Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BONNIE
shesatrackstar1988
Hey sexy ;-)
I miss you.
I toss my phone onto the couch and rub my fingers over my eyes. It isn’t the first time I’ve forgotten about someone entirely. I should text her back. At least end it properly.
I don’t know if my attention span can cover three interests.
Shit. Am I really thinking about my stalker as if she’s a love interest?
I sink my head into my hands as the smell of coffee drifts through the air. This is so fucking unhealthy. All of it. Fucking my stalker and stupidly thinking it was just some masked stranger. Texting her back. Flirting with Gemma. And then letting my stalker fuck me again last night because I can’t seem to get her out of my goddamn head.
Ugh.
Did last night even happen?
I’d question my own sanity for dreaming something like that up, except the glove tucked under my thigh is proof enough—not to mention the purple hickey on my shoulder or the fucking wet spot on the couch that I’ve been trying to figure out how to go about cleaning without letting anyone else know what happened for the last three hours.
I’d leaned into her even after waking up and realizing it wasn’t just a wet dream. I’d leaned into it like a damn teenager begging to be fucked under the covers at a sleepover.
Why did it feel so damn good?
“Hey, Sunshine, do you want coffee?” Zeb throatily asks from the kitchen.
Shit.
How do I get him into the shower so I can throw the whole damn couch out of the window?
I grab his sweatshirt and push it over my head, so he doesn’t see the hickey on my arm. “Can we inject it into my veins?” I ask, forcing myself to stand and cross the space to him. “What happens if I snort it? Does it work faster?”
“I heard soaking a tampon with it is the fastest,” he jokes, smirking.
My gaze rises from the floor to meet his and I wince. “Seriously?”
He scoffs. “I think there were rumors of people doing that with vodka a few years back.”
My face furls in disgust as I sink into one of the bar stools and toss my phone on the countertop. “This is why it’s a good thing I’m sober. I’m pretty sure if someone had suggested that to me while I was high, I would have done it.”
“And now?”
“Now, that just sounds like a hospital visit waiting to happen. The pain. The infection… Ugh . I need caffeine for this conversation.”
Another laugh leaves him as he pours coffee into an oversized mug. “What’s up? You sleep that shitily?”
I run my fingers through the roots of my messy hair, the memory of my stalker’s bare hand raking over my stomach lingering at the forefront of my mind. “Something like that,” I say, trying to blink the vision away.
“Really? I thought the couch was pretty comfy.”
“Wasn’t the couch,” I admit. Zeb passes the mug across the counter, along with the caramel creamer. “You ever do something that you barely have memory of?” I ask.
“Like a childhood memory that you’ve blocked?” he asks. “Hours of driving completely zoned out?”
“Like you can’t tell if something was a dream,” I reply.
He presses his palms to the lip of the counter and bends over, stretching his muscled shoulders out. “Did something happen?” he asks when he looks up.
“I… I had a dream that I slept with my stalker.” I don’t look up from my coffee as the lie leaves me. It isn’t that I think he’ll judge me. I think I’m just not ready to admit the truth out loud.
“That’s fucked up,” he says, straightening. “Was it hot?”
I give him a look, and he chuckles before grabbing one of the bananas from the fruit bowl.
“It’s a valid question,” he says.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
He pauses. “Yeah… what? Yeah, that’s valid or yeah, it was hot?”
“It was fucking hot,” I concede, and he laughs hard. “It was really fucking hot—Shut the hell up.” I throw the creamer bottle back at his face, but he catches it without even trying.
“Well, at least you have a decent distraction from that today,” he goes on.
My phone buzzes, and I glance over to see Gemma’s name across the screen.
“Speaking of,” I say, picking it up.
A long exhale leaves me when I read the message, and I almost smile.
GEMMA
Do you need anything from your apartment? Heading over to make sure everything was changed.
“She already changed the locks,” I say.
“She works fast. I like it,” Zeb replies.
Are you looking for an excuse to go through my underwear drawer?
You caught me.
Seriously, though. Do you need anything? Clothes? Toothbrush? Brunch?
I didn’t know you were running errands for us too.
I’m heading your way soon.
Thought I would pick up something if you wanted it.
“Do you want brunch?” I ask Zeb.
“She’s getting us brunch?”
“Said she’s driving up soon and will bring food if we want,” I reply as my phone vibrates again.
Yet, this time, it’s a different sort of drop that my stomach does.
UNKNOWN
I think I left something behind last night.
Did you come with it again after I left?
I squirm in my seat, cursing the ache between my thighs.
Gemma’s next text notification pulls down from the top of the screen, a welcome interruption from the way my mind wants to wander to how right my stalker is.
