Hard Rock Roots Box Set (23 page)

Eric's eyes snap up to mine, a bright, piercing blue that cuts straight through me, reminding me of Katie and how she looked at me right before I left.

“And let me guess, that wasn't your car.”

“It must've been Katie,” Eric whispers, and I describe to him as best I can what the damn thing looked like. I realize as I start to do this that I need to be paying more attention. I can hardly remember anything other than the color. “Did you see where it went?” he asks me. “What direction?” I shake my head and Eric groans, letting his shoulders droop for a second before he perks up again. “If we checked the parking lot, do you think you could find it?” I shrug my shoulders, but I think I could, so I follow up with a nod.

“Yeah, sure, maybe.”

“If I find her, maybe I can get her to confess to sending the scissors in and … ” Eric trails off, and I can see wheels turning inside his head.

“You're going to pin this on her?” I ask, feeling annoyed as fuck with this man. I can't believe I ever had a crush on him, gave him my first kiss, let him hold my hand. I'm a terrible judge of men. Or I was. Now, I know better. Just like I know to stay clear of Turner Campbell. I need to start taking my own advice.

“What else do you want me to do, Naomi? It's either her or me, and we both know damn well that she's guilty.”

I scrape the inside of my cheek with my teeth, using the sharpness of the pain to keep myself in check.

“I thought you wanted to protect her,” I say nonchalantly, hoping he'll change his mind about this. I mean, pinning the murder on him is one thing. Pinning it on Katie, as crazy as she turned out to be, sort of defeats the whole purpose of my saving her in the first place. That girl's been locked up enough in her life. Yes, I'd prefer it if she'd stop sending videos of me murdering people to my acquaintances' phones, but I also don't want to see her in jail. I want her to live a nice, long, healthy, happy life far, far away from me.

“You don't know how bad it's gotten,” he tells me, shaking his head like he can't come to terms with what's going on around him. “I had to have her committed.”

“So you've said,” I tell him as I fish out another cigarette. Eric takes a sip from his flask and stands up, letting his eyes slide over to the flow of traffic on the highway. I wonder, and not for the first time, where he might've gotten that suit from. What business ventures does he have going on now? I almost don't want to know. I follow his gaze over to the cars and then back, glancing surreptitiously over at Indecency's bus, just to see if I can catch a glimpse of Turner. My lips purse and I end up getting angry with myself. “But you never bothered to give me any details. Like, what, she changed her hair to match mine? Her name? No, no, no, wait. She has a shrine dedicated to me in her bedroom with a dream catcher made of my hair. Is that it?”

Eric stands up without a word, letting the skin around the edges of his mouth wrinkle in disgust. When the moonlight hits his eyes just right, they reflect back at me.

“I didn't come here to be ridiculed, Naomi. I came here to ask for your help.” He starts to walk away and then pauses to glance over his shoulder at me. “Oh, and if you see Katie, be careful. She might seem innocent, but looks are deceiving. You'd be surprised at what she's capable of.”

About fifteen minutes before our set, America notices that Hayden isn't around anymore. She was earlier which surprised me since I hadn't seen her all night. She popped in backstage and started bitching about something so inconsequential that I can't even remember what it was about. A few minutes later, right before Terre Haute took the stage, she said she was going outside to have a smoke and never came back in.

When America realizes this, she does what she does best and gets on her phone, making calls and texting Hayden. When that doesn't work, she sends me outside to look for her which, of course, is fruitless because Miss Lee is long gone by then.

I linger outside, just so she'll think I tried. If she doesn't believe I looked hard enough, she'll make me go back out again.

“Hey there, beautiful.” I roll my eyes and turn to face a pair of twinkling brown eyes and an arrogant smirk.

“What do you want?” I ask Turner, doing my best to keep last night out of my mind and away from conscious thought. If I think about it, he'll know.

