Текст книги "Rock Redemption"

Автор книги: Nalini Singh

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

His eyes glittered. “You seemed to be having a good time.”

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth a second time, bleeding inside. Enough, she thought. Enough.

He’d fucked another woman in front of her and she’d managed to forgive him, had given him another chance, but she wasn’t a self-flagellating doormat. “Get out,” she said quietly.

Chapter 30

“Since you’ve been drinking,” she added, “I’ll call you a car. But you will get out.”

His face was stone, eyes about as soft as concrete. “So that’s how hard you’ll fight for me?”

She trembled, her hand fisting. “How about you fight for me for once?”

Not giving him a chance to answer, she shook her head. “You don’t trust me with your secrets, you mess with my head, you make me feel ugly and unwanted, and you ask why I won’t fight for you?” Anger smashed into hurt, the jagged shards splintering through her. “Fuck. You.”

Noah’s face set into an impenetrable mask. It was the same look he’d given his parents at the charity gala.

Hardening her heart against him, protecting herself against the pain he could so carelessly inflict, Kit said, “You did this. Whatever the pain inside you, tonight you made the decision to drink and to do that to me.” But alcohol or not, he wasn’t drunk, had known full well what he was doing.

“I’m not leaving you with that creep out there.”

Kit gave him a humorless smile. “I’ll survive. I damn well did while you were busy fucking every groupie from here to God knows where.” Her words made him flinch, and a small, vengeful part of her felt good that she’d hurt him too.

And that made her hate him a little, that he’d turned her into this vindictive bitch. Not wanting to say anything else, words that would make her hate herself too, she walked into the house and grabbed her phone. She felt Noah come in, go into his room. He was outside with his duffel when the car drew up, Casey at the wheel. The bodyguard and driver was meant to be on a break, but she’d asked him to do this as a favor, not trusting any other driver not to use it as a payday.

Locking the door the instant Noah was out, she determinedly refused to cry. Instead, she called Fox. “I threw Noah out,” she told the lead singer. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” However much she hated him at this instant, she couldn’t forget the night that had begun this journey, how she’d found Noah in the motel room.

“I’ll take care of it,” Fox said in his distinctive grit-laced voice. “You okay?”

“No.” Everything hurt.

“You want Molly to come over? Sarah’ll be fine on her own—she’s steadied since we got back.”

“Thanks, but I think I need to be alone right now.” Get her head screwed on straight. “Look after him.” With that, she hung up and went back out into the garden.

Seeing the beer bottles Noah had left out there made her angry all over again. Picking them up, she took them inside to the sink, poured out the beer that remained in the third bottle, then ran the water so the smell wouldn’t linger and took the bottles out to the recycle bin. After which, she returned to the garden.

Except she couldn’t find peace here, not today. All she kept seeing was Noah. All she kept feeling was him, his lips pressed against hers and his eyes so bitterly cold. “No more, Kit,” she whispered. “You can’t help a man who doesn’t want to be helped.” She loved him, would probably always love him, but it was time she accepted that being with him would slowly destroy her.

She was done.

Noah ripped up the stupid little cherry blossom tree he’d planted in an effort to recreate Kit’s garden inside his home and slammed it against the opposing wall. He missed, hit the wall of glass. The dirt slid down in smudged streaks, but he didn’t stop to watch; he was already ripping up the other plants. He’d put down smooth stones like she had in certain places in her garden, and now he picked those up and threw them at the glass. It smashed.

The sound was right, was an echo of what was happening inside him.

He picked up another stone. Then another. And another.

By the time he ran out of stones, he’d broken every single pane of glass that had previously provided a view from the house into the garden. Shards glittered under the small lights that had come on automatically when he stepped outside. He’d put in those lights because he knew Kit often sat in her garden at night. He’d liked to imagine her here, a cup of green tea in hand as she relaxed after dinner.

“You done?”

Jerking around, he saw Fox leaning in the doorway that led into the garden from near the living area, his arms folded and his expression unreadable.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

“You gave me a key,” Fox reminded him. “I wouldn’t have come inside on my own except you weren’t answering the door.”

Chest heaving and hair falling over his eyes, Noah stared at his friend. “It’s eleven at night. You didn’t just decide to leave Molly and Sarah alone and drive over here.”

“Sarah’s asleep and Molly’s talking to her best friend on the phone.” Fox’s eyes watched him without blinking. “I’m going to make you some coffee.”

Noah didn’t go inside. He destroyed what little remained of the garden. When he was done, no one would’ve guessed that there’d once been a pathetic little garden here. No one could see his fucking heart, all stunted and hopeful and overgrown with weeds.

“Here.” Walking out, Fox thrust a mug of coffee into his hand.

Holding his own cup, the lead singer looked around. “Feel better?”

“Go to hell.” Noah threw the damn coffee against a wall. It made a satisfying crash of sound, the coffee dripping like blood down the white stucco.

