Someone to Watch Over Me (42 page)

“No ma’am. That would be the other
woman.”

A smile snaked across my face, though weak.
“Gosh Taylor, did you just make a funny? I didn’t know you had it
in you.”

“No joke.”

“Well, either way, the feeling is mutual.”
With Taylor by my side, I started for the exit that would take me
out by the pit. I had a million questions that I wanted to ask him,
but he wasn’t the person to ask. Taylor was a professional and a
genuinely nice guy. I didn’t want to put him on the spot by asking
about Tate’s ‘fans.’ Besides, they were in Tate’s past. “I’m just
aggravated with myself for letting some stranger get to me like
that.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s
human nature.” Taylor pushed the door open, held it while I passed.
“Don’t let it ruin your night, Ma’am.”

“I won’t.” I was out to have fun. Rounding
the corner, I found Mattie and Em jamming along to the music. When
they saw me, Mattie let out a squeal and broadsided me with a
hug.

“You were amazing!”

“Hot!” Em added. “Tate couldn’t take his
eyes off you.”

“Tate?” Mattie exclaimed. “After that
performance,
I
want to fuck you.”

“You and half the male audience,” Em pointed
out. She pried me from Mattie’s arms and enveloped me in her own
hug. “Seriously, Coop, I should’ve come to see you perform
sooner.”

“It’s ok. The Loft wasn’t nearly as exciting
as tonight.”

“Beer?” Mattie asked, holding up a Dogfish
Head. I was quick to hold up my hand in refusal. It was part of the
cause behind my current gestational predicament.

“No can do.”

“I’ll take that.” Em was quick to take her
up on it. She was clearly making up for lost time. She had been too
busy pining over Garrison and babysitting me to enjoy herself.
“She’s alcohol free the next nine months, remember?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mattie apologized. “I
completely forgot.”

I waved off her apology. If I could’ve
forgotten, I would too. “Where did you get that stuff anyway?” I
didn’t think the brand was readily available in every state. Not to
mention they were glass bottles.

“Shane sent it to Em,” Mattie answered, her
tone thick with implication. She smiled tauntingly at Em. Judging
by the gloss of her eyes, she was already buzzing.

“Don’t make something out of nothing,” Em
said. “It’s just beer.”

“It’s not just beer,” Mattie argued. “For
Shane, it’s like sending a bouquet of flowers.”

“He’s not my type.” Em turned her head and
stared at Shane, who was wailing away on his drums. He did look
pretty hot up there. For someone who treated his body like a
dumping ground for toxic waste, he wasn’t half-bad.

“What type
is
your type?” Mattie
pressed.

“Drug and alcohol free.”

“Drink a few more of those,” I pointed out,
“and you might lower your standards.”

Em looked at her beer and then at Shane. His
lips curled into a wayward smile. “What the hell—it’s been a long
time since I had a good roll in the sack. A one night stand might
do me good.”

Mattie’s fist shot into the air. “Whoooooooo
hhhooooo!” You’d think Em just gave her the green light to seduce
Carter tonight. Knowing Em, it was possible. Who knows what kind of
pact the two had drawn while I was on stage.

Em joined her, whipping her hair around,
going totally eighties hair-band.

I looked to Marshall. He shrugged, at a
loss.

“Down in the front!” someone shouted. “Get
the fuck outta the way!” As I peered around Mattie, I recognized
the face. It was the psychotic bimbo from the bathroom. I must’ve
made a face, because Mattie and Em followed my gaze and turned to
look.

“Friend of yours?” Em asked.

“I ran into her in the bathroom backstage,”
I shouted over the music. “She made a comment, like I trapped Tate
by getting pregnant, so that I could use him as a ladder to fortune
and fame.”

“Fuck her,” Mattie scoffed. Raising her
hand, she flipped the girl the bird. “Can you
see
this? Fuck
you!” She was definitely drunk. I told her not to drink that wine
back on the bus. Mixing alcohol was bad news. She’d wind up
trashed, sick, hung over or married.

“Mattie!”

She was already off, going face to face with
our heckler when she received a finger in return. “What’s your
freakin’ problem?”

“You and your friends,” the girl shot back.
“You think you can come in here like you own the place. Get behind
the fence like everybody else!”

This only caused Mattie to smirk. “Jealous
much?”

