Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (60 page)

She knew a normal person’s next move in this situation would be to check into a hotel, or schedule her roundtrip home, now that it seemed Ivy was quite possibly fine. But the first thing she had done last night, after arriving at Cole’s, was to check her bank balance.

It was grim. She had enough for one night at a hotel and then some change.

“And now?”

“Huh?” She shook her anxious thoughts away and settled her own sunglasses more comfortably on the bridge of her nose.

“Your crushes. Got a boyfriend back home?”

“No.” She paused precisely long enough to deliver the punch line perfectly and made sure she smiled sweetly. “A girlfriend.”

“No! No. Really?”

She shrugged and hoped that would keep his eyes off her until she figured this mess out. She knew she should be gone by, at the latest, the following morning. And that was probably pushing a near stranger’s hospitality.

“My turn with the twenty questions.” She crossed her legs and tossed out the challenge.

“Ask me no questions. I tell no lies.”

“Well, I’d hate to make you lie. So I’ll just say, Caroline seems really nice.”

“She is. And a great mother.”

“It’s great you two are able to live close enough to both be there for Seth.”

“I was glad she was open to the idea of moving out here.”

“Did you know?” She bit back her words, finding it hard to query him as ruthlessly as he had her. But his answers had her intrigued. The fact that he so fondly endorsed his ‘baby momma.’
To hell with it
. “I mean, I guess I was wondering when you knew about Seth. Like, if there were a lot of years you only saw him randomly because of working and tours.”

“I didn’t know. No. He had just begun school when I found out. She had put me on his birth certificate, so there was some signature the school needed from me, and that’s when she told me.” His wrist relaxed on his knee, and his phone hung idly in his hand. “Crazy, huh? But we worked it out.”

Her phone buzzed her butt cheek, but she ignored it. At this moment, unless it was Ivy, she couldn’t think of anyone else she would want to talk to. “Your cat is eating a giant bug.” She’d been watching the silver tabby, playing in the built-in planters and stone walls that made the pool area almost look as if it had been stumbled onto during a hike.

“She does that. Less bugs to sting or bite you.”

They laughed. It was easy to forget she was irritated with him for expecting Gage to work alone on a song the entire band had due in a week, and for his nonchalant attitude about Gage’s legal troubles. Instead, she saw a guy who had twice now, in the short time she had been around, jumped into his car and driven over in the middle of the night to check on his friend. And the guy who had invited her to stay with him, no strings attached.

Holding his phone, he jumped from the waterfall platform and waded to the side of the pool where he hopped out.

Like the bratty brother he’d speculated Gage had once been, he shook over her like a dog and chortled when she screeched. Their eyes met, and she forgot to take her next breath. His blue irises glittered like gems, and when he was in the sun, flecks of brown decorated them. The long layers in his hair, gleaming and made darker by their dampness, fell along the strong planes of his face. His lips tipped into a panty-melting grin, acknowledging the moment between them.

Then, just as easily as she had forgotten, she was jarred back to reality by his next move. He was a musician. Disturbed. Dangerous. Unpredictable.

His hand went to one of his necklaces, a silver bullet hanging from a chain, and he lifted it over his head. To her astonishment, he twisted the bullet apart and offered it to her as he dropped into the chair adjacent to hers. She shouldn’t have been surprised. One of Gage’s necklaces was the size and shape of a dog tag, only thicker, and the top slid off and doubled as a straight edge.

When she didn’t immediately respond, he pressed. “Want a hit?”

She shook her head, and he tipped it to the top of his hand, right above his thumb and snorted.

“Damn, that’s good! Sure?” His head moved in an exhilarated shake.

Without bothering to answer, she twisted her head toward the magnificent view of the canyon side.

Colt continued, seemingly oblivious. “This straight edge scene you got going on—I respect that.”

“Great.”

A smattering of birds dotted the blue sky and dipped into the treetops.

She didn’t care what he thought, and he laughed, clearly unfazed by her brushoff. “Shit. I said that all wrong. I just meant, I get it. And I was trying to say it without bringing up—you know—Tyler.”

“Good. I hate when people talk about him.”

“Yeah.” Now he seemed slightly remorseful and twisted at one of the rings on his fingers. “But what’s fixing to happen? I mean… Is that one of the reasons you’re in L.A.? Your John Hancock needed on a bunch of legal shit?”

Now she looked back into his handsome face. This was one of those times when the personality difference between Colt and Gage was black to white. Colt was pushy. He had to get his way, no matter anything else. Gage, on the other hand, almost always prioritized her feelings and wants.

“No. I came to see Ivy, but I’m leaving before my birthday. I will have to fly in for the legal stuff because it has to be done in California. But I’ll just be in and out. And if it’s too crazy—the press—the lawyers are going to meet me in San Diego.”

At least that
had
been the plan. Until she had developed these mixed up feelings for Gage. Now, despite being furious with him, she wasn’t sure she could leave him to kill himself slowly as a junkie. Still, she hadn’t outright admitted that part. It was in the back recesses of her brain. Also, it still seemed insanely hard to believe Ivy was living it up with a hunky movie star and had not contacted her in some way to tell her. She didn’t want to leave without laying eyes on her friend, although if the chick was fine, she would probably punch her.

“Well. I was asking because I was hoping you were staying. And you’re welcome here as long as you want. Hotels can be hell. Especially when it comes to privacy.”

“Thanks.” She heard the hostility leave her tone. “Really.”
Damn she could use a hit of that coke!
Suddenly she was feeling the effects of a night of managing only a restless doze, and she stifled a yawn. “About Bradley Walker, did you ever figure out anyone with a connection to him?”

