Chapter 38
IAIN
Oh my God. Oh my God, what do I do?
Fuck, fuck, was this really happening?
Only an hour ago, Valen and Quinn were joking with me. Dawson told me he loved me…he loved me. And I loved him.
No, this couldn’t be happening.
“Look at me!” Frankie roared. “Show me your hands!”
I was still lying on the ground, so I lifted my hands as high as I could in the position. Then I turned my head to look at Valen crouched beside me. He’d drawn his weapon.
“Put the gun down, Frankie! This isn’t the way to get Iain to talk to you,” Valen yelled.
Frankie fired off another shot that had me covering my ears again. The crash of breaking glass from nearby car windows rained down over us.
“Why didn’t you listen to me, Iain?” Frankie demanded.
“I…I’m sorry,” I panted.
I was hyperventilating at this point.
“All you had to do was listen. Like the first time we met. Remember?” Frankie asked me with wild eyes.
“The charity concert in February.”
“No!” Frankie roared. “No! No! No! I met you last fall! Bandit threw a company event on September 20. Remember? You said hi to me, and you touched my hand. You were the only band member to do that. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never felt so…seen. Special.”
I didn’t remember that event—or him—at all. But I rolled with it. “Oh. Y-yes, I remember now.”
Frankie nodded and visibly calmed.
I had no fucking clue what he was talking about.
“You’re not like the other musicians. The ones I sold out to the tabloids. They were corrupt. Selfish. Rude. Not talented and kind like you. As soon as I met you, I knew you were different. You smiled at me. And I knew then that you loved me. As much as I love you.”
I didn’t remember any of that. Jesus, I met him once, and he thought I was in love with him?
What the fuck?
I glanced over at Quinn, and the red stain on his pale blue jacket was getting bigger and bigger. Blood was covering his right hand. Shit. Fuck.
We needed the police and an ambulance. Now.
I slowly put my hands down, then reached for my phone in my pocket.
“Don’t move!” Frankie shouted and fired again.
I grabbed my head as more glass fell over us. And I prayed that someone nearby had heard the shots and dialed 911.
Then Valen spoke so low that I barely heard the words. “I hit the SOS alert; police are on the way. Keep talking to him. We need to distract him so I can get a clear shot.”
“Frankie! Stop! Please,” I pleaded, and Frankie focused on me again. “I r-remember. I remember m-meeting you. All of it. I remember how special you were. Are.”
“I knew it!” Frankie shouted as he stared at me, holding the gun with two shaky hands. “I knew you loved me! And you got my messages? And the flowers?”
“Yes, I did. T-thank you,” I managed to reply, my voice shaky.
“That’s just the beginning. Now that you’re back, we can be together again. We’re meant for each other. Right, Iain? The last time I saw you, you felt it, too. You invited me backstage after the show. You wanted me.”
“Yes, t-that’s right. I did.”
My stomach was churning with nausea and fear, thinking about how close I came to being alone with this man.
“But then you brushed me off!” Frankie yelled. “Why didn’t you take me home? That’s all I wanted!”
I heard the wail of sirens in the distance. My phone began to ring.
“And then I saw that picture of you and him! That stupid bodyguard!” Frankie roared. “He wants you. But he can’t have you. He can’t. He’s not here, and I am. Me!”
“Yes, you are,” I choked out, my body shaking so hard my teeth rattled.
“Come here, Iain. Right now! Or I’ll kill both of your bodyguards!” Frankie screamed. “And shut that fucking phone off!”
“Okay, I’m going to sit up and take out my phone. Then I’ll walk over to you. Okay?”
Slowly, I got off the ground and reached for my phone. My hands were shaking so hard that after I managed to get the phone out of my pocket, I dropped it. The phone skidded on the pavement toward Frankie.
Oh shit, now what?
Frankie stared at my phone for a moment, then he reached for it.
It was a split second.
Another shot rang out, and I jolted, shutting my eyes until I heard Valen yelling.
When I finally opened them, I saw Frankie lying on the ground and Valen, with his gun drawn, headed toward him.
Oh my fucking God.
“Iain, put pressure on Quinn’s wound! Now!” Valen ordered.
I finally snapped out of my daze and threw off my jacket, pressing it to Quinn’s shoulder. Then I noticed the grey pallor in Quinn’s usually ruddy face.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, unsure if it ever would be. “It’s okay.”
Was Frankie dead?
Fuck, this can’t be happening. It can’t be real.
