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I want to cry but be elated at the same time.
I want everything and nothing.
I love this feeling.
I hate it.
I am excited…
…and scared.
Scared because I tend to get out of damn control on E. Terrified because I am supposed to be clean, and this will result in a relapse, ruining me all over again.
Excited because everything feels incredible, and if I lose control tonight, these guys will scoop me up and keep me safe.
What if Stoney had done it on a regular season day, though? Who would I have gone home with just to get a release?
All this and more eats at my thoughts. Yet despite my own trepidations and needs, I still worry about Zane. I need help before he gets scared off.
“Chaz?” I try again, all the while still locked in a staring contest with Zane.
“Mm-hmm?” Chaz gives my shoulder a light squeeze.
“I want. So damn bad.”
He scoots closer, his warm hand slipping to the back of my neck so he can massage my tensing muscles. “I know, baby. Help is here.”
The couch depresses on my opposite side. “Hey…” comes a firm, but soft, voice. I know who joined us, but the sharp yet silken tone still has my focus snapping away from Zane and toward the deliverer. Coty locks eyes with me immediately, hand coming up to cup my cheek. With a forceful press, his fingers replace Chaz’s around the back of my neck.
“You’ll get through this.” That red-hot anger in his piercing gaze is still there, but now it’s worsened; he knows what this high means, too. So does Chaz. Every Hell for Leather man has saved me more than once from my own demons. But it was Coty who never left my side during the detox. Right now, his unfaltering support masks the anger.
Movement at my hip draws my attention down. Coty picks up Zane’s hand and encourages him to slip it under the baggy leather jacket to my bare ass beneath.
Zane’s large palm, the heat, and the slight tremble in his fingers is pure bliss. But my hesitant gaze darts between those moonlit eyes, mind churning with fear, self-depreciation, and lust. Oh my stars the lust.
I will my heart to stop beating so fast, but the attempt fails.
“W-what’s wrong with her?” Zane asks, and my focus snaps back to him.
“See her eyes? See how blown her pupils are?” Coty vollies.
Zane nods.
“She’s high on ecstasy.”
“Th-the date rape drug?” he asks.
“Courtesy of Stoney.”
“Stoney? As in the President of the Rolling Stones and Kal’s father?” Zane asks, his fingers digging into my ass cheek, unbidden.
I curve my hips inward, desperate for some damn relief. “Zane,” I groan. There is no mistaking the sex sound. None at all. He drew it out of me unintentionally, but it happened nonetheless.
“Wh-what can I do to help?” he squeaks. “Give her water? Go for a walk—help her walk it off? Feed her?”
A snort-laugh jars out of me. Kal thinks I can be treated like cattle, and now Zane seems to be under the impression that I’m a pet or something. Even if I kinda am.
The turn in conversation definitely helps ease off my panic, but only because it transforms into randomized thoughts again. “I’m upset with you, Coty,” I say matter of factly, even if I can’t remember exactly why or if that anger is misplaced. Maybe for not standing up for me by refusing to let Kal follow through?
