Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
“You punched a man?” Wren repeated in a shocked, exasperated tone. A little dramatic, if you asked Draven.
“Yes,” Draven said again, holding a frozen bag of peas around his throbbing hand.
The band had been scheduled for their typical “practice hang out” to draft and revise songs for the new album at Draven’s apartment. Of course, his bandmates noticed his injury and cursed. It was horrible timing. Drumming required hands; the act of punching someone injured hands.
Ever since Alec ran out clutching his jaw, Thea flitted around the apartment in a blur of chaos.
She found bags of frozen vegetables and made Draven “try out” each one on his hand and choose the best fit. She searched the medicine cabinet for aspirin, tossing the condoms to the back of the shelving unit while she glared at the little packages, and Draven chuckled to himself.
As the big brother in a family with busy parents, it had been a while since anyone cared for him like she did. Thea pointed for him to sit on the couch and hold the bag of frozen peas to his hand while she made him hot chicken noodle soup, heating a can of it she found in a cabinet.
Even though he could have held a spoon, he let her feed him the soup, reveling in the way her lips formed the perfect, sexy “O” when she blew on the steaming liquid for him. Amused, comforted, and touched, Draven sipped the broth.
He knew the hot soup would do nothing to heal his hand, but he also knew he could deny her nothing when she looked at him with those big gray-blue eyes.
Keeping his right hand under the bag of peas, he tapped on his phone to use voice-to-message to text her, “ You make a sexy nurse .”
The sight of Thea’s blush had made his heart lurch forward and his dick tingle—the stuff of poetry.
She texted him back, “ How did you know he called me that word? ” She did not repeat it.
Slut.
Draven blushed, his stubble unable to mask the pink blooming over his cheeks.
She poked at his side when he hesitated to answer, shooting him those pretty pleading blues.
Huffing out a sigh, Draven clicked on the voice-to-text and replied, “How do you know I knew what he called you? Your ex has a very punch-able face.”
She rolled her eyes and poked him again.
He took his time in replying. His phone screen circled as it waited for his dictation of a new message. “I may or may not have learned that word after I may or may not have watched videos on how to talk dirty in sign language.”
Both of them blushed.
An hour and a half later, his bandmates came over for their practice and brainstorming session, saw his injured hand, and cursed.
“Dude, are you going to be able to drum?”
“We go on tour in less than two months!”
“What the hell happened? You get into a drunk bar fight?”
“God, Draven, you’ve got to grow up, man.”
“A drummer hurting his hand punching someone? How much more immature can you be?”
Everything they said was a new, invisible, painful nail hammered into Draven’s body. Hammered into the sensitive parts—like everywhere a tattoo artist warned, “ Okay, but it’s going to really hurt .” Wrist. Foot. Back shoulder blade.
Their complete lack of support—or interest in why Draven punched someone—hurt him worse than his hand did.
There used to be a time when all of the members of Medusa’s Tears were dumb, young rock stars who stood by each other no matter what crazy thing one of them did. Tomi once accidentally got married in Vegas, and Draven had the self-control to mention it only once a year. Once . Okay, maybe four times a year.
Ever since his friends got married and had kids, they looked at Draven like he was an irresponsible token from their past. I’m getting pretty damn tired of it .
Convincing his bandmates that he wasn’t the same twenty-two-year-old they witnessed have a threesome in the green room after a concert was not easily done.
Worst of all, the idea of having to explain and prove to his closest friends that he was a grown man and not the archetype they saw him as—well, it sucked.
Was it unrealistic to crave utter acceptance from someone? To want someone to have his back no matter what? It was not Draven’s job to tell his friends he spent his money on Mimi’s care or Summer and Geo’s college to win back their respect. Having to constantly prove yourself is exhausting .
“How did it happen?” Tomi asked, prying for the dramatic details of the punch.
“It doesn’t matter,” Draven said, disappointment welling inside him and brimming in his chest.
“Let me guess, jealous boyfriend?”
If anything, Draven seemed like the jealous boyfriend in the scenario. Someone said something horrible about his woman—his, uh, roommate—and he flipped.
“Are you going to be able to play in the next week or so?” Wren’s serious tone took the carefree joking out of Tomi and Yin’s prying.
“It was just a punch; my hand isn’t made of glass. I’m sure I’ll be fine before the tour, if that is what you are worried about,” Draven replied.
“Do we need a backup drummer on call when we’re in Europe, or will you be able to control yourself?” Wren asked.
“Like I’m normally some violent guy? You’re the one who killed every spider he saw on our tour busses.” Draven clucked his tongue. “And mentioning the possibility of kicking me out of the band again. Awesome.”
“Honestly, Draven, you’ve been kind of unhinged lately. Can you blame me?”
“Unhinged?” he echoed.
Wren continued, “You’ve missed more practices in the last year than you ever have before.” Draven had been visiting Mimi after concerning news from her caregivers. “You asked our record label for money.” For Mimi’s care and his siblings’ college. “You have nothing but mindless hookups with groupies.”
Draven rolled his eyes at that.
“And now, you punch some random guy and won’t tell us who it is?”
Draven shrugged stiffly. “You don’t need to know. You shouldn’t have to know.”
