Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
My heart slamming against my ribs, I push through the crowd toward the hallway.
The women who were with Luke a minute ago are now grumbling in the opposite direction to return to the party. There’s still no sign of Callie or Luke, and I’m terrified of what I’ll find at the end of the hall. Whatever it is, Callie shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.
I run the rest of the way, breathing prayers I haven’t uttered in a long time. Not since that night at Elena’s grave.
I knock on the closed door out of habit but don’t wait for a response. When I push through it, Callie is perched beside him on the bed, a devastated and helpless look on her face. My heart breaks for her. Both of them.
I knew we’d end up here the second I learned about Callie The Breakfast Club Girl. I just hoped it wouldn’t be like this.
“Is he okay?” I ask, urgently scanning Luke’s still form.
The rise and fall of his bare chest relieves some of my tension.
She studies him for a second as if she’s not sure how to answer that. Of course she’s not. There is no answer. But for now, I have to translate our past into the present for those who don’t speak our twisted language.
“I don’t know. What are the different stages of substance abuse unconsciousness?” she says.
That’s all the invitation I need.
I charge into the room and drop to the floor beside Luke. Nausea swirls in my stomach at the sensory memory of this familiar situation. So many panicked evaluations, desperate pleas, and jarring movements to wake him up. But I can’t think about that now.
All that matters is this latest time.
I test his pulse and his breathing. Both are strong. A scan of his room doesn’t reveal any paraphernalia other than alcohol. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t taken anything else, but it’s unlikely. We need to clean out his system just to be safe.
“He’ll be okay,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Callie doesn’t need to carry the full reality of this situation. For now, we just have to deal with the present. “We need to try to wake him up in a bit and get some water in him. Has he thrown up, yet?”
She shakes her head, and my stomach drops.
“Not that I’ve seen.”
It was a longshot anyway.
“Okay. We’ll have to do that, too. Let me get some water. Hang on.”
I push to my feet and head to Luke’s bathroom. Hopefully, there’s a spa kit. If not, a garbage bin will work. I’m relieved to see a basin filled with personal care amenities.
After dumping them out, I return to Callie and hold it out to her.
I cringe at her confused look. Yeah, this is definitely not how I was hoping our night would go when it started. Should have just kissed her.
“It’s for soaking feet, but in case you need this before I get back,” I explain. “I’ll be right back with the water as soon as I can.”
I take off with a new sense of urgency.
After gathering some supplies from the party and ducking out of several conversations, I return to Luke’s room for the well-rehearsed marathon. I hate how quickly it all comes flooding back.
Callie’s gaze darts to me from where she’s seated beside Luke on the bed. With my hands full, I kick the door closed behind me and lean over him.
“Gonna be a long night,” I explain as I motion for her to take the plate of snacks and bottle of water balancing on my left arm. “Sorry, they didn’t have French toast.”
The worry lines ease on her face when she laughs. It’s amazing how much that sound affects me. It’s like a high I want to keep chasing.
She scoots closer to Luke on the bed, leaving room for me on her other side. I place the rest of the snacks on the nightstand and join her. We’ll need to get the poison out of Luke soon, but first I have to build my strength for that behemoth task.
I align myself beside Callie and free a heavy sigh. I hadn’t even realized how much tension I was holding onto until I let myself take a breath.
Our eyes meet in the mirror on the wall across from us. It could be awkward. Maybe it is, I don’t know, but after a few seconds, it feels like I need to say something.
I even know what that thing should be.
“I’m sorry about how I acted out there,” I begin quietly. “It hurts, you know? Seeing him like this. Sometimes I’m not strong enough to deal with it the way I should. I try to pretend he’s the same person now that he was then, but he’s not.”
Her brows knit. “Messing around with supermodels?”
The true weight of this situation presses down on me. “That wouldn’t have been a cause for concern a year ago. But you were right to be worried. It doesn’t mean now what it meant then. It’s just…”
God. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
I study the ceiling, unable to look at her or myself in the mirror.
I still haven’t sorted all of this out, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to explain it to someone else.
All I know for sure is that I love this man beyond logic, and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced.
“I want to help him, I do, I just don’t know how. At some point...” I turn my head to meet her eyes directly this time. “How can I help him if he won’t even let me? You remember what happened at breakfast. He doesn’t want to be helped. I’d be here every day if he let me.”