“Fuck you! You’re blocking our view!”

“Mattie,” I snapped, “Knock it off. Just
ignore her.”

“You,” the girl sneered at me. “You think
you’re hot shit, like you have a right to be on that stage! Why
don’t you go back to whatever dive you came from! Nobody paid money
to see you butcher their songs, you fuckin’ two-bit hack!”

Mattie lunged, but I grabbed her arm, dug my
nails in to gather her attention. She yowled and stopped her
advance. “Damn, Coop, you going to let her diss you like that?”

“No, not at all,” I told her. “I’m going to
have security escort her out.” I said it loud enough for Taylor to
hear. Taylor nodded and spoke into his earpiece.

“You fuckin’ cunt!” the girl shouted,
looking from me to Taylor. “You’re getting me kicked out!”

Damn skippy.

The girl’s friends crowded at her side,
joining in the melee of insults and accusations. The fence bowed
forward against their combined weight. It wasn’t supposed to move
at all, but it was obviously giving way. Once they realized, things
turned into complete and utter chaos.

The next thing I knew, one of the girl’s
cohorts grabbed Mattie by the hair. Instinct took over. Call it
motherly; I jumped to her defense. I dove forward and jumped into
the fray, trying to pry her away from the horde. Fists began
flying. I curled my back, defending my midsection. I heard Em
shouting to my right.

Marshall, Taylor and several of the venue’s
security guards jumped to our defense, but so had the girl’s
friends. They weren’t all female, either. Just as many boys had
joined in. Most were so drunk or high, they didn’t know their left
from right, but they were bruising for a fight.

I received my share of licks, including one
to my face that left my ear ringing and one to the back of my skull
that made me see stars, but the blow that really, truly hurt, got
me square in the throat. I went down like a bag of rocks, clutching
my throat and gasping for breath.

There was glass all over the floor from the
damn beer bottles. A shard cut into my elbow as I tried to crawl
away from everyone’s feet. I caught a shin across my ribs. Once
again, I curled into a ball, protecting my middle. Christ, this was
not how my night was supposed to go.

A few seconds later, I was blasted with a
wave of feedback that had me clutching my head, shielding my ears.
Tate’s voice rose above the others. He launched into some diatribe
about conduct; that they were at a concert, not a fucking hockey
game or something of the sort.

I wanted to make a joke about him getting
old.

“Cooper! Cooper!” Marshall exclaimed.
Crouching at my side, he looked me over. “Jesus Christ! You’re
bleeding all over. Let me see.”

I tried to tell him that it was nothing, I
had cut my arm, but all that came out was a wet, bubbly cough. My
throat felt raw. My mouth tasted of copper and salt. I knew that
was bad, something was wrong. Pulling my hands away, I found them
covered and dripping with blood.

It dawned on me, then. Someone had shanked
me with a broken bottle.

Tate’s words came back to me, then.
“
Chicks take it personally when I’m dating, and they tend to
take their jealousy out on my date instead of me. It’s like they
think some kind of witchery is involved, that I don’t have a mind
of my own, and I must be so mesmerized by my date’s magic muff that
I’m blinded to everyone else
.”

I survived Grant only to die by the hand of
one of Tate’s fans. How freakin’ ironic.

“Taylor, we need a paramedic! Now!”
Marshall’s voice cracked, sounding understandably panicked. “Coop,
I’m going to roll you to your back.”

“Cooper!” Tate shouted in the distance.
“Cooper!”

“No. Leave her on her side.” It was Derek.
“The blood will roll into her lungs if she’s on her back.” He knelt
in front of me, met my eyes. “I need to move your hands for a
moment so I can see how badly you’re cut, ok?” His eyes flicked up.
“A little light here, please?”

About a million and one cell phones rose in
the air.

Reluctantly, I moved my hands. Derek did a
brief examination of my throat. He looked mildly relieved. “That’s
good, that’s great, kid. No major veins or arteries.” As he spoke,
he removed his shirt and pressed it to my throat. “Now, tell me if
you can breathe, ok?”

Barely. I coughed again. I felt like I was
sucking through a straw.

“Alright. Just hang in there for me.
Paramedics are on their way.”

