Diving Into Him (7 page)

Keys jingling in her hand, Jett climbed the stairs to the studio. Light slanted in from the door below her. Koty traipsed in behind her, closing the door as he entered the stairwell. Stifling a yawn, she forced herself up one step at a time. As she climbed onto the landing, she jumped back in surprise. David, the owner of the studio, stood at the door, locking it behind him. She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart slammed against her hand.

“How are ya?” David asked. He lifted a hand in greeting.

Catching her breath, Jett gave him a nod. She hadn’t seen him since the day she got the keys from him. “Is it okay that we just left everything out?” A crease marred the smooth skin between her eyebrows. As far as she knew, South of Forever was the only band using the studio. From what David told her, he owned a larger studio in the heart of Boston. Malden Street Studios had been her cheapest option.

“I needed to grab something from the office,” David said. He held up an envelope. “I’d be in trouble if I forgot these babies.”

Jett smiled, but shifted from one foot to the other.

Koty climbed onto the landing behind her, nearly walking into her. He put a hand on her waist, steadying himself. She blushed. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m glad I caught you, actually.” David nodded at Koty in greeting. “I’m going away this next week, so the studio won’t be open.”

Jett gaped at him. “What?”

“Sorry.” David ran a hand through greying hair. “I should have told you sooner.”

Koty slipped past Jett, stepping closer to the other man. “You should have told us when we first discussed renting the place.” He crossed his arms, jaw tight.

“I can give part of your deposit back.” David tucked the envelope into his back pocket. “I won’t be able to do it until I get back, though.” Easing past Jett and Koty, he headed toward the stairs. “We’ll talk later.” He disappeared into the stairwell.

Jett stared after him, mouth hanging open.

“What an asshole,” Koty said. He took the keys from her hand and unlocked the door. “He’s going to give us at least half of our payment back.” He pushed the door open. “Are you coming?”

Standing frozen, Jett breathed in through her nose. Her mind spun. Her entire body felt numb. Tears pooled at her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Koty stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

Defeat washed over her. Her knees buckled. Planting a hand on the wall for support, she hung her head. Everything kept going wrong. They didn’t have enough time to find another rehearsal space—especially not for just one week. She doubted that David would give them their full deposit back, especially if he knew that they were going to another studio.

“Are you coming in?”

She glanced up. Koty stood in the threshold of the studio, holding a hand out to her. She sighed. She didn’t even know if Max was going to make it into practice. They still needed at least two more songs for their set. She would rather have five, but if they could only get four done, she would be okay with that. Her fingers itched to play. Gritting her teeth, she straightened. She slouched past Koty and slumped down at the piano.

Running her fingers over the keys, she played with a few combinations of notes. Her aggravation flowed through the pads of her fingers and into the deeper notes. At first, the melody sounded like a soundtrack to a cheesy action movie, filled with doom. She scowled and tried another combination. Her fingers glided across the keys. Eyes closing, she let instinct take over. She plunked out a melody, heavy and morose. As her frustration ebbed, lyrics came to her.

“I’m diving into him, but we’re south of forever,” she sang, voice husky and laced with agony. Fingers moving with the lithe precision of a dancer, she repeated the melody. “I’m diving into him, you’re south of forever.” She paused, tasting the lyrics. Then, eyes narrowing in concentration, she added the lyrics to the song she had started writing weeks before. “And I can’t even cry, because you were never mine.”

Pausing, she took a breath. She let her fingers play the melody again. Taking another breath, she steadied her diaphragm. Then she tried the lyrics again, using the notes that Koty had used the night that he played around with the song, putting emphasis on the word
can’t
. Nodding to herself, she tried another combination of notes on the piano.

The door to the studio opened, and Griff stepped inside. He smelled like cigarettes. She paused, twisting in her seat to face him. “I just saw some guy come out of here,” Griff said. “He totally ignored me when I said hello. Everything good?”

Jett shook her head. “That’s the owner of the studio.” She filled him in on her and Koty’s conversation with David, eyes flat.

“What a dick.” Griff crossed the room and sat down behind his drum kit.“What are we working on?”

Her shoulders moved up and down. Her fingers returned to the keys of the piano, though. “Piano driven power ballad,” she told Griff, launching into the melody again. “Once Perry gets here, I wanna add a strong bass line.”

“I’ll play around, kick in on the second chorus.” Griff tapped a light rhythm on his bass drum.

Channeling all of her frustration, she threw herself into the song. Alternating between humming and using nonsense words, she constructed a temporary first verse. Then she belted out the lyrics of what she thought was probably going to be the chorus.

