More Than Anything (21 page)

“Sure.”

“What do I win?”

“How about a glass of champagne?”

“Let’s save that. I don’t think I could choke any down right now.”

“Fair enough. You hungry? Thirsty?”

“Don’t worry, Derek. I don’t expect you to be my nurse. That’s not why you flew across the country.”

He fixes me with a serious gaze. “What would you do if the tables were turned?”

“I’d be out at discos every night while some Samoan lady changed your diaper.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a diaper?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I thought you were flirting with me.”

I laugh in spite of my best intentions, and a lance of pain shoots through my head, which stops me fast. I take a deep breath and exhale too noisily. I forgot how funny Derek can be.

“It kinda hurts to laugh, so can you be as boring and unfunny as possible?”

“I’m sorry. I should have known. I won’t make any more diaper jokes, I promise. But don’t forget, you started it.”

We sit in silence, my hand in his, and I glance to the sliding glass doors. “It’s a long way from Lucifer’s, huh?”

He nods. “Hard to believe that was only a couple months ago.”

“It’s been like a dream, hasn’t it?”

“In a lot of ways. The only part that’s sucked has been you being here and me being in New York.”

“Tell me about it.” I close my eyes. A throbbing has started in my temples, and I remember that the doctor said the headaches might come and go for a while, due to nerves in my neck being hurt. “So what’s the latest on the recording?” I ask, trying to be perky but failing miserably.

“Probably about the same as yours. We finished up all my vocals, so now we’re doing backgrounds, and then we’ll do a final tweak, then mix.”

“What do you think?”

“I brought some rough mixes for you. When you’re feeling better you can listen to them.”

“No! I want to hear them now!”

He smiles. “Be careful what you wish for. These were quickies I conned one of the engineers into making. They’re dry, no effects, and the levels are all over the place.”

“I don’t care. Stop apologizing and put it on.”

He goes to his bag and digs out a CD, then powers up the stereo and inserts it. The music starts by the time he’s back at my side, and we listen together to five songs, each better than the last. When the room’s silent again, he looks sheepish.

“Those are the originals. Most of the record’s standards.”

“They’re great. That third one’s a total hit. You’re going to be famous, Derek. That’s so awesome.”

“Well, maybe, but I’m getting the hang of this, and you can’t take anything for granted. I’ll just be happy if I get a decent tour out of it. I’m not expecting a lot. If it sells well enough so I can make a living, I’ll be stoked.” He shrugs. “Cutting this record’s been an eye opener. It’s not like someone throws a switch and you’re suddenly a winner, which is how I thought of it before the contest. Now I see that’s just the start, and the road can be hard. But this is so much better than living on the streets, so what is there to complain about?”

I know where he’s coming from. It’s like being on a roller coaster. You want to dream of stardom and having a hit, but part of you doesn’t dare, because the odds say you won’t make a nickel and will be right back where you started once your shot is over. So you live in this purgatory, somewhere between hope and despair, until the record’s out and your manager’s reading you the sales reports every week.

“I know. It’s way different than I expected. I mean, I don’t know what I thought it would be like, but so far it’s a shit ton of work and not a lot of glamour.”

“Hey, you’re getting the Rolls Royce treatment here. I ride the train to Jersey from Queens every day. There’s no chauffeurs or marble counters,” he says, and for a split second, he sounds a little bitter. I regret complaining – he’s right. I’ve been incredibly lucky.

“Play it again.”

He frowns. “Do I have to?”

“Come on. Humor me.” I hold up my braced wrist and try for the most pitiful voice I can manage. “I’m dying.”

“Really slowly. Remember, I heard the doctor. You’ll be fine.”

“Humor me. I could go any second.”

He sighs and moves to the stereo. I like the songs even better the second time through.

“There’s no way those aren’t hits, Derek. You sound unbelievable.”

“Thanks. They need some work, but overall I’m happy. Everyone says I’ve got a good shot.” He pauses. “How about you? Got any of your tracks for me to listen to?”

The only thing Sebastian has let out of the studio is that first demo we did. He’s a little bit control freaky about that kind of thing, but he’s the boss, so I don’t question it.

“I’ve only got the demo I did the first day.”

“Well, where is it? Bring it, baby.”

“That thumb drive sitting on the speaker.”

He rises and retrieves the dongle and slips it into the USB port. I haven’t listened to it since Sebastian gave it to me, but when the first notes ring through the apartment, it all comes back.

When the song ends, Derek’s staring at me like I’m from outer space. I flush and shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

“Oh, my God. That’s insane. You’re going to be huge just off that one song. I predict it’ll be number one for months. And that’s just the first day’s demo?”

I shrug and wince from the twinge of pain. “It was a good first day.”

“I just want to carry your water bottle on tour. Can I?”

“That’s all?”

“Hey, it’s a start. Seriously, though, I’m blown away. No wonder they’re treating you like you’re already a star. It’s a foregone conclusion.”

I close my eyes. “I don’t really care about being a star, Derek. That’s the funny part. I went to New York because of you, and because I had nothing else. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would ever turn into anything more than an adventure.”

“Well, the adventure’s just starting. I’m shocked by how good that is. And I’m used to hearing you sing every day.”

I’m suddenly tired, and my body’s telling me to rest. I open my eyes and try to turn to look at him, but Mr. Collar has other ideas. “You want to lie down with me? I’m fading.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stands and helps me to my feet. We go into the master bedroom, and he leads me to the bed, and I’m overcome by a wave of sadness. This is so not how any of this was supposed to play out. I lie down, and he unlaces my Chucks and puts them by the bedside, and then moves some pillows around until I’m comfortable. A tear rolls from my eye, and I wipe it away.

