Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (51 page)

And so she threw him a bone. “I just need to think, okay? And Rascal needs to go out.”

Rascal picked his head up and stretched. She swung her feet to the floor and padded to the bathroom. A hellish version of herself stared from the mirror.

Finally, he spoke. “Okay, darlin’.”

And the call ended.

T
he student center was a main artery of the campus, pulsating with laughter and chatter. These days, she dreaded happy faces and avoided crowds. However, this afternoon, she was lured by a double express latte. Mike swung open the door, and with a smile of thanks, she preceded him.

Did one ever get used to being shadowed by Rambo? At least she wasn’t the only one with her bodyguard squeezed into a chair half his size in the classrooms. In one of her classes, a young woman Scar had heard was a sitcom star breezed in each morning with her own burly escort. Ignoring him, the starlet always left him to take a back seat while she held court near the front of the class. Scarlette tried to follow her example but it proved impossible.

Most days, like today, he was a visible inclusion in whatever she was doing. Swinging around with a coffee in each hand, she made her way around tables and back to him. He accepted the steaming cup from her hand with a grateful smile.

“I’ll just be a few minutes. I need to cram a bit before this next test.” Stifling a yawn, she scanned the area for an available place to study.

The fall schedule was already grueling. She hadn’t been able to scrounge together everything needed to be considered for admission to Bastyr in time. Instead, she’d begun an accredited school of allopathic studies here in L.A. and shuttled between it, USC, and clinicals. The previous night, she’d been up until the wee hours of the morning studying for mid-semester exams.

“Scarlette?”

She looked up from powering up her tablet to find Logan bearing down on her, wearing a huge smile of greeting. Great. Now she had to pull a smile from her miserable soul. “Hey.”

“How’s it going? Surviving midterms?”

“Barely.” She skimmed her gaze down his attractive features and tried to disassociate him from Gage’s assistant and reallocate him as a friend who had helped her. A friend on Gage’s payroll.
Sigh
.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all. I’ve got to brush up on these chemical compounds though.”

“I’ve got statistics to cram before next class.” He waved his own tablet as he lowered into the adjacent chair.

Silently, they studied until the stir of people around them indicated time was ticking down to the next hour. Slipping the tablet into her bag, she stood. “It was good seeing you. Good luck on your statistics.”

“And likewise with your…”

“Organic chemistry.”

“Right. Listen, I was going to call you in a couple of days, but since you’re here… Gage texted me to make his flight arrangements. Should I make yours too? I wasn’t sure if you were flying down and then back with him, or staying here.”

The room seemed to fade for a moment as the implication of his words settled like a lead weight. She knew his release was coming up. Since the day Gage had closed her into a cab bound for her flight out of Utah, a mental clock had ticked in her head. The maximum estimated time of treatment versus the least. And the present time was now somewhere in the middle. They had only spoken a few times in a month. But regardless, she’d expected a phone call or at the least, a text when he had a specific release date.

“I’m staying here.” She informed him and almost dropped back to the seat. But with a worried look at the clock, she shouldered her bag. “I need to talk to you. I’ll text later?”

He agreed while gathering his own belongings. Trailed by Mike, she sprinted to class. Despite the distraction of what she’d learned about Gage, she knew the material well enough to ace the test.

The rest of the day was hers to immerse in self-pity and anger. Mike held the door as she folded into the passenger seat of the Escalade.

“I need to pick up a few things.”

They stopped at the Canyon Store, an eclectic shopping experience just a few minutes from Runyon canyon. After pursuing the snacks and frozen treats, she paid for her selections and allowed Mike to relieve her arms of some of the bags.

The radio was the only sound until they neared the dragon gates. When the volume lowered to almost nothing, she glanced over and saw a frown line above his shades. He braked, letting the vehicle poke slower than normal, and spoke.

“The white Accord parked there on the other side of the street. You know it?”

A film of reddish sand dusted the nondescript vehicle. She shook her head and chalked his inquiry up to the extreme caution that was part of his job description. It was common further down the road to see cars parked since there was a popular hiking trail entrance to the canyon. But he was right. This area was normally empty.

The dragons parted, admitting them, and he parked inside the garage. “Do you have a minute? I have a couple of pictures if you wouldn’t mind taking a look.”

Pictures?
“Sure.”

Rascal appeared with his normal enthusiastic greeting, and she knelt, scratching his head. Mike deposited her groceries on the butcher-block bar and then retraced his steps out of the kitchen. By the time he was back, spreading the pictures on the bar, she’d put away the freezer items and had poured herself a soda.

“I’m sorry about this. I know you’ve had a full day. But it won’t take a minute.” When she shrugged her assent, he pointed. “This person. Any idea who he is?”

