Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (43 page)

“I’m sorry, Denise. I really am.” He shook his head, dazed. “I was fucked up back then. It wasn’t about you.” He reached for her hand.

She snatched it away before he could touch her. “Of course it wasn’t about me! It was about
you!
Isn’t everything?” She rose, grabbing her sunglasses and groping for her towel as she prepared to leave the hot tub.

Christ.
There were no words to make this better. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Dan doesn’t know, does he?”

“God, no.” She shook her head, hard. “I don’t want him thinking he was sloppy seconds.”

“He wasn’t, right? I mean, you aren’t still into me.”

When her mouth fell open, he winced. What a stupid thing to say, because he already knew better. Denise despised him, always had, and now he knew why.

She slammed her arm into the water, creating a mini-tsunami that doused him from head to toe. “You are a
dick,
Quinn. A selfish, self-obsessed dick and, no, I am
not
into you. I’m sure that’s hard for you to believe but, for the record, I happen to love my husband.”

He winced again. “I know that. I’m so sorry,” he said and meant it. “I wasn’t implying…well, anything. And I never wanted to hurt you. I just…fucked up.”

She sniffed in disbelief as she got out of the tub, pulled the towel around her hips, and shoved her feet into her flip-flops.

“Shan…she doesn’t know, either, does she?” Quinn said. “About you and me.”

“Why would I tell her? It would only hurt her. That’s what you do when you love somebody, Quinn. You treasure them and take care of them and
you don’t hurt them
. Try and remember that, dickhead.” She marched out of the alcove, hat jerking with indignation, leaving Quinn alone, soaking wet and staring into the water, and that was how Shan found him when she came out of the sauna.

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as he saw her. “I’m so sorry if I’ve ever done anything to hurt you, angel. I don’t want to hurt you, not ever again.”

She stopped short and he saw the confusion on her face. “I’m not hurt,” she told him. “I’m pissed. Did you really tell Dave that you’d fire him if he went out with me?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I did.” He’d almost forgotten what had started the fracas, because his no-diddling-the-goddess rule paled to nothing beside Denise’s revelation.

“That is so wrong, I don’t even know what to say about it,” she said.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t about to take the chance that you might actually hook up with him, or Ty, either, for that matter.”

“But it’s not for you to control what I do. I’m not some kind of trained animal.” She glared at him. “Although that’s exactly how you’ve been treating me, like a faithful puppy dog who’ll sit around forever, waiting and waiting and waiting for you.”

“I didn’t think of it that way.” He shrugged. “This thing between us…it’s big for me. Huge, and I’m all in, one hundred percent.”

“So am I! I’ve
been
all in, all along.”

“But I had to be ready, like I kept telling you. I had to learn how to do this, had to…grow into it. In the meantime, I wasn’t about to let somebody else scoop you up. Dazz is a good guy. The best, in fact, and you two hit it off right from the start. I wouldn’t blame you if you fell for him, so I sure as fuck wasn’t going to stand by and watch it happen.”

Shan stared at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes. “You’re such a dick, Q,” she said, so softly that it sounded like an endearment.

“I know I am,” he said and pulled her into his arms. “A dick who couldn’t see what was right in front of him for all this time. But I see it now and I promise you something, angel. I will never hurt you. Never. You can believe in me.”

“But I do,” she said, still confused. “I always have, Q.”

He didn’t reply, just pulled her closer, vowing to himself to take care of her, this treasure that he’d been given.

After the first shock passed, the band adjusted to the new state of affairs. Dave smoldered, but not everyone was so negative. Ty and Dan found the situation uproarious and razzed Quinn at every opportunity. After a while, Dave’s inherently sunny nature kicked in and even he joined his bandmates in speculating on the intimate aspects of the relationship when Shan was out of earshot.

“Wonder what the dirty stuff is like?” Ty mused. They were in Salt Lake, waiting for the roadies to finish setting up the stage monitors at the Delta Center.

“She’s a sweet thing,” Dave said, clearly delighted to have an opportunity to share his own knowledge of the lady in question, “but a little conservative, you know, from a booty standpoint.” He grinned evilly at Quinn, whose color was rising.

