Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (29 page)

Chapter 40

“I never thought I’d be in Paris,” I said, falling back onto the plush bedding.

I laid in the lush hotel bed, staring out the window at the illuminated silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.

“Ah, now, I tried to take you on a date when I first met you, and you turned your nose up at the idea. You wanted ‘normal.’” Jag laughed and slid in underneath the thick duvet.

“Well, I never thought I’d be married to
you
either. Actually,” I snuggled up next to him, pulling his warm, bare chest up against mine, “I would have figured I’d come to Paris before I’d ever be married to you. And that’s saying a lot, seeing as I was poor as shit!”

He chuckled, narrowing his eyes on me. “That a fact, princess?”

“Yep.”

“I never thought I’d find a girl I wanted to marry.”

“Oh, really?”

“Never.”

“But you had
so
many girls that loved you,” I taunted, fishing for tenderness.

“And not one of them was right. I needed a girl that absolutely fucking hated me.” He pressed his lips against mine. “One that would put me in my place.” His arms wrapped around me, his fingers brushing through my hair. “One that would tell me what a real dick I was.”

I kissed him and pushed my body hard against his. “You wanna know a secret?”

Kissing me again, he murmured, “Mm-hmm.”

“Part of the reason I acted like such a bitch was because I was attracted to you and I hated that…”

“Mmm?” His mouth stayed pressed against mine while his fingers ran along my spine, stopping to grab the top of my panties and slowly work them down over my ass.

I inched his boxers down and mumbled, “But don’t worry, the other reason
was
because I hated you and thought you were a dick.”

“I like when you talk dirty.” He smacked his hand over my ass.

“I like when you put your mouth on my pussy.”

“So fucking demanding.” He kissed his way down my neck. “You think you deserve my mouth on that perfect little pussy of yours?”

Even after a year, hearing him say shit like that made me weak for him, it made my heart flutter.

“Oh,” I giggled, “I
so
deserve that, and more.”

He licked down the center of my stomach, the sensation causing the small of my back to lift from the bed. “More? What more could you possible want, princess?”

“You. I just want you.”

Jag flung the covers off, pulling my panties the rest of the way down and yanking my legs open. “You have me. There’s no way I could give you any more of that.”

His lips traveled over my hips. He took his time, slowly working his way over, breathing on me, kissing everywhere except there while he made his way down, down, down.

He was so good at teasing me.

My chest rose in deep swells as I waited to finally feel him on me, and the very moment the tip of his tongue rolled over my clit, a loud scream shattered the silence.

Jag face-planted into the mattress between my thighs and groaned.

Savannah cried louder, and I tossed my head back into the pillow.

“Is it wrong if I start calling her CB?” Jag swatted at my ass as I rose from the bed.

I grabbed my robe and slipped my arms through the sleeves. “CB?”

“Yeah, cock block.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, you did not just refer to your daughter as a cock block?”

Laughing, he shrugged and buried his face under a pillow. “I just want to stick my dick in you.” His sentence was muffled underneath the thick material. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Evidently so.”

I walked through the suite, flipping on the light in the sitting room that separated the two bedrooms.

Savannah sucked in a quick breath just to let out a longer, louder wail.

“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” I scooped her up and carried her through to the kitchen to grab a bottle.

Her cries grew softer until they turned into coos. I took the bottle from the counter and sat down at the table.

“You are so spoiled. You just wanna be held all the time, don’t you?”

I placed the nipple to her mouth and she opened wide, inhaling the bottle and gulping down the milk.

I looked down at that precious face. She was finally starting to resemble pieces of us. Her eyes were huge and round, just like Jags, her hair was dark and just long enough that I could tell there would be a little wave to it like her father’s. Her lips were shaped like mine, and the rest was yet to be determined.

I loved her.

I loved that she was mine and Jag’s. I loved what she stood for, what she embodied: the way two things people don’t think belong together can fit perfectly together. Broken pieces of us made her, and that was incredible in the most beautiful way.

