Chapter Fifty
CHAPTER FIFTY
BONNIE
The entire drive to my dad’s, I hold onto Gemma’s waist and try to keep my shit together.
The day is a blur. Thank fuck for that nap on the couch, otherwise, I would have passed out on the back of her bike and fallen off.
As we ride, it gives me time to process everything—who Gemma really is, the miserable men who attacked me, Rad…
Goddamn Rad .
The thought of him and what he did to me makes me want to vomit each time it crosses my mind. The truth makes me feel so much more violated. The fact that it was someone I knew, someone who the guys once trusted, even if it was forever ago. What’s worse is how he’s gone on acting as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do to someone. He’s only back in my life to get his revenge on Gemma for killing his friend. He only pissed because he lost the job he thought was owed to him because a friend died due to his own greed.
And he wants to blame all of his problems on me as if I was the one who asked for it.
I knew he was a creep, but this… it feels personal.
My mind wanders to the night he cornered Reed and I at our album party, how he thought I had drugged him the day I joined the band. I barely remember that party, but I can still see the rage in his eyes when he accused me of it, still see glimpses of Mads laying him out for talking shit to both Reed and me.
I’m beginning to wonder if Rad’s vendetta includes him, too.
My dad greets Gemma and me at the door with welcome arms.
“Hey, Dad,” I say as I hug my arms around him.
“Hey, kid,” he replies into my hair.
I love my dad’s hugs.
When we part, his gaze moves to Gemma, and he stretches his hand out to shake hers.
“This must be Gemma,” he says. “You’re the one protecting my daughter now?”
A smile quirks her lips as she shakes his hand.
“I am,” Gemma says.
“You look really familiar.”
I half expect her to tell him we went to high school together, though Gemma is so private, that it also doesn’t surprise me when she bypasses the subject altogether.
“Is it okay if Bonnie crashes here for a few days?” she asks him.
Dad’s eyes move to me as if he’s waiting for further explanation. “Yeah, that tour manager of yours called to say you were coming,” he says, opening the door wide. “I told her anytime my little girl needs to hide from the paparazzi, she’s got a place here.”
I glance Gemma’s way, and she smirks, moving out of the way so I can enter the house before her.
That must be the official cover story.
Rogue paparazzi.
I wish that were fucking true.
My dad goes on about something, pointing out the snacks he has in the kitchen, the ingredients for dinner by the stove—raw tuna tacos, by the looks of it.
Even so, I think I just need some time alone.
The walls keep trying to close-in around me, and there’s a drum kit in my room that’s beckoning me toward it.
I give my dad another hug and excuse myself, letting both of them know that I’m tired and need a few minutes to myself.
If only it was that simple.
I need a reset button.
Upon entering the bedroom, I see that my dad has the sliding door open on the other side of the room. The smell and sound of the ocean fill me, and I pause on the threshold for a moment to take it in. There’s something about the ocean that’s always been calming. The crashing waves are a steady hum that quiets my brain. I love the way it rocks against the sand, yet past the shore, its surface only ripples.
A drum kit sits in the corner that’s begging me to play it. It’s smaller than the one I use onstage or at the studio. Still, it’s perfect for practicing or letting off some steam here.
I place my bag on the bed, shrug my shoes off, and then grab a couple of fresh sticks from inside my bag. Music is what I need to wash this day away, to get me into a headspace that isn’t trying to attack me every few minutes.
I can hear Gemma chatting on the phone outside of the living room balcony, though I can’t discern any words. She had to call Kade and update him that we’d arrived somewhere safe.
Safe .
In hiding is the last place I ever expected to be. I’m too hyperactive for hiding, too in need of jumping from one activity to the next. Staying still makes my head foggy, and when my head gets foggy, I get bored, and when I get bored…
I hang my head and close my eyes, letting the weight sit on my tense shoulders. It’s too quiet, too peaceful. I need a distraction—even chaos.
There’s something to be said about a person who falls asleep easier in chaos than they do in peace. Growing up, I’d fall asleep on the couch in front of the television, and the moment they put me in my bed, I’d wake up. I got in trouble so many times for sneaking into the living room, but it was the only way I could close my eyes. Action movies were the best to fall asleep during. They were noisy. Constant.
