Mistletoe & Kisses (33 page)

He smiled and nodded and, even though his hand was still wrapped around my neck, I felt his fingers loosen their grip.  That helped me to focus on the possibility that all was not yet lost.  I tried to formulate a plan, but I didn’t know how I could get away from him without incurring serious injury.

Just as my mind started grappling with how to get his hand off my neck while pulling away from him, the door to the bathroom opened.  It was then that I realized Kenny hadn’t even thought to secure the door or drag me into a stall.  That was how obsessed and overcome he’d been—his only thought had been trapping me so he could grill me.  He hadn’t gone much further in formulating a plan.

And
that
was his downfall, not anything I could have done.

The person entering the bathroom was none other than my husband.  Kenny was like a doe in headlights.  It was as though his plan collapsed around him and he hadn’t formulated a backup, so that was it.  He was done.  Brad wasn’t a fighter but it didn’t matter.  I’d never seen him look before like he did right at that moment.  Suddenly, he looked taller, more muscular, and fierce.

He was scary.

“Let her go right now, motherfucker, or you’re gonna wish you’d never met me.”

Unfortunately, just because Brad looked scary to
me
didn’t mean Kenny was just going to give up.  No, instead, he and Brad wrestled a little until the door opened again.  At that point, Kenny lifted a leg and kneed Brad so my husband stumbled back.  Then Kenny pulled the guy in the doorway all the way into the room, giving Kenny an opportunity to run out.  Brad winced and then stood.  “You okay?”  I nodded.  “Call the cops,” he said and ran out the door.

I wanted to beg him not to go but he was already gone.

Chapter Eleven

I REALIZED MY purse was still hanging off my shoulder, and I began fumbling in it, trying to find my phone.  The man who’d just walked in and got shoved aside said, “I guess I should help catch that guy.”  I didn’t say anything, because I was thinking I should as well, but I knew Brad would be pissed if I tried to do anything.  “I’m pretty sure that guy had a knife.”  The guy left the bathroom, and then I knew I would have to do what I could.

I was right on his heels.  The restaurant was big and crowded, but I was still able to spot Brad grabbing Kenny from behind just as the former roadie reached the front doors.  Kenny was more doughy than he was muscular (even though I had noticed he’d been trying to slim up of late), and so Brad was able to slow him down when he clutched his shirt.  While they struggled, the good Samaritan was able to catch up and try to help.

I’d frozen for a moment taking in the scene but I managed to begin moving again.  As I got closer, though, a crowd started to form and I didn’t think they knew exactly what was happening.  Fortunately, I managed to find the hostess, because she was at the edge of the crowd, and I told her that I’d had a stalker and that guy had just tried to hurt me and was now trying to harm my husband before escaping.  She nodded and ran off, I hoped so she could call the authorities.

The crowd was so loud and thick that I couldn’t get through, but I did hear murmurs about blood.  I knew a few people were trying to help, but most of these people were snoopy onlookers, and it reminded me of one time when I was a freshman in high school.  There were two boys behind the school building squaring off and sizing each other up.  A crowd began to amass and encouraged their machismo until they began swinging at one another.  It was then that I realized how much I hated mob mentality (even though, at the time, I didn’t know that was what it was called) and how they fed off of high emotion and spectacle.  I felt like I was witnessing it again.

That was my husband in there, for Christ’s sake, and I needed to know if he was all right.

A big guy was shoving his way through the crowd, and I saw him finally flash a badge.  He must have been an off duty cop, but he planned on doing his job just the same.  The crowd loosened their tight circle and let him through, but I still couldn’t see a thing, and I was getting worried.

The stranger from the bathroom who’d decided last second to help was trying to restrain Kenny near the door with Brad’s help, and both were failing miserably.  The cop managed to get them all up, but he acted like he was going to cuff the helpful stranger.  Two people kept getting in my way and I tried to shove my way through.  By the time I managed to get closer, I saw the cop holding Kenny, but then I saw Brad, and there was blood on his white shirt.

Lots.

That was it.  I forced my way through the rest of the people then so I could talk to my husband and check on him.  The cop was on high alert, though, and acted like he was going to restrain me…until Brad put out his arms in a welcoming gesture.