I paced the floor with her, humming, and she eventually drifted off to sleep.

I laid her down, softly stroking the top of her head before returning to the bedroom.

When I walked in, I heard the soft hum of traffic. The curtains fluttered from the breeze puffing through the cracked door.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

I made my way to the patio, and before I stepped outside, the strong aroma of cigarettes singed my nose.

My brow furrowed as my bare foot hit the cool concrete. “What the hell—are you smoking?” I asked while staring wide-eyed at the hot end of the smoke pinched between Jag’s lips.

He pulled in a deep drag, held his breath, and then blew smoke circles. “Guess so.”

“What…why—you don’t smoke!”

He examined the rolled white paper he held between his fingers and shrugged. “
Didn’t
. I also
used
to do blow.”

I tossed my head back and groaned. “Jag.”

This is the beginning. This is where it starts. He’s trying to cope, trying to find something else, something legal…next it will be beer because he used to drink bourbon, then crack because he used to snort coke.

“Jag!”

He took a step toward the white railing and peered down at the street that lay thirteen stories below. The wind whipped around the edge of the balcony and a car alarm sounded, echoing up the narrow corridor of concrete buildings crammed inside the city.

“It’s a cigarette. Give me a break.” He tossed it down, watching as it fell toward the ground. Taking a breath, he stepped back and thumbed over his chin, twisting the silver piercing underneath his lip.

“Pretty, huh?” He pointed toward the Eiffel Tower in an effort to change the subject.

I decided a cigarette wasn’t worth it, and that maybe I was jumping to irrational conclusions. If he wanted to smoke, so what?

“Very pretty.”

“We’ll go there.”

“When?”

Another deep breath. “Next time.”

I nodded. “It’s okay. I love that I can see it from here.”

I knew he wanted to take me. He wanted to do so much, but he didn’t have the time, and I didn’t want him to feel guilty.

“Yeah, yeah.” He went back into the hotel and I heard him mutter. “I can’t even take you to the fucking Eiffel Tower. We’re in Paris, and I can’t take you anywhere except a damn concert hall.”

Chapter 41

I could detail every day of the tour, but what’s the point?

Every day was the same: Wake up, feed Savannah, take a shower, change Savannah, wake Jag up, eat breakfast, pep talk Jag, feed Savannah, get dressed, leave the baby with Heather, eat lunch on the way to the venue, fight our way through fans, do a sound check, notice how depressed and stressed out Jag was, wait while the band did meet and greets, then either sit on the side of the stage while they played, or hang out back stage with Asher while the band played…then get in the limo, go back to the hotel, feed Savannah, change Savannah, try to have sex, then get three hours of sleep.

The same thing.

Every.

Damn.

Day.

Until…Italy.

“Roxy,” Jules called out as she made her way through the auditorium seats. “Girls’ night. Seriously!”

I slumped down in the metal chair. “I would love that.”

“Yep, no dicks allowed. None!” Asher shouted as she hopped down from the stage.

“Let the guys do their thing, we can do ours.” Jules ran her hand through her hair. “Three months is enough to drive anyone fucking bat-shit, Hannibal-Lector-eat-your-face crazy.”

I sat, thinking. Could I leave him? I trusted him, but part of me didn’t want to.

“I don’t know. Savannah’s been super fussy lately, I hate to leave Heather with her.”

Jules frowned. “You have been run ragged. Between Jag and the baby… you need some time to yourself, sweetie. When’s the last time you just did something that didn’t
have
to be done?”

I couldn’t recall. Ever since Savannah had arrived, I’d kind of forgotten myself. You lose yourself when you’re a mother. I felt guilty every single time I left her to come to a show—and the only reason I did leave her was to support Jag.

“Rox, you need to go. Do something fun, relax a bit,” Jag shouted from the side of the stage. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay with her.”

Jules pretended to fall back. She hit the chair hard and tossed her head back.