Put on a slow documentary-style show, and my brain doesn’t turn off.
I don’t waste anymore time before heading toward my drum kit.
The cushioned throne and drums almost make me cry when I sit behind it. My breathing steadies, hands feeling complete with the weight of the sticks settled within them. I close my eyes and hang my head for a beat, allowing the feral, yet balanced, creature to come to the surface, the animal I become on the stage, who lingers even after all is said and done.
They say home is where the kit is, right?
I pull out my phone and bring up the guitar line Mads sent over that he and Zeb worked, looping it so I can play around with what I’m hoping this song will sound like. I have a plan for the breakdown that I know is going to make people lose their minds.
And when I strike the snare, the knots in my shoulders loosen.
There she is.
One. Two. Three. Four.
I lose all sense of time and reality as I work.
It’s well past dark by the time I think about stopping, and the only reason I stop is because Gemma appears in the corner of my eye. I suddenly remember that she’s there, that I’m at my dad’s. I remember why we’re there, who she is, and everything we’ve been through.
On the drive here, I kept thinking that once all of it hit me, I’d want to run—at least initially. I was sure my mind would begin coming up with scenarios to put people away, to shut Gemma out completely with shouting and fighting back. I thought I’d hurt her, irrationally call Zeb or make a scene about her stalking me.
And yet, looking at her as she leans in the doorway, I feel the complete opposite.
My stomach flutters at the sight of her dark curly hair down, stray loops framing her face, her piercings glinting from the lights around us. She’s wearing the most comfortable looking thin, black, spaghetti-strap overalls with a cream-color bandeau bra beneath it. The cotton fabric gathers at her ankles, lines accentuating the curves of her hips, tank straps showing off her trim, light golden brown arms, the freckles on her shoulders.
I sigh as I look at her, barely able to think, let alone articulate anything that should be said.
I can’t run from her. I won’t run from this. I don’t know how long I’ll harbor this feeling of “what could have been” when it comes to the time we could have been together these last years. I’m also not delusional enough to think whatever we might have had back then would be as strong as what we have now.
I don’t know how to love her.
And I don’t know how she could ever love the dumpster fire that I am.
But dammit… I want to try.
“Hey,” she eventually says.
“Hey,” I manage.
Each inhale seems easier the more I look at her, and I feel my shoulders drooping, my insides withering with every second that I’m not telling her how I feel.
We can tackle this together.
The stalker and the thief—that’s how the fairytale goes, doesn’t it?
“You’re bleeding,” she notices.
I huff nervously and glance down at the blood on the snare and tom closest to me. “Ah… yeah,” I say, nail picking at the callus beneath my middle finger on the left that’s now broken open. “The curse of having a long break. My hands get soft.”
A breeze sweeps through the room, and I realize how sweaty I am.
“You were supposed to be resting,” she says, her tone mildly ticked. “Though, I should be used to you being stubborn by now.”
I laugh, reaching to the floor for my water bottle. “Playing is resting for me. It’s too quiet to sleep,” I say after the cool liquid coats my mouth. “My brain needs loud noises to turn off.”
She pushes off the door and closes it behind her. “I get that,” she says. “Are you hungry?”
“All I want right now is to shower this day off of me. Scrub it off, more like. I feel like I should keep washing until I peel back a new layer of skin.”
Gemma slips behind the kit, and I slide my stool back as she steps in front of me. And when she sinks to her knees, I gulp.
“What can I do?” she asks, her hands cupping around my calf muscle.
I groan when she starts massaging the sore limb. “This is a start.”
A gleam of silver catches my eye when she smiles, and my eyes widen.
“You put in your tongue rings,” I notice.
Her brows flicker in an agreeable motion. “Honestly, they were going to close up if I didn’t,” she says. “Good timing.”
I want to laugh; however, her hands working my legs turns my smile into a curse. I brace my hands on the stool and lean back, trying to keep my happy noises in check.
“Do you know what you can do for me?” I say after a few minutes.
“What?”
“You can take me on that date,” I say.