“Only with the lights out, you mean?” Dan smirked. “Wonder how the Q-man likes that?”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t,” Ty said. “Not after the freaky slam hounds he’s used to.”

Quinn ignored the crude and horny bastards. “Extra monitors in front of the keyboard,” he called to Stan, the head roadie. “How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“Won’t even give us the details.” Ty shook his head. “What happened to the old studhammer we all know and love?”

“He’s still a studhammer,” Dan said. “He’s just banging on the same nail.”

Quinn scowled at Ty and Dan. “You’re pathetic, both of you,” he said, not acknowledging Dave, whom he wanted to hit. “Take your nosy fucking questions and shove them up your asses.”

“Hey, we’re entitled to ask. Usually, you brag about your women,” Dan said. “Or rather, you brag about what your women do to you. Or what you do to them.”

“Or, sometimes,” Ty added, “what they do to each other.”

“Obviously this one is different,” Quinn said icily.

“Because you’re whipped,” Ty clarified.

Dan nodded. “That’s all we’re saying.”

Shan was spared this exchange, as she was making her monthly methadone pickup. Because she’d tested clean for so long, she only had to visit a clinic once a month, when she would receive twenty-seven take homes at a time. Obtaining them on the road was difficult, though.

Finding the clinics and scheduling the visits was something Jeff, their road manager, took care of. She was embarrassed, despite Lorraine’s assurance that this was not an unusual practice for a touring rock band. “It would be easier to get it off the street,” Shan complained to Quinn.

“I know,” he said, because another of Jeff’s duties was procuring the recreational drugs for their bandmates. “Don’t you even think about it,” Quinn added, frowning at her.

She hated the fact that, once again, the band had to make special accommodations for her. She wished she could just get off the stuff, but try as she might, she couldn’t kick that last dose. She couldn’t take the withdrawal. A methadone turkey was worse than coming off heroin.

One of the security guards drove her to the clinic, which was just outside Salt Lake City, in Midvale. She got in line with the rest of the nod squad and waited her turn. This clinic was more thorough than some, requiring a physical exam as well as the standard drug screen. Not even rock stars were exempt from the piss test, apparently.

She peed in the cup, endured the exam, and answered the questions without much interest until the counselor asked when her last period had been. She thought back. They’d been in Little Rock which was—

Nine weeks ago?

She collected her doses, pills now, much easier to manage on the road. On the way back to the Delta Center she had the driver stop at a drugstore, where she purchased a pregnancy test.

She tried to stay calm, reminding herself that opiates screwed up a menstrual cycle. Back when she was using she’d hardly ever had a period. She still skipped them sometimes, but never thought much about it since prior to the last couple of months she’d never had much sex.

They got caught in traffic and she’d worked herself into a near panic by the time she arrived at the amphitheater. The show began at seven, so she had barely enough time to change her clothes and gobble an energy bar before they were due onstage.

Her performance was a little stilted and afterward Quinn raised his eyebrows at her. “Not your best,” he said. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Anyone can have an off night,” she huffed, collecting her backpack containing the pregnancy test.

“Sure they can, but you’re shaking like a leaf.” He draped his leather jacket over her shoulders. “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

She caught a whiff of his lime aftershave as she slid her arms into the jacket. It didn’t soothe her like it usually did and she escaped to the bathroom, where she pulled the test out of her bag, unwrapped the plastic stick, then followed the directions.

She was waiting for the result, which seemed torturously slow in coming, when the bathroom door opened. She snatched up the stick and shoved it in her pocket.

It was Quinn. “Don’t you ever knock?” she snarled.

He glared back at her. “You’re in a charming mood,” he remarked. “There’s a crew here from
Spin
.” He stood aside to let her pass. “You’re definitely coming down with something,” he added. “You’re white as a sheet.”

She suffered through an interview for the rock magazine, posed for a few photos, and hurried back to the bathroom as soon as she could escape. This time she leaned against the door before rooting through her backpack for the white stick.