It was loud and crazy…and I could tell my husband had lost enough blood that he was feeling lightheaded.  I wasn’t even going to ask.  I helped him over to a chair while we waited for the chaos to die down, and Brad was out by the time the ambulance got there.  I tried to be strong, but I was scared.  Really scared.  He’d lost a lot of blood.

The cop told me not to worry, but what the hell did he know?  He wasn’t a doctor, and what made me even more scared was that the ambulance guys refused to speculate.  They let me ride along, though, and I called his mom while we rode to the hospital.  She was a nurse…but more than that, she was his mom, and she needed to know.  I prayed under my breath as we sped away from the restaurant, and I just hoped they were fast enough.

* * *

The next morning, a groggy Brad made me feel more relieved than I’d ever been in my life.  He sat up a little and talked a bit, even though the pain medication made him sleepy.  He insisted upon having Chris and Hayley on the side of the bed.

The doctor confirmed that Brad had taken a knife to his side, low, above his hip.  It hadn’t hit any organs, but it had been deep and longish, and he’d lost a lot of blood.  The doctor assured me he’d be fine.

Brad, though…he asked the next day if he’d be good enough to tour in February.  The doctor told him he should be, but he had to take it easy for a bit.  No strenuous activity for a while until he healed up.

Thank heavens for Brad.  After the hostess had seated him at the table, he’d looked over toward the restroom hallway, waiting for me to get back.  He’d glanced at the menu but had wanted to see what I was going to get before ordering, and when he’d been looking to the area where he’d expected me to emerge, he happened to spy Kenny.  He hadn’t been sure at first, but then he put two and two together.  He’d known Kenny had an unhealthy fondness for me, and after the past two months—and the past week in particular—he didn’t think twice before making his way to the back of the restaurant.

I vowed to never tell everyone else what I’d been thinking…that my stalker was Gracie.  It was bad enough that Brad knew.  How stupid had that been?  And it had blinded me to the fact that it was actually someone else, someone who was very dangerous.  Why hadn’t I ever even considered Kenny?  A police officer stopped by later in the day to take statements from us both and told us we’d have to be involved in the trial at some point.  That was fine.  I just wondered how long Kenny would be locked up when all was said and done.

I couldn’t worry about it, though.  I left Barb, the kids, and Gracie behind in the room and walked into the hall.  I dialed the number for my ex-husband and felt knots in my stomach as I waited for him or Jenna to pick up the phone.  I spied Chuck out of the corner of my eye.  I had just assumed he’d left after Kenny had been arrested, but he was standing guard of us outside in the hall.  Again, I appreciated it, considering the love of my life was in a weakened state.  I smiled at him, waved, and then focused again on the ringing in my ear.

When my ex-husband answered, I said, “Hey, Ethan.  I know you’re expecting Chris on the twenty-third, but I wondered if we could bring him on Christmas Eve instead?”

“Come on, Val.  I thought we were past this.”

“That’s not it, Ethan.  Brad’s in the hospital.”

I could hear his skepticism leave his voice when he said, “Which one?  I’ll be right there.  What the fuck happened?”  I told Ethan he couldn’t just hop in the car and come right over, and that was why I was asking for an extra day.  I explained the events of the last few days, offering to let Ethan keep Chris an extra day or so, and, when I finished, he said, “He’s okay, though, right?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.  The doctor said he can even go on tour as planned.”

There was a pause as it washed over him.  “Tell him I’m glad he’s all right and I guess I’ll see you guys in a couple days.  Tell Chris I can’t wait to see him, too.”

“Thanks, Ethan.  I will.”  That hadn’t been as hard as I’d expected.  Ethan and I had had a hard time communicating since I’d left him, and most of that had been my fault.  I’d been so angry with him—bitter to the core—and I hadn’t been able to let it go.  Since having Hayley, though, some switch had flipped inside me, and I’d been able to find forgiveness.

So I walked back in Brad’s hospital room, feeling happy and at peace.  Ethan’s response also made me feel better, knowing that he once again considered Brad his brother and wanted him to be okay.  More than that, though, crazy Kenny made me remember that life is precious.  I took too much for granted nowadays, and having a wakeup call like that was exactly what I’d needed.  I walked back in the room, grateful and happy to have all these people in my life.

