Fused (Lost in Oblivion #4.5) (3 page)

“You haven’t been paying attention, Lila, and that isn’t like you. But that’s because you’ve been occupied by other…pursuits.” Donovan reached for the envelope still tucked under her arm.

Stunned, she let him take it. “Donovan—”

“It’s going to stop,” he said quietly as he tapped the envelope on the back of his other hand. “Isn’t it?”

God, he knew. No supposition now. He
knew
. He must’ve seen the pictures. Had he sent them? As a warning, or worse? If he fired her, she would certainly have no question why.

Bad enough she had a million
other
questions.

How many other people knew about her and Nick? Were their pictures about to be plastered on every tabloid across the country? All the magazines and press she’d used to create her own spin, turned against her. Missiles to tear her apart.

To make sure her husband had enough ammunition to leave her with nothing.

She started to reply. Yes, of course, it was going to stop. It had to. Not only because her divorce settlement was in jeopardy, but obviously so was her job. And for what? She’d been with a cheater before. She’d loved her husband once, early on. In the days before she’d understood she’d been bought as surely as the cars Martin collected like candy. She’d thought they were a unit and building a life. Instead, he’d been running around behind her back, “letting off steam” with the women who weren’t hesitant about giving him everything he wanted in bed—and elsewhere.

She’d grown to think she was frigid. Broken in some fundamental way. But then Nick had come along, and she’d been amused by him, and annoyed, and afraid. Intrigued. And attracted. God, so attracted. Some part of her must’ve sensed from the very beginning that if she got too close to him, there would be sparks. The kind that could burn out not in degrees like what had happened with her husband, but in an inferno.

In the pictures in that envelope, Nick had been wearing the clothes he’d pulled on the morning they’d fought over Lila bailing him out with the journalist he’d assaulted. She’d slapped Nick full on the face. Hard. And he’d hugged that girl, so pretty and sweet and looking up at him with hero worship in her eyes. She’d had a swollen belly, and that had just been another nail.

Whether they were current lovers or old friends, it didn’t much matter. That girl was who Nick should be with. They fit.
She
didn’t fit with him. Couldn’t, no matter how much she might’ve wished.

Still, she couldn’t say the words to Donovan. They were right there, stuck in her throat. She knew what she had to do. Everyone had choices, and she was making hers. It was the smart thing to do. She had to focus on her parents’ orchard and all the money she would receive in her divorce settlement to help them. And her job. Her job would sustain her, as it had all these years.

She couldn’t lose the music too.

“It’s over,” she whispered as the banquet doors slammed open.

She didn’t have to look to know who it was. His energy was like a tidal wave, knocking down everything in its path. Another reason they didn’t make sense. She was the cool to his hot, the day to his night.

And when he looked at her like he was right then, those amber eyes aglow with too many emotions to name, she would’ve given up everything she’d ever owned and turned her back on everyone she’d ever known if it meant she could be his for just one more day.

She waited for Donovan to speak. He didn’t. His gaze slid from her to Nick and back again before he nodded and pivoted away, then strode back up the hall to the banquet room. The click of the doors behind him made her whirl away, her only thought to delay the inevitable. She wasn’t the type to run from a confrontation, but she had twice tonight. Because this was bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. None of her usual coping skills applied.

“
Wait
. Goddammit, Lila Ronson, you will fucking wait and not run from me again. I won’t chase you.” Even as Nick spoke, his heavy footsteps echoed on the tile floor. He was coming closer. Every step a threat—and a promise. “I told you once. If you want more, you’ll come to me.”

Words jumbled in her head. She couldn’t untangle them enough to give him what he was looking for. Concession. An explanation.
Hope
.

She gripped her iPad and brought it up to her chest, clutching it as she bowed her head. Her arms were suspiciously empty.

Donovan had taken the envelope.

She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t for Nick to collide into her like a bowling ball mowing down pins. He pressed her into the nearest wall and she gasped, not from pain but because the weight of him was a relief after being alone for so long. His body was pumping out heat and adrenaline from the show, and the slightest tang of his sweat hung in the air. He surrounded her and blocked out the rest of the world. Making her feel safe, not afraid.