Because I did use it come again after she left.
GEMMA
What time is the defense class?
“Hey, what time is our defense class?” I ask Zeb.
“Ah… He said whenever we could get away, just text him. He’ll meet us over at the gym,” he replies. “Did you say Gemma was going with us today?”
I eye the smirk on his face as I hit ‘send’ on my reply to Gemma. “Yeah. She’s coming to kick your ass,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “We’ll see.”
He goes around the island and starts toward the couch to sit and enjoy his coffee. Panic weaves through me when he steps around the end, heading right for the space where I was sleeping last night. And as he grabs the remote and starts to sit, I launch off the stool.
“Wait, don’t sit there,” I blurt out.
Zeb frowns at me and looks down. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”
“Ah… nothing, I just want to get the sheets and stuff off—”
However, his eyes widen up at me when he pulls back the blanket—one glimpse at the pillow and sheet I was lying on tells him everything he needs to know.
“ Dude! ”
I wince, heat beating my cheeks.
“Dude what the hell—what— is that —” He balks slightly and stares at me and then bursts out laughing. “That was one hell of a fucking dream, huh?”
I throw an apple from the bowl at his head. “Shut the fuck up,” I argue, so embarrassed right now that I don’t even know what to say.
“I’m getting you a splash pad for Christmas. What the fuck, Bed!”
His laughter howls around the space.
“What are we going to do with this?!” he asks as I reach the couch.
“I don’t know! I don’t—Help me,” I finally manage, now laughing at myself.
“I’m never letting you live this down,” he declares.
“Zeb!” I shove him. “Dude, help. What am I going to do?”
“I mean at this point, it needs to be burned,” he says. “I’m sure the rest of the fam have fucked on this couch, too.”
“Yeah, well… Apparently, I’m the only one who gets this much fun out of dreams,” I lie. I scratch the back of my head. “What do we do?”
“Um… We get a new one,” he says pointedly.
“Oh, really? We’re going to put together a new couch before Mads and Reed get here, and then pretend like it never happened?” I ask.
“It’s seven A.M. Yes,” he says. “We have people who can make this happen.”
“What do we tell Mads and Reed? They’re going to notice a new couch.”
“We lie,” he says, like it’s obvious.
I press my hands to my hips, considering his plan. “So, who do we call?”
But Zeb already has his phone out and is tapping on a number. He presses it to his ear, and I swear I hear our tour manager answer with, “What did you do?”
Zeb scoffs. “Hey, Stels. Bon and I need a favor.”
Thank fuck for this fucker.
I’m still thanking the universe that Mads and Reed don’t show up to the studio until a few hours later—long enough for Stella to call one of her people at a local furniture place and have it delivered, the old one thrown out, all before ten A.M.
It’s actually nicer than the couch that was in here previously.
By the time Mads and Reed eventually join us, I’m listening to the bass rhythm that Mads laid down for our next track on my oversized cat-ear headphones. My phone is in the basket by the window, out of sight so I don’t get distracted. I have the flat rhythm down, ready to record whenever he is, but I’m playing around with the extra embellishments while they eat the food Andi picked up at a place down the street.
I have a hard time eating when important shit is on the line. I’ll probably take bites of a chocolate cronut from now until our sushi dinner unless one of them eventually forces me to stuff my face.
A hand touches my shoulder. I jerk my head back, finding Mads coming around the end of the new sectional, smiling as he approaches with a take-out box in his hand.
“I’m digging the new couch,” he says, sitting near me. “Thanks for that.”
“Ah… yeah. Yeah. Gift to you guys for setting this place up for us,” I lie, pushing my headphones to my neck.
“What are you playing with?” he asks about the music.
“Rose Hall,” I answer with the name of the song.
He smiles broadly. “You like that one?”
“I’d love to hear the lyrics,” I answer. “I think I have the flat line ready.”
He nods. “Reed, you have the Rose Hall paper I gave you?” he calls over his shoulder.
Talking music with Mads is cathartic. He always knows exactly how the piece should sound, giving his entire soul to every fragment, note, and word, yet he’s always open to hearing suggestions for our own segments. He makes collaborating fun, like it isn’t part of our job but rather a privilege we get to share with the world.
I fucking love making music with them.
“—I mean, that’s what I had originally planned, but we can fuck around with it later,” Mads goes on after reading through a few lines.
“No, that sounds…” I blow out a breath, taking in his ideas. “Let me get my pad. I had a thought about the beginning too. Like the lead in—”
“Nope,” Reed announces behind us. “It’s Friday. We’re doing Freaky Friday, right?”
“The hell is Freaky Friday?” Zeb asks.