“To see how you were doing is all. That a crime?” I stare at him, taking in the tight black T-shirt he has plastered against his firm body, the ridiculous pants, the thick, leather boots. If he wasn't so attractive, this whole situation would be a lot easier to deal with.

“No, but breaking into someone's bus and fucking them while they're in a drunken stupor is.” Turner laughs, harsh and loud, and puts the brown beer bottle he's got clutched in his hand up to his lips.

“Oh come on,” he says and then takes a sip. “You think I'm that fucking stupid? That I was born yesterday? I asked your friend, the one with the blonde hair and the blue fingernails to let me in. I figured since he's always sneaking onto my bus at night to screw my driver, that he might be willing to return the favor.”

“So, let me get this straight. You, what, blackmailed Kash into letting you on the bus and then decided it was cool to fuck me while I was high?” Turner just stares at me and the arrogant expression on his face slips a bit, like he isn't quite sure what's going on. What did he expect? For me to throw myself into his arms and tell him what a stud he is? I mean, I'm not saying I didn't enjoy what happened between us last night, but let's be honest, it was a little weird. I keep that thought to myself and just stare him straight in the face.

“Seemed to me like you were enjoying yourself,” he says, finishing his drink and tossing the bottle into the dumpster nearby. His full lips are starting to purse and he looks a little let down. Bad sign. I think about hitting him again just so he'll get pissed off, start swinging, go back to that volatile asshole he was a few days ago. Instead, he just clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides.

“Yeah, well, there are some meth addicts out back, behind the fence near the highway. They're enjoying themselves, too. Doesn't mean it's good for them.” The smallest hint of a smirk rides back up and onto Turner's face, causing his lip ring to catch the moonlight and reflect it into my face. I squint.

“So you're comparing me to meth, huh? Didn't know I was so addictive.”

“Fuck you, Turner,” I say, spinning around to grab the handle of the door. Before my fingers can wrap around the metal, he's touching me, sliding up close and grabbing me around the waist, pressing the heat of my body against his. My heart starts to pump and my hands begin to sweat. This is precisely the
last
thing I need before I hit the stage. When his lips brush my ear, my elbow goes back automatically and cracks him in the ribs.

A grunt escapes Turner's lips as he stumbles away and then looks up at me like I've lost my friggin' mind.

“What's your fucking problem?” he growls, letting his face wrinkle with anger. Finally. An emotion that I recognize. “You're hot then you're cold, like a fucking tap. What's the matter with you?”

“You,” I tell him, pulling open the door a crack, so I can hear where Terre Haute is in their set. “And you have been for a long, long time. Why can't you just learn to leave things well enough alone? We did our thing and now we're done. Stay away from me.” I start inside and Turner follows, trailing behind me and reaching out to grab my wrist. I spin around and snatch it away from him. “Go away, Turner. I'm warning you.” I know that Dax is probably watching us, America, too. I need to get rid of Turner now, so I can prepare myself to go onstage. This is going to be hard enough as it is.

“No,” Turner says, stubborn as shit, staring at me like he's trying to pick me apart with his eyes. It'll never work. He couldn't figure me out if he tried. He doesn't know me, and he isn't going to. So what if he knows my secrets now? Who cares? He still did what he did to me, still is what he is, will never change. I can't even entertain the thought. The next words out of his mouth blow me away, break me up into little pieces, chew me up and spit me out. Holy fucking shit. “Let me give it to you straight, Naomi. I don't keep secrets. I hate them. They sit inside of you and they eat away at your fucking soul, so I'm just going to come right out with it.” Turner pauses and takes a deep breath, face shadowed in the dimness, cheekbones highlighted by a stray sliver of light that's leaking from the stage. Vaguely, I hear America in the background asking about Hayden, but I don't care. Right now, all of my attention is focused on Turner Campbell and his narcissistic delusions. “I'm in love with you.”