The only fear he had ever caused in her came from want.

“Goddamn you.” His breath was a hot gust on the back of her neck. “You won’t even give me the words. At least he gave me that. He told me he hated me.”

Her mind spun.
He
who? Simon? His father? She knew they had a difficult relationship, and Nicholas Crandall Senior had been in the hospital since the night of that first disastrous Oblivion concert, the one that had been supposed to restore them to their former glory. Someone else? Nick fought with others as easily as he breathed. He probably had his share of enemies. Hell, he’d even had them within his own band from time to time. But she was almost certain he didn’t mean Simon.

The relationship that had wrecked him cut him even deeper than the fractured one with his best friend.

She tightened her arms around her iPad to stop herself from turning into his arms. It would be the easiest thing in the world to press herself into his embrace and seek the comfort he offered. Because he would. Angry at her or not, he would open himself up again. Even though his voice sounded raw like a wound, he would put all of that aside to take care of
her
.

And she wanted it too much—wanted him too much—to take the risk. Better to be alone again than to have everything and lose it.

She hadn’t been enough before. What made her think she was now? He was a rock star, for God’s sake. Brighter than a blade, more dangerous than the knife’s edge. Women flocked to him, and he flicked them aside because none of them matched up to some private scorecard in his head. How could she ever compete?

“Talk to me,” he rasped.

For an instant, she almost did. She nearly asked the question.
Who is she? Tell me she’s just a friend. You were with her that morning, but it didn’t mean anything. She’s pregnant, and it’s not yours.

But then she remembered all the scenes with her husband. Asking those same questions, filling in the answers in her mind. Refusing to see the truth. She wanted to believe Nick would never lie to her, but she’d believed the same about Martin once.

And God, she couldn’t turn into the other woman again. The one who remained blissfully oblivious to everything, first by design, then by choice. Even having to ask felt like taking a giant step back into the same kind of tawdry scenarios she’d worked so hard to extricate herself from.

“Lila.” Nick slipped his hand into her hair, his touch gentler than his breath against her neck. He wound his fingers through the strands, tipping her back toward him, and she nearly moaned before he spoke again. “Talk to me. Goddammit,
please
. Don’t shut me out. I can’t take anyone else shutting me out. Especially not you.”

Tears smeared her eyes as she gave herself one last second to feel his warmth behind her and his hands on her body.

Then she made her choice.

“I don’t want you. I don’t want this.” That was sterling truth. She’d done everything she could to ensure she wouldn’t end up in this situation, and yet here she was.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

“Let me go, Nicholas.” Her voice shook.

His hand dropped out of her hair. She would’ve sworn she felt every one of his fingers lifting. The distance between them increasing by the second. A millimeter becoming a mile becoming a gulf.

She turned to stare at him and found a mask in the place of his face.

If he had any idea of her internal struggle, he didn’t show it. His expression revealed nothing. No emotion, no warmth, no life.

Then he turned and walked away. Just as she’d asked him to do.

She leaned back against the wall. When her legs would no longer support her, she slid down it until she hit the floor, hard.

Once, she’d been sure she knew what a broken heart felt like. Maybe she had. Now it didn’t feel broken. It felt shattered. Pummeled.

Just like her life.

Less than two minutes later, she was back on her feet again. She aimed for the bathroom for a quick spot check of her hair and makeup. A water splash and touch-up later, she was on her way toward the staging area for the concert. She didn’t know if Molly would be back in the changing room or still outside talking to people, but this was as good of a place to start as any.

Nick was gone. He wouldn’t be returning. She felt that certainty in her bones. As sad and weary as that knowledge made her, it also allowed her to walk freely, to hold her head up in spite of what Donovan now had in his possession. Those pictures had already dominated too much of her focus.

She’d told her boss her loyalties would no longer be divided. Somehow she was going to keep that promise.

