Hard Rock Roots Box Set (83 page)

“I don't care what he said about me because here's what he said about you: I can't trust her. And that, that's all I need to fucking know.” Naomi flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and stomps away, breezing past me and up the steps. I scramble after, hating all the while that I am actually
scrambling.
She marches down the hallway, straight towards the back and knocks on the door on the right before trying the handle; it's locked. Naomi turns immediately and tries the other one, which just happens to be unlocked.

“Ronnie knows to choose the rooms on the end, less chance of hearing him fucking that way. He can get loud.” Naomi pauses and looks over her shoulder at me, blonde brows crinkled.

“Uh, thanks for the information,” she says and stands there for a moment, blocking the door like she's trying to decide if she's going to invite me in or not. I don't say anything, just stand there with my fingers fucking my pockets, hoping she'll decide to take pity on me. I don't tell her, but I'm just about cracked in half with worry for Trey. I'm good at pretending I'm alright when I'm not, but even I have my limits. If she rejects me right now, I have no clue how I'm going to get through the next two days.

Naomi pushes the door open and steps aside, holding her hand out to welcome me in. I move in after her and don't even wait for her to close it behind me, stripping my bloody shirt off and kicking off my shoes. The sooner I get clean, the better. The smell of rusted copper is giving me a horrible fucking stomachache, especially when my mind does its best to remind me that that disgusting smell is my friend's insides.

“You think that roadie will bring up our bags or what?” I ask her as she leans against the door to close it and flicks the lock into place. Her orange-brown eyes move up to mine, the same color as desert sand, and just as vast and mysterious as the Sahara. There's so much more to Naomi Knox that I have to unlock. So, so much.
Don't give up on me now, Trey,
I think, sending him healing thoughts.
I need you to be best man at my wedding. I need you to stand up and give a stupid toast, and then I need you to go out into the world and find a girl that makes you feel the way Naomi makes me. Somebody who frustrates you at the same time she thrills you, who fucks like a devil but sings like an angel. Please don't give up on me, buddy. I can't imagine living without you.
I shake my head and move towards the bathroom, passing by the double bed with its ugly lacy blanket and plain white pillows. Hey, it ain't the Ritz, but if Naomi's sleeping next to me, it'll be alright.

“
Spencer,
” she says, emphasizing the name for me. “Would jump off a bridge if you told her to, so yeah, I'm guessing she'll probably bring your bags up. Why?” I look at her with a gentle smile.

“Because when I take off these clothes, I'm burning them.”

Chapter 3
Naomi Knox

I sit on the edge of the bed, naked, and wait for Turner to get out of the shower, so I can go in there. I thought about joining him – and it was pretty obvious he wanted me to. But I just didn't feel like a hot, wet shower romp was the right thing right now. I can see how broken up he is about Trey. His brown eyes look like shattered glass, torn up and cutting, bleeding his pain all over his face.

I rub at my bare arm and sigh. I couldn't wear those clothes for even a second longer, so as soon as he went into the bathroom, I stripped them off and piled them up with his near the door. I can agree to burning them. Who wants to wear an outfit with that kind of memory attached to it?

A knock at the door snaps my attention up, and I stand slowly, cautiously. Hey, can you blame me? Haven't gotten dealt a lot of aces lately, if you catch my drift. I grab the robe off the back of the bathroom door and slip it on, tying the belt loosely around my waist. There aren't any peepholes here, so I lean against the teal painted wood and ask who's there.

“It's me.” A cough, a sniffle. “It's Dax.”

I unlock the door and slip it open a crack. Part of me wants to hide the fact that Turner's in here and the other half is wondering, why bother? Doesn't everybody know at this point there's something going on between the two of us? I'm afraid I might be the last one to really figure out what that is.
Love.
I said I loved him. Yeah, but … But I still hate him. And those two emotions cancel each other out, right?

I peep out at Dax who's rocking slightly back and forth on his feet, eyes cloudy, skin blotchy with old bruises. He should be in bed, sleeping, not standing here at my door like this. I frown and open the door further.

“What are you doing? You should be sleeping,” I say, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind me. I wonder what Turner will think when he gets out of the shower and finds me missing, but I can't just let Dax stumble around like prey for Hayden to hunt down.

