. Don’t ever leave me again. I can’t stand it.”

A slight laugh escaped my lips and I shook my head. “What are you talking about? I didn’t leave you.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to finish out that tour after you came back here?” His lips crushed over mine again in a desperate, needy motion. A slight groan vibrated from his mouth to mine, and I swallowed it down.

Jag grabbed the back of my head and looked at me, his eyes moving over my face like he was taking in some piece of exotic art. “I don’t like being away from you. I’ve never felt that way—no one’s ever done this to me. Don’t leave me.”

The way he said it was almost like a plea, and the look in his eyes seemed helpless, like he was in a battle with himself. And I was certain that battle was between me and drugs, between which one he wanted more.

“Promise me, princess,” he kissed me again, his knees knocking against my thighs as he walked me back toward my bedroom. His tongue swiped around mine and then he whispered it again. “Promise me.”

I nodded and talked over his lips. “I won’t leave you.”

His mouth captured mine in a deep, hard embrace, his hands brushing down the thin cotton shirt I was wearing sending each nerve ending into overdrive. This kiss was heated, passionate, sensual, and it made me feel like I was fulfilling some type of intense craving for him. It made me feel wanted in a way I didn’t know existed. Jag was gifted with making you feel like nothing else in the entire world mattered to him except for you, and in that moment I almost slipped up.

“I—” The rest of that sentence was devoured by another hungry kiss.

My pulse quickened and adrenaline coursed through me at the thought of what I’d almost said.

Jag pulled away, lifting my shirt over my head. “What?”

I shook my head, heat shading my cheeks.

His warm fingers trailed down my bare breasts, stopping to massage my nipples before his hands lowered to the waistband of my pants. “Tell me.”

“I… missed you.”
I love you. Fuck you for making me love you.

Each side of his mouth twitched up, pleased. “Missed is
not
enough. It hurt to be away from you.”

When he was sweet like that it crippled me. He looked so hard, but comments like that flowed so effortlessly from his mouth, and I couldn’t help but give in. He easily made me believe that there was nothing else in this world for me besides him.

I grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head, immediately unzipping his jeans and pushing them to the floor. All sense had vanished and left me with nothing but raw animalistic desire. With one swift tug, Jag pulled both my pants and panties off, pushing me back onto my bed.

He stood over me, just staring at me, his breath heavy and hard and coated with a raspy growl.

The tips of his fingers traced down the slopes of my breasts, down the curve of my hips, and feathered light strokes across my stomach. When I realized he was rubbing over his unborn child, completely unaware that I was pregnant, guilt rippled through me. I swallowed, not sure if I was going to cry or not, and my nerves tensed.

He must have felt my muscles stiffen under his touch because one corner of his lip lifted and he chuckled, “That tickle?”

Lowering his head, he gently kissed my stomach. “There’s something about you…” Another light kiss pressed over my heated flesh and tears pricked my eyes.

Part of me thought it was some unannounced bond, something far deeper than I could understand drawing him to me because of that baby, and the sweetness of that moment tore at me.

I loved him, and I couldn’t leave him.

I needed to help him.

Jag’s fingers trailed down between my thighs, easily slipping in and causing that last bit of tension to melt from me instantaneously. A loud sigh fell from my lips and my body sunk deeper into the mattress. The warmth of his mouth laid over me; his tongue circled my clit and a groan vibrated against me, then he moved away.

“Sorry, I can’t take it. I need you
right
now. I can’t wait.” He kissed up my neck, biting down right below my ear. “I promise it will be just as good as if I’d fucked you with my mouth for thirty minutes.”

The heat from his dick pressed against me and, painfully slow, he pushed into me, his head hanging and a breath rushing from his lungs when he finally settled all the way inside of me.

He stopped, holding himself there for a brief moment with his eyes locked on mine, and then he moved again, each stroke slow, sensual, fluid, and somehow still raw. His lips continued to press kisses to my mouth, my neck, my ear; each breath that fled him rushed across my skin, sending chill bumps over my flesh.

Jag had been rough, hard, unrelenting every other time we’d had sex.

Jag fucked, and this was
not
fucking.

The way it felt made my body weightless and made me feel something I still can’t explain…a connection, an intertwining of our souls—something poetic like that, but words could never do that feeling justice. It made me feel like we belonged to each other in a way neither of us had belonged to anyone else.

In that instance it was just us. And it was right. It was fate.

The moment someone makes love to you with such emotion that you can’t deny what is happening, in a way that makes you question how you ever breathed without that person…in that moment you are owned and no logic, no reason exists.

