Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2) (22 page)

Chapter 32

From that day on, Jules and I barely spoke. I guess it was just too much, too fast. We’d gone from randomly hooking up to saying I love you in a month. Throw in the entire disease scare, topped with the likelihood that our relationship would make her lose her job, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to fuck with me anymore.

But that didn’t make it any easier either.

That didn’t make me stop loving her or stop wanting her, and having to see her at meetings was nearly unbearable. It was a dying part of me I couldn’t disclose to anyone. Every time I had to be around her, all I could think about was kissing her, and she wouldn’t even look at me.

I felt like a pathetic bitch. I had been broken and de-masculinized by emotions, by loss…by all those things I’d given Jag shit about.

We’d just finished a small acoustic set organized by a local radio station for winners from their morning show. The guys were talking to the fans, and I was leaned against the wall watching Jules fidget with her phone, most likely trying to set up something for that stupid opening act of ours.

“I love you! I love you!” A bubbly redhead gushed as she handed me a t-shirt. “Would you sign this, please? Make it out to Ally?”

I took the shirt, nodded, and wrote my name on it.

“Thanks.” She smiled, and I looked away. I was that jerk now. I was hurt and angry and didn’t feel I owed any one anything.

After a couple more similar experiences with fans, fate slapped me right in the face.

“Rush, hey!” A guy’s voice forced me to look up from the floor. My eyes landed on a tall teenager with a short brown Mohawk.

“Yeah,” I moaned. “Got something you want signed?” I held my hand out and the guy narrowed his eyes, a confused smile flickering over his face.

“Uh, yeah.” He reached back and tugged loose a piece of folded up paper from his back pocket. Unfolding it, he stared down at it, biting down on his lip. He shoved the paper at me and said, “I want you to sign this.”

It was a typed letter and when I started to glance it over, I realized it was a lab result from a doctor’s office. I was baffled, and then the patient name registered with me. Cody Williams.

He looked completely different. He had hair, he had color to his skin, he’d put on weight. He looked healthy.

My eyes shot up to him. “Cody! Man”—I put my arm around him, hugging him and patting his back—“I didn’t recognize you”—I pulled away from him and swiped my hand over his coarse, spiky hair—“with the fucking Mohawk. Dude! You got a Mohawk!”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling up in the corners, and then I recognized him.

He thumped the papers in my hand. “Cancer free. That was the test results. You’ve no idea how much your visit meant to me. Gave me a harder push to beat cancer. Thanks! Thought it would be fitting to have you sign that. Thought I’d frame it.”

Talk about humbling. That moment right there made it all worthwhile, the fact that I had made a difference in this kid’s thought process.

“Yeah. This is amazing!” I wrote a message and signed my name. Handing the papers back to him, I said, “I meant what I told you. You gotta come sing with us. Okay, man?”

His entire face lit up and he nodded. “Absolutely. Just tell me when. I’ll be there for sure. Man, I can’t believe this! You’re serious? Really?”

“Yeah, dude. Serious as hell.” I turned around, looking for Jules. She was leaned against the wall watching me. “Hey,” I walked toward her, my arm around Cody and pulling him with me. “You got a card you can give this guy? He’s gonna sing with us at a show. Amazing voice. I promised him when he kicked cancer’s ass we’d let him sing a few songs with us.” She stared at me, trying to hide the shock, I’m sure. “Figured you could set that up?”

She smiled and looked at Cody. “Yeah. Let me get you a card.”

“Hey, Rush?” One of the radio announcers called for me. “We need you for a group photo-op.”

“All right, dude, I’m coming!” I smacked Cody on the shoulder, pointing at him as I walked off. “Better see you on the stage soon. Got it?”

An hour later, I’d gone back into the station to get my belongings and found Jules sitting in the room by herself.

I sat down next to her but didn’t say anything.

A few seconds later she whispered, “That was nice of you.”

I nodded. “Cool kid, huh?”

“Yep.”

A few more moments of silence passed.

“You’re gonna miss the limo.”

I huffed. “I don’t care.”

Jules nodded and awkwardly averted her eyes from mine.

“Why?” I slapped my hands over my knees. “This is stupid, you know that, right?”

Her eyes didn’t budge from the floor. “It was just too much, Rush. Too much.”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, and I ran my hands down the leg of my jeans. “Life’s too fucking much sometimes, but you can’t give up on that.”

She nodded again and sniffed. “And that’s one of those things I love about you. You know, this is hard for me too. Please, just stop making it torture, okay?” She yanked her purse up on her shoulder. “I can’t lose my job, you can’t stop being a rock star. Rush, we
have
to just let it go.”