Barb stood back talking with Gracie while Hayley sat on Brad’s chest—away from the wound—and patted his cheek.  Chris sat next to him on the bed, chattering away.  I approached both women and, when they looked at me, I said to Gracie, “Thank you for taking such wonderful care of my babies.”  I turned to Barb.  “And you.  Thank you so much for giving birth to one of the best men on the planet.”  She smiled and pulled me in an embrace.

“Thank you for making him happy.”  She kissed me on the cheek and I smiled back.

Then I turned around and walked over to my husband and kids.  I patted Chris on the head and he leaned over, resting his head on my hip.  Hayley looked up at me and grinned, but she wasn’t budging.  She had the most important man in her life as a captive audience, and I think she was thrilled with the notion.  I grabbed Brad’s hand.  “How you feeling?”

“Tired.  Beat up.”

“You want us to leave so you can rest?”

“Hell, no.  I can rest when I’m dead.”

I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.  “I love you, Brad Payne.  Thanks…for saving me, for loving me, for…everything.”

“Ditto, babe.”  He smiled at me and then leaned Hayley forward and down so he could kiss her on the nose.  She giggled and then I laughed.  This Christmas might have had its rough spots, but being surrounded by the three people I loved the most made it one of the best holidays ever.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jade C. Jamison was born and raised in Colorado and has decided she likes it enough to stay forever. Jade's day job is teaching Creative Writing, but teaching doesn't stop her from doing a little writing herself.

Unfortunately, there's no one genre that quite fits her writing. Her work has been labeled romance, erotica, suspense, and women's fiction, and the latter is probably the safest and closest description. But you'll see that her writing doesn't quite fit any of those genres.

And Jade is a-okay with that!

Stalk me!  I don’t bite (well, not too hard anyway)!

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Finding Sadie

A Prequel

Brandace Morrow

Editing by Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies

http://www.editing4indies.com

Chapter One

TUESDAY             

“If you touch my boob again, I’m gonna kick you in the nuts so hard you’ll have to start a new band.  As a soprano.  You get me?” I warn my drummer, Maury, who is currently playing Santa for this photo shoot.  I’m on his knee in a ridiculous costume that’s itching like a freaking hair coat.

“Chin up.  Head tilted.  Other side.  Eyes wider.  Squint a little bit.  More glare.  Shoulders back.  Arch your back a little bit more.  Open your mouth.  No, close it.  Now give me some teeth.”

At this point I look like a freaking chicken on speed.  “Alright.  I’m out,” I say, dropping the pose, and walk off the set in a pair of platform elf shoes, toe curl and all.

“Wait, wait!  We didn’t get the shot!”

“Who fucking ordered this stupid set-up anyway?  I thought we were doing Rolling Stones.”  My reputation precedes me.  These people are looking at me like I’m unpredictable. But when you’ve been in an all-male band since you were fifteen years old, you learn to throw a punch like a dude real quick.

My publicist, Tammy, sets about trying to keep up with me and soothes my feathers as I stalk to my trailer.  Very few people can walk in platform heels as well as I can.  Yup, it’s just Lady Gaga, me, and strippers across the world.

“Popper, this is for Moorehead Cosmetics and Costumes.  I don’t know where you got Rolling Stones,” she titters, her eyes scanning the vicinity.  The whole crew, about twenty five people, has stopped working to watch my tantrum. 
Sorry folks
, I think as I pull the latch on the RV door and stomp up the rickety folding steps.  As soon as I’m inside the claustrophobic space, I start stripping.  The lime green polyester outfit gets thrown into Tammy’s face.  Then I advance on her.

“You told me this was a big shoot.  You told me this would be everywhere.  You said Rolling Stones,” I seethe an inch from her face.  From here I can smell her high class perfume, see the nose job my money paid for.  I also see the fear.  She knows I don’t give a shit and would crush her perfect nose without much provocation at all.

“I said Moorehead.  You must have misunderstood.”  Misunderstood is her little code for drunk or high.

“You’re a fucking liar, Tammy.  Get out,” I growl before moving around her to sit on the rock hard couch and take off my white six inches heels, leaving me in a pair of frilly bloomers and striped knee highs.

“We have to finish this shoot, Pops.  We have a contract,” she says in her
I’m serious
voice.  Too bad I’m not a little girl or that might have worked.  Yeah, probably not.