Chapter 22

“You just want to take some food back? I just had to get some air,” Jag said, squeezing my hand as we rounded the corner.

“Sure. Doesn’t matter to me.” Guilt was mounting and about to crush me because I hadn’t mentioned the whole, “hey, by the way, while you were finishing up your tour I took fifteen pregnancy tests, all positive” thing.

“I kind of feel like some fast food. It’s been a while since I had a greasy-ass burger.”

I shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“What’s wrong with you?” He stopped walking and looked at me.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Rox. You’re all subdued and quiet. That’s not you.”

“I’m just, I don’t know. Just glad you’re home.”

He kissed me, pleased with that response.

We resumed walking back toward his car, and then someone screamed out his name.

“Jag Steele! Jag Steele.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, turning around and forcing a smile.

Several girls sprinted toward us, perm-grins smacked over their lips.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It’s really you!” One groveled.

“Holy shit. Jag. Steele.”

Then one just teared up, cupping her hands over her mouth in disbelief.

We stood there. Jag smiling, me frozen, and the girls foaming at the mouth.

One finally swallowed and took in a gulp of air. “Can we get your autograph?”

“And a picture?” the other one chimed in.

“Of course. Love my fans,” Jag said, releasing my hand.

The girls dug through their purses to find something he could sign. One handed him a receipt, the other handed him an envelope. He scrawled his name over the items, then looked at the other girl.

“Just…” She kept digging through her purse. “Just…sign my…Shit, I’ve got a sharpie, why the hell don’t I have some paper or something?”

Jag smiled down at me, then glanced back at the girl who was now dumping the contents of her purse out on Ventura. “You want me to sign your shirt or something?”

She nodded.

After he’d taken pictures and talked with them for a few minutes, they left, and we were on our own again.

I tried three times to bring up the whole pregnancy thing, and every single time I got my nerves worked up, someone else would stop him, begging for a picture or an autograph. In total we had been stopped eight times during that little outing before we made it back to his car.

“Damn. This is what it’s always like?” I asked, stunned at his patience.

Jag opened my door and shrugged. “It gets worse when there’s a tour going on.” He chuckled. “How about we just stay locked up in the safety of my house for the next few weeks? Sound good to you?”

“Yeah. Sounds great!”

Chapter 23

“Here, keep this on your head, princess.” Jag placed a cool washcloth on my forehead and brushed a few stray strands of my hair behind my ear. “You still feel sick?” he asked, denting the bed as he sat on its edge.

“I’m fine.”

He looked at me, narrowing one eye. “You want me to run you a bath? I’m sure I’ve got some of that bubbly shit girls like somewhere, or I could send Beth to get some. She’s going by the store today anyway.”

Beth was his housekeeper, and she ran all of his errands.

At first, when I’d found out he had someone that did his shopping for him, I thought it was all part of that “I’m too good to do anything for myself” attitude, but I’d figured out he had someone do stuff like that for him because he couldn’t go
anywhere
without being bombarded by fans. He had no privacy, and I guess you don’t really need everyone to know what kind of toilet paper you use.

I shook my head. “No, that’s sweet of you, but really, I’m fine.”

“I’m gonna go get you some water.” He got up from the bed, his shoulder grazing the doorway as he walked out into his living room.

Guilt tore through me. He’d been back for three weeks, and I hadn’t gotten up the guts to tell him I was pregnant. I was pissed at myself because there was no reason for me not to tell him, but fear had me paralyzed. I was in love with him, but it was still new and scary and I didn’t know the best way to break that to him. I didn’t know what it would do to him, to us, and really I was still trying to accept it. I was trying to hold onto the way things were, how perfect they were, while ignoring how often he snuck to the bathroom to get high.

And honestly, Jag was fragile and I didn’t want to break him.

Looking back, I shouldn’t have gotten pissed about him hiding the drugs because we were both trying to hide something from each other, but judgment and rational thought don’t exist when you think your heart is about to be shattered into a thousand miniscule pieces of shrapnel.

Jag came back in and set a bottle of artisanal water on the night stand before crawling across the bed. Lying down, he snuggled up to me. His hand lay across my stomach and he delicately rubbed across my skin, like he knew.

I studied his fingers. His nails were perfectly manicured, lacquered in matte black polish. They were soft, except for his fingertips; those were rough and calloused from the strings of his guitar. Everything about him was hard and soft, rough and smooth, a complete oxymoron. And I
loved
that.