It wasn’t there. Then, she remembered. It was in the jacket pocket, where she’d shoved it. She’d taken it off for the photo shoot and left it on a chair in the greenroom.

She hastened back there. Quinn was just pulling on the jacket as he gave Stan a few last-minute instructions. “Those Sennheisers have a special case,” he was saying. “I don’t care who packed them. If I find them in that condition again, somebody’s getting fired.” Helplessly she watched Quinn put his hands in his pockets, still lecturing Stan, then glance down.

She saw that he had the white plastic stick in his hand. He held it up, perplexed, examined it, then stared at it. Stared hard, for a long time. A
very
long time.

When he finally looked up at her, his eyes were like saucers.

“I can’t fucking believe this is happening,” Quinn said later, when they were in their room. They were sitting side by side on the bed, both staring straight ahead at the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Shan said woodenly. She didn’t know what else to say, because she couldn’t believe it either. They went through more condoms than a brothel, but they had slipped just a few times. They should have known better, both of them, because they both knew that one little slip could change everything. And now it had.

“Nobody to blame but ourselves. We’ve been irresponsible,” he said, his gaze not moving from the wall. “I’m usually Jimmy on the spot, too. How could I have been so careless?”

“I’m sorry,” Shan said again, more softly.

He shifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Can’t it ever just be easy?” he inquired, seemingly addressing some higher power. “Why does everything we do have to get so fucking complicated?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, nearly whimpering this time.

He swung around to face her.
“Stop telling me you’re sorry!”
he shouted.

Shan snatched up a pillow and flung it at him, then dashed into the bathroom and threw up. She flushed the toilet, then sank onto the floor. She heard the door open. “Go away,” she choked.

Instead she heard water running. Then he knelt to press a cool cloth against her forehead. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just—shocked, I guess. Confused.”

“Freaked. Me, too.”

“I know,” he said and wiped her face with the washcloth.

She felt her stomach beginning to roil again. “Get out, Q.” He shook his head, but she gave him a push. “Please? I don’t want you to see me this way.”

“I’m the one who made you that way,” he pointed out and stayed put even when she threw up, gathering her hair into a tail to hold it away from her face.

Afterward she staggered out of the bathroom to collapse on the bed. “I guess it’s morning sickness,” she groaned, “but why is it happening now?”

“It
is
morning, technically,” Quinn said and when Shan looked at the clock, she saw it was nearly five o’clock. They’d been sitting there for hours, just staring at the wall. “We should get some sleep,” he added and she crawled under the covers obediently, curling into a fetal position. When Quinn got in beside her he rolled over so that his back was touching her. The little bit of contact comforted her and she fell asleep.

When she woke a couple of hours later, she was alone. It felt cold in the bed without him and she could see him sitting by the window, smoking. It was just getting light and he had the window cracked, holding the cigarette outside so none of the smoke escaped into the room. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Thinking things over,” he said and ground out his cigarette. “Mulling the possibilities. There are a few different ways we can handle this.”

“Are there?”

His head swiveled. She knew he was looking at her, but all she could see was his silhouette, dark and dense and blank as the proverbial slate. “I think so. Unless you’ve already made up your mind.” He paused. “Have you?”

“An abortion,” she said. The word felt harsh, unfamiliar on her tongue. “What else?”

“Is that what you want?”

“What choice do I have?”

“Of course there’s a choice. For both of us, I hope. There’s abortion,” he conceded, “or adoption, I suppose. Or we could…” He paused again. “…have it.”

His words unlocked a torrent of emotions inside her. Fear. Doubt. Disbelief. And, deep down, a paralyzing flash of possibility that she immediately quashed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t at least considered it.” She shook her head, staring at him mutely. He rose and came to the bed, climbing in beside her. “I know we’ve never talked about it, but I always assumed we would have one. Not this soon, but eventually.”

She remained silent, because she didn’t know what to say. She lived their relationship one day at a time, without much contemplation of the future. It was the way she lived the rest of her life, too. All those NA meetings, she supposed. They’d left their mark, not to mention the fact that hoping and dreaming and planning—these weren’t things she did. In the past, they’d mostly led to disappointment.