Everything inside of me tightened. The fact that she thought it was so simple infuriated me, but more than anything it cut me.

“That simple, huh?” I rose from the chair and walked toward the door.

“Not simple, but necessary.”

“Okay, we’ll just say that’s what it is then, necessary.”

I walked out, tempted to slam the door, but instead I just let it close on its own.

*****

If that’s the way she wants to be, fine.
I laid in my bed, unable to fall asleep.
What’s the point? What’s the point in worrying about her? I was ready to pull out of the band for her, and she can’t lose her job for me? I was gonna give up fame…

My internal conversation ended with the decision that the best way to get over her was to find someone else. Sex. That had always been the answer, so why stop now?

Rolling out of my bed, I pulled on a shirt and a pair of jeans, grabbing a jacket on the way out the front door.

Forty minutes later, I had slammed back countless shots and was sitting in a chair at the front of a stage, watching a girl shimmy her way down a pole. 

No matter how drunk I got, I felt nothing. I had to force my eyes to look at the girls dancing; I had to try to pep talk myself into being aroused.

Tall blonde—nothing. Athletic brunette—nope. Twin redheads—limp as shit. Big tits, small tits, perky tits, bouncy tits; round ass, no ass, manicured pussy, bald pussy, ass clapping, lip smacking…my dick didn’t respond and my heart felt guilty.

Nothing kept my mind off Jules.

By the end of the night I had one of the strippers in my car,
forcing
myself to make out with her. And I won’t lie, every last moment of it felt like pure filth.

She reached across the console and ran her hand over my dick, stopping when she realized I wasn’t hard. At all.

She let out a moan and slammed her mouth over mine again, her tongue lashing sloppily against mine. I didn’t want this.

She grabbed my hands and placed them on her tits, and I quickly removed them.

Sighing, I said, “I’m sorry. I—I can’t do this. It’s just…” I trailed off and unlocked my car.

“You don’t think I’m hot?” Her eyes popped open with concern.

I pulled my belt back through my buckle, shaking my head. “No, it’s not that. I just…I just…” I paused and realized why I couldn’t. “This just isn’t me.”

It really wasn’t, not anymore.

The girl laughed, placing her hand over her chest like she was in shock. “Yeah, right. You’re Rush Wilder, pussy is all you know, no matter who it belongs to. And I just quoted that from your
Rolling Stone
interview.”

That comment tore into me. That was how I was viewed, that had been who I was before Jules, and how could I expect Jules to have been okay with that?

Chapter 33

I’d waited three months for the last test to come back negative to make sure I
really
didn’t have HIV, and then I went after Jules. I had no reason not to.

I didn’t call her. I didn’t want to give her a chance to come up with an excuse for why she couldn’t be with me. We’d talked sporadically, but only about the band, about the tour; it was like she was in denial that I had ever told her I loved her. She acted like we had never been anything besides business partners, and that fucking pissed me off.

I’d stopped by a florist and picked up two dozen sterling roses. That was the first time I’d ever done any sappy shit like that. I didn’t see the point in paying for something that was going to wilt, die, and attract gnats, but I felt I had to take something to her, even if it was one of those things she thought was stupid too. Flowers were all I could pull out of my ass, because jewelry would have freaked her out. And when it comes to romance, I won’t lie, I pretty much suck.

I’d played this out in my head twenty times on the way to her house. She’d be shocked when she opened the door, she’d smile, argue that we didn’t belong together, and then I’d kiss her and prove to her that we did. I was that stupid, pathetic, lovesick guy that I’d always made fun of.

I parked my car, grabbed the roses, and jogged to her door. Excitement trickled through me, and I couldn’t tone down the shit-eating grin plastered over my face. I banged on her door and waited.

I heard her fumbling with the lock, and as soon as she opened the door, her eyes blew open and she immediately stepped out onto the porch, and closing the door behind her. “What are you doing?” she pretty much gasped.

I knew she would be speechless.

I shoved the flowers at her, the lavender tissue paper wrapped around them crinkling. “Getting my girl back.”

An uncertain laugh fell from her lips as her eyes moved from my face to the flowers. “I’m shocked.”

“About what? The flowers?”

Shaking her head, she pulled in a deep breath. “No, that you haven’t given up. Moved on.”

“Seriously? I’ve not stopped thinking about you since the first time I met you. I thought I’d made that pretty clear, sweetheart?” I let my finger graze over her jawline, and I leaned in to her. “I love you, Jules. You don’t forget love. Ever.”

Before I closed my eyes to kiss her, she turned her face to the side.