Koty slid onto the piano bench beside her. His fingers danced over the keys as he played with her, his melody weaving in and out of hers. Then, taking a deep breath, he harmonized with her as she tried the chorus again. His silky voice wrapped around hers, sending heat rushing through her body. Her back arched as emotion rushed through her. Her voice caught in her throat. Tears glistened in her eyes. Blinking, she stopped singing. Her fingers stopped moving, the melody dying. Next to her, Koty halted as well.

She grabbed the notebook from the top of the piano, pretending to be busy writing down the lyrics and melody that she had composed. Inside, though, her heart roiled. There was no way that she could ever break free of the spell she was under if Koty sang with her. She would never be able to move on and start a new life—and neither would he.

Swallowing hard, she jotted down the words and notes.

The door to the studio flung open. Perry and Max burst inside, breathless.

“Sorry I’m late,” Perry purred. “Some guy tried chatting us up downstairs, asking questions about the band.”

Max snorted. “No, you were chatting up Savannah—
my
girlfriend.” He shot Perry a dark look.

Jett sighed. Closing the notebook, she swiveled around to face the men. “You’re both late,” she said, “but it’s just as well. We’re done here.” Rising from the bench, she grabbed her jacket and guitar case. She crossed the room to the door, moving in slow, sure footsteps, despite the emotions churning through her.

“Why so early?” Perry cocked his head at her. “Don’t we have a lot to do?”

“We do.” She slipped past him. Without another word, she headed into the stairwell. As soon as she and Koty got home, she decided as she descended, she needed to tell him that they couldn’t sing together.

As Jett unlocked the front door to the condo and pushed the door open, she forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. She couldn’t remember the last time she had used the mindfulness training she got during detox. She could barely remember the days she spent in the facility, never mind the group therapy and meditation sessions. The deep breaths stilled the thoughts churning through her, though. The tension in her neck eased. Crossing the threshold, she put her guitar down. Then, she slipped out of her jacket and hung it on a hook.

“We need to talk.” She turned and faced Koty. Her heart slammed in her chest. She forced herself to take another long, slow breath. Her body felt as if it were an hour glass, sand spilling through the midsection, filling quickly.

“Okay,” Koty said slowly. He hung up his own jacket. Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room and perched on the arm of the couch. “What’s up?”

She hopped onto one of the bar stools at their counter island. Twisting in her seat, she turned to face him. She lifted her chin. Calm confidence washed over her. “You’re a great singer¸ Koty, but I really need you to take lead on guitar.”

He gazed at her. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to worry about vocal harmonies.” She crossed her legs.

Lifting an eyebrow at her, he stood from the arm of the couch. “What is that supposed to mean?” Draping an arm over the back of another stool, he watched her.

She hesitated. She didn’t think that he couldn’t possibly be that obtuse. Guilt tugged at her. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Twisting the ring that she wore on her thumb, she tried to think of a nice way to say what she wanted. Koty loved to sing and play as much as she did. It had been obvious from the moment that she heard his demo for Perpetual Smile—whether she had wanted to admit it back then or not. “I mean,” she said, turning to face him again, “that I want South of Forever to be different. We aren’t Perpetual Smile. There won’t be any female and male interplay, except for background vocals.”

Koty stroked his beard. Seconds slipped by.

She almost wanted to take it back. Still, if she and Koty were going to work together, she needed to create boundaries between them. She also needed to be very clear. “You won’t be singing with me.” She squared her shoulders. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his face.

He nodded slowly.

“Good.” She slid down from the bar stool.

He took a step toward her. She froze. “How much longer,” he asked, moving a step closer, “are you going to try to ignore what happened between us?”

The seat of the bar stool pressed into her lower back. Heat radiated from Koty’s body, burning from his eyes into hers. He practically had her pinned between himself and the stool. Her heart fluttered in her chest. “Koty,” she said, her voice breaking, “it’s over.” Her lips trembled, though. Warmth shot into her belly. Moisture budded between her legs as his eyes bore into hers.

“That’s bullshit,” he said softly, his voice nearly a growl. “I know there’s still something here.” He took another step toward her, until his body pressed against hers. “I’m willing to wait as long as it takes, Jett, but I have to be honest. I’m getting a little tired of waiting for you to get on the same page.” He leaned down.

Her breath caught in her throat. Though he stood a head taller than her, his nose practically brushed hers. She leaned back against the bar stool, planting the palms of her hands on the seat. “I won’t be coming around.” Her words came out in a whisper, though. She let out a shaky breath.