Closing my eyes, I drew in slow, labored
breaths, listening to the voices around me. Carter was consoling
Tate, who was agitated and pacing. Mattie was crying. I think Jake
might’ve yelled at her. Em and Taylor were identifying the
instigators for Evan and the security guards. Marshall stood and
began sweeping the broken glass away from me with the sole of his
boot. Before long, everything started to coalesce and drone into
one continuous murmur.

“Cooper,” said Derek, placing a hand on my
shoulder. “Stay with me, kid.”

I opened my eyes. They felt heavy. I wasn’t
getting enough air. I was dying from lack of oxygen. Since I
couldn’t talk, I flattened my palm over my stomach, showed him my
concern.

“They’re coming, Cooper,” he said, his voice
choked. “Just stay with me.”

Despite my will to live, my vision started
to fade.

“Cooper…Cooper…Cooper…”

Chapter
22

I
woke to an
annoying, reoccurring beep, and Tate’s soft snores. My mouth felt
thick, dry, tasted of blood, something medicinal, and, frankly,
ass. I dragged my tongue across the inside of my teeth to see if I
could work up a decent spit, but only succeeded in drawing forth a
world of pain. The amount of muscles connecting your tongue and
throat were surprisingly substantial. Even more surprising, my
voice didn’t seem to work. I hadn’t intended to use it yet, and
judging by the degree of pain awakened by only the small effort of
moving my tongue, talking was a bad idea, but the involuntary groan
of pain that escaped me, surfaced as nothing but a hoarse
wheeze.

Tate’s snores cut off. His eyes cracked
open. They were uncharacteristically red. His gaze drew upward and
settled on my face. In a sharp jerk, he lifted his head from where
it rested on the edge of my mattress. “How’re you feeling—don’t
answer that—don’t talk at all—I’ll get the nurse.” Jumping up from
the chair, he rushed from the room. In the hall outside, I heard a
loud crash and the hollow warble of bowls, followed by several
feminine exclamations.

A few seconds later, a nurse strode into the
room. “He looked like a drunken Weeble Wobble. Sort of tottered to
the left. Went right down on the lunch cart. But don’t you worry.
He’s fine. The girls are just getting him a change of clothes.”
Lifting the clipboard from the end of the bed, she paged through
the charts. “We told him to press the call button if ya’ll needed
anything, though we usually keep an eye on the patients through the
monitors. But that’s men for ya. I guess rock stars are no
different.”

Dropping the clipboard back into its holder,
she crossed the space and opened the small cabinet nestled in the
corner of the room. From it, she extracted a tablet and some paper.
She came back to the bed and placed them on my lap, then pulled a
thermometer from her pocket.

“Voice rest until further notice,” she
instructed, while placing the thermometer to my forehead. “There
are swabs on your nightstand. You can use them to wet your mouth,
but try not to swallow. We’ll start you with ice chips in another
day or two, and clear fluids after that. If you feel nauseated, let
me know so that we can give you something for that. It’s common
after surgery because of the anesthesia, but it would be better for
healing if you didn’t. If you do vomit, don’t be surprised if it’s
thick and brown. You’ve probably swallowed some blood due to your
injuries. If it’s bright red, I want to know immediately. If you’re
in pain, just push this handy dandy button here. It’s patient
controlled, but preset to prevent overdosing. Any questions?”

Picking up the pen, I scribbled sloppily on
the note pad.

“Do you feel like you need to urinate?”

Obviously.

“Well, honey, you already are. They inserted
a catheter before your surgery. I know it’s uncomfortable, but just
try to relax. We’ll get you up and out of bed as soon as you’re
feeling a little better." She lifted the chart once more, jotted
down her observations. “I can guarantee that once you’re fully
awake, you’ll be dosing yourself with some of those pain meds. You
got banged up pretty good last night.”

I scribbled again on my note pad and held it
up.

‘
The baby
?’

The nurse’s stanch smile faltered for only a
fraction of a second, but I saw it. “Oh, uh…let me find your
husband. He wanted to be the one to tell you.” She padded out of
the room, her stupid white clogs soundless on the linoleum.

Shock slowly gave way to grief. Tears
blurred my vision. I hadn’t wanted to get pregnant. Nevertheless, I
had accepted it, embraced it,
loved
it. How could I not? The
baby was part of Tate. We’d discussed names for God’s sake. We
pondered over its hair and eye color, whether it would look more
like Tate or me, whether it was a boy or girl.