Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (26 page)

Chapter 37

Jag paced the hotel room. Every few seconds he would release a long breath, then pull his hair back in his hands. Suddenly, he reared his arm back, but instead of punching the wall like I knew he wanted to do, he let it fall to his side and groaned.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

There was a knock at the door and I rose from the bed to answer it. I opened it to Heather grinning. “You ready for me to take her?”

“Yeah. Come on in. We need to be going anyway.” I shut the door behind her and called out, “Hey, babe. We’ve got to get going. You have to be there in thirty minutes. Jules said the limo is waiting.”

As Heather and I made our way down the hallway of the suite, Jag let out an angst-ridden scream.

Heather’s eyes slowly moved over to mine, her lips slightly parting. “Is he okay? Uh,” she started back toward the door, obviously uncomfortable. “Want me to give you a few more minutes?”

Shaking my head, I cleared my throat. “No, he’s fine. He’s just a little on edge about the show, that’s all.”

We rounded the corner into the large living room and Jag yelled again, and this time the howl was followed by a long string of curse words.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he shouted, and I heard things banging around.

I forced my lips to curve up, hoping that the heat coursing over my cheeks hadn’t turned my face red. “Just a bit upset.”

Savannah let out a shrill cry and I started to go toward the bedroom, but Heather grabbed my arm. “Let me get her. You get ready to leave. Looks like you’ve got your hands full with
him
.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling slightly guilty for letting someone else tend to Savannah when I knew she really wanted me. Just as I started to follow Heather to the bedroom, I heard something shatter.

I hurried into the bathroom and found Jag leaning over the sink, holding his hand with blood dripping from his knuckles.

I glanced up to the mirror. The middle of it had been smashed, and cracks splintered out from the initial point of impact across most of its surface.

“Babe!” I gasped.

He didn’t even look up at me. His eyes remained focused on his hand, his breathing ragged and heavy.

“What in the hell are you doing?” I shouted, walking toward him.

He looked up into the mirror at me, and the crushed glass sent several different reflections of his face back at me.

His skin was flushed, his eyes hard and narrowed in anger. “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing? Bleeding into the goddamn sink!”

I stopped midstride. “Don’t be an ass to me. I haven’t done a damn thing to you.”

A loud sigh flew from his mouth, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled, flexing his fingers. Bright red blood continued to trail down his arm.

I grabbed one of the hand towels from the basket under the vanity and took his hand. “Shit, Jag. You’ve got pieces of glass all in your knuckles. How are you gonna play now?” I tried to dig shards out of his flesh and glanced back up at the broken beveled mirror. “You know we’re gonna have to pay for that now?”

He laughed and leaned back against the counter while I continued to pull tiny grains of glass from his wound. “Do you realize how much money we have, princess? I could fuck this entire suite up, and it wouldn’t even put a dent in our account.”

I yanked a sliver of glass out of his flesh and glared at him.

“What?”

Disgusted, I shook my head and wrapped the towel around his hand. “We’ve got to go.”

I turned to leave the room, expecting him to follow me, but he just stood there staring down at the floor.

“Come on, Jag. I’m
not
kidding. We’ve gotta go.”

His shoulders fell and he reluctantly pushed himself away from the vanity. His demeanor reminded me of a small, sulking child.

When we entered the bedroom, Heather had settled in, already rocking Savannah and feeding her a bottle.

She glanced up, her pink lips softening to a smile. “She’ll be fine. Promise. I’ll call you and Jules if there’s any problems. Okay?”

I nodded and leaned over to give Savannah a kiss. Jag knelt down and placed his pointer finger inside Savannah’s palm. She immediately wrapped her tiny fingers around his and moved her round eyes to look at him.

“You be sweet, okay, princess?”

She smiled around the nipple of her bottle, and he kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

As soon as he rose, stress blanketed his face once again. “Come on,” he said, guiding me to the door.

We made our way down the elevator and to the front of the hotel where a stretch Hummer was waiting.

I had been with Jag for a little over a year, and I still wasn’t used to this shit. It’s hard to go from living off Ramen noodles and trying to decide which bill you can pay to having more money than you know what to do with.

The tinted window rolled down and Rush popped his head out. “Come on, fucker. Get your ass in here so we can go!”

The driver came around to our side of the car and opened the door. As soon as the door had been shut, Jag’s palms plastered to his face.

He wiped down his jaw and his eyes darted over to me. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this. I really don’t. You have no idea how badly I just want to do something. I need something. My nerves…princess, my nerves are—”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” I tried reassuring him, but this was the moment I had been dreading. I glanced over to the rest of the guys, and they looked as lost as I felt.

I knew being sober when he was at home had been a hell of a lot easier than it would be on the road. This was where he’d first done it, where he’d become reliant on it, and honestly, the drugs were what gave birth to the rock star side of him.

Jag was literally a nervous wreck without them. I had never seen him like this, and I seriously doubted that he could pull it off.

“Would it be that bad if I took something? Maybe just a little OxyContin, or maybe just smoked some pot? Rush, you got some of that shit, right?”

An uncomfortable breath hissed through Rush’s teeth. “Nope. Don’t have anything. You don’t need it, dude. You got this.”

“Just one hit of some weed, that won’t hurt me, right? I mean, I could do that. Or some Xanax. They prescribe that fucking shit for anxiety, so that wouldn’t really be abuse…”

He was mumbling, sweat beading up on his forehead and collecting between our palms. For a second I thought he may be near tears. He wiped his free hand down his face, and he looked defeated. He panted, his eyes wide as he aimlessly stared out the window.

“I fucking can’t do this shit,” he whispered.