Mads shakes his head at Reed. “This fucker wants to play that new video game that came out last week,” he says. “Some prick challenged him online.”
“Surprised you’re on board with that,” I say to Mads.
“I’m not really,” Mads replies.
I grin his way. “What baby wants, baby gets, right?” I tease him about Reed.
“Always seems that way,” he says. “Doesn’t help that Wren left for Milan this morning, so he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”
“Poor lonely Reed,” I taunt. “Okay, so, how about a compromise?” I say as I’m not thrilled about fucking with the groove I’m in, even if gaming does sound tempting. “Work this morning. Zeb and I have that class later so we can break. Dinner. Then an all-nighter gaming livestream like we used to do.”
“Hell yes,” Reed says, pointing at me. “That’s a fucking idea.”
“Ah, shit, you guys are trying to kill me,” Zeb says, stretching his back out. “We’ll need lots of energy drinks and a new camera set up in the theater room. Hey, isn’t one of Gemma’s people a tech guy?” he asks me.
“Aren’t you a tech guy?” I say about one of his many hidden skill sets.
“Well, yeah, but I assume I’ll be working,” he says, glancing between me and Mads.
“Yeah, he’s not wrong,” Mads agrees.
“Okay, raise your hand if you want to work first and play hard all night,” Reed says, hand shooting in the air.
All four of us have our hands in the air when the front door opens, and in walks a very tired-looking Gemma and an equally-exhausted looking Kade.
“Hey, gang,” she says, glancing between us.
I think Mads replies, Reed getting up from the couch, yet all I can do is smile and take in the sight of her as her gaze lingers on me. I should let the thoughts of her occupy my mind. I should shut out the noise holding me back and making me scared of something real.
Still, the memory of how I gave in last night rings in the back of my mind, and I know I’m the worst person for her, so much less than I’m sure she deserves.
I stuff the glove into the back of the couch before standing.
The guys are already busy chatting with Kade and Liam about setting up a gaming/streaming room tonight as I make my way over to join the conversation. Except Gemma moves her head in the direction of the kitchen, and I follow behind her, feeling uneasy at how she’s separating me from the group.
Something’s wrong.
This isn’t the smile she’s greeted me with before. Worry stretches across her face, concern written in the way she’s grinding her teeth.
“You look like you’re about to tell me my dog died,” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood.
She peers toward the guys before pressing her palms into the counter. “Didn’t figure you wanted them any more overprotective of you than they already are with what I’m about to show you,” she says. “I—”
“Hold that thought,” I say, not keen on the guys freaking out about whatever this is. I grab my pack of cigarettes from the tray on the counter and nod toward the balcony, urging her to join me so we can talk in private. She follows me out, and once the door is clicked shut behind us, I settle into one of the metal chairs and kick my foot into the next seat, Gemma sitting across from me.
I light the smoke, and Gemma’s eyes narrow on me.
“I didn’t really pin you as a smoker until the other day,” she says.
I smile and blow out an exhale. “I normally only do it at festivals or when something is stressing me out beyond the kit. You looked like you were about to tell me bad news, so I thought I’d take preventive measures,” I explain, trying not to let my gaze stagger too long on the way her hazel eyes are looking me over right now.
“So, what’s up?” I ask.
Gemma pulls out her phone and taps on it a couple of times to get to a picture. “This is your new knob and lock,” she says, turning the phone around to me. “Notice anything weird?”
I squint at the picture. Scratches and a dent catch my eye, and my stomach twists.
“What the hell?” I mumble. “Are those scratches on the door?” I ask, meeting her gaze. “Did someone try to break in?”
“Could be,” she says. “Or your stalker came over expecting to get in and couldn’t.”
My heart drops slightly, but I try to play it cool.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, sitting back.
She can’t help you if she’s only looking for your stalker.
And you know it wasn’t your stalker.
“Except… No, that doesn’t… It wouldn’t have been her,” I say, backtracking.
“How are you so sure?” Gemma asks.
“Because she texted me yesterday that she knew I wasn’t home,” I reply, and I don’t know why I suddenly sound defensive. “Besides, she never damages anything. She wouldn’t do something that might leave behind a mark.”
Gemma lays her phone face-down on the table. “You seem to know your stalker pretty well.”
I take another hit on my smoke and avoid her gaze. “She is the longest relationship I’ve ever had,” I say, giving Gemma a flat smile as I hear my stalker whispering in my ear, biting my earlobe…
I’d know you in complete darkness.
I clear my throat and sit up. “So, what does that mean? Someone else is trying to get to me?”
“Seems that way,” she says. “I already chatted with maintenance again. They’re going to replace your entire door this time.”
“Oh. Oh, shit. Okay,” I say, realizing how serious she’s taking this.