“It’s not…it can’t happen again. We can’t be anything to one another, Rush. I’m sorry. I am.”

I froze. I swallowed. I fought to maintain my demeanor. She didn’t feel the same way I did, and I refused to seem desperate, but I had to argue it.

“I don’t get it. We were happy.”

A nostalgic smile swept over her face and her eyes glazed over as she reminisced.

Placing my hand around her waist, I yanked her toward me, crushing the flowers between us. “You know you belong with me.”

Jules jerked away from me. I watched her eyes water up and her face slowly turn a soft pink. “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t do this right now.”

I glared at her, ignoring the stitch of pain shooting through me.

Before I’d had a chance to respond to her comment, she’d reached for her door. “The scare you gave me…I can’t do that again. I can’t take that chance.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m not gonna be with anyone else. Ever. Jules, you are the only girl I want.”

“This is not a good time, Rush.” Her eyes squeezed closed and she quickly wiped away the few tears that had rolled down her cheeks. “No one girl will ever be it for you. And, you know, it always bothered me, but I just have had time to think and I can’t,
cannot
handle the fact that you have slept with so many girls. You have no idea how many girls you’ve been with, and—”

My flesh was heating up and my breath was coming in quick spurts. I swatted her hand from the doorknob. “And that doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, Rush, it does. It’s gross. It’s nasty. And I’m sorry, maybe I’m wrong, but I just can’t believe that someone like you will ever be faithful. You even admitted it the day we split.” She covered her face with her hand and shook her head. “I found out you slept with prostitutes, Rush.” She snarled one side of her lip and repeated that word, “
Prostitutes
. Why the hell would you sleep with whores when you had girls throwing themselves at you?”

“Who the hell told you that?” The fact that she knew my dirty secret floored and embarrassed me. She was disgusted by me. I could tell by the way she was looking at me that the thought of me absolutely sickened her.

“Shit comes out. You’re famous. Shit
always
comes out. Rush, you’re pretty much a sex addict! And I am not willing to get hurt.” She sighed, and looked at me like she pitied me. “I can’t be safe with you.”

I wrinkled my brow at her. She didn’t get it. I wasn’t addicted to sex, at all, I just did it to make me feel something; half the time I had been doing it to try and forget her. People do that all the time, they’ll go off with someone else to forget about the person they can’t have.

“I’m not a sex addict, Jules. No more than any of the other guys, shit!”

Laughing, she nodded her head. “And all of you have some kind of addiction, multiple addictions. I eventually want to have a life, and I don’t think I can have that with you.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I don’t
think
I can.”

She’s not sure. Show her. Show her she can.

She placed her hand on the door again. “Rush, I can’t be what you need. Maybe if you weren’t famous, or maybe if I was more naïve. I’m not doing it.”

I felt like I didn’t even know this person standing in front of me. She was being a major bitch, heartless and fucking ridiculous. My pride got the best of me, and then anger splintered its way through me. I couldn’t take the torture of standing there and listening to her berate me for my past. She obviously had her opinion of me, and it was a waste of time to try to convince her otherwise.

“All right, Jules. Good to know what kind of person you really are.”

I turned to walk away, and mumbled, “Love’s a fucking bitch anyway,” then I heard her door open and I thought she’d disappeared inside.

Just as I stepped off the curb, I heard a guy’s voice. “Who’s that? Is that—”

I laughed, cutting the guy off as I spun around and saw a tan, overly muscular asshole taking up most of her doorway.

I shouted, “I’m fucking Rush Wilder, you know, I’m in that band Pandemic Sorrow? May have heard of me? But you let her tell you, I’m sure she’ll say I’m nobody. Have fun with that, dude. I broke that pussy in for you.”

I choked back the scream of anger that was welling inside me and pushed my shoulders back, acting like that guy had no effect on me. Three months, and she had already moved on. I don’t know why I expected anything different from her. She was one of those people who tossed the word love around like it was a piece of shit-covered toilet paper.

*****

I sat at a bar, hurt and pissed, ignoring the girls staring at me and whispering about who I was, and signing things for the ones who were brave enough to approach me without really saying a word to them. I’d decided the fact that I’d lost the woman I loved had sent me into a grieving process and I was in stage one: denial and isolation.

I’d already had five shots of whiskey, but that did little to stop the thoughts torturing me. All the alcohol did was make it seem more tragic. And the more I thought about Jules, the angrier I got. She may have been right that I was gross, but people change. I had been a coinsurer of pussy, but that stopped the moment I thought she cared for me. I felt like Jules had only acted like she cared about me, because if she really had how could she have pushed me away like that, how could she have already found another guy that she would rather be with? And really, if you wanted to get right down to it, the fact that she abandoned me when I thought I had HIV was shitty. She just left me and all she was worried about was herself. I had never seen Jules as selfish, but the more I allowed myself to dwell on it all, that’s exactly what she seemed, selfish. Fuck if she was scared. I was scared too.