He stretched his legs out straight and reached for his necklace. “Yeah. I did. It’s Gage. Gage has a cabin on Arrowhead, and so does Walker. I wasn’t thinking of it at first, because Walker’s never been there when I’ve been there. But now I’m sure I remember Gage saying Walker bought the place right up the road from him when it went up for sale, and brought down this insanely sick boat.”

He was about to twist the cap from his bullet again, but stopped when a voice hailed from the direction of the house.

“What’s shakin’, bacon?”

Colt’s home appeared to be an older architectural design than Gage’s. Scarla had seen very little inside the main house but when passing through the previous night, she’d noted that despite its spaciousness, it was rustic with lots of wood and rafters. Instead of opening completely to the outside as Gage’s did, this one had French doors that folded back accordion style. Caroline stood in the doorway now, pushing one French door back until it stopped in the track. “Your house is stuffy,” she announced.

“Can’t have that,” Colt returned. “The neighbors are stuffy enough.”

Caroline giggled and made her way around scattered deck furniture to sit with them. “Aw, come on. In all fairness, the realtor should have disclosed a musician was living next door, with wild parties going on at all hours of the night and day—and naked women running through the neighborhood.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” Dipping his head, he replaced the necklace without partaking of its contents.

“Nope.” Caroline sat back with a smug smile.

“So, the brat’s home?” The affection Colt laced into the nickname was accompanied by a special light in his eyes and a smile.

“Yep. He’s all yours for the next few days. Be good.”

The current transmitting between the two of them was a tangible thing, and again Scarla found herself wondering about their relationship. How they could have this easy closeness, obvious affection, private jokes, and a child together, yet not
be
together.

“Dad!” Seth hung over a balcony on the second level. “I’m going to skate, right? Jeter’s mom is picking me up in an hour. Hi, Scarla.”

Scarla waved and listened to Colt and Caroline converse for a minute before Colt hollered his okay up to their son.

Caroline lingered, visiting, for a bit more before standing. “I’ve got to get going. Second shift today. Nice to see you again, Scarla.” Here Scarla responded likewise, and then the other woman tipped her head to Colt. “Can you walk me out?”

Scarla assumed Caroline had something more to discuss with Colt about Seth, and she used the opportunity to scurry toward the guesthouse. She would Google Bradley Walker’s home, and see if it was on one of the celebrity tours. She didn’t want to have to ask Gage for anything anymore.

With that thought, she entered her accommodations and headed straight for the bathroom first. What she didn’t count on was the room being directly below the incline where Colt and Caroline stood conversing on the driveway and their voices carried clearly somehow, through the intake vent.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not asking for me! I’m telling you what I know. And if you want your band to stay together, you need to get her out of here.”

“And you know about her and Gage how?”

“I have eyes. It’s that simple. Keep your cock in your pants with this one. And if you’ve already fucked her, then get ready for the fallout!”

At first, Scarla was startled and couldn’t seem to stop eavesdropping. But finally shocked enough by Caroline’s words, she backed out of the room.

T
he walls trembled with the aftershocks of his frustration. Every agonizing emotion went into the instrument and manifested into a thunderous symphony of sound. The chord progression was angry, rising and holding through several measures before falling again. As the abuse to his instrument began to tax his limbs, his mind, and the jaw he’d held clenched for too long, the trip back down the G scale slowed. He plucked at the strings instead of tearing at them. The melody declined from a raging hurricane to a spring shower and then to the gentleness of falling tears.

He ceased playing and flicked the pick aside. Using both hands, he tucked his sweat-dampened hair behind his ears. Ironically, when the hush fell around him, he could hear his cell phone ringing beneath the placid surface of the pool. This caused a fresh wave of pain—a reminder that only minutes before flipping out and chucking the phone into the water he’d maxed out the volume so he wouldn’t miss Scar’s text or call.

Trading the guitar in hand for the pool skimmer, he scooped the now silent phone from its watery resting place and wondered how deep one point five meters was, when converted to feet. The factory advised safe depth must not have been exceeded, because the phone chirped with a text as droplets rolled from every surface.

Nothing from Scar.

He checked Colt-the-traitor’s thread to see if anything had been sent after the ‘idiot’ text.

Nothing.

He ignored all other blinking names. Returning inside, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and paced. He wanted nothing more than to crank his bike and roar down the mountain the few miles to Colt’s. Colt would only hurt her. He was capable of being a decent guy, but that wasn’t going to happen until he and Caroline got their shit straight and committed to one another.

The next minute he cursed Scarlette for the way she’d acted and hoped he didn’t see her again. Who was she to be judgmental? To assume because she didn’t agree with something, it was wrong for everyone?

This seesaw from one emotional extreme to the other had plagued him all day. And what was beginning to bother him even more was the thought of the other Clear Morning packet. The one he’d been so sure he wouldn’t use—but not sure enough to dump it into the toilet this morning with the shredded paper of the empty one.

He fisted his hair, trying to remember how far back he’d graduated from user to addict. He never deluded himself. But he had never cared either. Until lately. Colt had told him he couldn’t write a hit song when he was fucked up and it was true. But he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared he’d wasted the detox stage of rehab and that there was only one cure for his crawling skin, until Scar had made him feel like a loser junkie.

The trash bag outside was calling his name.

He ventured out to the containers and stood a moment. Rascal searched the tiny side yard, looking for a stick and finally broke off a twig from a hedge. Still eyeing the trashcan, he absentmindedly threw the ‘stick’ and wiped dog slobber from his fingers to his pants.

Finally, he scrolled through his phone looking for the brunette from a couple of months ago who had refused all party favors except beer. It took several minutes to skim through the notes by the contact names until he found the one he wanted.