Hard Rock Roots Box Set (96 page)

“If we're using your ride, your gas, that's fine with me.” She nods at Jesse as he moves up beside us. A slight smile tickles her mouth, but it doesn't stick. “I can't wait to meet this friend of yours though.” Ronnie grins and squeezes her shoulder before moving off, fighting his quivering muscles to keep from running across the pavement to greet Lola. Wonder what Sydney will think of their connection. She was friends with Asuka, saw what happened to Ronnie when she passed away. I bet she shits her pants on this one. It's a fucking miracle, so I wouldn't blame her for a few skid marks. I pull out a piece of gum and bite down on it. Not nearly as satisfying as some of the habits I'm replacing, but what are you gonna do?

“You want to meet my woman?” I ask her.

“Your woman?” Sydney asks incredulously.

“I'm not your woman,” Naomi calls from across the parking lot, but she is. She might not have accepted it yet, but she'll get their eventually. There's bound to be a few steps forward, a couple back. I can wait. Dax on the other hand, might have to punch that bitch out. But my bait works, and I get Naomi to move across the pavement towards us, pausing next to me with her eyes raking Sydney and her leopard print pants. “The name's Naomi Knox,” she says, holding out her hand. The two blondes shake, both with tight smiles plastered across their faces. From the corner of my eye, I see Ronnie and Lola making their way towards us.

“Sydney Charell,” she responds with a tired sigh. “Sister to the biggest idiot that ever walked this earth. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before somebody tried to shoot him. Probably a jealous boyfriend or something.”

“Don't you
dare
talk about him like that,” I growl, putting my finger in her face. “Trey's more my family than he is yours, and I won't sit here and listen to that shit. He could still die, you know. This shit ain't funny.”

“What's not funny is you getting on my ass, Turner. You think I want to be here doing this right now? I have other things going on in my life.”

“Like which thong to wear on '80s night at the strip club?” I ask, and she slaps me. I probably deserve it, but I told you: I don't like to get hit. I move towards her, but Ronnie gets there before I can do anything stupid, scooting in between us and grabbing me by the shoulders.

“Turner, don't,” he says, giving me a look while Lola watches on behind him, wearing a loose halter top that shows off her tits and tats, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“I care about my brother, too, you know? But he'll be fine. He's always fine.”

I throw up my hands and turn away, watching as Josh slinks away towards the hotel while that Brayden bitch looks on, turning in a slow circle, like a lighthouse or something. Maybe he'll find the bad guys and we can all go on with our lives. Wouldn't that be a relief?

“Yeah, well. There's a first time for everything.” I spit my gum out on the ground and crush it with my boot, not caring that it sticks to the bottom. I trade it out for a cigarette. “And I'd rather not tempt fate, if you know what I mean?” I wrinkle my nose and think about Travis. Telling Jesse was … exciting, to say the least. I will never forget the look on his face, like I'd just rabbit-punched him or something. It's like Travis has died all over again. Old wounds are being torn open, stitches ripped from tender flesh, blood splattered across walls. I can't stop my brain from thinking about how he must have felt in those last moments, lying alone on cold pavement, wracked with pain and confusion. Or maybe it was even worse, maybe he knew what was happening to him and was powerless to stop it. Executed for falling in love. My heart muscle spasms, and I almost double over, pressing a fist into my chest. I'm trying to get through this crap with a good attitude, but even I can only take so much shit.

“You alright, Turner?” Naomi asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. The touch of her fingers is enough to pull me back, keep me sane. That's how important she is to me. I just need to find a way to prove that to her, let her know that she has nothing to fear. As long as it's in my control, I'll make sure I never hurt her.
Never.

“I'm alright. I just want to see my best Goddamn friend.”

“Fine with me,” Sydney says, lifting up her hand and gesturing at the vans. “Be my guest. Nobody's stopping you.” She pauses to look over her shoulder, like she's got her eye out for someone.