Time stops, and I swear to God, I feel like my breath is being sucked out of me and swirled around the room, collecting energy from the space around me, so that when it all rushes back in, my chest is so tight that it feels like it's going to burst. I know that people are staring at us now, most of them just as shocked as I am, especially the girls. They've all probably fucked Turner, seen what an asshole he is, so they must know how weird this is for me. But they have no idea how much it hurts.

I reach up my hand to hit him, but he grabs my wrist and holds me back, keeping me at arm's length, so he can study my face and try to pick me apart. I hear applause from out front, and I know that it's almost time for me to go on and take Hayden's place, albeit temporarily, time for me to stand in the light when all I want to do is blend into the dark right now, hide my face and let these feelings wash over and through me.

“You selfish son of a bitch,” I growl at him, yanking my wrist back with such force that I stumble. Behind me, Terre Haute exits the stage and equipment starts being shuffled around like pieces on a chess board. “I can't believe you even have the audacity to say that to my face.” Turner looks confused as shit, like he doesn't understand why I'm not leaping into his arms and giving him my everything. Wow. I thought he was experienced, but really, he's naive. He may have fucked a lot of girls, done a lot of drugs, had a hard life, but he knows nothing about love. Nothing at all. “You wouldn't know what love was if it bit you in the face, Turner.” He narrows his eyes at me, frustrated that this isn't going the way he wanted. Well, fuck him. This is just the way it's going to be, the way it has to be. “Get this stupid idea out of your head and move the fuck on.” I start to turn away, but he grabs onto my elbow and pulls me back, spinning me around so quick it makes my head spin. He lets go of me right away, but that doesn't stop Dax and Wren from grabbing him and pulling him back, holding him still while he tries to meet my eyes and explain something that he doesn't understand.

“I know that you're interesting to me, and you don't take my shit. I know that I remember you even though I shouldn't.” Turner jerks his arms out of Dax's and Wren's grip, flicking himself in the side of the head for emphasis.

And fuck. There it is. There it fucking is, all of that passion and heat and intensity, focused right on me. I feel like Turner's just put a magnifying glass up to the sun and focused its rays down on my head. I feel dizzy and sick, and my ears are throbbing and America is screaming about Hayden. I start to shake violently.

“It's starting to come back to me, you know? Like, all the lurid fucking details.” He stares at me hard, just locks onto me and won't let go. “You gave me a blow job in an elevator, huh?” I close my eyes and count to ten. I'm not embarrassed. Why should I be? I just can't stand to listen to him recount that night right now, not before I go onstage and have all those eyes on me, focusing, judging. “Images have been flashing through my fucking brain of a night
six years ago
where I was so high, I don't even remember getting a tattoo.” Turner points at me and growls, shaking his head like he can't even believe he has to say all this, like I should just be grateful he 'loves' me. Fuck him. “But I remember you. I didn't realize it at first, but I did.” I do my best not to think about that night on the bus when he called me Naomi, and turn away like I don't care at all.

“I've gotta get ready to play,” I tell him, but he isn't here to listen to fucking excuses. He keeps talking, but he doesn't move. He knows that if he does, the boys will be on him and he won't get even a step further.

“There are girls I fucked a week ago that I don't remember. I don't remember their names or what they looked like or what we did, only that there was a woman in my bed. And I'm sorry I didn't remember right away, and I'm sorry that I fucking left, but I'm here now. Fuck the past. The present's all that matters anyway, right?”

I spin back around so fast that my hair gets caught across my face and sticks to my lips. I take a few steps towards Turner, getting so close to his face that when I talk, my mouth brushes his.

“Your past is your foundation, and if it's crumbling, then you've got nothing left to build on.” I breathe out and Turner breathes in, exact opposites. “To start over, you have to create something new, somewhere strong and stable and sturdy or the whole thing will come crumbling down. And Turner, I can't pick up a piece of that old, rotted, fucking wood and make a new house with it, now can I? You had your chance with me. You're done. We're done. Leave me alone.”