Stand (Black Addiction Book 3) (22 page)

“Zack, buddy.” I opened doors, each room turning up nothing. “Come out, little man, you’re not in any trouble, but we need to make sure you’re okay.” I made my way slowly to the kitchen.

Empty.

Every fucking room, empty.

How could we have lost a human? Did he evaporate into thin air? Logically, I knew he had to be somewhere but I couldn’t stop the worst-case scenarios looping around in my brain. This was so not good.

“Zack!” Beth screamed, her voice carrying down the hall as she double checked the rooms I’d just been in. “Come out and I promise you can have another cookie.”

We stopped hollering; just hoping to hear something that would give us a clue. Then finally we heard it—a muted groan just barely audible.

“Kitchen.” My head whipped around, turning to the direction of the sound. I swear I’d checked it before and came up empty, not that I cared now if it meant we found him.

“Zack, where are you?” I looked around the kitchen, the room no different to the last time I’d been in there, my head ducking under the counter as Beth checked under the table.

“Ughhhhh.” Another groan, the noise coming from the walk-in pantry.

“In here.” I pulled open the door, the little guy sitting on the floor curled up with a face full of cookie crumbs.

“Hey.” I dropped to my knees thanking God we’d found him as Beth joined me in the tiny space. “You gave us a bit of a scare.” I pulled him in for a hug, my silent
thank fucks
remaining unspoken.

“I don’t feel so well.” Zack clutched at his stomach the empty plate of cookies beside him a big fucking clue as to why. “I’m—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, his mouth opening and blowing chunks all over me in the process.

“Shit.” I tried not to gag, the stench jacking up my nose making me want to hurl too. My shirt covered in vomit as the kid started to cry.

“Oh God.” I covered my mouth, my stomach retching wanting to do its own eject. The cough I was unable to suppress playing havoc with my gag reflex as I tried not to think about tossing my own cookies. It was going to be a close call.

“No, no it’s okay.” Beth grabbed a dish rag, the tiny piece of fabric doing jack shit to kill the fucking smell or the mess that was on the two of us. “You’re okay.” Her reassurance fell on deaf ears as the kids launched into full water works.

“Let’s get out of here.” I tried to stand up, my foot hitting a patch of spew pitching me back against one of the shelves. “God damn,” I gritted out through my teeth, my shoulder bouncing off the edge before I went down on my ass, thankfully not landing on the kid.

“You’re okay.” Beth pulled him out of the pantry, the kid crying hard either from my yelling or the fact I’d almost made him a pancake. Spew freaking everywhere as I tried again to fucking stand up.

You know that scene in The Exorcist where the chick’s head spins around and a stream of pea soup shoots out her mouth? Yeah, double that and you were in the neighborhood of what we were dealing with. He wasn’t even that big, how he could have produced so much vomit was still a freaking mystery.

“It’s all good, Zack.” I bit down on my lip to stop from cursing as I climbed to my feet, my shoulder screaming from pain while I stuffed down the urge to dry heave.

“Let’s get you cleaned up; we’re going to make it all better.” Beth took control of the situation, sitting him on the counter while she pulled off his jammies. The kid still hiccupping as she grabbed another tea towel and wiped down his face. “See no need to cry.”

No need to cry? I begged to disagree, my puke filled shirt sticking to my chest as I grabbed paper towels and tried to mop up the chunks. Yep, this was going so well.
And fuck you, universe
, my metaphorical finger flipping off karma; my punishment, obviously, for insinuating the parenting gig was a cakewalk.

“I’m just going to get some towels and run a bath.” Beth looked over at me, my fruitless exercise of trying to clean up abandoned as I peeled off my shirt. I wasn’t even going to bother. The idea of being shirtless preferable to the spew I’d been wearing. “Can you stay with him until I’m ready?”

“Yeah, of course.” I walked over to the counter, tossing the shirt in the garbage as Zack’s sobs started to taper off. “It’s going to be fine, Zack. We’re just going to clean you up and then it will all be over.”

I don’t know who I was trying to convince, because shit was most definitely
not
fine. But I needed him to stop crying, so at this point I’d stand on my head if it would get the job done.

“Un-cle Max.” He sucked in a breath, snot dripping out of his nose as he tried to talk. His hands reached for me as the tears looked to start again.

“No, no.” I grabbed him off the counter, praying to God Beth would walk in any minute. “No need to cry.” I cradled him close to my chest hoping the jiggling wouldn’t bring on spewfest round two.

“Potty.”

He probably didn’t need to say it, the stream of warm pee traveling down my stomach enough of a hint that he needed a bathroom. Could have used the memo a few minutes earlier so there’d been time to get to said bathroom.

