Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2) (16 page)

Chapter 22

I laid there, watching her sleep. My mind was overactive from the pot I’d smoked, but even with that, every damn thought cascading through my mind was about her.

We were about to leave to go on tour, which meant that for the next ten months, I would spend every damn day with her. What blew about that whole setup was that for ten months, I had to figure out a way to be with her in a confined space without anyone ever finding out. The novelty of sneaking around was about to lose every ounce of appeal and become the biggest pain in the ass I had ever experienced.

The electric glimmer from the streetlight outside poured in through the window, washing a pale glow over her face, and I just took it in. Beautiful, gorgeous—none of those words really did her justice. At least not to me.

“I fucking like you,” I whispered, stroking my fingertip over her chin.

I thought to myself for a minute. I had liked this girl for
six
years. I had dreamed about a moment like this with her for countless days. I had spent almost a decade of my life with her, just not exactly the way I had wanted.

Swiping my tongue over my dry lips, I whispered my confession. “I fucking love you.” My heart hammered in my chest and adrenaline surged through me. “I
love
you.”

She didn’t move, but just let out a deep sigh in her sleep.

The amount of relief that fell over me when I finally said those words was priceless. Twenty-seven-years old, and I had finally felt enough to tell someone I loved them, even if I was too chicken shit to say it to her when she was conscious. But it almost seemed this was better. I was telling her when she couldn’t question it, when she couldn’t let insecurities cloud the moment. I had told her in her dreams, whispered it into her subconscious, where it would stay. Subconsciously she would always know I loved her, and that deep-seated part of a woman’s mind is the hardest to convince.

I closed my eyes, my arm holding her to me, and drifted off to sleep.

*****

Jules’ hand slapped against my chest, waking me up just enough to hear my phone ringing. I rolled over and pressed my body against her backside, wrapping my arm around her.

“Are you gonna get that?” she mumbled, still half-asleep.

“No.”

The phone fell silent and I closed my eyes. I had almost fallen back asleep when it rang again.

“Shit,” I groaned, grabbing the phone from my nightstand. “What the fuck do they want?”

Jules turned to face me. “Who?”

I flipped through my missed calls. “It was Stone.” I paused, an ominous feeling running through me when I realized I had missed calls from Jag too.

“What the fuck…” I pressed call, and it went directly to Jag’s voicemail. I tried Stone, and it only rang once before he picked up.

“Have you talked to Jag?” Stone sounded on edge, which wasn’t like him at all.

“No. What the hell’s going on?”

Stone let out a deep breath. “It’s fucked up. So fucked up. Man, I can’t get him. He’s not at his house.”

“Try Roxy’s,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. I didn’t see what the big deal was. Jag was a grown-ass man; why did it matter where the hell he was or if he wasn’t answering the phone?

“No, man, they broke up the other day.”

The only other time I’d heard that helpless tone in Stone’s voice was when he called to tell me that his dad had died.

I sucked at shit like this. I was terrified something had happened to their mother, and that would hit me hard since she was like a surrogate mom to me. Trying to push aside whatever bad news there was for as long as I could, I ignored the desperate tone in his voice and acted like a call from him at this hour wasn’t out of the norm.

“Okay,” I said, yawning. “So he’s out fucking some random chick because he’s a free man, big deal? I mean, how many times has he just disappeared before? What are you worried about, dude?” I still wasn’t fully awake, but figured I should go ahead and get it out of the way, so I swallowed and said, “What’s fucked up?”

“He kinda had a kid.”

“What?”
A fucking kid…Jag, with a kid? “
Who the hell with?”

“Stephanie.”

My jaw dropped and an uncomfortable burst of laughter gurgled out of me. “Stephanie, like
Stephanie
Stephanie? Fuck, dude.”

He huffed into the phone. “Yeah.”

Jules was sitting up by this point and staring at me, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

“Has he known this for years and just failed to mention it? I mean, when did he find out about the kid?” I asked, eyeing Jules.

Her eyes widened and she mouthed, “Jag?”

I nodded.

“At Dad’s funeral.”

That was months ago. Fuck.

Stone cleared his throat. “She’s trying to get him to sign the kid over, and Jag’s not handling that too well,” he muttered. “I mean, what if the kid’s not really his? What if she was fucking around with…” He fell silent for a moment, and I figured what would come out of his mouth next would be pretty shitty.

I shot up in the bed, immediately feeling defensive. Surely to God Stone wasn’t trying to allude that he’d fucked Stephanie, was he?

I didn’t want to wait and try to figure it out; I just went ahead and accused him. “What the actual fuck? Dude! That’s your brother—”

He cut me off, shouting into the phone so loud Jules could hear him. “I
know
he’s my brother. I wouldn’t do something like that. Do you think I would do something like that? Fuck!” He sighed. “Look, Jag was in love with Roxy, he was confused about this entire kid thing, and he’s obviously got a problem with drugs and depression. He’s down, and I’m terrified that he’s to the point of killing himself. I really am.”

Jules’ hand had made its way to my shoulder and was squeezing.

I knew Stone was right, and that made me sick.

“What do we do? Surely Jag wouldn’t kill himself, right? I mean, we are about to go on tour. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I need to talk to him. I…I…” Stone stumbled over his words, worry evident in his voice as he tried to convince himself that Jag was fine. “I think with everything, I’m just scared he’s gonna do something stupid, you know. Jag, he doesn’t handle shit well. Dad, Roxy, now this…and all the anxiety he gets before tours. Fuck, man. I just need to find him.”

I stood up and made my way to my dresser, grabbing some sweatpants and pulling them on. “Okay, I’ll go look for him.