“Can you think of anyone else I should know about? Any other creepers trying to get their hands on you? Anything from your past? From DeathFest? Random obsessed groupie who knows where you live?”
I smirk at her, using humor to try and brush off how serious this might be. “The only person who isn’t obsessed with me is you.”
Gemma appears as if she’s biting her tongue to keep from smiling. “You’re my client, Bonnie,” she says, and the way she says my name nearly makes me shift. “Obsessed with you doesn’t begin to cover it.”
It’s my turn to swallow.
The corners of her lips curl as she huffs amusedly at what I can only imagine is a deer-in-headlights expression on my face.
“You’re too cute,” she says, the words almost under her breath. “Seriously, though—”
“I’m cute now?” I ask, head tilting.
She gives me a flat look that makes me grin.
“Bonnie,” she says in a warning tone.
“Gemma,” I answer in the same way.
Her eyes don’t leave mine, and I eventually chuckle as I take another drag on my smoke.
“Yeah. Right. Serious face. Got it.” I give in.
“It is serious,” she says. “Someone tried to get into your apartment, and if you’re sure it isn’t your stalker, then that opens an array of possibilities that I need to be able to narrow down. Is there anyone else who might want to get to you?” she asks.
There’s no way for me to know for sure who it could be. Groupies. Haters. Protesters. Husbands. Wives. Even those guys coming back to finish what they started the night they drugged me at that fucking club—
My insides twist at the thought, and I push the flashes of memory away. I try not to think about it any more than I think about losing Kelsey in that inferno.
Fire blazes behind my eyes, chills raking over my skin at the thought.
“I think you looooove me… You want to kiss me—”
A scream. Crashing headlights. Dead eyes.
“What are you thinking about?” Gemma asks, and her voice makes me blink.
I sit up and put out the rest of the cigarette in the tray. “It’s nothing,” I say fast. “So, if I have no idea who it could be, what’s next?” I ask.
“Well, in that case…” Gemma leans a little closer over the table, the proximity making my entire body go on alert. “We’re about to get really close, Bonnie,” she says, her tone seeming to deepen. “Is that okay with you?”
I blink, hesitating for a fraction of a second.
“Ah… Yeah, yeah,” I stammer.
Get it together.
“Yes,” I say with a sharp inhale. “I mean, yeah, that’s… that’s cool . It’ll be fun.”
Gemma sits back in her seat and smirks my way as if she knows what she just did to me, and the snicker that leaves her makes my cheeks warm.
“Are you always so eloquent when your bodyguard is telling you that you need extra support?” she taunts me.
I laugh nervously. “Babygirl, no bodyguard of mine has ever looked like you,” I say without thinking. “And if they did, I would have welcomed the extra support.”
Her brows lift, and I play off her surprise.
“Babygirl?” she repeats, her chair scratching the floor when she moves it back.
My bottom lip draws behind my teeth. It didn’t even register that I said it.
“I can’t call you that?”
“Ha. Yeah, okay, rockstar,” she says as she stands.
I stare at her as she pushes the chair in, my heart dropping a fraction. “Rockstar?”
Gemma’s gaze narrows at my surprise. “Yeah. You’re a rockstar, aren’t you?” she asks. “I figured everyone called you that.”
I push the thought from my mind. She’s right. If I thought every person who called me “rockstar” was my stalker, the list would be a mile long.
“They do,” I say. “I thought you’d find something different for me.”
Gemma laughs. “I’ll find something more creative,” she says. “What is this I hear about you all wanting to game all night?”
“Fucking Reed,” I say, standing. “Hey, can we not tell the guys about this whole break-in thing? It’s fine that they know my locks are changed, but not that someone else tried to get in. I just don’t want them trying to force me to move.”
Gemma looks as if she might agree with them, and my shoulders slump.
“Oh no, not you, too,” I complain.
“I mean… it wouldn’t be the worst idea,” she says.
“I like my apartment. It’s my cozy space.”
“Except it’s no longer your safe space,” she argues. “Just think about it. No one is forcing you to do anything. However, if you decide to, I can have Kade and Liam move you in a day, and I hear there’s a space here that would be perfect.”
I sigh as she starts to open the door. “Are you sure it wasn’t just some burglar trying to get in?”
“No,” she admits.
“What about a creeper looking for my underwear to sniff? Or even sell online,” I suggest. “I heard you can make good money doing that.”
“Well, at least you know you have a backup gig if the band were to break up,” she replies.
She opens the sliding door and smirks at me over her shoulder, and for the first time since I was nineteen, butterflies swarm my stomach, and I have to hold my breath just to push away the sinking feeling that invades after.