Molly was sitting on the edge of the raised dais, smiling broadly as she held court with the bevy of reps fanned out in front of her. Her sister stood guard at her side, one hand on Molly’s shoulder, the other clutching her drumsticks at her hip. Jazz was barefoot—her preferred way to play—and her trademark grin had been banished in favor of a grimace.

The sharks were already circling. Time to send them packing.

“Gentlemen,” Lila said, gliding through the assortment of music people all wanting their pound of flesh from the brand new blood. They’d have to get back in line.
Way
back in line. “So happy to see all of you getting to know my protégé, but unfortunately, we have business to discuss.”

“Now, Lila, I think you know how this works.” Raymond Tolino, one of the reps from Tolino Artists, turned his smarmy smile Lila’s way. “Ms. McIntire isn’t with a record company. She doesn’t even have an agent yet, and that makes her—”

“Mine,” Lila said simply. “She was on my stage with my talent, and her sister is part of Oblivion. There’s no reason to—”

“You dismissed me.” Molly’s voice cut through the chatter as surely as a scythe. She didn’t sound affronted, merely calm and cool. “I came to you first. You told me I was dreaming.”

Raymond lifted an eyebrow and slid closer to Molly’s other side. “Well, now, that can’t be so, now can it? Lila wouldn’t be stupid enough to diminish your obvious ability.”

His tone indicated he believed that Lila was absolutely that stupid, and he intended to cash in on her ignorance.

Fat chance.

“I made that mistake once, but I won’t do it again.” Lila lifted her chin and met Molly’s gaze squarely. And gambled for all she was worth. “I’m prepared to get you a gig leading a band within a week. Sign with me and its yours.”

Though Molly’s eyes fired with interest, Raymond chuckled softly. “Anyone can promise you that, Molly. The question is what kind of band can she get you? If it’s some two-bit garage band fresh out of San Jose…”

Molly flinched and Jazz closed her hand over Molly’s shoulder. “My sister is from San Jose.” Dismissing Raymond with a glance, she turned her attention to Lila though she continued speaking to her sister. “Mol, I trust Lila. With everything. She won’t steer you wrong.”

Molly nodded and stiffened her shoulders. Then she cast an apologetic glance at the assembled crowd, some of whom had already realized the winds were blowing unfavorably and had begun to disperse. “And I trust my sister’s judgment. Can’t fault what she’s done for Oblivion, can you?”

“Oblivion has had their heyday.” Raymond couldn’t have appeared any more dismissive if he’d looked down his nose. “It’s time to focus on the new.”

“Tell me that when we blow up on iTunes tomorrow,” Jazz said sweetly, rubbing her sister’s back. “This is just a blip. Once we get Simon back, you’ll see.” Her pixie face hardened as she glanced around the half circle that comprised Molly’s court of admirers. “You’ll all see.”

Silence reigned, but more than one person discreetly tugged out iPhones to check and see if the numbers were beginning to rise. Lila had no doubt that Jazz was right. She would ensure she was by calling on all of her contacts to flood social media once she left the club.

Footage of Simon’s meltdown would be uploaded as often as Molly’s triumph. Both would garner curiosity, and curiosity sold records. Lila would use both the good and bad press without impunity.

That was her job, and she excelled at it.

Jazz wiped her forearm over her forehead. “I’m going to go shower and change. You good?” she asked her sister.

“Yeah. I’m good.” Molly set her mouth in a firm line. “I’m willing to hear Lila out.”

So apparently offering her a gig straight off the bat after her first show wasn’t good enough. This one played hardball.

Lila smiled thinly and nodded. “We’ll talk.” Her smile brightened considerably as she focused on Raymond. “It was such a pleasure seeing you again. Best of luck next time.”

Asshole
, she added mentally.

Raymond ignored her and extended his business card to Molly. “If you want to chat. I’m available anytime, day or night.”

Molly nodded and thanked him, then waited until he was out of earshot to mutter, “Dick.”

For the first time that night, Lila grinned.

On the inside, though, she blew out one hell of a breath in relief. She’d gotten this far. Now she had to bring the deal home. Whatever it took.