Jag drew in a deep breath of my hair. “God, I love that, the way you smell. You smell like you and that is the best scent ever created.” He fell silent for a second and then mumbled to himself, “How the hell did I ever get you? You deserve so much more than a fucked-up rocker.”

I wasn’t being fair to him. I
had
to tell him.

“Hey.”

He nuzzled his face deeper into my hair. “Hmm?” His response was lazy, almost drunk sounding. I was about to shatter this little daydream of his.

“You know how things don’t go exactly like you plan sometimes?” Everything inside of me shook.

He sat up.

One of his deep brown eyes narrowed, and his head tilted to the side. “Yeah. That’s life…”

“Well,” I choked. My throat felt like it was closing up, my heart galloped, and I couldn’t find the words I needed.

“What, Rox?” He squeezed my hip.

“I…” My stomach turned and hot spit filled my mouth as acid made its way up my throat. I stumbled off his bed, covering my mouth with my hand and gagging as I ran to the bathroom, attempting to slam the door closed on my way through. I made it to the toilet just in time to vomit frothy yellow bile into it. I leaned over, panting and fighting back the urge to throw up again. My eyes watered and my stomach burned from how many times I’d gotten sick. Hormones got the better of me, and I started crying.

I heard Jag’s bare feet slap across the tile as he chased after me. “Hey.” He stopped behind me, bent over, and rubbed my back. “You okay?”

I stared at his tanned feet, at the contrast from the stark white marble floor and nodded as I flushed the toilet.

“Why are you crying? Huh?” He pulled me into his lap and I collapsed in sobs.

“Roxy?” He swept my hair to the side and his expression grew worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m terrified…”

“Oh, baby, it’ll all be okay. You can come visit me. Hell, if you want to, just quit and come with me.”

Baby?
I didn’t like that. I liked him calling me princess, because I was anything but and I needed someone to believe that I was. And Jag, for whatever reason, believed that I was.

“Don’t call me baby.”

He snickered. “Okay.”

“I like princess.”

“But I—”

“No, I don’t care how many girls you’ve called that. I don’t want to know. I like it.” Swallowing, I confessed to him why that name meant so much to me. “My dad…when I was eight, one of the churches donated Christmas presents to us. My favorite present had been a princess dress-up costume. I put it on and twirled around, singing that I would be a princess one day. You know what my father said?”

Jag shook his head. An apprehensive look fell over his face.

“He was drunk, but even if he’d been sober, he probably would have said the same thing. He told me, ‘You’re a little shit. Little shits can’t ever be princesses. Go ahead and get that outta your head.’”

For a second I thought I may cry again, but I forced those tears down. I refused to let that man hurt me anymore.

Jag angrily shook his head. After he took in a few deep breaths, he said, “That’s bullshit. You
are
a princess.” A soft grin shaped his mouth. “I swear, with you, that is the truth. You’re untouchable, a complete rarity.” He kissed my forehead, glaring it me with depth. “You know how I know you’re a princess, huh?”

I shook my head, gloating in his sweetness.

“A princess builds up her prince, she makes him become more than he is; a prince is never a hero until he saves his princess. And
you
make me a better person. You are
my
princess, the only one I’ve ever had.” He cleared his throat, most likely a little embarrassed at how sappy he’d just gotten, and sat me up in his lap. “I swear to God, if I ever meet your dad, I
will
punch him right in his fucking face.”

“You won’t meet him. He didn’t even come to Sean’s funeral.”

Jag let out a disgusted groan. “I can’t leave you like this. I won’t be able to stand knowing you’re sad. Just come with me. I don’t know why in the hell you won’t, Roxy. Quit. I’ll take care of you, I promise. It’s not worth having you upset. I can’t handle you crying. I swear, if I didn’t have a fucking contract, I wouldn’t even go!”

Now he thought I was upset about his leaving in a month, and although that did make me sick, he couldn’t have been more off with that assumption.

“Jag, it’s not…”

There was a light tap on the doorframe and I peered up through the curtain of hair covering my face. Beth was holding onto the doorframe, peeking around the edge with wide eyes and an uncertain expression on her face. “I’m sorry, I thought maybe you were gone.”

Jag ran his hand down the length of my back and shrugged. “It’s fine. Hey, when you go to the store can you get something for her. She’s been sick half the day? Some medicine and I don’t know, ginger ale or some shit like that. That’s what my mom used to make me drink when I was sick.”

Beth nodded. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“Thanks,” he said, turning his attention back to me.

