Page 79 of Pistol Whipped

And three white lines, I think, as my hand trades the bottle of rum for the rolled-up bill Bruce’s holding out, will help me do just that.

Just for tonight. Just to take the edge off the loneliness.

“Just for tonight,” I mumble, three lines later. Or was it six? Or more?

I sound happy. Far away and happy.

The happy’s not real, though. It never lasts. The demons always show up and ruin everything. Usually, they’re shaped like her, but tonight they’re different. They ask a lot more questions. About Cohen and me. About Dutch and Rain. They offer me more Meph when I answer.

Just for tonight, I promise myself, because tomorrow, I’ll go home and ask Rainy to sing the demons away instead. Her magic voice will scare them off. But she’s not here, so even if the happy’s not real, the Meph is all I have to chase the demons away.

Chapter 35

The Gift

Rain

Tonight has turned into a dumpster fire. Cohen’s reactions to finding out the truth about the party offered me the briefest snapshot of the boy I fell in love with at sixteen. Then he learned about my deal with Lou, and he pinged right back to the other end of the emotional spectrum. I am struggling with the whiplash involved even now as we drive away, leaving half of our band behind.

Dutch’s big hands wrap around the steering wheel of his truck. I catch glimpses of his tight jaw with every streetlight we pass. Not that I’m in any better of a state. We’re both rattled to fuck by the events of tonight. It’s why I had to get out of there. The burn of alcohol was everywhere, calling to me like a goddamn siren song. Even here, with any lingering scent of it long gone, my hands still want to reach for an invisible glass.

I clear my throat and fight my own worries away by trying to console the man beside me.

“You’re worried about Dax.”

That’s not a question. I am too.

“Is it because of the booze and the drugs?”

Dutch replies, though he doesn’t address my question. “I’m worried about all of us. Even Cohen, though he doesn’t fucking deserve it after the way he’s treated you.”

Gratitude for the strong man beside me is a warm balm smothering my stress. I reach across the console and squeeze the muscles of his shoulder.

“After the way he’s treated all of us, Dutch. It’s not just about me.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. This fucking man. If it was safe, I’d climb into his lap right now so he had no choice but to listen to what I say next.

“You’re allowed to be worried for yourself too, you know?” I try to infuse a little humour in the question, but it’s flimsy at best, and winds up turning earnest pretty damn quick, “This band was, is, as much yours as it is mine, or Cohen’s or your brother’s. You are allowed to be worried for your own damn sake.”

Another flash of light passes over his face and his jaw ticks. I’m certain he’s going to brush me off again, so I’m caught off guard when he cracks just a little.

“I don’t want to go back to hauling boxes at the Rothus Warehouse…again.”

“You won’t,” I reassure him, both with words and with a soft massage of his arm. “We all want this to work, even Cohen. Dax will talk him down like he always used to do, and tomorrow he’ll probably apologize for being such a shithead.”

“He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, babe.”

“I know.” I smile. “But I do deserve to see him try to earn it.”

Some light returns to my voice, and at that, Dutch responds with a smile of his own, “Oh yeah?”

“I’m thinking begging. Lots and lots of begging. And maybe some grovelling. The idea of guitar god, Cohen Brady, crawling on his hands and knees is pretty damn appealing.”

Dutch chuckles and his eyes briefly leave the road so he can lean my way and murmur, “Wicked girl,” before giving me the briefest of kisses. Those words and that momentary brush of his lips are enough to have me clenching my thighs.

The rest of our drive back to where the tour bus is still parked behind Vetruviut Stadium passes quietly. When we get there, Kitten greets me with welcoming purrs, while Tina screeches, “How was it?!”

After she and the Double Ds dressed me this afternoon, I asked Tina if she wouldn’t mind hanging out with Kitten for the evening, and my new friend was nice enough to agree, though she is probably about to regret her question.