“Why are you keeping me around, then?” He pressed closer to her, blue eyes melting into hers. Anguish moved behind those eyes, but his voice remained steady. “Do you really need me for your band? If that was the case, why not let me sing with you? Or are you just afraid of what will happen if you let me in?”

Her eyes widened. Struck speechless, she groped for a way to exit the conversation—and the room. Before she could move, though, he pressed his lips to hers. His hands cradled the back of her head, fingers twining into her hair. His skin felt warm against hers. Body melting, she relaxed into his arms. His lips moved against hers, opening her mouth. His tongue darted inside, caressing hers. He pressed his face tighter to hers, their lungs connected for a few brief seconds.

She should have pulled away. In the back of her head, she knew that she still had a choice. When his hands moved down to her butt, cupping her and lifting her onto the stool, though, she felt her body go limp in surrender. Her legs wrapped around his waist as if of their own accord. Her arms encircled his neck. He lifted her shirt over her head and flung it to the floor. Fingers groping, he unhooked her bra. His hands roved over her breasts, fingertips grazing her budding nipples. Lowering one hand, he unbuttoned her jeans.

Using one arm to support her, he undressed her with the other. Ducking his head down, he buried his face between her legs. His tongue poked inside of her, hot and wet. Her back arched. Fingers gripping the counter, she leaned back. Her body melted, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She moaned, running her fingers through Koty’s hair. His lips moved against her, sucking at her skin, his tongue darting around inside of her.

Her body moved closer and closer to climax with every deep kiss. Writhing on the chair, she pushed him away. Her hands went to the buckle of his belt. Fumbling, her fingers undressed him, yanking his pants down. She cupped him in her hands, yanking him closer to her. The bar stool was too high, though. He lifted her into his arms and, carrying her to the couch, laid her down on the cool leather. Positioning himself over her, he gently pushed inside of her. Her hips moved against his, her body responding to his movements like cell memory. Their lips met and, as they rocked, writhing and moaning, they shared air, lung to lung, heart to heart.

* * * * *

The second that Koty reached his climax, Jett untangled herself from him. Cheeks blazing, she skittered toward the stairs. Her bare feet pounded against the carpet. Skidding around the corner at the landing, she practically dove into her room. She closed her bedroom door behind her, twisting the lock a second later. Leaning against the wall, tears dribbled down her cheeks. Dismay washed over her, followed by remorse, rolling over her like a tidal wave. Falling to her knees, tears dripping onto the carpet, she crawled into the bathroom. Sobs wracked her body as she closed the door behind her. Turning on the shower as hot as she could stand it, she pulled herself into the tub. Knees drawn to her chest, she let the water beat down on her for what felt like forever.

When she could no longer discern tears from water, she stood. Her legs shook, hands trembling as she reached for the shampoo. Hot water sluiced down her body, washing away her tears. She scrubbed herself from head to toe, until her skin was pink and her fingers wrinkled. Then she shut off the water.

Dripping, she stepped from the shower. She padded to the towel rack and wrapped her favorite fluffy towel around herself. Clearing the steam from the mirror, she stared at her reflection. Her lip curled. Once again, she had let her weaknesses override her pride and obscure her moral compass. She crawled into bed with her hair wet and one of Phillip’s old T-shirts clinging to her body, wishing for a drink.

* * * * *

Most people went to church on Sunday mornings—or at least slept in. Jett woke up to sunlight streaming through her window, blinding and bright. Squinting, she sat up on her elbows. The T-shirt pooled around her waist. Her comforter was somewhere on the floor. Head pounding, she groped for her phone. The time on the screen read eleven. Eyes widening, she glanced at her alarm clock.

She swore and jumped out of bed. She couldn’t remember hitting the snooze button. Forehead wrinkling, she glanced around her room. Aside from the messy bed, there were no other signs that she might have had a drink. She had never forgotten that she drank before, but she had forgotten other things. Between her pounding head and how late she had slept, she would have been convinced if she didn’t know any better. Neither she nor Koty kept any alcohol in the house, and she didn’t have money to buy it herself, anyway.

Rubbing her temples, she threw on fresh clothes and pulled on a pair of sneakers. Her feet pounded down the stairs. She rounded the corner, running full throttle into the living room. The lower level sat dark and empty, the blinds and curtains drawn against the daylight outside. “Koty?” she called. She almost turned around and went back upstairs, but his door had been open. Swallowing hard, she reached for her jacket. He had left without her.