“This sucks, Derek.”

He lies down next to me and rolls toward me, his jade eyes studying me. When he speaks, it’s so soft I can barely hear him.

“It is what it is, Sage. We’ll get through it, and we have all the time in the world.”

“It’s not fair.” My voice sounds tortured, ragged.

“No, it isn’t. But you have me, and I have you. For me, that’s enough.”

He kisses the tears away, and I wish my body wasn’t broken, covered with bruises, a migraine pounding in my skull. We may have each other, but I’d trade everything I’ve got to be able to spend the next three days with him, healthy and happy, instead of like this.

The lyrics to the old Rolling Stones song “You Don’t Always Get What You Want” ring through my head as I shut down, and I can feel rivulets of moisture trickling down my face as I drift off.

I wake up to dust motes floating lazily in the sunlight streaming through the blinds. And pain. Everywhere.

The doctor wasn’t kidding:
You’ll probably feel sore for a few days
. Talk about a gift for understatement. This is like the dentist warning you might feel a little discomfort right before he drills into a live nerve with no anesthetic.

I groan and feel Derek stir next to me. His face comes into my field of view, and he looks at me, concerned.

“How you doing?” he asks, and I groan again.

“I’m good. Except for every bone in my body being broken.”

“That bad?”

“It only hurts when I breathe.”

“Want some coffee?”

“You’re a god. There’s some in the cabinet above the sink.”

“Need help getting to the bathroom?”

“I think I can make it. If you hear a scream, I was wrong.”

Derek pads to the kitchen, and I gingerly swing my legs off the bed, marveling at how many pain centers exist per square inch of skin. My wrist is throbbing in time with my back and my head, and someone’s jabbing an ice pick into my neck every time I tense. I manage to make it to the bathroom, and when I see my reflection, almost cry once again. I look like Brad Pitt after the big fight scene in
Fight Club
, only worse. My lips are split, my nose swollen, purple discolorations under each eye, yellow and mauve bruises all over my face, a cut on my cheek, and my chin scabbed over.

I inspect my body, and it’s not much better. I’ll take a hot bath later and see if that helps with the healing, but for now, my plan is to stay in bed. There’s no way I’m going anywhere until the worst of this fades.

Derek is sitting on the bed with two cups of coffee on the nightstand when I return.

“I look horrible. I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” I say. I’m so mortified I just want to crawl under a rock.

He shrugs and hands me the coffee after I lie back down against the pillows. “I’m guessing we’re not going jogging this morning.”

“It’s like you can read my mind.”

“Eerie, isn’t it?”

I take a sip of my coffee. My lips burn where they’re split. I’m a mess. “Can you do me a huge favor and get me my phone and tablet?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“They’re on the table.”

I watch as he stands and walks to the living room, my heart skipping a beat at how good he looks. Here I am with the hottest guy in the universe in bed with me – and I can’t move. God hates me. That’s the only explanation. Even Melody would have a hard time parlaying being an invalid into some kind of sexual encounter.

Not that I have any interest right now. There’s nothing to curb your libido like being hit by a truck.

Derek returns, and I check my messages. As expected, there are a dozen each from Jeremy and Melody, most concerning the news coverage of the accident. I tap in the URL for one of the largest gossip sites, and there are photos of the Mercedes, which is so distorted from the accident it’s almost unrecognizable, as well as one of me leaving the hospital. Even with the hat and sunglasses, I look bad. Beyond bad. Frankenstein bad. Like a science experiment gone wrong. Thank you, kind paparazzi.

Derek is looking at the images over my shoulder, and I read the site’s commentary aloud. When I finish, he’s shaking his head.

“Nice. Especially the speculation about whether your friend was drinking or not.”

“They’re a real class act, aren’t they?” I say, anger seething inside me at the ugly tone of the article. “And good of them to blow up the shot of me to poster size.”

“Kind of incredible that you walked away from it, though, looking at the car.”

“Limped away. But you’re right.” I swallow hard. “June wasn’t so lucky. Do you mind if I make a call?”

“No. I was going to take a shower anyway.”

He stretches, gives me a chaste kiss on the unbruised part of my forehead, and smiles. “Don’t beat yourself up. This too shall pass.”

“Doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“I know. You have every right to be down. I would be.” He walks to the bathroom door and hesitates there. “You’ll power through this, just like you have everything else, Sage. This is a speed bump.”

The door closes, and I shut my eyes. Easy for him to say. He didn’t spend the last week primping, cleaning every inch of the apartment, and planning four days of romantic bliss.

I sigh and dial Sebastian’s number, hoping he’s broken his no cell phones in the studio rule. It goes to voice mail, and I curse silently before hanging up and calling Ruby. When she answers, she sounds out of breath.

“Hello.”

“Ruby, it’s Sage.”

“Oh, hey. How’re you doing?”

“Little by little, you know? I’ll make it. But I look like a Halloween costume.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Have you got the number for Sebastian’s studio?”

“Sure. Hang on a sec.” I wait, and then she comes back on the line and gives me the number.

“Any news on June?” I ask.

“Haven’t heard anything. Sorry.” She pauses, and I hear Saul in the background. “Saul wants to say hi.”

Saul’s voice sounds big even over the little speaker. “Sage, how’s my favorite rock star?”

“Better, Saul. I should be up and around in no time.”

“Don’t push it. I talked to Sebastian last night, and he said he’s got you covered. He just needs you for a few backup vocal tracks. Some tag lines, that sort of thing. The rest he can work around.”