N
ick stood
at the end of his father’s hospital bed and stared down at the shrunken man who’d helped bring him into the world. He hadn’t intended to visit tonight, planning instead to save it for the next day. His life was in enough pieces already. But he was a little too used to finding comfort in pain, and this was the best place he could wallow in it.

One of them anyway. He was racking up places that hurt lately.

He’d equally hoped to run into his sister—his twin sister—Ricki in the waiting room and wished for her not to be there.

She wasn’t. So he’d either gotten what he hoped or been denied that small happiness too.

They’d fought the last time he saw her, before the weekend he’d spent with Lila in New York. Just three days ago. A lifetime had passed in those seventy-two-plus hours, and he wasn’t even sure of all that had transpired. All he knew was that whatever he’d believed on Friday morning didn’t hold true any longer on Monday night.

His sister was still a drug addict. Not recovering as he’d believed. Hoped. She’d lapsed and he’d shut down the minute he heard it, then stormed out without barely a word. Her pleas had still been ringing in his ears when he’d met Lila at the private plane that took them to New York, and he’d started their trip by breaking down like a little boy. He’d cried, and fuck it all, he hadn’t cried in so long. Didn’t even remember the last time. Lila hadn’t made a big deal out of the situation, which had made it easier for him to push that all behind him and go with her to meet her parents. New York had been another world, covered in snow and filled with love and family and friends. Lila’s, not his, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. He’d been included too.

Somehow between coming back and his climbing on stage, he’d been shoved right back out there.

No surprise there, really. He viewed having a family as akin to waking up and finding a unicorn in his backyard. They existed for other people. Not him. Never him.

Now even the band one he’d formed so improbably was on the rocks. He was still cool with Gray and Jazz and Deak, but Simon—

For a moment tonight, he’d sworn he saw hatred in his best friend’s eyes. Directed at him. Why, he didn’t know. He didn’t understand most of what was playing out in his life right now.

If he had to be mired in pain, at least he could choose the kind that was familiar.

You look just like Gert. You have liar’s eyes, both of you.

He stared at his father and let it all wash over him. The remembered taunts, the neglect. The fury he’d felt from his old man. Never aimed at Ricki, just concentrated at him. Not that he wanted any of it focused on his sister. She’d had enough on her plate, and he’d always billed himself as the strong one. Because he didn’t need anyone, after all.

Good enough story in any case.

His father’s anger had driven Nick away from home as much as self-preservation. He hadn’t wanted to end up on drugs—or selling them—like his father and sister. Back then, he’d had Simon and Deak to serve as his family.

And music. Always music. Now he didn’t know what he had. Maybe nothing, outside of his own two hands and the guitar he’d shoved into his trunk like an old pair of shoes tossed into the closet. Ratty, beat-up, full of holes.

All he had left.

“I know you don’t want me here. Luckily I’m not asking permission anymore tonight. It doesn’t seem to help me out, so why do it? I didn’t come here to try to bring you comfort. I don’t think I’m capable of that. Maybe Ricki is. I know you were always close. She didn’t represent Mom—” He stopped and tipped back his head. “She didn’t represent our mother to you somehow, even though we look more alike than not. But she didn’t reach like I did. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? I kept trying to move past my assigned station.”

Boy, you’ll never be satisfied. Just like your momma. Give you the world, you’ll ask for the solar system.

He waited for his father to open his eyes. To even blink, or move his hands. Nothing. The hum of the machines was his only response.

His father’s condition had waxed and waned since he’d been brought in. There had been another setback last week, and Ricki had informed him he was on heavy medication “to help him rest.”

Medication and a hospital stay his worthless, good-for-nothing, glory hound son was paying for, even knowing Nick Senior probably wouldn’t even want that much from him. Evidently, even dying was better to die than to be in any kind of care delivered by Nick.

Simon and Lila would probably eagerly agree.

Nick started to say more, then glanced at the darkened window beside his father’s bed and startled at his own reflection. The shaggy, unkempt blond hair, the hollow cheeks, the haggard eyes. It was like looking in the mirror and seeing a ghost with his face.