She ran out of the house, door slamming shut behind her. For once, she was glad that they didn’t have any pets. She didn’t need to worry about any critters sneaking out in her frenzy. Running, she headed toward the studio. Her feet pummeled the concrete sidewalk. Brushing her hair out of her face, she pushed herself to go faster. If she showed up later than just a few minutes, Griff might think that she was drinking again. She didn’t want to give him the chance to tell the others about her history. There was nothing to tell anymore.

Sweat beaded at her forehead and dripped down her back in spite of the cool morning. She thrust herself into her fastest gear, her breath whooshing in and out of her chest. When she and Phillip first started Perpetual Smile, when they lived in a crumbling and shabby apartment in the worst part of New York, they went for a run in Central Park every morning. If they didn’t get their five miles in, Phillip made them run up and down stairs. Her heart ached at the memory. Her lungs ached as she found yet another gear. Phillip always said that if running would teach her one thing, it was that she was always better than she thought.

Rounding the corner on Malden Street, she slowed.

The men stood outside of the studio. Griff blew a stream of cigarette smoke into the air. He leaned against the case that contained his drum kit. Too late, she realized that she had forgotten her guitar. Gritting her teeth, she made herself trot casually over to them.

Koty saw her first. His cheeks brightened and he ducked his head, leaning down to tie a shoe.

“Boss,” Perry purred. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

She stopped just short of them. Tilting her head, she looked up at Perry. “What do you mean?”

He flipped his dreads over his shoulder. “We were going to go upstairs to wait inside, but the bottom door is locked.”

Jett moved past him. She tugged on the door knob. Sure enough, it wouldn’t budge. “Hold on.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her key to the studio. It had to be the same. She inserted it into the lock. It fit, but would not turn. Blinking, she stepped back. Eyebrows furrowed, she stared at the door. David never left the bottom door locked.

She swore, the word echoing off the street.

Each of the men turned in unison to look at her.

“Son of a bitch went on vacation already.” She banged a fist on the door. “He told me we would talk later!” Kicking at the door, she unleashed a string of curses.

Griff took her gently by the shoulders and pulled her away. Spinning her around to face him, he leaned down toward her. “Easy. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I was going to see if we could work something out while he was gone.” She twisted away from him. Mind whirling, she paced, sucking in deep breaths through her nose. Panic roiled through her. Tears pricked at her eyes. “Fuck,” she whispered under her breath. Her hands curled into fists and opened again. She continued pacing, afraid that if she stopped, she would remain frozen.

“Boss,” Perry said.

She stopped.

He stood several feet away from her, one finger lifted. “What are we going to do?”

She realized that the rest of the men were watching her—except for Koty, who leaned against the wall, strumming his guitar. Gritting her teeth, she resumed walking back and forth. He had left without her, yet he wouldn’t even look at her. Though he didn’t look ashamed, a cocky sadness filled his eyes—as if he knew he had gotten away with something, but still wanted to play the part of the wounded puppy. Her anxiety turned to anger. Eyes narrowing, she paced the parallel parking marked off in front of the sidewalk. Maybe, she mused, he was just as guilty as she was. He had probably taken advantage of her. All of his talk about waiting as long as it took was empty. She curled her lip.

“Boss?” Perry joined her in her pacing. His dreads bounced as he tried to keep up with her. “Do you know where we’re going to practice today?”

She skidded to a halt, Perry nearly crashing into her. She wheeled around on him. His dark eyes remained on hers, questioning. She opened her mouth to say something, then caught sight of Koty moving out of the corner of her eye. Her heart lurched. Koty rounded the corner of the building, his phone pressed to his ear. Her eyebrows furrowed. She wondered who he was on the phone with. Maybe he hadn’t been kidding about being tired of waiting. Maybe, when she left him downstairs, he had gone out and met someone.

She swallowed hard. The crease in her forehead deepened. Crossing her arms, she turned away from the group, mind whirling. As she began pacing again, Perry grabbed her arm.

“What if,” he drawled, “we use my place for practice?”

She blinked at him. “What?” Dizziness wrapped around her. She placed a hand on a parked car to steady herself.

“Are you okay?” Griff asked, coming up next to her. He studied her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. She pointed a finger at him. “Thanks for ditching me this morning, by the way.”

He shrugged. “Koty said you had a rough night.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Heat boiled across her cheeks. Sweat dampened her palms and armpits. She fought the urge to shrug out of her jacket. “Did he? What else did he say?”

“Guys,” Perry purred. “Did you hear me?”

Jett turned to Perry. “What?” She fought to keep her tone light. He didn’t deserve her snapping at him.

“We need a place to practice. My apartment just so happens to be empty—and free. Well, sort of. I need to pay my electricity bill.” He grinned at her.