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed, the top of my jeans now soaked. I mean seriously? Clearly it wasn’t enough that I’d had been covered in spew. No, I needed to stink like a fucking urinal too.

“What’s happened?” Beth came running back, the fucking towels redundant. “Is he feeling sick again?”

“Nope, hopefully we’re done with the bodily functions though. There’s only one left and I’m really not down with that.”

And fuck me, what a freaking mess. I still had no idea where he was storing all of it, the volume of shit—thank God not literally—coming out of him still baffling the hell out of me.

“Oh, you had an accident. It’s okay.” She wrapped a towel around Zack, the kid still howling.

Again,
okay
not a word I’d use right now.

“Why don’t you get him taken care of and I’ll try and clean this up.” The floor, the inside of the cupboard—I was going to need a mask and some holy water just to get through it.

“Are you sure?” Beth hesitated a beat, my earlier performance not convincing her I’d be cool. Had to admit, I wasn’t so sure myself.

“It’s fine.” I said as much for my own benefit as I did for her. “I’ve got this, go.”

“I’ll be quick.” She nodded, taking the Zack bundle towards the bathroom. Hopefully keeping whatever else was inside of him where it belonged.

Great.

The kitchen looked like a war zone, and I was nowhere near ready for battle.

Deep breaths.

I could totally do this.

Grabbing a stack of paper towels, I attacked the mess, breathing through my mouth so I didn’t contribute to it. It really was amazing how far it had managed to spread; if we could just harness the kid’s ability to
throw
for good rather than evil we’d have a World Series pitcher on our hands.

I finished up grabbing a bucket, a bottle of Clorox and a mop and if anything had ever lived on that floor it was fucking dead now. The place spotless by the time Beth had come back down with a clean, freshly PJ’d Zack.

“Wow, you did a great job in here.” She surveyed my handy work, Zack hiding in the crook of her neck.

“You didn’t do too badly yourself.” I nodded, the little guy peeking up at me from under his arm. “You feeling better little guy?”

“Sorry, Uncle Max.” His bottom lip started to do the wobble.

“Ah it’s okay.” I gave him a big grin. “Probably shouldn’t have eaten all those cookies, huh?”

In all the excitement we hadn’t heard the front door. Jase and Angie back from their hot date came home to a house that was lit up like a Christmas tree, doors open left and right, but at least their floor smelled lemony-fresh.

“Oh my god, is everything okay?” Angie rushed into the kitchen, Jase following close behind.

“
Someone
got out of bed and ate a few more cookies than they should.” I started to explain, Zack shoving his head back under his arm. “It didn’t end well for my shirt.”

“Zack, you know you aren’t supposed to eat at bedtime.” Angie hauled him into her arms. “You get a belly ache every time. Now let’s get you to bed.”

After a round of
goodnights,
Angie and Beth took a sleepy Zack back to his room where hopefully he’d stay.

“This your new direction? Topless maid?” Jase laughed. “Am I supposed to tip you? I think I have a fiver in here somewhere.” He leaned up against the counter, thoroughly amused.

“Yeah, laugh it up. You’re going to have two of them running around here soon.” And if that had come out of one little person, I could only imagine the damage two could do. “I’m getting you both a case of bleach for the baby shower.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He puffed out his chest, proud of his growing brood. “Dude, did you piss yourself?”

“Don’t even, Jase. It’s not been a good night.” I didn’t bother explaining, there was really no point. It wasn’t going to change the fact that I was still standing in someone else’s pee.

“Well, thanks. We owe you.” He held out his hand.

“You don’t owe me shit.” I clapped his hand with my own. “It was our pleasure.” Well mostly, I was hoping if there was a next time it could be without the evac of bodily fluids.

“And you might want to hold onto that girl of yours.”

Ha! He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know.

“Don’t worry about that.” I nodded, the intention well beyond just holding onto her. “I have no intention of letting her go.”

Things were great.

Better than they’d ever been.

We’d even survived our babysitting disaster. The night proved to be more of a challenge than either of us had thought. Lesson learned, put the cookies on a higher shelf next time.

He’d been so incredibly sweet with Zack though, and that just made my heart squeeze a little bit more.

Max was recording most days, Black Addiction was anxious to get back into the studio and work on the new album. They pulled long erratic hours, the whole process exhausting but necessary if they were going to put out another album before the end of the year. Angie was also pregnant, which complicated things a little, the timing of their album release important if she was going to be able to promote it before her next baby was born.

Monday to Friday I had class, so while I missed him, the days didn’t seem so bad. We’d call during breaks though, flirty messages—anything to keep the connection. And even though both of us were tired, we were making it work. The last few weeks had been the best of my life and I’d take sleep-deprived and deliriously happy over rested and baseline mediocre.