The bartender handed me another shot and I quickly dumped the warm liquor into my mouth, relishing the way it burned down my throat. I rested my head in my hand, and then I felt someone tap my shoulder. I was sick of signing shit, I just wanted to sit there and drink like a normal guy would then stagger out into the night and puke my guts out in some alley without photos ending up on tabloids. I wanted to be off the clock, but that never happens when you’re famous.

“Hey, Rush.” The girl left her hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see who it belonged to.

It was that girl from our opening band. I nodded and turned back to the bar, leaning across and yanking the bartender’s apron. “Give me another shot, would you?”

He nodded and wiped his hands on the towel before grabbing the bottle and turning it up.

“Gonna ignore me?” she asked, her hand still on me.

I felt my muscles tense up under her hand. “Trying to. Get the hint.”

She laughed and then squeezed beside me to sit down. “Nope. We are about to spend almost a year together. You are gonna have to learn to like me, or get a lot better at ignoring.”

I let out a heavy sigh and rubbed my fingers over my eyes to try and force the blurriness out of them. The bartender slid the glass across the wooden bar top and I immediately took it in my hand and dumped it into my mouth. “Ah.” I licked the remnants from my lip, then glared at Asher. “Or I could just stay drunk so I can tolerate that high-pitched annoying voice of yours.”

That comment didn’t even get a reaction.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why are you here by yourself?”

“Because I wanna be.”

“That’s stupid.”

I arched a brow at her. “I don’t care. Go away. You’re annoying!”

“You know,” she settled back on the stool, “I always thought you’d be different. You seem so crazy, but you’re not. It’s all just fake, huh? You aren’t a crazy man whore; Jag’s not a narcissistic asshole; Pax, well, he really is a jerk; and Stone…hmmm, I’m not even sure what I ever thought about him besides he’s just hot.”

Rolling my eyes, I wiped my hands down my face. “Sure. It’s all make-believe. There’s a little fucking rocker fairy that comes and sprinkles asshole dust on you to make you seem cool.” I shook my head. “You’ll see. If your band is worth a shit and you make anything of this, you’ll see what all this does to you. And it sucks, by the way.” I slammed my shot glass on the bar.

Asher laughed. “
Sure
it does.”

“It does. I just wanted to come in here and drink and I’ve spent more time signing shit than I have being able to think. You don’t have a life. Just get ready for that.”

“Ready. I don’t really care what I have to give up. I just want to be famous. I want to be good at what I do.”

I shook my head. I could remember being where she was. At first you walk around in this delusional fog, thinking you’re getting what you’ve always dreamed of, but everything comes at a price. Fame sometimes, depending on who you are, comes at a really steep, masochistic price.

Asher glanced down at her watch then looked around. “Do you see the rest of my band?”

“I don’t remember what they look like,” I snorted. I barely remembered what you looked like.”

She tapped my thigh and I jerked my leg away from her. “Look, I like Stone. Can you help me out here? I’ll leave you alone if you help me. Promise. Cross my heart, stick a needle in my eye—all that jazz-covered shit.”

When I looked at her for too long my vision went double. That was a good sign I was headed where I wanted. “Hey. Hey!” I shouted at the bartender. “One more shot, and give me my tab, please.”

“Manners, look at you southern boy.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes.

“I really,
really
just don’t like you for some reason.”

She shrugged and took a long sip from her drink.

The bartender immediately handed me my shot and tab. I signed, slammed the shot back, wiped over my mouth, and walked off.

“Hey, you gonna help me out or what?” Asher shouted.

This chick was nuts.

I shot a bird at her and yelled back. “I don’t like you. Why would I want to hook you up with my friend? Go fuck Pax or something. No one likes him.”

I pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the strip. I went straight across the street to the beach. It was dark and I could be alone.

As soon as my feet landed in the soft sand, I fell face forward. I laid there for a second, then decided I wasn’t far enough away from people, so I pushed myself up, not bothering to brush the sand off me. I trudged gracelessly toward the ocean, stumbling several times and face planting.

The cool, moist breeze washed over me and the roaring waves granted me a sliver of solitude. I wandered down the beach for a while until my legs felt like jelly, and then I just laid down.

I thought. I stared up at the black sky and thought.

About life. About Jules. About why the hell I was miserable and what I could do to fix it.