“We are
Chimera
.  We
are
grunge metal.  We are
not
some KISS cover band who needs to put their faces on Halloween costumes.  Now get the fuck out before I kick you out.”  I manage to not raise my voice until that last sentence. 
Good job, Popper.

Tammy shakes her head, her eyes tired.  Yeah, well, I’m fucking tired too.  I’m twenty-one going on goddamned sixty.  Finally she leaves and I pick my clothes up from the floor—fishnets, black leather shorts, a lacy bra, and a tank top with arm holes too big to cover anything.  I zip up my high heel ankle boots, slip on my shades, and grab my keys.  Passing the mirror, I have to back up for a second. 
Holy shit.
  I rip the lime green mini Santa hat off of my head, pulling several strands of my bleach blond hair out by the roots.

The door slams open and I force myself to look bored and nonchalant as I turn around.  My manager, Brian.

“What the fuck, Popper?” he says between clenched teeth.

“I’m out.  We aren’t putting our name on something this hokey.  It’s bullshit.”  I try to maneuver around him, but he grabs my arm tightly.  God, he’s such a cliché.  Gold chains, bald head and all. 

“Do you need some oxy or something?  I’ve got some stuff if you need it to get through.”

“Nah.  You’ve got two seconds to move your sausage fingers off of me before I beat your fat ass.”  I look down at him. My heels make me taller by almost a head, though he has at least a hundred pounds on me, and is definitely going to leave bruises on my arm.  He gives an extra squeeze before shoving me away, but I just use it to propel myself down the stairs.

My shoes echo off of the back lot.  Looking around, I realize I should have known this was a small job.  Yes, we’re on an actual set with trailers, but I spot props pushed into shadowy alcoves that look like the movie that’s rumored to have lost their backing.  At least the costume company was fast on their feet.  But not as fast as me.  I hit the key fob, and my car door starts to lift.

“Hey bitch!”  I hear from behind me, but I keep going until I’m sliding in and slamming the door down again.  Once I get the engine sounding good and mad, I let it die down to about the equivalent of an angry bear and put my hand to my ear.

Damen isn’t high or stupid enough to touch my car.  He knows I would probably run his ass over.  I shoot the car into drive and peel out.

On the way home, I stop at In-N-Out for dinner before turning to the beach.  By the time I get to my house on stilts, the sun is setting.  The unlocking of the door echoes through the silent house.  My boots ring out on the hardwood floors as I make my way to the ultramodern kitchen.  I toss the fast food bag, and it slides down the white marble island.  Next my shoes come off, clattering loudly.  I strip my clothes on the way up the stairs and head to take a hot shower.  As always, I take great pleasure in washing out the grease that makes my hair look dirty.  I use creams and butters on my body to get the makeup from the photo shoot off.

When I step out of the shower, I eye my form in the huge mirrors opposite me and towel off slowly.  My hair is almost white, it’s so bleached.  But, other than that, I may have been a model. My fast metabolism makes me the envy of “normal” women.  What they don’t realize is that it’s hell to find jeans that are long enough; I barely have any ass and definitely no boobs.  God, I would kill for some boobs.  As it is, I don’t need a bra and risk giving myself a heart attack by eating fattening foods just to keep my ribs from showing.  I brush my hair for a long time, relishing the feel of it before forcing myself to put the brush down.

Slipping into a camisole and panties, I head straight downstairs to the back deck, having already opened the glass wall from an app on my phone.  On my favorite lounge chair, I stuff my face, watching the sky change colors, and listen to the waves.  I watch until the horizon is ink black with a few stars twinkling.

* * *

The ocean breeze blows my hair every which way, drying it in snarly knots. Who needs sea spray in a bottle when you have the real thing?  I’ve found it’s the easiest way to get the look of a grunge band’s lead singer.  Reaching behind me, I pull the throw blanket off of the back of the chair and around my shoulders.  I watch a couple jogging with their dog down the beach.  As they go past, their laughter floats up to me on my perch.  They never notice me.

I know when to put on a show and when to become invisible.  I’m good at it.  I’ve had to be.  This business is about image and perception.  I know when Maury has had too much blow to make like wallpaper and fade into the scenery.  I know when I leave my house most days, no matter where I go in this town, I’ll be spotted, recorded, judged.  That’s when I have to be
on
.  Here, where I’m alone, where I can think and breathe the salty air, is when I lose Popper.  This is the only place I’m me.