“Ah, whatever, Jules.” Jag hopped down and made his way to me. “Princess, go have some fun. Stop worrying.” He ran his hand through my hair. “You need to have some time to yourself.”

“You don’t mind watching her?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’d love to have her all to myself to snuggle with.”

I shifted my gaze between Jag and Jules.

“You know, I am a grown man. I’ll be just fine.”

I sighed. “Okay, okay.”

Jules grinned and bent over to pick up her clipboard. “Thank God for having women on this tour.” Looking up, she arched a brow. “Not blubbering groupies, women who are just as annoyed by all of you as I am. That,” she shook her clipboard at Jag, “is priceless.”

*****

The door to the limo shut and I stared up at the lights in the hotel windows. My stomach churned, twisting and kinking itself.

Jules shook my knee. “It’s fine. He’s fine.”

I managed to tear my eyes away from the building and force a smile. “Yeah, I know.”

But I didn’t. I had one of those feelings—a sense of impending doom, and I hated when I got those.

“Totally fine,” Asher reiterated, stretching her legs out across the back of the limo. “So, where are we going?”

Jules shrugged. “Dancing?”

“Fuck yeah!” Asher shouted, immediately pretending to be grinding on an imaginary guy.

The car pulled off, and I tried to convince myself that I was being ridiculous. After all, if I couldn’t trust him to himself for a few hours, what in the hell was I doing with him?

A few hours later I walked into the hotel room and found Jag asleep on the couch, some cartoon playing on the TV, and Savannah sleeping on his chest.

I’d survived the night, Jag had survived the night, and that made me feel like everything was going to be fine.

Chapter 42

A few days later we were in Rome and the guys had a day off from touring. We’d been sightseeing all day and had come back to the hotel to rest up. Jag decided he’d rather stay and sleep instead of going out to dinner, so Savannah and I went with Jules and the rest of the group to eat. I figured it would give Jag the peace and quiet he so rarely got.

*****

We’d only been gone two-and-a-half hours. I managed to swipe the card key despite my arms being full. Shutting the door to the hotel, I cradled Savannah in my arms and dropped the diaper bag on the floor.

“You ready for a bath, hmm? Then we’ll go snuggle up with Daddy. We don’t get to do that as much on tour, do we?” I cooed. Her tiny lips curled up and she giggled.

“Tours just get in the way of our family snuggle time, don’t they?”

I made my way through the hotel suite and to the bedroom, but Jag wasn’t in the bed. The covers were tossed to one side and the end credits to a movie were rolling across the screen.

I went to Savannah’s suitcase and pulled out a pair of footed pajamas, then opened the door to the bathroom.

Every last part of me crumbled to pieces. My heart beat flipped and raced, pounding so hard I could feel it in every bone in my body. Suddenly, my breathing was erratic, coming in quick and shallow spurts.

The mirror was shattered, shards of glass lay all over the slate grey tiled floor. The bottles and glasses that had decorated the vanity top were smashed on the ground and in the tub. There was a wet spot where the flower vase had been hurled against the wall.

And there was Jag, leaned up against the large porcelain tub centered in the room. His head hung over his bent knees, and underneath him, all over the floor was a pile of cocaine. His powder-covered hand rested over his knee, and he rolled a tiny silver straw between his fingertips, the light from the recessed lighting glinted off the tips of it.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to fall to my knees and cry, but I was holding Savannah. I couldn’t. My eyes darted down to our daughter. She grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled, grinning when my eyes met hers, and my vision immediately blurred behind tears.

“Jag!” That came out as a plea. Surely to God this was not really happening. He had not lied to me. This could not be happening to me.

To her.

To us.

He didn’t budge. He just kept twisting that straw in his hands.

“Jagger!”

He glanced up and his face was red. Sweat dotted his forehead and his eyes were bloodshot.

I could see patterns in the blow where he’d scraped it up. Several clean cut lines were visible between his bare feet.

I shook my head and stared at him.