The nights were the best.

I would sneak up to his apartment—he’d given me a spare key—and wait for him to come home. Sometimes I’d attempt to make dinner, or he’d pick something up on the way but they always ended the same way. Me with him in bed. It didn’t matter how tired he was or how early he had to get up the next day. And if I happened to fall asleep in my own bed, I’d be woken up by a text message and Max Reynolds at my door. Being apart was something Max wouldn’t accept.

It was a good system. It meant he was both the last and the first thing I saw every day.

I loved it.

I loved him.

And I couldn’t be happier if I’d tried.

The
undercover
gigs had been sidelined having fulfilled their purpose. Besides, most people had clued up so the last couple had needed extra security just to deal with the extra crowd. But occasionally I got to see my own private show. Max happy to pull out a guitar and go through some of the new material while I laid in bed, his bass being benched for a six-string guitar on those rare times. My eyes would close listening to him sing, and I felt every single note he played.

Those words we’d avoided for so long—I love you—we said them as much as we could. We were that couple you hated, the ones who’s loved-up displays made you want to puke. But I didn’t care, and had no plans to stop.

The press attention was a little harder to deal with. It wasn’t unexpected but you were never really ready for it until an extra-long zoom lens was pointed at your ass. Thankfully Max had an indoor gym, which meant my ass didn’t look too bad. It also solved the problem of traveling to my new gym that unfortunately was further away than my old one, the one I needed to replace because of the micro penis debacle.

I hated the intrusion. When we dated before Max hadn’t been famous, so I’d never had to worry about whether someone was going to rifle through my garbage. Or checking to make sure when I left the apartment I was photo ready. Sure, I could have easily just slummed it, let the photographers have a field day with photos of me in sweats, but I hated knowing those photographs would be out there forever. A quick makeup application was a small price to pay.

It seemed everything we—and therefore by virtue, I—did was newsworthy. Even my school had been getting some attention, with reporters itching to get the inside scoop. It had been a great disappointment that I wasn’t A: a groupie or B: a gold digger, so I’m sure they were hoping that at the very least they could uncover something halfway decent. If they were looking for dirt—they’d be waiting awhile. I had nothing.

“Beth, can you see me in my office?”

It was rare for Mr. Ryan James to make an appearance at my classroom. Even rarer for him to request a meeting with me at his office, our principal a little old school in his approach, believing very much in the chain of command. If things were escalated up to him it could only mean bad things, which is why when he knocked on my door at four in the afternoon, I knew it spelled trouble.

“Sure, I’m just finishing the planning for tomorrow.” I looked up from my desk, hopefully not with the fear I was feeling radiating from my eyeballs. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Not good.

This was soooooo not good.

It would have been smart to wait until after our conversation before I started freaking out but of course, I wasn’t smart. Instead I was running through every possible scenario on what could warrant an audience with the big dog. Max and my newfound celebrity status, being the most obvious.

As I’d mentioned before, the school was no stranger to celebrity or what came with it. Photographers were often stalled by the huge black gates that lined the perimeter of the school and all faculty were well rehearsed with the typical “no comment,” should a reporter come knocking.

Not that any of the parents had complained. A couple even congratulated me, giving me a nod of approval. Our public appearances were documented with glossy photographic evidence to match so there had been no point denying it.

But with my personal evaluations having always been extremely positive, I had no idea what else it could be.

Well I guess I was going to find out.

I quickly packed away my laptop, smoothing my skirt as I stood. My hands ran nervously down my thighs as I walked to Mr. James’ office. It didn’t matter how old you were, going to the principal’s office still sucked.

Once I got to his door I faced another dilemma. Did I sit outside and wait to be called, or did I walk in with my shoulders back, trying to radiate confidence? It was something I debated for a good five minutes before knocking quietly on his door and poking my head into the doorway. It was a compromise and one I’d hoped would work in my favor.

“Mr. James, are you ready for me?”

“Ah, Beth. Come in.” He waved over his desk, the old mahogany artifact he worked on probably as old as the school itself. “Please take a seat.” He gestured to one of the leather chairs sitting opposite him, my ass lowering down slowly trying to avoid the inevitable creek.

Patricia, our vice principal, was also in attendance; her smiling face and bullet proof hair not giving me the comfort it usually did. They were showing a united front. Awesome.

She nodded as I situated myself in my chair, my smile back hopefully not conveying the what-the-fuck I had rolling around in my head. I wasn’t holding my breath, though; it had been hard enough for those words not to shoot out of my mouth while I waited.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here.” His fingers tented in front of him as he leaned back in his chair. “I must admit, I was a little surprised to be receiving the call.”

