Passionate Addiction (35 page)

“He did it for sure,” the stout woman beside Gabi sneered aloud, her focus on the mini television screen that rested in the seat back in front of her. “Just look at him. Tattooed, dressed like death, and those eyes.” The woman pushed the headset at her ears and shuddered. “Who knows what he’s capable of?”

Gabi followed the woman’s line of sight and her chest restricted at the image on the small screen. It was Blake, standing out the front of The Plaza hotel, microphones surrounding him. He wore the tan polo shirt Mason had been wearing earlier and dark smudges hung heavy under his eyes, weariness etched into his features.

With shaky hands, she reached for the headphones that rested at her neck and put them on. “What channel are you watching?” she asked, maneuvering the touch screen from the entertainment channels back to the main screen, then to the news.

The woman glanced at Gabi. “It’s the first one, I think.”

Gabi pushed her finger down on the first icon and sat forward while it began to load. “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

Then there he was, standing before her, his lips moving with no sound coming out.
Shit.
She clicked on the volume, not stopping until it went up as far as it could.

“… made mistakes.” His voice came through, rough and emotionless. “None bigger than those concerning Michelle Clarkson. But I didn’t hurt her.” He was hurting, though, she could see it in his tight lips and his lifeless eyes. Reporters burst to life around him, asking questions, waving their microphones in his face which he ignored with patient indifference.

“I stayed here, at The Plaza hotel last night and video surveillance can confirm that I entered the building hours before the doctors say Michelle was attacked.”

“How is Michelle?” One reporter shouted.

“Who were you with?” Another asked.

Blake stared lifelessly to the left of the filming camera. “I haven’t spoken to Michelle. As far as I know, she has yet to make a statement. And who I was with last night is nobody’s business.”

A sad smile tugged at Gabi’s lips. He was trying to protect her, even after she’d walked away.

More questions erupted, and Blake spoke over the top of them, his words momentarily lost over the rush of voices. “…rumors that Michelle and I are dating. That is incorrect.” He raised his chin and straightened his shoulders. The cameraman panned out, and Leah and Mason came into view on either side of him, their postures rigid. “She was blackmailing me with the mistakes of my past. Mistakes I’m ashamed of and fought hard to hide.”

Gabi’s pulse began to pound. Why was he bringing up his past? If the press knew he had secrets, they wouldn’t stop until they were uncovered. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed to try and alleviate the ache. She didn’t want this for him. No matter how angry and hurt she was, he didn’t deserve this.

“I’m not going to hide anymore.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
No.
She shook her head, silently pleading for him to stop.

Blake cleared his throat while silence reigned around him, the vultures eagerly awaiting the news. “I was a drug addict. A fact that I’m sickened to admit.”

Reporters inched forward, getting in his face. Gabi couldn’t hear what they were saying because they all spoke at once, but from the disgust on Leah’s face and the fury on Mason’s, she knew it wasn’t good.

Blake lowered his gaze, silently taking the assault. It wasn’t until Mason leaned close, whispering something in his ear that Blake raised his focus, his jaw now tight, his eyes blazing with determination.

“At the start of my career with Reckless Beat, I began using cocaine for recreational purposes. Recreation turned into addiction, and although I realized my mistakes early, it took a while for me to return from the hell I’d sunk into.” He spoke over the questions hurtled at him. “I kept this part of myself hidden from the people I loved and the band that has become my life. And I’ve done so for years.”

Gabi’s eyes burned. What would happen to him now? Would he lose Reckless Beat? Bloody hell, then what would he do? The lady beside Gabi muttered something unintelligible, and she ignored it, solely focused on Blake, wishing she was there with him.

“None of that matters anymore,” he proclaimed, staring straight into the camera. “My loyalty to the band, my love of music—” He shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “None of it matters, because I’ve ruined the only thing in my life that means more to me than life itself. I’ve let down the woman who holds my heart and done the one thing I promised myself I would never do—hurt her.”

The screen blurred and Gabi frantically blinked away her tears. When her vision cleared, Blake’s head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. His chest heaved while he ran his hand though his tangled hair and glanced back at the crowd.

“I appreciate the support of Reckless Beat’s loyal fans and hope that one day I can make it up to them. But for now, with my position as bass guitarist under jeopardy, I ask that you all hold me fully accountable for the way I’ve brought the band and our label into disrepute. And that you all please leave Mason, Mitch, Ryan, and Sean out of the drama I’ve caused. Thank you.”

Blake turned, ignoring the questioning reporters and strode back into the hotel, Leah and Mason at his sides. The clip ended, returning to the news desk. Gabi lowered her earphones. Her heart pounded, protesting her decision to leave. She couldn’t dwell on that now.

Blake had to fight this battle alone. She of all people needed to understand why. He always considered himself weak, even when he was the most strong-hearted, determined man she knew. He’d never believe her, never believe in himself. And no matter how much she yearned to run back to him, to help smooth out the pain in his life—this wasn’t about her.

He needed to do this on his own.

One week later

Blake heard a knock at the door and groaned. He didn’t want to see anyone. Fuck, he didn’t even want to move. His position in his favorite chair, reclined in front of the television, the footrest up, was where he wanted to be. Most importantly—alone.

The knock came again, louder.

“Hold on,” he growled and pushed to his feet. He kicked past the empty pizza boxes and crumpled pieces of paper strewn across the floor before yanking the front door open.

“Holy shit. Did I knock on the right door?” Sean chuckled, turning to Mason.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Mason replied. “Emo, is that you under all that hair?”

Blake rubbed at the beard covering his jaw and cringed. He hadn’t shaved in…well, he couldn’t remember, but he didn’t give a shit.

