Twisted(109)

“Look at me.”

Eyes streaming, she looked. And found more compassion than she’d ever expected staring back at her.

“We’ll get through tonight together,” he said gently, rubbing her knuckles. “I’ll help you, and you’ll help me. Just like you did during those shows last year—” He broke off at her gasp and swore. “Christ, not like that. You’re an engaged woman now. I don’t fucking poach.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. Saying nothing, she turned her hand over and lightly gripped his fingers before nudging him back so she could get to her feet. “Make your calls,” she said in a voice that shook. It couldn’t be helped. At least she was talking without crying. “I’ll get dressed and be right out.”

“Okay.” He walked to the doorway and picked up her phone. He swiped his thumb over it before handing it back to her. “Still works.”

She glanced at her background picture, a photo from years ago of her and Gray in San Francisco. They’d made so many plans last night in between rounds of making love.

Ones she refused to give up on without a fucking fight. But first she had to know exactly what she was dealing with. Turning her back on reality wouldn’t work anymore, not if she wanted to save the man she loved.

“Tell me how long you’ve known.”

“Known what?”

She set her jaw and met Nick’s gaze. “You know what. Tell me how long you’ve known he’s using.”

His hesitation didn’t last long. “Since last spring. The day after that clusterfuck threesome, he dropped a baggie in the studio. I called him on his shit and he said he was holding it for a friend.”

“And you believed him.”

“No, I didn’t fucking believe him. But what was I supposed to do about it? The night before, you called out his goddamn name while I was inside you. I didn’t want to be part of it anymore.”

Shame heated her already scalding cheeks. “So you washed your hands of it.”

“Maybe I did. It wasn’t my problem. I warned him what he was risking, but fuck, Jazz, I’d just told him he could have you, that I wouldn’t interfere. Everyone thinks I’m a bastard anyway, so why not play my part?”

“Because you’re not a bastard. A bastard wouldn’t have just sat with me while I cried. You wouldn’t care if we saved a spot for him. You’d be hoping like hell he got thrown out.”

“Yeah, so maybe I like the guy now, all right? Maybe I get it finally, that what’s between the two of you had nothing to do with me. And so I’m not going to fucking cry in my milk and wish for him to get what he deserves. Because maybe he really does deserve you, more than I ever did.”

She walked over to him and cupped his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He gripped her hands for a second before letting go and stepping back. “Get dressed so we can practice.” Without waiting for her to reply, he pulled the door shut behind him.

She still hadn’t moved when she heard his voice on the phone.

“Ricki, I need your help.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Then



“Happy birthday, Jazzy.”

She turned at the slurred voice behind her, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of Brent in her bedroom doorway, his tie half undone and his jacket gaping open. He’d dressed up for the sweet sixteen party the Duffys had organized for her, but he was already half in the bag.

Didn’t anyone notice? Or maybe it didn’t matter. He worked now, and Mrs. Duffy treated him like an adult. It wasn’t any big thing if he wanted to have a few drinks to unwind after he returned from his shift.

“Hi. Thanks.” She tried to smile but the gesture fell short.

Nothing new when it came to dealing with Brent.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned back to her dresser. Tonight she would get to wear the aquamarine dangle earrings Mrs. Duffy had given her for an early birthday gift.

“I heard you singing, baby. What song was that?”

Ick, she hated when he called her baby. It made her skin prickle as if she’d gotten too much sun. When Gray used the same term, she loved it. That probably wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t deny her natural reaction. God knows she’d tried a million times.

“Elvis. Hey, is everyone here yet?” At the tickle between her shoulder blades, she turned, not feeling comfortable with him behind her. He’d moved up close—too close—and she bumped into the dresser, sending a few of her perfume bottles tumbling to the floor. She gasped and bent to see if the bottles broke, only to have Brent seize hold of her arm and tug her to her feet. “Hey, what are you—”