Tomi cracked open another beer as he leaned back on the couch. “If you told us why, maybe we wouldn’t be so upset with you.”
Draven snorted.
“What?”
“You guys love to be upset with me nowadays,” Draven commented.
“You hit someone, Draven,” Wren stressed from his seat in the armchair. The “leader’s” seat. “What if it becomes a lawsuit or something? You never think about how your actions impact all of us—”
A balled-up piece of paper whacked Wren in the cheek, startling all the men.
Dumbstruck, the rock stars glanced at where the soft weapon came from. Thea stood just behind the couch, her chest heaving up and down like she just barely held back from screaming. Her intense scowl chilled Draven down to his bone marrow, and she wasn’t even directing it at him. She glared at his bandmates.
Wren signed something to her, which Draven assumed was something along the lines of, “ What the hell? What was that for? ”
She rapidly signed back at him. Thea’s quick hands moving in the air mesmerized Draven and the other men who did not know sign language.
“What’s she saying?” Draven asked Wren, who was fluent.
Wren ignored him as he stared, slack-jawed, at what Thea signed.
“What is she saying?” Draven repeated; Tomi and Yin asked the same.
“She says that she was using the voice-to-text app to eavesdrop on us. She says we’re all assholes for calling Draven immature and that we should apologize,” Wren translated. He shook his head at that and signed something back.
Whatever Wren signed seemed to piss her off even more. Thea’s eyes narrowed into slits, and her tiny, cute nostrils flared as she furiously signed back.
Draven sat on the edge of his seat, feeling like he could tip over at any moment in front of this fireball of a woman. “What’s she saying now?” he asked, hoping his tone didn’t sound as desperate and begging to the others as it sounded to his own ears. Was she standing up for him? Was someone finally standing up for him?
“She says, ‘Draven is amazing and doesn’t deserve to be talked to that way.’ Now she is demanding we apologize.” Wren scoffed and signed back to her, narrating his words to the men, “ Thea, he punched someone .”
She rolled her eyes and signed some more.
Wren translated, “She says her ex came by and got mad at her for living here. That he—he what ?” Wren growled. She signed it again. Wren glared at her hands as he said, “Her ex called her a ‘slut,’ and Draven punched him.”
Wren took a deep breath and continued, “She says she is glad Draven punched him. She is proud of him.” Proud of me? “She… She has never had someone stand up for her before, and he did. Without hesitation, he did.”
Finishing with the translating, Wren blinked and glanced at Draven for several seconds. He jerked his head up and down in a nod of solidarity. Tomi leaned forward and clapped a hand over Draven’s shoulder.
“Oh, so now you are all proud of me?” Draven asked. Hurt bled from his voice even though he attempted to cauterize it. Still, his heart thudded behind his ribcage at Thea’s words.
She signed again.
Wren translated, “She says she will make sure his hand heals before the tour. She won’t let him use it if that is what it takes. She says we don’t deserve him. And she… She says if any of us dare to make him sad about the punch or anything, the next time she does our makeup, she will draw a dick on our faces in black eyeliner and let us go out and perform like that.”
Tomi cackled while Yin scoffed and turned to Draven. “Dude, be honest, you told her to say that.”
“I didn’t,” Draven whispered, dumbfounded. She threatened to draw a dick on them for me . For some reason, that felt like a love proclamation. A woman who wore pearls every day was willing to do something so childish for him .
I…love her .
No, no. Obviously not. Emotions ran high. It was a powerfully charged moment. She was beautiful and sexy and caring, and her pussy tasted like heaven, but love? So soon?
We hardly know each other .
Distraught and confused, Draven stared at Thea as she glared at his bandmates and pointed her judge-y little finger at them like she was a kindergarten teacher scolding a group of kids. They were famous rock stars, but she scowled at them and demanded an apology for Draven.
His upper body swayed to the side for a moment, his brain going lightheaded.
Dear God, had he just swooned?
“I need everyone to leave right now,” Draven said evenly, not sparing a glance at his friends because all he saw was Thea. All he focused on was Thea.
“Excuse me?” Tomi asked. “We haven’t even done any songwriting.”
“Out,” Draven said, maintaining heavy eye contact with Thea. “Right now.”
They needed to be alone. Right. Now.
“Dude—”
“Get out of my apartment,” he told them, standing from the couch and walking around it to get to Thea. She inched closer to him, only looking back at the other guys to silently chide them.
I want her so bad .
Draven cupped her throat lightly, a little leash of affection as he peered down at her smooth, round face and gut-wrenching eyes. “You used the voice-to-text app to eavesdrop, huh?” he teased.
A small smile curled at her mouth even though she didn’t understand his words. Because she hears me like no one else .
“A regular James Bond, huh, baby?” Draven smirked. “That’s sexy as hell.”
One of the men made an alarmed coughing noise, and Draven shouted, “Get out.”
Once the door slammed closed and they were left alone, Draven grinned at her, his face aching from the stretch of such a dominating smile. When was the last time anything felt like this?
“You said you wouldn’t let me use my hand until it fully heals,” he said, stroking a thumb over the center of her throat. “Will you help me shower, Thea?”