He turned and walked out of the room—and then the hospital, which he’d sneaked into in the first place—without another word.

Rather than waste his breath on his father, he decided to go tilt at another windmill. This one had a billboard of his face stationed outside of his high-rise apartment, a testament to Simon’s thriving modeling career.

See, when his best friend couldn’t sing, he started modeling. He had options. If he never stepped on another stage, he’d still get to drown in money and adulation.

Too bad neither of those were what sustained Nick in any sort of fashion.

Nick went through the usual pat-down at the door of Simon’s building. Oh, it wasn’t an actual frisk, but it might as well have been. The older gentleman who was often guarding the door knew Nick by now. He just didn’t seem to care. Every time it was as if he’d developed amnesia.

“State your business with Mr. Kagan,” he said in his clipped, faintly British voice.

I want to kick his ass
. But Nick didn’t say that. Instead, he smiled faintly. “We have a date to count our millions while watching a porno.”

The older man barely blinked. Nick’s answers always ranged from vague to ridiculous to downright rude, depending on his mood. Nothing much fazed the guy. He simply waved Nick toward the elevator that required a key code to access.

A moment later, he was on Simon’s floor and punching in yet another key code to enter his apartment. He walked in to total silence. No voices, no music, no sounds from the TV.

A quick glance at his watch told him it wasn’t that late by Simon standards. Barely past midnight. Maybe Simon and Margo were licking their wounds by licking…other things.

But the snark didn’t even amuse him long enough to make him smirk. Because even Simon had someone by his side, his not-quite-a wife, Margo. Still a lot closer to a commitment than Nick had ever had. Probably ever would.

No one in his band was alone but him.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

He blinked at Margo’s soft voice, floating out of the near darkness. Only sconces high on the walls offered off soft light. He shifted, following her voice to where she sat on a windowseat in a nook off the dining room. He’d never noticed the padded seat before, but Margo was curled up on it, her long, bare legs drawn up to her chest and a glass of wine in her hand. She wore something silky and short, but she might as well have been in sweats for all he noticed.

What he did notice was the shimmer of wetness on her cheek, highlighted by a shaft of moonlight. Then he tilted his head and she looked perfectly composed.

Margo was like Lila that way. They rarely became flustered, choosing to retreat behind a chilly mask of indifference before they’d ever allow someone to see a glimmer of real emotion. Margo had changed a bit in recent months. Simon’s doing, no doubt. Breaking down her walls or some shit, because Simon certainly had no trouble emoting when required. But tonight she’d gone back behind her fortress, and if anyone could lure her out, it sure as hell wasn’t Nick.

She hated him too. Or if not hated, didn’t like. Perhaps some days that feeling elevated to mild distaste.

Tonight wasn’t one of them.

“You blame me too.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended, and she glanced at him in surprise. “Somehow you think what happened tonight with Simon was my fault. Let me guess. All of it is. I probably sneaked into his bedroom and sliced open his vocal cords when he was asleep too, right?”

She tipped back her head, her long, pale neck illuminated in white light from the window. “It would be easier if I could blame you.”

“You can. Everyone else is.” Nick lifted his arms and held them out at his sides. “Free shot. Go ahead and take it.”

“This isn’t about you, Nick.”

It wasn’t her words but the utter fatigue in her voice that had him crossing the room to sit beside her. He didn’t gaze out the window as she did. The beach and the lights of LA in the distance didn’t interest him now.

“What happened?”

She pressed her cheek to the glass. “He’s still healing.”

“Bullshit. There was more there than that. He was on for the entire show—”

“His throat bothers him sometimes. It’s to be expected. You all keep pushing him.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. I always pushed him. He always pushed me. We’re best friends, not roommates in a rubber room. We used to bloody each other’s mouths and give each other black eyes on a regular basis. I cracked one of his ribs once, and he sprained my little pinkie so badly that it still looks cockeyed.” He held out his left hand for Margo’s inspection, but she never looked away from the glass. “Do you honestly think he can’t take a nudge from me now and then?”