“I’m sorry…” his eyes veered from me to Savannah and he lost it. His face crumpled, his nostrils flaring as he watched her in my arms. “I’m not as strong as I thought.”

If I’d thought I’d been broken before I hadn’t. Nothing had ever felt like this.

“I didn’t—” Jag steadied himself with his hands and pushed up, and I backed away, pulling Savannah to my chest. I had to protect her from the way this felt.

“You promised,” I managed to get out before I completely broke into sobs.

I turned and made my way through the hotel, laying Savannah down as I grabbed her suitcase.

“Roxy! What are you doing?”

“This can’t happen.”

“I didn’t do it!” He walked up behind me and grabbed onto my arm. “I didn’t do it. I’m not high! I just needed to have it. Just…”

Spinning around, I glared at him. “You didn’t do it? Jag, you have half the floor covered in cocaine. What the hell
are
you doing?”

His face fell and he couldn’t even hold eye contact with me. “I’m weak. It’s too much. I can’t…I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

And that was all I could hear.
He can’t do it. He couldn’t do it.
He wouldn’t do it. He had just verbalized that he was done. And I shut down.

I nodded. “Then you understand that I can’t either.”

“Rox, no, you don’t understand!”

I zipped the suitcase and grabbed one of my bags.

Jag ran to the crib, picking Savannah up. “No!” he begged.

“I’m not doing this with you, Jag.”

“Fucking listen to me.”

“I did. I just listened to you tell me you couldn’t do this.”

His head shook furiously and kissed Savannah on the top of her head while crying and mumbling, “I’m so sorry,” over and over.

I stood, staring at him, watching him cling to her, his hands holding onto her like she was all that mattered in the world, and I just couldn’t comprehend how I could do this to her.

It was nine at night. Where the hell was I going to go? I couldn’t run. I couldn’t be a child anymore. I had to be an adult.

I sucked in the tears. “Where did you get it, Jag?” I set the bags back down and crossed my arms.

He looked off to the side of the room.

“Jag, where did you get it?”

“Lance.”

Rolling my lips under, I groaned.

“I’m sorry. I just…I just…”

“
Why
did you get it? What were you thinking? You’ve been sober for a fucking year, Jag. A year!”

“And every day is a fucking struggle. I am at my wits end with this shit. I don’t sleep. I’m tired as fuck. I hate fame. I
hate
it. I am not this guy. I am not a god. I can’t do it.”

He paced the floor, shaking his head the entire time. “I don’t want to be that guy. I just want to be normal. I don’t want to fight anything.” His voice lowered and he mumbled, “I want to feel like I belong in my own fucking skin.”

What the hell do I do? This is a cycle. I want to be here for him, but at what point do I say enough? Do I let this continue? I love him. I love us. I want to be supportive, but where does that line stop? With one relapse, two, five? Do I act like it’s okay that there is God knows how much blow all over the floor of the bathroom, do I leave? How the fuck am I supposed to trust him? And if I can’t trust him, how am I going to make this work?

“And I want to trust you,” I said before climbing into bed.

*****

I didn’t go to sleep. I couldn’t. I laid there with my eyes shut, and all I could see was him sitting in the floor in the middle of all that powder.

I wanted to go scream at Lance, but what was the point? It wasn’t his job to take care of Jag. I wanted everyone to tiptoe around Jag, but that wasn’t realistic. Other people’s lives didn’t stop because I was married to a recovering addict. Some people didn’t give a shit that he was in a battle, some people wanted him to fall, and there I was stuck trying to referee it all. I went on that tour with him to be supportive, actually, I went on that tour because I didn’t trust him. I couldn’t stop him. If he wanted to do it, he would. He had hidden it from me in the past and he could do it again. That night I accepted the fact that he would do it again. My job was not to fix him, or mend him, it wasn’t my job to keep him together. It was just my job to love him. And as I laid there distraught over the fact that everyone fucking lies, that life is fucked up, I worried that I couldn’t even love him the way he needed.