“It’s all right,” Quinn panted as he placed his bloody hand over mine. “Val… got him.”
“You’re losing so much blood,” I whimpered, my vision blurring.
“It’s okay...been shot…before…when I was a cop. I’m tougher than I…look.”
“You look pretty fucking tough,” I replied without thinking.
Quinn snorted, then grimaced. “Don’t make…me…laugh, Iain. Hurts.”
“How are you so calm right now?”
“Better… calm… than dead.”
And then it was chaos again—police cars flooded the parking lot, cops yelled at Valen to show his hands.
My ears started to ring, and my vision blurred.
Suddenly, Regan was there, crouched down in front of me, but I couldn’t understand anything she was saying.
I was yanked up and away from Quinn as paramedics arrived and placed him on a stretcher.
Finally, Dawson was there, too, standing in front of me, pulling me into his arms.
I buried my face in his neck and burst into tears, not caring who saw or how I sounded.
“How did you know?” I sobbed against his chest.
“The SOS, Regan called me. It’s okay; it’s all over, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Dawson reassured me. I was shaking, and so was he. “You’re safe now.”
“Quinn?” I asked as I finally leaned back and looked around.
“Quinn’s on his way to the hospital. He’s going to be okay.”
“Is Frankie…is he…”
“He’s dead,” Dawson murmured. “Now we have to get you to the hospital.”
“No.”
“Yes, you’re in shock. You need to be checked out.”
“But—”
“I’m coming with you. I’m not leaving your side.”
“I was so scared. And I felt helpless. I—”
Dawson gripped me so tight I’m surprised I didn’t crack a rib. But I needed it; I needed his strength more than ever.
I’m not sure what happened after that.
Everything went dark.
I woke up to fluorescent lights, the sound of machines beeping, and the smell of rubbing alcohol.
Hospitals. I hated them.
I had a flashback to when I was ten years old, holding on tightly to my dad’s hand as we stood in the emergency room.
I remember the doctor whispering my mom’s name and saying, “I’m sorry.
We did everything we could.” And then my dad dropped my hand, covering his face while he let out an anguished sob that I would never forget.
And everything was different from that moment on.
There were no more hugs. No holding on to my hand. Nothing.
I blinked and looked over to find Dawson sitting in a chair beside me, typing away on his phone. He was biting his lower lip, and there were circles under his eyes. How late was it? How long had I been in here?
Then it all came flooding back.
The meeting with Greg.
The parking lot.
Frankie.
The shooting. The blood.
“Dawson,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and dry.
He got up and reached for my hand, sitting on the bed beside me. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you feeling?”
“Like shit. How’s Quinn?”
“Quinn is out of surgery and in recovery. He’s going to be fine.”
“Thank fuck. What time is it? How long have I been here?”
“Several hours. You passed out from the shock.”
“Val? Is he okay?”
“Yeah. Val was with the police for hours, but he’s here now, being checked out.”
“The guys?”
“All waiting outside to see you. Are you ready for company? Do you need anything?”
I shook my head, my eyes welling up again. Fuck, why couldn’t I stop crying?
“Just some water. And I want to see them. Can you send them in?”
“Of course.”
Dawson leaned over to hug me, but I held my hand up and shook my head. “Go home. Be with your son. I don’t need you. If the guys are here, one of them will stay with me.”
“But—”
“I don’t want you here. You and me. It just isn’t going to work.”
His face fell, but he said nothing in response.
I just…I couldn’t look at him right now.
This. This was exactly what I was talking about when I told Dawson that my life was crazy.
I wasn’t safe. Well, I guess I was, now that my stalker was dead, shot by my bodyguard.
Jesus Christ.
I’m sure the tabloids were all over this. The news would live on forever.
And sitting here in the hospital, with an IV in my arm, I had to face the truth: I wasn’t meant for white picket fences, or partners, or kids. As much as I loved Dawson, and he loved me, it wasn’t enough.
I was a fuckboy rockstar.
I lived hard. I played hard. I didn’t have a normal life.
If this incident didn’t prove how unfit I was to be in Dawson’s life, I didn’t know what would.
I closed my eyes and let the hot tears fall down my face.
I felt Dawson gently kiss my hand. And I listened to his footsteps as he left the room.
Alone again. Which was good. Fine. As it should be.
I had my music and my friends. I didn’t need a boyfriend.
“Iain?”
I opened my eyes to find Brodie, Van, Faise, and Ronin entering the room. They all looked like they’d aged a decade.