“Jag evidently went by his lawyer’s house. Joe called me, said he was worried about Jag. Said he left his house hours ago, and that he wasn’t making any damn sense.”

I wiped my mouth and let out a groan. “Fuck. Okay, okay. Well, maybe he went to River’s. He always goes to that bitch’s when shit goes wrong. I’ll call you back later. You call me if you hear from him, all right?”

“Yeah, okay.”

I hung up. I felt sick. I had that feeling that something horrible had happened, and I couldn’t shake it.

“Fuck!” I shouted, running my hands through my hair as I paced back and forth in my room.

I heard Jules suck in a deep breath. “What’s going on, Rush?”

My mind was racing and I couldn’t stop pacing as I tried to figure out what the hell I could do to not feel so helpless.

“Rush!” Jules stood up, her hands clasped to her face. “Where is he? What’s going on? I need to know!”

I shrugged and saw her freeze in my peripheral vision.

We all knew Jag had been walking a frayed thread that at any moment would give out. I doubted he’d gone to River’s. The shit that had just hit him—that was enough to make anyone reevaluate their life, and Jag, well, I knew that as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t much for him to reevaluate. All he had was his fame and his drugs.

Jules threw her hands up in the air. “He’s got a kid? Jag has a kid?”

Shaking my head, I made my way toward the door. “I don’t know. Stone thinks she fucked around on him, tried to make Jag think the kid was his. And now no one can find him.”

“They think he’s gonna overdose, don’t they?” Jules mumbled, her brow wrinkling.

I jerked my undershirt up from the floor and tugged it over my head, then walked to the door. I’d made it down the first few stairs when Jules came scurrying out of my room, buttoning her jeans. “I’m going with you.”

I stopped and peered at her over the railing. “You don’t think that’ll look weird? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I don’t really care. I’m worried about him. All I’ll do here is freak out.” Her eyes instantly blurred behind tears, and every muscle in her face tightened as she fought back her reactions. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“Why? That’s ridiculous, Jules.” I jogged down the stairs, sitting on the bottom step to pull on a pair of shoes.

Now she was crying, practically sobbing and choking on the emotion. “We should’ve gotten him help. I should have…I should’ve told James to fuck off before we killed him.”

I drew in a deep breath and pulled her to me, kissing her forehead quickly before walking to the coffee table to get my keys.

Seeing her cry like that bothered me, but the thought of what Jag could be doing got to me more. It didn’t feel right. I had that sick, ominous feeling twisting in the pit of my stomach, making it bubble from anxiety.

Jules was right; no one had tried to help him. Not me, not Stone, and the label had done nothing but compound the problem. We’d all ignored it because he was Jag, because the drugs were the only thing keeping him together, and we all selfishly needed him together—whether that meant shoving coke in his face, or drinks down his throat, we needed him, or else we were all as good as fucked.

Selfish.

Fame is an evil bitch, and people will kill for it. Sometimes they kill themselves, sometimes they kill other people. But fame doesn’t come easy. It wants blood. And at that moment, as I let the worst-case scenario play out in my head, I felt like I may have very well had a hand in killing my best friend.

I pushed that morbid thought deep down inside, hiding my concern and ignoring the sick feeling winding through me. “He’s fine,” I shrugged.

Jules followed closely behind me.

When I opened the door, the perfectly crisp California night air surrounded me.

Reaching for the door to my car, Jules whispered, “Then why do I feel like everything’s wrong?”

I sat down and slammed the door, and we drove in silence to River’s. I didn’t know where else to go.

The car slowed as we turned onto her street. There was a parked car in front of her condo that, at first, I thought was Jag’s. We came closer, the headlights shining over the black paint, and I banged my fists over the steering wheel when I realized it was Pax’s Porsche parked next to River’s car. “Fucking shit!”

I whipped into a parking spot and bolted out of the car. My blood pressure was building with each long stride I took. I slammed my fists over her front door, shouting, “Open the door. Get your dick outta her and open the fucking door!”

For the first time in years, while I stood there in silence and waited, I heard a cricket chirping.

Someone fiddled with the lock and the chirping stopped. The hinges groaned as the door pulled open, and Pax’s face poked out of the cracked doorway. “What the hell, man, it’s late.” Pax paused, his beady eyes scrunching in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“Jag, have you seen him? Has he come by here?”

Pax shrugged and shook his head. “No, dude.” He stepped out on the stoop, a look of concern wrinkling his brow. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Just—just forget it.” I waved him off as I turned to go back to my car.

Pax followed me, his bare feet slapping against the pavement.

“No, man. What’s going on?” Now worry coated his voice.

I didn’t look at him. With each second that passed, I couldn’t. He was to blame too, and it pissed me off.

Every moment that I thought about what selfish assholes we’d been, how we’d ignored every warning sign, every damn cry for help, made me want to punch something.

I shook my head, groaning. “Don’t know where he is.”

“Why are you keeping tabs on him? Shit. Maybe he’s asleep.”

That comment pissed me off, and it shouldn’t have because Pax had no idea what was going on.

The scenario that had become more realistic to me by the minute for the past half hour wasn’t a thought in his head—yet.

Clenching my fists, I turned around and got in his face. “No, fuckface, he’s not! But what the fuck do you care?”

“Whoa!” Pax backed up, putting his hands up like he was surrendering. “Rush, man, calm down.”

“No, you know what? This is all fucked up, and I’m kind of done with it! You fucked River to get to him. We fucking let him do whatever he wants, and then, when he finds something that makes him happy, we get all jealous and want to take that from him!”

Pax arched one eyebrow and ran a fingertip over his temple. “Okay, I get the River thing, but what the hell are you talking about, taking his happy shit away from him?”