times.
She giggled.
She gave me a smile so big I noticed that her top two front teeth were missing. “Are you Printh Charming?” she asked me with a lisp.
“Uh-uh.”
Dizzy came back in the room and grinned at me as he flopped back on the sofa. He must have heard that last bit.
“I am going to marry you someday,” Lace said with a nod like it was a done deal. “When I am growed up and pretty like Cinderella.”
I started to laugh but choked it back when I saw how serious she looked. It seemed so important to her that I found myself agreeing. Even though I knew Dizzy would never let me hear the end of it.
And here we were all these years later and Lace Lowell still had the ability to tie me up in knots. I still wanted to protect and please her. But because of War I was powerless to do either.
She stared out the one way windows. There was nothing to see. It was dark and we were parked between two buildings with only an occasional flicker of white from blowing snow to break up the monotony of the view.
“What’s Avery Jones like?” she asked turning abruptly to face me.
I tensed, thought a moment, and chose my words carefully. “Helluva guitarist.”
She swallowed. “And?”
“And nothing.” I shrugged. “She’s back with Marcus Anthony now if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Sorry. I saw some pictures.” There was an edge to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “It seemed like she might be important to you.”
I seriously contemplated telling her right then and there that she was the only woman that had ever been important to me when I heard the door slide open behind us.
“Guys it’s four fucking a.m.” Voice gruff with disapproval, War’s appearance brought our intimate predawn reunion to an end. Looking wan and strung out, the lead singer of Tempest shuffled into view wearing a pair of red boxers and scratched his bare chest. “Come on back to bed, babe.” He held out his hand to her while shooting me an irritated glance.
She patted my knee and I took the cue to scoot out of the booth ahead of her so she could exit.
War threw a proprietary arm around her shoulders as soon as her bare feet hit the floor. “Night, Loser.”
“Night, Asshole.”
War gave me the finger before he closed the door.
I stared at it for a long time. Nothing had fucking changed. Twenty thousand people screaming my name during my guitar solo at the Garden, plus two twins, but none of that mattered to me. Not when my best friend had the woman I’d always wanted.
2
My mind remembered how badly Bryan Jackson had hurt me, but my traitorous body wanted me to forget. It wanted me to go back, wrap my legs around that washboard waist of his, curl my fingers into his tatted biceps, fuse my mouth to his and beg him to make
I followed War to the bedroom, past the triple stack of sleeping bunks where my brother and the other band members slept. He was tall, about a half inch taller than Bryan, and his slender frame dwarfed the full sized bed as he crawled into it and held the covers out for me. Knee to the mattress, I slid underneath and shimmied close. An errant caramel colored strand tickled my nose as I laid my cheek against his smooth chest, right over his solid black heart tattoo. I tried to make myself relax while he stroked my hair.
“You ok, babe?” His deep voice rumbled beneath my ear and I imagined his brown eyes were probably crinkled with concern.
“Yeah.” I lied. The truth was too depressing for anybody to want to hear.
“Why were you up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Need another hit?”
Not more coke. I was too juiced up on that already, my heart racing and my pupils dilated and light sensitive. Seeing Bryan again had brought back all the old memories that I didn’t want to dwell on anymore. I was faithful to only one lover now. One that I couldn’t live without.
“Sure. Set me up a rig.” I rolled back my sleeve, mouth drying and my heart hammering in anticipation.
War placed it on a spoon, added a few drops of water, and flicked on a cigarette lighter. The mixture began to bubble and liquefy in response to the blue flame underneath.
I held my breath; eyes fixated on the weak coffee colored liquid as War removed the needle caps and drew up two syringefuls, flicking them to remove the bubbles. I held out my arm, not surprised that it shook, not surprised at how badly I wanted it. I’d gone days without and I was just beginning to feel the first pangs of withdrawal.
I’d been one of the unlucky ones. Instead of getting sick and shunning it forever, I’d fallen in love with it from that first time back in Martin’s apartment. Since then, I’d constantly craved that euphoric high. The one that makes all the pain fade away. The one that makes you feel like you’ve transcended all your problems. The one that makes you feel like you’re in heaven.
Too bad it was only temporary. Too bad it was all a lie.
Fifteen seconds later my head felt light, and my limbs felt heavy. War and I stared at each other, eyes and minds unfocused and uncaring. An hour later, he was completely out, but not me. Drugs could only mask the truth for so long. I was broken beyond repair, my life in tatters all around me. No matter how much shit I did, my mind still raced around in pointless circles. There were no easy answers. I was so far off course now that I didn’t see any way to make it right. And though it seemed as if I’d suddenly woken up one day to find myself here in this hellhole, the reality was that I’d slid down this slippery slope by making one poor decision after another.
War shifted, the sheets rustling softly as he turned on his side facing away from me. Being alone in the dark was something I’d grown accustomed to. He fell asleep quickly, the sound of his breathing evening out. As the lonely minutes of the night droned slowly on toward morning, I remained awake. My thoughts drifted to Bryan as they often did. If possible he’d gotten even better looking since I’d seen him last. His light brown hair trimmed short into a faux hawk was the perfect style to offset his gorgeous greyish green eyes and that shadowed masculine jaw of his. It was disheartening to discover that the years apart hadn’t lessened the hold he had over me.
I’d idolized Bryan Jackson for as long as I could remember. He treated me with the same respect he did his own sisters, and I loved him for that. He and my brother were the only protectors I had in a neighborhood where drug deals and drive bys were commonplace, in a world where even my own apartment hadn’t been safe.
9 years ago
“Hi, Lace.” Ms. Jackson looked up at me as I entered the apartment with the key she’d given Dizzy and me years before. She’d wanted to be sure we had somewhere safe to go whenever our mom was strung out.
“Bryan ready?” I asked, wondering where he was.
“He’s in the shower. He should be out any minute.” She laid aside the pants she’d been sewing on. They