Warmth spreads through my hand, and I glance down to see her palm tucked against mine.
I don’t know what to do at first. Instinct warns me to pull away. I’ve been touched plenty of times, too many times, but this feels different. There’s no lust or expectation, just gentle compassion to remind me she’s here.
Who is this person?
My gaze flickers to Luke with a silent apology.
I get it now, dude. I really do.
This girl just creeps into your life and starts exploding shit with her light.
A peace I haven’t felt in a long time settles over me, and I find my thumb moving in lazy arcs over hers, as if seeking more of it.
“What about you?” she asks, breaking the long silence.
“What about me?”
Her smile warms me from the inside out.
“What’s your story?” she says.
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re not some undercover investigative reporter or something, are you? ”
It’s almost easier for me to believe that than the fact there’s a person like Callie on this hellhole of a planet.
She lifts a brow and shrugs. “Would that change your answer?”
Another unexpected grin leaks out of me. “I guess not.”
I settle back against the headboard and find her in the mirror again. It’s weird how I feel so exposed and so comfortable at the same time. Her question wasn’t meant to be hard, but there’s nothing about me that’s easy.
There used to be, though. I was always joking around, the life of the party. I used humor to protect myself from a lot of things that could have broken me. And none of them did. Not until this one thing.
That’s the real tragedy of tragedy. It doesn’t just change the present, it skews the future and rewrites the past.
“I was one of ten,” I blurt out. Might as well just go for it. Everything else about this night is freaking weird.
Her face erupts in shock. “Ten? As in ten siblings?”
I smile back. “Yes. Lucky number seven actually.”
She huffs in disbelief and drops back against the headboard.
“Wow. I’m surprised you ended up with Luke and Night Shifts Black then. Shouldn’t you be committed to some cheesy family band? Geez, with ten of you, you could have the whole road crew too.”
I snort a laugh at the irony. “Oh, believe me, my parents tried. Three of my siblings actually still play together.”
“Really?”
“Yep. They’ve even put some albums out. I could never get into the country thing, though. The black sheep, I guess.”
Her amused gaze cuts to mine in the mirror. “Seriously. When you made a left, you made a hard left, huh. Well, it seemed to work out for you anyway.”
She has no idea how hard I veered. Very few people do .
“What about you?” I ask before she can go too far into that minefield.
Her quick smile tugs at me. Why would that standard question make her uncomfortable?
“No bands. Not even country ones.”
“You know what I mean. Luke said you’re a writer.”
Her deflective shrug is just plain annoying. If we’re going to do this, let’s fucking do this.
“I guess,” she says in a noncommittal tone.
“You guess? What does that mean?”
I don’t believe her smile any more than the last one she tried to throw at me. “It means that saying ‘I’m a writer’ implies I’m actually making a living at it.”
I wince, irritation building again. I don’t like anyone minimizing her, including herself. “Really? I thought it meant you spend lots of time writing things.”
She shifts uncomfortably, and my fingers tighten around hers in a silent warning not to squirm out of this conversation. “I guess it can mean that, too. Would you still consider yourself a musician if no one paid you to play?”
“Of course. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen for a long time, though.”
Her chuckle draws a smile from me as well.
“How much do you make for a show anyway?” she asks.
I almost choke at the random question, and she cringes in the mirror. “I’m sorry! I don’t know where that came from. Don’t answer that.”
I shake my head with a grin. Too cute.
“Not as much as you’d think,” I say. “Well not anymore, anyway. We used to get three to four hundred in guarantees. Now, it’s more like one or two. Less when we’re not headlining.”
I can’t help but smirk at her skeptical look. Not sure what she was expecting. “Two hundred? Like two hundred dollars? That’s it? ”
Ha!
“Oh my god, I love you. No. Two hundred thousand.”
Her bewildered expression is even more amusing. How is she making this boring conversation so entertaining?
“Wait, per show? And that’s not much?”
I tilt my head, trying to read her. “I mean, it’s fine, I guess, but it’s not where the real money is.
We make most of it through writing and performance royalties.
” I nod toward Luke. “This guy here hasn’t touched a guitar in a year and is still making a fortune passed out on his ass, believe it or not. ”