Great. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good. A pat on the back and a
well done
probably not the reason for today’s meeting. Patricia’s appearance also spelled trouble, and the fact she hadn’t said anything was also worrying.

“I’m sorry, Mr. James, but I’m not really sure what call you are referring to.” A call? Did someone tip him off on my overzealous use of Post-it Notes?

“I’m assuming you are familiar with Mike Warren?” He leaned forward in his chair gauging my reaction.

I blinked back with almost utter shock.

Micro penis?

Well, I guess if you were going by the name on his birth certificate then I was familiar with
Mike Warren,
but I preferred to use my own title. I felt it had been justly earned.

“Umm yes?” I wasn’t sure how to answer it exactly, I knew him but anything other than that was a stretch. “Mr. Warren was a member of a gym I used to attend. I wouldn’t say I know him very well, we’re not friends if that’s what you’re asking.” Technically, the last time I’d spoken to him had been when I power walked out of his apartment. The thanks-for-nothing muttered out of my breath while I vowed to never see him again.

“I see.” His eyes darted over to Patricia, an unspoken dialogue seeming to transpire between the two of them. “Well, this is a little uncomfortable for me to mention, which is why I wanted Patricia to sit in with us.” The mystery of her appearance solved. “But I wanted to speak to you privately before anyone else is involved.” He took a moment, clearing his throat. “Was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Warren violent?”

“I’m sorry, what?” There was really no other response, my brain needing a crash cart over the arrest that statement just induced. Where to even start? I’d say the first misnomer was the word
relationship
, as in, we didn’t have one, let alone one that was violent. I couldn’t help but look around to see if this wasn’t some elaborate joke and I was being punked.

Any minute now.

“Mr. Warren has alleged that you had a relationship of a sexual nature and—” another uncomfortable throat clearing, “you liked to get physical.”

Okay, now it was just bordering on funny. Surely this was too ridiculous to even be true.

“I’m sorry, Mr. James, but I’m not following.” I tried not to laugh because I didn’t want to seem disrespectful. “Assuming we did have a relationship, I’m not sure that has anything to do with my ability to do my job. Or why it’s anyone else’s business.”

If I could go back in time and kick my own ass for poor choices, he would be the number one on my list. While I still had no idea why my faux pas in the dating world was relevant right now, I would happily save myself the trouble and the lost orgasm.

“Beth, you are one of our best teachers.” He blew out a long exhale. “The kids love you, as do the parents and you are very well respected among the staff.” I waited for the
but
as he took a breath. “I know you have recently been linked to that rock star but I need to know if there is any truth to this rumor.”

“Max is my boyfriend.” I nodded, still wondering why any of this was relevant. “We’re dating.” A quick internet search would have confirmed that even if I hadn’t. “But I still don’t understand how who I am currently or have dated in the past has any bearing on my ability to perform my job?”

“Mike Warren has spoken to the press.” Again a pause, more unspoken eye ping-pong between him and Patricia. “I have a friend on the board at The Times, so naturally with the nature of the story he felt compelled to reach out to me. It’s a rather detailed article, Beth. It alleges that you and he had a rather aggressive sexual tryst in the past. From his account it wasn’t a good separation and that you were obsessive and had violent tendencies.”

“Are you serious?” I coughed out, unable to keep my mouth shut a minute longer.

“Naturally, matters such as this are taken
very
seriously.” Mr. James nodded. “It will be in tomorrow’s edition. Parents, staff members and of course our board—it will be out there for all to see. So, unfortunately, I have to ask. Did you have an abusive relationship with Mr. Warren?”

“This is insane.” I giggled, the complete hilarity of the situation unable to be contained as I laughed out loud. “Have you
seen
him? I’m like a third of his size; I couldn’t sexually assault him if I tried.” At least not without a ladder and some serious amounts of duct tape, even then I’d struggle.

“Beth, you haven’t answered the question,” Patricia interjected, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“No, it didn’t happen. Not like that.” I struggled to maintain calm, the professional exterior starting to crack the longer the interrogation went on. “Not that any of that matters though, apparently anyone can print what they like.”

“So, then you didn’t have a sexual relationship with him?”

And there it was. The micro penis knew there was no way I could deny the hook up. Because we had actually
had
sex. Consensual, boring, missionary position sex where I faked an orgasm and then left.

There was no doubt surveillance footage of the two of us at the gym, possibly some of me entering his apartment. So even if I wanted to lie, I couldn’t. Nope, the only thing I could do was give my account of what happened in that bedroom which wasn’t much. Which of course was at odds with his fictional version, not only sounding wildly embellished but highly incredible. Come on, me abuse him? Was he high?

“I think my personal life is under enough of a microscope, I’m not answering questions which are honestly offensive.”