“I just wanted to … thank you. For telling Hayden off. I just don't have the energy for it right now.” I raise my brow and give him a look. His dark hair is hanging limply, dirty and sweaty, and his makeup is all but gone. It's not often I get to see Dax without dark eyeliner smeared around his gray eyes.

“That's the only reason you hunted me down?” I ask, hooking my arm with his and starting him back down the hallway. The runner beneath our feet is worn and dirty, uncomfortable against my feet. Or maybe I'm just being overcritical because I'm so fucking tired. I'm no stranger to all-nighters, but hit men are a whole new thing for me. Dax sniffles again and closes his eyes for a moment, letting me guide him. The words on his eyelids,
Born Wrong,
smile back at me. I have no clue what they mean, and I've never thought to ask, but I promise myself that one day soon I will. But then, I guess you never know when you're going to get shot at from a nearby building, so … “The tattoos, on your eyelids, what do they mean?” I ask as we approach the door to the room next to mine. And Turner's. Mine and Turner's. Ours. We're officially sharing a room. I damn near shit my pants at that one. I swallow back the sudden burst of anxiety when Dax smiles at me. It's a sad smile, but at least it shows he's still all there. His sallow skin and shaking hands might say otherwise.

I knock on this door and then try the knob. It's unlocked.

“When I was born, I, uh.” He sniffles again and rubs at his swollen nose. The tornado really fucked him up. The doctors said it looked like he'd been hit by an SUV on the highway. He's actually pretty fucking lucky to be alive. “I killed my mom.” I check the room, but don't see anybody and decide to pull him inside, shutting the door behind us before Hayden can find him. I don't want her with Dax. I'd rather slit his throat first. She's poison of the worst kind, a slow disease that eats the heart and rapes the soul. I shiver and thank Jesus I have that picture in my pocket.
Oh crap. Better dig that out before you burn the clothes, genius.

“That's … fucked up, Dax. I'm sorry.” Dax doesn't say anything else, just moves slowly over to the bed, stumbling a bit over the area rug that covers up the dark hardwood floors. “If it makes you feel any better, my mom was a fifteen year old homeless girl who, when I finally got in touch with her, also at age fifteen, told me I was a rape baby that she'd rather see dead than on her doorstep.” I try to smile, but it's not a very funny story. And one that I've never told anybody about before. Not even once. The burst of honesty surprises me, and there I go again, thinking about Turner.
Secrets kill.
And maybe they do, even if you're not intentionally keeping them. I take a deep, freeing breath while Dax sits down slowly, grunting in pain. When he looks up, his smile's a little more real. He reaches up a hand to my face, and I let him. We've been friends for four years, and I've been a bitch pretty much the whole time. I'm sorry that he likes me, really sorry about that. It's not a fate I'd wish on anyone.
Turner Campbell, you poor bastard. You have no idea what's coming.
I swallow again and take a step back. Dax doesn't stop smiling.

“I'm … so sorry, Naomi. I didn't know that.” I shrug and look around the room. It's pretty much the same as …
ours.
Only difference is the coverlet is green plaid instead of white lace. That, and the door's a burnt orange color instead of teal. How exciting. I examine the cuts and scrapes on the back of Dax's hand.

“Yeah, well. It's alright. She didn't ask for me, and I shouldn't have gone looking for her. I was just so desperate to get out of my foster house at the time, I wasn't thinking straight.” I lick my lips, almost wishing I could wet Dax's for him. They're so dry, scabby and flaky. He got beat to shit with debris, flung around like a piñata. Poor Dax. “Anyway, she wasn't dead, so … ” I raise my hand up uselessly. “I really am sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

“I'm glad you did,” he says with a sigh, leaning back on the bed, shirt riding up to his expose his perfect abs and a sneak peek of the tats that are hiding there. Occasionally, Dax goes shirtless on the bus, so I've seen them, even though we've never fucked. I've had sex with Wren –
once
– but that's it. I try not to make it a habit to sleep with musicians, especially ones I know. Other than Turner and Trey, that's pretty much it. You can't trust a rock star, ask anyone that knows. Guitarists are always whores; drummers are too dedicated and too intense; bassists too inexperienced, and lead singers are trouble. Stereotypes maybe, but stereotypes are there for a reason, right? “And don't worry about my mom. I didn't know her, no apology needed. It's just, I was just born wrong. My dad never did forgive me for that.” Dax closes his eyes and sighs, resting one hand on his belly, the other on the bed. “Thanks for helping me in here. I know you're probably … busy.” His voice gets a snappy bite on that last word.
So he does know Turner's in there. Oh well.
I sigh.