I swear her cheeks darken with a blush, and she chuckles nervously. “What—you want a long walk on the beach? Candlelight picnic with flower petals scattered around the sand?”
“That actually sounds nice,” I say, grinning.
“Well, I’m glad you approve because that’s what I did,” she says.
Her gaze lifts to meet mine, and I tilt my head in a questioning way. “What?”
She takes my hands into hers, stands, and leads me toward the glass sliding door that opens up to the ocean-front balcony.
There’s a blanket on the sand near the surf line. Candles are scattered not just on the blanket, but in random places on the sand. A basket sits on the blanket, and everywhere I look, random flowers dot the ground.
Gemma’s body brushes against mine from behind, and I feel my eyes flutter at the warm proximity.
“Aw, you like me,” I say, leaning slightly into her.
Her nose brushes my cheek, lips land softly on my skin.
“ Obsessed with you. ”
My breaths shorten at the whispered, raspy way she says it, halfway convinced she could speak in my ear like that and make me orgasm within seconds. I’m dumbfounded at how, with such little motion, she has me thinking about that mask scratching my face… how I succumbed to her shadow so easily—how I want to concede now.
My knees weaken, eyes close.
It’s her.
Every time I think about it, my anger wanes a little more. Honestly, I’m more thankful that my stalker wasn’t some random stranger out to get me.
That’s fucked up, yet I don’t care. With her, all the usual creepy things don’t seem so bad.
I turn around to face her, and when I do, I stammer at the sight of her leaning through the threshold, strong arms flexing as her fingertips grip the frame above her head. Her dilated hazel eyes wander deliberately over me, and I flex my knees to stay upright.
Fucking hell.
This is pathetic, isn’t it? Is this normal?
I can’t even find my way out of her stare, and I’m not sure I want to. I’ll stay in this pit if it means I don’t have to worry about the outside world invading my space.
“Do you want to shower first?” she asks, straightening slightly.
I’m so fixated on how sexy she is right now that I barely hear her voice. “What?” I ask.
She scoffs, tongue swiping over her lips. “I asked if you wanted to shower before our date.”
God, she smells like vanilla and cinnamon.
Has she always smelled like vanilla and cinnamon?
“Yes—” I clear my throat and drag my eyes away from her, taking a step back.
Act cool.
“I mean… yeah. That’s smart,” I say, shrugging. “I should definitely shower.”
A crooked smirk lifts her lips. “I forgot how cute you are when you stammer,” she rasps.
“Do you know how hot you are when you do this?” I blurt.
She chuckles softly and takes her hands off the door, then stuffs them into her pockets, her hips angling forward just enough of a fraction that I inwardly whimper.
“Trying to keep my hands occupied,” she admits. “If I don’t…” Her eyes wander over me again, bottom lip drawing behind her teeth, and this time my thighs squeeze.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.
She licks her lips again and nods toward the bathroom. “Take a shower,” she says. “I’ll be waiting for you out there when you’re ready.”
I lean in and press my lips to hers before she has a chance to leave me in this pathetic state. It’s a slow, promising kiss, and the deeper it gets, the weaker my legs become. She eventually takes her hands from her pockets and cups my throat. Shit, this is hypnotizing. I forget everything—my name, where we are, what we were just talking about… At some point, she bends slightly to grab me beneath my ass, and when she pulls me onto her waist, I squeal into her mouth.
Hell yes.
I rock in her arms as she moves us inside, though just as I think she’s about to place me onto the bed, she walks past it and sets me down inside the bathroom door. I open my mouth to protest, but she reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head, the muscle in her jaw ticking as if it’s the only thing holding her back from taking me into the shower and having her way.
And when I’m undressed, she leans in, kisses me one more time, and backs out of the room.
I’m still in a stupor when I open my eyes and notice she’s nearly on the other side of the bedroom.
“I’ll be waiting when you’re ready,” she says.
I want to slam my head against the wall in frustration.
Still, I reach for the tap.
Because the thought of finally spending a night with her without having to worry about anything else… No band, no immediate threat, no phones, no hesitating, or being scared…
Yeah. That’s worth taking a few extra steps for.