“Fuck, am I glad to see you guys,” I croaked as I wiped my eyes.
They all crowded around me, hugging tightly.
“Dawson just told us to stay with you. When’s he coming back?” Brodie asked.
“He isn’t. I told him to leave. For good.”
“Iain—” Brodie started.
“Don’t, Dee,” I interrupted. “Just don’t. Look at where I am, at what just happened. Frankie tried to kill me, and he nearly killed Quinn! This is a whole other level of crazy that Dawson does not need. I can’t even imagine what’s going on with the news and—”
Brodie sighed. “Zoe is handling it, but yeah, there’s a lot. But you know as well as I do that these things will eventually pass.”
“It doesn’t feel that way right now. I can’t even imagine Dawson would want to be around me. Or want his son around me.”
“Don’t you think you should let Dawson decide what’s best for him?” Faise asked.
“No. I’m not cut out for a relationship.”
Ronin patted me on the shoulder. “Maybe you just need time to process. I’m sure once you calm down—”
“I am calm!” I yelled, obliterating my statement.
I took a deep breath, and the tears welled up again. “I made the right decision. I’m fine. It’s better this way.”
My heart was aching like a motherfucker.
“Close your eyes and rest,” Brodie insisted. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”
I leaned back and did as Brodie suggested, but I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop my mind from spinning.
Minutes or hours later, I heard another set of footsteps entering the room, and a familiar scent wafted over me.
“You’re back,” Ronin announced.
My eyes snapped open.
Dawson was standing at the foot of the bed, holding two trays of drinks. “I thought decaf was best; help yourself.”
“What the hell are you doing here? I asked you to leave!” I snapped.
Dawson ignored me and passed out the coffee to my friends.
“Thanks, Daws; appreciated,” Ronin murmured.
Brodie and Faise also offered their thanks.
“No, it’s not. Get out!” I yelled.
Dawson shook his head and stared at me. “I’m not leaving you. You can throw one of your rockstar tantrums if you want, but it won’t work. I’ve been chasing you for years, sweetheart, so bring it on.”
I sat up again, my heart pounding furiously. “I don’t want you here.”
“Bullshit! You’re trying to protect me by pushing me away. But it won’t work. I love you, end of story,” Dawson announced as he calmly sipped his coffee.
My band brothers were staring at Dawson, then me, with their mouths wide open.
“Be reasonable—” I started.
“You’re telling me to be reasonable? How much meds did they give you?”
I looked at my friends. “Do something!”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been through a lot today,” Dawson continued. “Close your eyes and rest. Getting upset isn’t helping.”
What was happening right now? Why wasn’t Dawson leaving? Maybe he was the one who needed medical attention.
A nurse walked into the room and glared at everyone. “Only one visitor in the room at a time. I don’t care how famous you are.”
My band brothers chuckled, gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and left the room.
The nurse stepped up to my bed and checked my IV. “How are you feeling, Mr. Holloway?”
“Upset. Exhausted. Wired.”
“That’s understandable. Another dose of sedative should help you sleep. The doctor will be by in a few hours.”
“Can you get him out of here?” I pointed to Dawson who was sitting in the chair again, watching me.
“Nope,” he replied. “I’m staying right here with my boyfriend.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” the nurse cooed at him.
Her reaction made my temper spike again. I’m pretty sure I’d need blood pressure meds to go along with that sedative.
She checked my vitals and IV and left the room as quickly as she had come.
“I love you. I’m not leaving you,” Dawson repeated and reached out to take my hand again.
Tears threatened as I held on to my fear.
“But—”
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll be discharged tomorrow morning, and we’re going home, and I’m going to look after you.
Then, we’ll go see a therapist to talk through what happened today and anything else needed to move forward.
And we’ll also sit down with Jaxon and my mom and figure this thing out. ”
Hot tears lashed my cheeks again. Dawson got up and cupped my face, wiping them away.
His green eyes implored mine, and I so wanted to believe.
“You’ve always been fearless on stage, Iain. The way your hands bring that guitar to life? Fuck, you’re a musical force of nature. I know you’re strong enough to get through this, too. But don’t push me away. I want to love and support you. My heart knows, sweetheart, and yours does, too. Please.”
Despite the IV in my arm, I reached up with both hands and gripped his tightly, pulling it to my chest, over my heart.
And, like always, my hands said everything I couldn’t.
He reached down and gave me a tender kiss.
Dawson was right.
His heart knew, and so did mine.