Wiping my face, I groaned, “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Why? You’re sick.”

“Doesn’t mean I want you watching me throw up. And ginger ale’s not gonna help.” My stomach knotted up again, but before I could say anything else, there was a loud bang.

“I’ll get the door,” Beth yelled from the hallway.

Seconds later, I heard Rush’s voice and knew I couldn’t tell Jag right then.

“Come on, princess. You feel better yet?”

I nodded and let him help me up.

Reaching down, he scooped me into his arms, and I laid my head on his shoulder as he carried me back to his bed.

“I’ll tell them we can’t practice,” Jag whispered when he laid me down and fluffed the sheets over me.

“No, that’s ridiculous. You guys have to practice, and besides, I’m a grown woman, I am fully capable of taking care of myself. I’m gonna take a shower, I think that’ll make me feel better.”

Nodding, he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Okay. You sure?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “I’m sure. I’m fine.”

“We’ll be back in the studio. Okay?” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and left me in his room.

The entire time I was in the shower I tried to figure out the best way to tell him. I kept wavering between telling him later, or waiting until after I’d gone to the doctor later that week to confirm that I actually was pregnant, although the episode of morning sickness I’d had
all day
had pretty much confirmed the fact that I was legitimately knocked up.

When I stepped out of the shower, a thick cloud of steam billowed out. I dried off, staring at the fogged-over mirror hung over the sinks. I dropped the towel to the floor and leaned over the cold counter. Using my index finger, I traced letters through the white moisture, watching tiny droplets of water drip down from the message I’d written.

And as I stared at that sentence, I spoke out loud to myself, well, whispered what I had written to myself. “I think I love you. I know I love you. – Rox.”

I’m still not sure whether I should blame my hormones, the fear that I would lose him, or the panic I felt anytime I almost told him what he meant to me, but I needed to get it out, somehow, and this seemed the easiest.

After I slipped on one of Jag’s t-shirts and a pair of jeans, I decided to go see if the guys were still practicing. When I opened the door to his bedroom, I heard Rush’s loud voice echoing across the hallway.

“She was just a bet. Your twenty-thousand-dollar bet that you could get her to suck your dick.
Remember?
Looks like you won.” He paused and then continued talking. “Dude, looks like you better be stroking out a check to him. I think that’s all this is, anyway. You found something you couldn’t have, and that’s what got you.”

My heart pounded. I was hoping Rush was talking to Stone or Pax, but I had a gut feeling that comment had been directed at my boyfriend.

I walked further out into the hall and Rush glanced over at me before looking back at Jag. “It’s the fact that you feel like you’ve won something. She’s nothing more than a damn bet.”

A nervous smile quirked over Rush’s mouth. I saw a noticeable swallow work its way down Rush’s throat and he kept nervously glancing back at me.

Are you fucking kidding me?
It took me a second to let that set in.

I had been a
bet
.

Jag had made a
bet
that he could get me?

Embarrassment washed over me at how foolish I had been to think he’d just wanted me.

Jag shook his head and flipped Rush off. “Fuck off, Rush. You don’t get it. She was
never
a fucking bet.” He spun around, every muscle in his face loosening when he found me standing behind him.

Rush looked at me again and I couldn’t take it. I ran into Jag’s room, slammed the door, and locked it. Like a child. I acted like a child, but I didn’t know what else to do at that moment.

I rested my head against the smooth door and watched the handle jiggle.

“Roxy?”

I shook my head and whispered, “Don’t.”

I heard Jag’s muffled voice shouting something at Rush. My mind was going insane.

He is no better than I thought. This has all been a game to him. He promised he wouldn’t hurt me and he just did. He’s a liar. I can’t have a kid with him. Leave. This is my chance, I should just leave and cut my misery short.

Jag yelled at me through the door, “Roxy, open the door!”

But I was too busy trying to pack my shit into a bag.

I opened his drawer, grabbed my shirts, tossed them in the bag, and slammed it shut. I stomped into his bathroom and snatched my toothbrush up, then raked my cosmetics into the side of the duffel bag. The entire time I was gathering my things, I was fighting back tears because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me.

I was better than that.

I was hard.

He couldn’t hurt me.

I swallowed and blew a long breath from my lips before I jerked the door open. I couldn’t help but shoot a glare of hatred at him before directing my eyes to the front of the hall as I tried to get past him.

Jag grabbed me, the force behind his touch shocking me, and then he pushed me back a few steps. “Oh, no!”

I shook my body, trying to get away from him. “Get your hands off of me!”