I leaned over and laid my lips against his briefly, then pressed my forehead to his and looked in his eyes. “You
can
do it.” I kissed him again. “If nothing else you can do it for Savannah. You are Jag Steele, not drugs. Drugs did
not
make Jag Steele,
you
did.”

Pulling away, I’d hoped that sounded sincere, because I knew damn well those drugs had made him. I just wanted him to believe they hadn’t.

He
had
to believe that.

Jag rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “I fucking love you.”

“And I fucking love you.”

He laid his head against the seat and closed his eyes. I knew he was trying to find some peace, some way to believe he could do this. Maybe he was praying, meditating…I’m not sure of anything besides the fact that he was desperately trying to find strength. His leg shook and his breathing continued to grow more uneven.

Mumbling, his hold on my hand tightened. “How in the hell I can do
this
for ten months,” he drew in a labored breath, “it’s beyond me.”

My entire body felt heavy and helpless at that moment. That high was something he always thought about, something he couldn’t seem to mentally rip free from.

*****

Asher’s Coffin had finished, and the stagehands had everything ready and waiting for Pandemic Sorrow.

Jag had locked himself in the bathroom, and I could hear him vomiting. I anxiously looked around the room, and Stone was the only person that seemed slightly concerned that Jag was puking his guts out five minutes before they had to go on.

Stone ran his hand over the back of his head and blew out a breath. “He’ll be fine. He used to do this all the time—before he had the drugs. The first show we ever did, he puked between sets. He’ll be okay.” He nodded, then said it again in a tone that wasn’t so convincing. “He’ll be okay.”

Pax tapped his sticks against his thighs, biting on his lips and nodding with the beat. “I remember that Jag. I had to threaten to shove a stick up his ass if he didn’t go out one time.” He shrugged and glanced over at Rush. “This should be a load of fucking fun.”

“Give him a break. He’s trying to keep his shit together. I’m proud of the fucker,” Rush said, arching his back.

I leaned against the door and heard Jag retching again. I closed my eyes and heard the unmistakable rattle of someone fiddling with a plastic bag. My eyes flew open and I snapped my head around.

Lance was dumping coke out onto the table and pushing it into lines.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted, stomping over to him. I could feel my face heat, and my pulse thumped in my temples. “Are you fucking insane?”

Lance raised his eyes from the table, locking them on me. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? A line of blow.”

Sucking air through my nostrils, I clenched my jaw. “Not in here. You don’t do that shit in here! Or anywhere around him, you selfish ass!” I swiped my hand over the table and smeared the coke across its surface.

Rush jumped up, charging at Lance with his arm drawn back. “Put that shit up, or I swear to God I will punch you right in the fucking face!”

Lance narrowed one eye at Rush, tilting his head to the side as his face grew red.

Stone hopped up and grabbed Rush’s shoulders. “Calm down.”

“Fuck you!” Pax joined in, yelling as he hurled a drumstick in Lance’s direction.

I’m pretty sure if Lance hadn’t been afraid Jag would hear him, he would have yelled at me, but instead, he softly said, “Jag’s a fucking grown-ass man. I’m not gonna cater to him. My life’s not going on hold just to make his easier. If he can’t handle it, maybe he should just fucking retire!”

Asher walked in, her jaw dropping when she saw blow all over the table. “Lance! What the hell?”

“I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

“Dude. I’m going to beat your ugly-ass face in…”

Rush stomped toward him, and Pax latched onto him. “Man, just walk away. We’ll handle this shit.”

Rush yanked his bass up on his way out of the room.

My entire body had grown hot with anger, and I watched Pax calmly walk over to the couch, talking in a low, controlled voice to Lance.

Stone took me by the arm and pulled me to the side of the room while casting a disapproving look over at Lance. “Everybody’s on edge,” he said. “We’re all worried about how he’s gonna handle things.” His eyes trailed from Pax to me. “And I’m not gonna lie, having you and the baby with us is fucking weird, okay? I love you guys, but it’s weird. This is not what we’ve been used to for six years, you know? This isn’t even what the new guys are used to. Sorry to say, but a lot of people in the business use, and yeah, we can control this, we can manage that little fucker over there, but Rox, we can’t stop everyone. Jag’s gonna have to get to the point where he can manage it himself.”

Unintelligible shouting erupted from the couch. By the time I’d looked over, Pax and Lance were throwing punches at one another.

“I’ll fuck you up, dude. I will fuck you up!” Pax growled and grabbed Lance by the shoulders, pinning him against the wall.

“Fuck,” Stone mumbled, and ran toward Pax. “Man, let him go.”

“I’ll choke him out. Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway? You are a nobody, and you keep fucking with Jag and we’ll get your ass cut from the label. You don’t mean shit to them. You better start kissing our asses if you want to have the hopes of making it, you little shit-fuck!”

The veins in Pax’s face bulged. He was panting when Stone pulled him free from Lance.

“You’re a dick!” Lance shouted. “Fucking dick!”

He stomped off, grabbing Asher and yanking her out of the room with him.

Stone bowed his head and ran his palm over his neck. “You know, if Jag can’t handle this sober, we’re all out of a job. This ride is over. The fame is gone. Jag is the damn band, that’s a lot of pressure on all of us.”

I had to grit my teeth and close my eyes to contain my rage.

I didn’t give a shit about the fame, or their careers. I just cared that Jag didn’t end up fucking everything up. I just wanted him to stay clean, and I knew having coke cut into lines in front of him was not going to lead to that.

Stone stared at the coffee table. Without warning, he grabbed the edge of the table, flipping it over on its side. Coke puffed out, settling on the floor.