“I'm never too busy to help a friend, Dax,” I say, and I do mean that. Especially after what I saw last night. Most especially after that. “But you never did tell me why you really came to find me.” I look down at him, at his chest, the slowing breaths that indicate to me that he's almost out.

“I came,” he whispers and then pauses, voice trailing off, getting far away and dreamy. “Because I don't ever want it to be too late to say I love you.”

“Dax,” I snap, tugging the robe tight across my chest, like he's said something inappropriate, told me I have hot tits or some shit. But he's already out like a fucking light and here I am, standing in his room panting like I've just run a marathon. I growl under my breath and snatch the throw off the end of the bed, grabbing his legs and pushing them up onto the mattress before covering him up with the blanket.
Love, love, love, love, love.
I'm so sick of hearing that word get tossed right and left like it doesn't mean shit when in reality it means
everything.

I've only ever loved three things in my life, and none of them worked out for me.

I hear the words in my head like I said them yesterday. Somehow, that memory right before I passed out is one of the sharpest ones I have. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. I guess I just never stopped loving Turner. I've been carrying this torch around with me for years, holding it in my heart, letting it melt the flesh all around. Now, I'm too screwed up and bent out of shape to be normal.

I leave Dax's room, making sure the lock on the doorknob is pressed in before I close it. I keep getting these horrible images in my head of Hayden sneaking into his room and riding him while he sleeps. I would not put rape past her. At this point, I think she's capable of anything.

“Ugh.” I choke on my own thoughts, grabbing the door to the teal bedroom and opening it. I'm so focused on Dax and Hayden that I don't see Turner's out of the shower until I get inside and close the door behind me. When I glance up, I startle, jumping a bit when I catch a full nude profile of him, wet and steaming, staring down at his wallet with a weird look on his face. When he sees me staring, he grins and grabs his junk in his hand.

“Couldn't stay away from this for long, eh, sexy?” I swallow hard, pretend my cunt isn't raging at me to jump his bones. I feel like I should be respectful of Trey. Even if Turner wants to pretend nothing's wrong, something terrible is and I don't know how exactly how to process that. I look over at the nightstand and see that he's emptied both of our sets of pockets there. My picture of Hayden – which is a copy, of course – is sitting next to the ugly cream colored corded phone. Definitely a piece of technology that predates me.

“I had to help Dax get settled in a room,” I tell him, trying out that whole all honesty, all the time bullshit. The last thing I need is a rotten secret festering inside of me, right next to my melted, twisted heart. “He was stumbling around waiting for Hayden to rape him.” I shrug, keeping my eyes off Turner's rapidly rising cock. “Couldn't exactly leave him to that kind of fate, now could I?”

“Naomi,” Turner says and his voice is low and harsh. I look up at his face and watch as he tosses the wallet back onto the nightstand. He's naked and pretty, muscles taut, tattoos bright and beautiful, shimmering like wet paint. His dark hair is hanging into his face, a black curtain eclipsing some of the pain in his eyes. He's breaking down, losing some of that practiced control and perfection.

I have never seen anything so fucking beautiful.

My breath continues to come in rapid fire bursts, like gunfire, burning my throat and making my lungs tight. I almost want to turn around and run, barricade myself in another room and sleep away the entire day and night. How can I do this? How can I be his rock when I never had one of my own?
Because, Naomi, you're strong. And … because no matter what you do, you'll always love this little fuckheaded bastard prick.

Turner doesn't say anything, just tries to smile again, but I've already heard that little fracture in his voice. He's not okay, not happy, not prepared for this. I don't think any of us were prepared for what this tour would bring. Love, death, fame, betrayal. Too many big life events crammed into one short time period.