“There's nobody following you. You're alright,” Brayden says in his weird accent, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from spinning and going ballistic on the dude. I don't know why I don't like him; I just don't. I could feel a tad intimidated, but no way in fuck I'll ever admit that aloud. Sydney raises one of her blonde brows and sighs, hot breath forming a tiny cloud in front of her small lips.

“Who the heck is that?” she whispers, looking over my shoulder at the man. I notice Lola watching him, too. He's almost as bad as that guy, Stack, the one with all the piercings who fixes our instruments up. A friggin' chick magnet. I look at Naomi, but she's studying Sydney, not paying anymore attention to the redheaded ginger dude. Good. Even when Dax comes sliding by, the ghost of a smile hovering around his lips, I don't let my confidence falter. I squeeze my fists by my sides and stand strong.

“Doesn't matter,” I growl, nodding my chin back at the van. “All that matters is that we get the hell out of here and see Trey. I
have
to see him.” Sydney rolls her eyes, but she does untangle her arms from around her chest.

“Yeah, okay. But when we get there, you have to promise not to pitch a fit.” She looks over at Naomi with sympathy. Naomi returns her look with a raised brow and crooked half-smile. Great. Maybe the two of them can bond talking about my fucking antics or some shit? Wouldn't that be nice.

“Fine, what the fuck ever,” is my reply. I never actually promise anything.

Stupid fucking hospital red tape bullshit.

I stand outside of Trey's hospital room, pacing back and forth in front of the window. Can't go inside. Why? Who the shit knows? God, I hate doctors.

“You had to call the surgeon a dirty ball sack?” Sydney asks me, sounding pissed, touching the glass with her brightly colored fingernails, each one a different shade. “Or break that chair in the waiting room? I thought you said weren't going to pitch a fit. Hmph. Some things never change, I guess.”

“So how long have you known Turner?” Naomi asks from the bench behind me. I'm too enraptured in the machines and the tubes and the sterile white walls to care if they're talking about me.
Trey. Shit, man. If Travis had known this was going to go down, I bet he would've done things different.
I lean my forehead against the window and absorb the image of my friend's sleeping face.
Just in case.
I hate that I'm going there, but even though Trey's made it past the forty-eight hour danger zone the doctors first predicted, he's still not awake, and that's a problem. What if I walk out of this place, and he doesn't make it through the night? Then what? I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
Can't think that way, can't go there. He will be alright. He has to be.
I open my eyes and stare at the orange
Mrs. Treyjan Charell
bracelet I'm wearing. Seemed fitting.

“Way, way, way too long,” Sydney says, unzipping her ugly ass jacket and revealing a rockin' body and some seriously fake ass tits. Even though I've known her forever, and she's admittedly kind of hot, I've never been interested in Sydney. Kissing her would be like kissing my own sister, and I don't go there. No thank you. “He lived a few trailers over from us with his bitch ass mother. He was always crashing at our place, didn't even mind that our dad was usually fucked up on crack.”

“Anything was better than home at that point in my life, even if I had to see your mini-titties bouncing around every time you got out of the shower.” I look over my shoulder at Naomi's raised brows. “Sydney had a thing for going shirtless.” I pause, and a smirk takes over my face. Even though I'm hurting inside, even though Jesse's standing a few feet away with tears frozen in his eyes, the expression's so natural to me, it's impossible to fight it. “She also had, what, A cups? B?” I look pointedly down at Sydney's massive chest. “Where'd the big D's come from, baby?”

“Fuck you, Turner,” Sydney says, adjusting the straps on her purple halter and turning fully to face Naomi with a hand held out towards me for emphasis. “You're really dating this guy? Like, actually in a relationship with him?” I turn around, too, away from Trey's pale face and look straight into the eyes of the woman of my dreams. They burn orange as flames, like lightning has struck the desert landscape of her eyes and managed to catch fire. I wet my lips, flick my tongue over my lip rings and know that she's watching the whole thing.

“I, uh.” That's all Naomi comes up with. She shrugs and glares at the
No Smoking
sign by my head with narrowed eyes. “He really is an asshole, isn't he?”