“It’s not what I think he can take. It’s what’s not good for him. He’s been under so much pressure.”

Nick didn’t mean to laugh. Truly didn’t mean to. But the events of the night stacked up end to end like dominos and it was either laugh or put his fist through Simon’s way too fucking expensive wall.

And yeah, he did stuff like that. Because he was an uncivilized bastard who hadn’t been through therapy and thought Zen was the feeling that you got from tossing out a magazine with Bieber on the cover.

“Oh, right, Simon’s under pressure. Last I checked, he has a fallback career unlike the rest of us.”

“You’re not hurting for money. Don’t try to make it about that. And the others have fallbacks too. Deacon’s been producing, Gray’s writing for other bands. Jazz is writing with him now too. I have the symphony…” She trailed off.

“You’re right. Thanks for reminding me I’m the only one who’s fucked that way too.”

Naturally, Margo chose that moment to tune fully into the conversation. “What do you mean too? What other way are you fucked?”

“Actually, pretty sure I’ve seen my last fucking for a good long while.”

“You are so insanely crude. Why am I even sitting here talking to you?”

He pretended to think about her question. “Because I have the key code to your apartment and you don’t own a firearm?”

She surprised him by laughing. She wiped her eyes and sighed, leaning her head back against the window casing. “I needed that. Sorely. So thank you.”

“I could use a laugh or two as well.” He rubbed his gritty eyes and tried like hell to keep his face impassive. “Not sure that’s going to happen either.”

“What happened?”

“I think you know what happened. Epic drama with your sort-of husband, lots of photos and video taken, a metric ton of gossip—”

“Not what I mean, and you know it.” She leaned forward and shocked the hell out of him by placing her hand on his arm. “Did something happen with Lila?”

He appreciated her attempt at comfort, but he didn’t want it. The last thing he wanted was any kind of pity.

It was bad enough he was pitying himself pretty fucking hard tonight.

After gently shaking her off, he linked his hands behind his neck and stared straight ahead at the sculpture of entwined naked people in the center of the dining room table. It was faintly ridiculous and practically screamed Simon’s taste. He had more money than actual artistic sense and bought some crazy shit.

And pondering Simon’s crappy eye was a lot more palatable than figuring out how to answer Margo. Christ, he didn’t want to say it aloud. Almost as much as he didn’t want to believe it was true.

“She dumped me. So yeah, I guess you could say something happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was his turn to laugh, though the sound bordered on a rattle in his chest. “You never thought I was good enough for her in the first place.”

“Did you think I was good enough for Simon?”

“No.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I thought you were way too good for him, which meant you didn’t suit in any possible way.”

She laughed again, softer now. “Maybe it was the same for me with you and Lila. She’s been hurt.”

Almost without noticing, he balled his hands into fists that he propped against his knees. “I know. I could kill that bastard for all he’s done, and I don’t even know the half. But Jesus, I’m not like him. I would never hurt her.”

“Does she know that?”

“How do you propose I convince her? Hire a skywriter, maybe? Fall down on my knees and beg her to give me a chance?” He blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed his arm over his face. His hair was still sticking in drying clumps to his forehead. He needed a shower and ten hours of unconsciousness.

If he could even manage to close his eyes.

“I almost tried that actually,” he continued quietly. “I would’ve begged if I thought it would make one bit of difference. She closed me out. I don’t know what happened between practice this afternoon and tonight, but something did. Maybe Donovan got to her, or that asshole she’s married to put the squeeze on her, but she did a one-eighty.”

“She’s frightened, Nick. She’s not even divorced yet, and she never expected this—”

“Do you think I did? I thought I had the fucking hots for her. Not this. I never for a second believed I could feel like this—” Hearing himself, he ground his teeth together and jerked to his feet. He stalked to the table and picked up the statue made out of pale green marble and hefted the thing, almost letting out a groan. “Goddamn, this shit weighs a ton.”

“Cost it too,” Margo said drily.

“You need to put a lock on his credit card. He does bad things with it.”