Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) (26 page)

“Oh, was I wrong then?
 
Does he not come from a perfect fucking family, with two parents, probably still married, who think the sun sets in his ass?”
 

Her mouth twisted, and I could tell she was trying not to smile.
 
“How did you know that?
 
What did you guys talk about?”
 

“I could just tell.
 
The stars in his eyes are too fucking shiny.
 
And we talked about you.
 
You know he has a thing for you, right?”
 

She grimaced.
 
“He knows I’m not interested.”
 

“So that’s a yes, you do know.
 
How fucking perfect.
 
You’ve got a bullpen all ready in case I screw up.”
   

She pulled over, turning to look at me.
 
“What’s gotten into you?
 
Did something happen?”
 

I closed my eyes, my head dropping back against the seat.
 
I was being an ass, and I damn well knew it.
 
I’d let my jealousy get the best of me, and I felt like a tool because of it.
 

“I’m sorry, alright?” It was a plea.
 
“I know I was a jerk.”
 

“Tristan, answer me.
 
Did something happen?”
 

I hated talking about some things, and this was one of them.
 
“My mom called me earlier just to tell me that she missed Jared, and that she still blamed me.
 
Sweet, huh?”
 
It didn’t matter how old I got, my mother could still make me feel like scum in a few short sentences.

She made a soft noise of sympathy, unbuckling her seat belt, and climbing over to my seat, hugging me tightly.
 

I squeezed her back so hard that the breath whooshed out of her.

“Oh, Tristan, you know how wrong she is, don’t you?
 
You know she’s just lashing out, right?
 
She’s like a wounded animal, attacking anyone that gets in reach.”
 

“Yes, I know,” I spoke softly into her hair.
 
That wasn’t precisely true, but it was the easiest answer.
 

I needed her comfort more than I needed her sympathy.

“Are you mad at me over the Preston thing?” I asked her.
 
I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but I needed it if I was going to take my next breath.
   

 
I’d been out of line, there was no doubt, but she didn’t hesitate.
 
“No, Tristan.
 
I just want you to take better care of yourself, and I need you to work on your temper.”
 

“I will,” I promised, my tone solemn.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DANIKA

I got a short text from Tristan, asking me to meet him at a specific time at his apartment.
 
I’m not sure what got my back up, but I was suspicious right away.
 
The message just didn’t feel like Tristan.
 

Something was up.
 
I knew it in my gut.
 

I called him.
 
And called, and called.
 
I left him text after text, but his responses were short, each one stressing the exact time I should come over to his place.
 
I couldn’t put my finger on why, but the whole thing reeked of Dean.
 

I made a point of showing up early, letting myself in the door.
 
I was very quiet.
 
Deliberately stealthy, in fact.
 

I could hear Dean talking loudly somewhere in the house, and a female voice responding.
 
As I got closer, I could tell that it was Nat.
 
I waited on the other side of the wall from the hallway that led to the two bedrooms, trying to make out what they were saying.
 

I only caught about every third word, but I could tell they were plotting something.
 
Something nasty.
 
And all the while, not a peep out of Tristan.
 

Dean said a terse good luck to Nat, moving into his room and closing the door.
 
I moved.
 

The hallway was empty as I made my way to Tristan’s bedroom.
 
I knew what that meant, but I still couldn’t believe what I was seeing as I slowly opened the door to his dark bedroom.
 

I switched on the light just as a topless, fake tits barely jostling Twatalie was slipping her skirt and panties down past her knees.
 
She was a good six feet from the bed, where a passed out Tristan wasn’t so much as twitching.
 

She started when she saw me, looking guilty as hell.
 
The irony was, if she’d actually been hooking up with my man behind my back, I doubted she’d have shown an ounce of guilt about it.
 
Getting caught faking it, though, now that threw her off.
 

“Are you serious?” I shouted at her, pissed beyond all measure.
 

The skank didn’t even have the decency to put her clothes back on, instead letting her skirt drop completely to the floor and stepping out of it.
 

She shrugged at me, her guilty look transforming into a nasty sneer in the time it took her to respond.
 
“Sorry, Danika.
 
We couldn’t seem to help ourselves.
 
You know we have this long history together.”
 

“Are you fucking
serious
right now?” I repeated, starting towards her.
 
I wanted to wrap my hands around her spray-tanned little neck in the worst way.
 

She took a step back, then another.
 
“We couldn’t stay away from each other.”

I spared my sleeping Tristan another glance.
 
It was alarming how still he was.
 
“What did you do, drug him?
 
Are you really that desperate?
 
And did you really think I’d fall for this, when I just caught you
un
dressing, with him already asleep?
 
Didn’t think I’d come early, did you, you stupid bitch?”
 

“Fuck you!” she screamed.
 

I backhanded her, making her stagger back.
 

It was the single most violent thing I’d ever done in my entire life, and I wasn’t finished.
 

She tried to scratch me as I grabbed her by the hair, and slapped her again, and then again, batting her hands away easily.
 
My white-hot rage had given me the edge of strength.
 

I shoved her hard to the ground, taking a few steps back, disgusted that I’d even had to touch her.
 