The print was blurred a bit, as if it had been enlarged on the face of the forty-something-year-old man who was the focus. His hair was neither dark or light, long or short. The tattoo, a flame on one side of his neck was the only thing keeping him from being an average nondescript face.

Slowly, she shook her head and picked up another and then another of the same person. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted when she noticed the mailbox of Gage’s neighbor in the background—and the dusty white car. A date graced the corner of each photo, all within the period of the last couple of months.

“I don’t know him. He’s paparazzi?” She noticed the large bag swinging from his shoulder.

“Seems to be. But I had him checked out and he’s not a regular.”

“Are you asking because he’s been seen a lot? Around here?”

“Around you. One of those shots is on campus.” With a forefinger, he tapped one of the photos. “So Gage said to ask you. In case you knew him from school or somewhere.”

She hugged her arms to her chest. He’d talked to Gage. Gage had said to ask her. Gage hadn’t asked her himself. The hurt and anger balling inside her gathered more ugliness. He’d told Logan the date he was coming home. But not her.

“I don’t know him. Sorry.” Hating the snippy, clipped way in which she’d delivered the reply, she turned away, busying herself with a refill of Sprite. Pulling in a deep breath, she offered over her shoulder. “I was going to order a pizza. You want anything?”

He did and after they’d placed the order, he gathered the pictures and disappeared into the garage apartment.

Probably to call Gage.

Using fatigue as an excuse, she begged off in reply to a text from Seth concerning tonight’s guitar lesson. Then she called Logan.

“S
he wants to do what?” Gage exploded into the phone, drawing eyes from the others around the pool area. Leaping from the deck chair, he strode out of the fenced in area and talked as he walked. “Tell me what she said exactly.”

“She didn’t say much.” Logan spoke carefully, likely afraid of inciting further ire. “She said she wanted to be closer to campus and asked if I had any apartment recommendations. Naturally, because of her situation, I suggested a few of the higher security compounds. And then she asked if I wouldn’t mind emailing her the links. That she wanted to be moved in before the end of the month.”

The end of the month being his return to L.A. That part went unsaid, but it rang loud in the dialogue pause.

“So just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll get right on it.”

Smart man. Logan knew where his paycheck came from. Gage, slowed, and finding the courtyard empty, turned into it. “Fuck. Just fuck.” He squeezed his eyes closed and reopened them, wishing he would find he was dreaming the last four months. Wishing he would open his eyes in Cabo or Lake Arrowhead or his own bed with Scar beside him. “Send her the links. Send ’em to me too. I’ll send them to Mike and have him advise.”

“Will do. I emailed your flight itinerary yesterday.”

“I got it. Thanks.”

“No problem. So, I’ll get this other taken care of then.” Logan seemed to hesitate.

“Was there anything else?”
Please, no more bad news
.

“That’s it. I just… Well, you and Scarlette… I wish the best for you.”

“Thanks.” What he himself wished was the best for Scar.

They ended the call and Gage considered his and Scarlette’s relationship as it appeared to outsiders. Like Logan. They had kept things between them on the down-low. His priority at the time had been saving her from the ensuing circus if the tabloids decided to exploit their past step-sibling relationship. At least until she knew what she wanted. He hadn’t been positive she would be along for the full-on musician-with-plenty-of-baggage experience once her life changed. So why put her through the embarrassment if they ended up apart. Then the sex clip had outed them. Headlines had been as vicious as he’d feared and late night shows had their fun with roasts. For the most part, she’d laughed her way through it all. But she’d left him in the end—she hadn’t said as much yet, but he knew.

Her ‘thinking time,’ as she had called it after their fight, had gone on for days before he’d finally texted her. And although she’d texted back, and they’d spoken on the phone and texted in the weeks afterward, he’d felt the chilly aura even miles away. She was waiting to break it off in person. He wasn’t stupid. He knew.

And he didn’t blame her one bit.

He’d done nothing except screw up his life and bring bad publicity onto himself, his band, and anyone unlucky enough to be associated with him.

S
he was building a sandwich when the call came. Without taking the time to wipe her hands, she snatched up her phone, drinking in Gage’s picture and number flashing onscreen. Her throat constricted, and she fought a bout of hyperventilation while she mentally prepped herself for the conversation.

The rings stopped. For a moment, she gazed around her cozy kitchen in relief.

Moving into her new place had happened quickly. Mike had suggested a duplex he knew of, and at first look, she had fallen in love with the upstairs one-bedroom apartment in the old Victorian house. She suspected the drill-sergeant-looking downstairs tenant who always seemed to be home was on Gage or his father’s payroll.

Even though Rascal had an auto feeding station, rather than leave him alone with only housekeeping coming and going—and Mike if he continued staying in the garage apartment—she had delayed fully moving out until Gage’s last day in rehab.