“For your information, not that it's really any of your business though, I got these tits to further my career.”

“As a stripper?” I ask.

“Yeah, as a fucking stripper,” Sydney says, getting up in my face. Her tattoos fill her arms and chest and neck, sea animals mostly – turtles, brightly colored fish, an orange octopus. She has a hell of a lot more now than the last time I saw her. “I'm proud of what I do, I make a lot of money, and I don't have to take charity handouts from my fucking baby brother.” Sydney's nostrils flare like she does when she's really pissed off. First time I ever saw this expression on her face was when Trey and I snuck into her room and cut up one of her dresses to make capes out of. I open my mouth to respond, but she doesn't let me. “I'm making my own way in the world, and while I may not be famous enough to collect snatch like trading cards, I'm going somewhere. I just booked my first photo shoot.” I raise my eyebrow. I don't mean to be a dick, but who the fuck thinks of being a stripper as having a career? What possible options are there for advancement?

“For who?”

“Tattoo Terror,” she states proudly. I ain't got a fucking clue what that is, but Lola does.

“Oh, nice. That's fuckin' awesome, babe. You should be damn proud of yourself.” Her fingers curl around the edge of the bench and her eyes stay downcast. I don't know what went on while we were at the safe house, but from Lola's demeanor, it wasn't sunshine and Skittle rainbows. Ronnie sits next to her, his body pressed firmly against hers, fingers resting on her thigh. They really do make a cute couple. I try not to compare Lola to Asuka, but it happens anyway and I realize with a start that Lola seems like a better fit. I don't know the girl, that's true, and I'd definitely never say this to Ronnie, but Lola seems like she was made for him. Or vice versa. Anyway …

“Tattoo Terror,” Naomi says when she sees that I'm not responding to the news. “Is a website that features tattooed women.”

“Like, to beat off to or whatever?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes, face planting into her own hand.

“That's exactly right, Turner,” Sydney says, no shame in her gaze, hands on her hips. She glances in the window at her brother and a frown teases her small mouth. “To beat off to. I'm being recognized for my exceptional ink, and my smoking body.” She slaps at her hip and the small metal belt around her waist tinkles like chiming bells. “So admire from afar because you're never getting a slice of this.” I crinkle my face up, but Sydney ignores me, turning back to Trey, standing on her toes and gazing in the room. “I'm getting paid five figures for this shoot.”

“Made that shit in royalties since we got here,” I say, touching my pocket and fishing out some more gum. Can't smoke in the hospital, and I think it'd be kind of inappropriate to pull Naomi away for a fuck. I have to have something to do.

“Congratulations,” Ronnie says, voice subdued. He starts to say something else, but Milo appears then with a drink carrier in each hand.

“Coffee?” he asks, and his face is flushed with a warm sheen. Something good has happened. The tremble in his hands is about half as bad as it was when we left the safe house this morning. “Mr. Decker,” Milo says cheerfully, keeping his gaze carefully blank when it pans across Trey's window. In his own way, I know our manager really does give two fucks about us. And even though he's only a handful of years older, I get the feeling he thinks of us as his kids or something. Jesse takes the coffee, turning his back on Trey and leaning against the glass. Next coffee goes to Ronnie, then Lola.

“What's going on, Terrabotti?” I ask, feeling overly suspicious. And a little pissy. Standing here under these fluorescent lights with the drone of machines and the sharp scent of iodine, I don't feel like anyone should be happy. Trey's not. It feels wrong if we're all anything but miserable in here.

“Coffee, Mr. Campbell?” he asks, trying to pass one of the drinks to me. I ignore his offering and narrow my eyes. He gives it to Naomi instead. “Are you sure you don't want some? It might help you keep your energy up.”

“What the fuck do I need my energy up for?” I ask, feeling a tiny prickle in my spine. “Are we playing a show?” Milo sighs and shrugs his shoulders, setting the drink carriers on a nearby water fountain.