“Did you think that if I broke up with him, he’d want you again?
 
Quit deluding yourself.
 
You’ve slept with half of Vegas.
 
You are used goods, and he will never want you again, you dumb whore!”
 

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and turned my head to look just as Dean filled the doorway, his shit-eating grin completely out of sync with what was going on.

“Aw, busted!” he said, pleased as punch.
 
“Tough break, Danika.
 
Looks like Tryst had a case of the ex.”
 

I grabbed the nearest hard object (an ashtray) and threw it at his head.
 

He barely dodged it.
 

“You piece of shit!” I shouted at him.
 
“You thought I’d fall for this?
 
You’re as transparent as glass, you idiot.
 
I heard you plotting this nonsense out weeks ago.
 
I saw this coming a mile away.
 
What are you thinking?
 
Do you want Tristan to leave the band?
 
Because that’s what’s going to happen if I tell him about your part in this.”
 

Now his reaction looked appropriate.
 
He looked worried.
 

I moved to Tristan, feeling for his pulse.
 
He was just so still, I’d had to check.
 
It was there, steady and sure, though slow, I thought, and he stirred slightly at my touch, but didn’t rouse.
 

“What did you do to him?” I snarled at Dean.
 

“Nothing!
 
I fucking swear!
 
He did
that
to himself.
 
The rest I’ll fess up to, but not that shit.
 
He just needs to sleep it off.”
 

He sounded sincere, but I studied him hard, wondering if he was lying.
 
I wouldn’t put anything past him, at this point.
   

“What the fuck is wrong with you?
 
What did you hope to accomplish with that stunt?
 
Do you
want
him to kick your ass?”

He shrugged, that infuriating grin still on his face.
 

“Seriously, what do you
want
?”
 

“I want you gone,” he told me, still smiling.
 
“Ever since he got all caught up in that pussy of yours, he’s a different guy.
 
As long as he’s with you, every deal the band gets, every opportunity, is going to be fucking ruined by Yoko Ono.”
 

If my stare could have caused him physical harm, he’d have dropped dead on the spot, bleeding from a million vicious wounds.
 

“I know how it is with you two,” he continued.
 
“You think I haven’t heard you?
 
What a joke.
 
I’ve seen you together.
 
You aren’t fucking subtle.
 
You think you can fuck in my kitchen and I won’t see it?
 
I’ve
watched
you.
 
In the living room, against the door, I’ve seen firsthand how you lead him around by his dick; how you squeeze it so hard when you’re coming that it scrambles his fucking brain.
 
You’re good, I’ll give you that.
 
You’ve got him so deep inside your pussy that he can’t see straight.
 
But I can.
 
If it’s a choice between you or the band, and it is, I choose the band.
 
I choose this fucking sweet deal we’ve been given, but because of you, Tristan may just throw it all away.”

I had to swallow down my bile before I could even speak to him.
   

“Well, that is his choice to make.
 
What did you think would happen tonight?
 
If this plan worked out just how you wanted, do you think he’d thank you for it?
 
He’d never speak to you again, so you’d have blown this sweet fucking deal yourself.
 
How about, you stay out of our business, just leave us alone, if you want even a shot of him finishing up that record with you?
 
And if you’re real good, if you can refrain from speaking to me again, I won’t tell him about this stunt, which is more than you deserve.
 
We clear?”
 

The bastard agreed readily enough, but still I knew that he couldn’t be trusted, and I debated all night whether or not to tell Tristan what had happened.
 
The problem was, I didn’t know how he’d react, and that scared me.
 
His temper was a volatile thing, especially when it coincided with his protective streak.
 

I didn’t sleep, too worried and troubled over what I should be doing.
 
I could get him to respond, and I did every few hours, just to be safe, but then he’d quickly go back to sleep.
 
At what point did he need to go to the hospital?
 
When did you know if a person had overdosed?
 
I couldn’t even believe I was having to wonder this.
 
What had I ignored, that he was this far gone, and I hadn’t known it?
 
We were too good of a match in some ways.
 
I was the enabler to his addict, and even knowing that, I’d let too much go for things to get this out of hand.
 

In part, I blamed myself, and even knowing how screwed up that was, I couldn’t let the feeling go.
 
I needed to somehow take better care of him, so nothing like this happened again.
 
I was always too busy with one thing or another, and I needed to find more time to fix this, to help him survive his demons, because it was clear that they were eating him alive.
 

I looked up his symptoms, and kept vigil through the night.
 
He wasn’t conscious for any length of time again until late afternoon the next day, and I’d been through so much by then, mood swing after mood swing, that I didn’t have the heart to really lay into him.
 

Even after he woke, it was a while before he was lucid enough to speak to, but when he was, I said quietly, “You can’t do this again.
 
It’s not fair.
 
You need to start taking care of yourself.”

He didn’t protest, in fact agreed easily.
 
“You’re right.
 
I’m sorry.
 
It won’t happen again.
 
Have you been here since last night?”
 

I nodded.
 

I didn’t tell him that every second had been torture for me.
 

There was an anchor, tied around both of his ankles, and it was taking him deep, into black fathomless depths, drowning him slowly but surely.