“Lay off,” Ryan said, pushing past Blake and into his apartment. “We all have aspirations. He can be a yeti if he wants.”

Mitch snorted and gave Blake a half-hearted punch to the gut as he followed Ryan. “Lookin’…good, buddy.”

Mason and Sean didn’t ask for an invitation either, they simply strode into his apartment carrying bottles of soda and beer.

“Make yourselves at home,” Blake muttered, slamming the door shut.

The guys had hounded him all week, calling daily, visiting too often, and constantly reminding him about the outside world even though he didn’t want to be a part of it.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Mason called from the living room. “It’s very ‘ghetto’ and suits the new look you’re sporting.”

Blake gave him the bird and started picking up rubbish from the floor.

“So tell me the plan again,” Sean leaned forward on the sofa, his focus on Mitch. “Do I get to hold him down while you guys shave that shit off his face, or do I get the blade?”

“Fuck off,” Blake snapped.

“What’s with all the paper?” Mason asked, looking at the hundreds of crumpled notepad sheets on the floor.

“Nothin’.” Blake glared, taking his first load of garbage to the bin in the kitchen.

All week, he’d focused his waning energy on the emotions running through his mind—the regret, the heartache, the love. He wanted to write everything down, maybe compose a song, but the words he scratched along each page were shit.

The sound of paper crinkling came over the chatter, and Blake strode back into the living room, ripping the opened page from Mason’s hand.

Mason rested back in the chair and frowned. “Were they lyrics?”

They were none of his fucking business. Blake closed his eyes, breathed through his annoyance, and crumpled the page into his fist.

“They’re good, man,” Ryan said from behind him.

Blake pivoted and snatched the paper Ryan held open. “Leave my shit alone!” Those pages were filled with pieces of his soul. The words were personal, intimate, and something he didn’t want anyone to see. Especially not these teasing assholes.

“But you have so much of it to share,” Sean chuckled.

Blake worked his jaw. He was going to lose his fucking mind. If they didn’t leave, he would hurt one of them. All of them. It didn’t matter how many. He just wanted to wipe those shit eating grins from their faces. “Why are you all here?”

The four of them looked at one another before focusing back on him.

“To help you clean up after your pity party,” Ryan answered.

Mitch pinned him with a serious stare. “Michelle’s attacker has been caught, the fans are all rallying behind you, and the fucking label has loved the publicity. So it’s time to man up and move on.”

Blake gritted his teeth. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah, we can see that.” Mason’s gaze raked over Blake, taking in the old, dirty sweatpants and ripped T-shirt. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Is that an invitation to scrub my back?”

“I’m not usually into bestiality, however, if that’s what it takes to make you human again.” Mason shrugged.

Blake stood at the end of the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest. This was bullshit. He was a fucking grown man. He could grow a beard and forget to shower if he wanted to. Hell, he was a rock star. This behavior was how the public expected him to act on his downtime.

Mason cracked open a bottle of beer and inclined his head as he took a swig. “I don’t care how long it takes to snap you outta this. I’ve got enough beer to last until tomorrow morning.”

Assholes. Every single one of them.

“Fine. I’ll shower.” Blake turned and headed for his bedroom. “Then you can leave.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mitch chuckled.

Fifteen minutes later, Blake strode from his bathroom into his now clean bedroom.

“What the fuck?”

His bed was made, the clothes previously strewn across the floor were nowhere to be seen, and his window was open a crack, letting in fresh air. He threw his towel on the bed and stalked down the hall. His dishwasher hummed from the kitchen, and he poked his head in the room to find Sean stacking empty pizza boxes on the counter.

“Fuckers!”

He continued down the hall to the living room finding the floor now spotless and cleared of paper. Mason and Mitch knelt at his coffee table, flattening out the previously crumpled notepad pages and placing them in a pile.

No! Oh, god, no.

He felt his balls shrink. Nothing could’ve emasculated him more than having his friends read those discarded heartbroken rants. The things he’d written were deep—unintelligibly deep. And totally fucking embarrassing. The guys were going to think he was the biggest pussy on earth.

“Why don’t you get Sidney to help you with these?” Mitch asked, patting the pile of pages.

Blake closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Did he really want to go that route? Calling the famous songwriter would mean he was deliberately sharing his weaknesses with the world. Hadn’t he already done enough of that?

“They’re good,” Mason added. “Really good. Are they all about Gabi?”

Blake rubbed his hands down his now clean shaven face and let out a moan, which ended up sounding like a delirious laugh. Every word was about her, every thought, every memory, every regret. He’d hoped writing down his emotions would get her out of his mind, and they probably would’ve had a chance if he could make them fit together properly.

“Yeah,” he admitted, and opened his eyes, waiting for their laughter.

None came. His friends only nodded and continued straightening his private pieces of paper.

“You’ll be fine, princess.” Ryan strode into the room, clapping Blake on the back when he passed. “We Cinderella’d your place and you look all purty again. It’s only a matter of time before you’re back to normal.”

“You really should call Sidney.” Mitch stood and jerked a thumb in Mason’s direction. “Or get lover boy to call her.”

“Love to,” Mason answered. “Only I don’t think it would work in your favor. That woman wants to gut me.”

Blake snickered, and the guys all stopped what they were doing to look at him. “Oh, Christ, come on. It’s not like I’ve never laughed before.”

Mitch shrugged. “It’s just good to hear, that’s all.”

Blake ignored the twinge of regret that turned his stomach. Even though he was miserable without Gabi, he needed to remember he had a lot to be thankful for. His friends were at the top of that list, followed closely by his position in Reckless Beat. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if the label tore up his contract.