Fox didn’t look at the new damage. “Kit called me.”

Skin going tight all over his body, Noah stared at the coffee-stained wall. “Why?”

“She thought you might do something stupid.” Fox took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t think she was thinking about garden destruction.”

Noah fisted his hands. He wasn’t going to talk about Kit to anyone.

“What did you do?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Fair enough.” Fox drank more of his coffee. “Do I need to punch you in the face?”

Glancing at the other man, Noah shrugged. “It’s done. Over.”

Fox’s eyes looked black in the light as he held Noah’s gaze. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now that we’re past that, we’re going to talk.”

Snorting, Noah swiveled on his heel and went to walk inside. Fox blocked him. Noah shoved at his shoulder, Fox shoved back, and then they were throwing punches, Fox’s mug falling unheeded to the rucked up dirt and dying plants. If it had been Abe, Noah would’ve been in trouble—the keyboard player was big enough that his size was a distinct advantage in a fight.

Fox and Noah, however, were evenly matched. He landed a punch for every one of Fox’s. His fist smashed into Fox’s cheek, the other man’s slammed into his jaw, making his teeth crash down on the side of his tongue and the hot taste of blood fill his mouth. He retaliated with a punch to Fox’s ribs that made the lead singer double over.

Reacting to the hit, Fox headbutted him in the gut, taking him to the dirt.

And Noah stopped thinking.

Wiping the blood off his face with a towel some time later, Noah looked in the mirror. “You fucked up my face, man.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fox snarled from the kitchen area.

When Noah walked in, the other man threw him a bag of frozen peas that had probably been around since the Ice Age. Noah didn’t even know who had put it in his freezer. Fox was holding another bag of some frozen thing against his eye.

Noah chose to use the peas against his jaw. Unlike Fox, he didn’t have a black eye. He had a jaw that felt as if it had come to within a hairsbreadth of being broken, a cut above his left eye, and another one on his cheek. His mouth wasn’t in the best condition either.

“You look like shit,” he said to Fox.

“Thanks, princess. You look great.” His hair damp from the water he’d thrown on his face at the sink, the lead singer pointed at Noah. “You’re calling Thea.”

“Not happening. Let the tabloids make up some bullshit story about how the band is splitting up.” The fact they’d been in a fight would be pretty damn obvious as soon as the two of them were caught on camera. “She’s probably asleep anyway.”

“Thea doesn’t sleep, and you’re a chickenshit.”

Noah didn’t deny it—Thea was goddamn scary when she got mad. “I don’t see you calling her.”

“Bastard.” Stabbing in their publicist’s name on his phone, Fox put it on speaker. “Noah and I punched each other,” he said when she answered. “Our faces look like crap.”

“Of course you did, and of course they do,” she muttered. “It’s not like I enjoy having a peaceful life.” A small pause and rustling noises followed by a masculine murmur in the background.

“David says he’s going to punch you both in the morning.” Thea actually sounded like she was smiling. “I’ll make a preemptive strike, say you fought after a few too many drinks, then kissed and made up. Long as they have a reason and you don’t give them a juicier option, we can ride it out.”

She made a small hmming sound. “It’s not like they can sell the line that you were fighting over Kit—not when Fox is so openly crazy for Molly.” Thea’s voice softened on the last part. “And rock stars are expected to behave badly once in a while, so this is actually good for your image. Leave it to me.”

After hanging up, Fox went straight back to the conversation that had led to the fight. “You screwed up. Why?”

“It’s what I do.” Noah put down the bag of frozen peas, felt his jaw. In one piece at least.

“How long have we been friends?” Fox’s tone was dead serious. “Over twenty years. You don’t get to bullshit your way through this.”

“What, you want to have a heart-to-heart? Shall we paint our nails together while we’re at it?”

“You love her,” Fox said, stealing all the air in Noah’s lungs. “You’ve loved her for so long, and now you’re just going to give up? That isn’t the boy I knew.”

Noah sucked in a breath at Fox’s oblique reference to their childhood. “Don’t go there,” he said quietly. “Never go there.”

“Is keeping your secret worth giving up Kit?”

“Yes,” he said on a wave of gut-twisting pain. “I’ll lose her anyway if I tell her.” It was torn out of him, the serrated edge in every word ripping him bloody. “I can’t stand how she’ll look at me.” How his father had looked at him.

His mother had stopped looking at him altogether.

“You don’t know that.” Fox threw down the bag he’d been holding against his eye. “She loves you too.”

“So much she threw me out.” That hurt, that she’d thrown him out the first time he’d fucked up… except it wasn’t the first time, was it? He’d more than fucked up the night in the hotel suite when he’d orchestrated that ugly little play that had devastated her.

He could still see the stark, shocked pain in her eyes, still hear the dull sound of her heels on the carpet as she ran out of the room.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he collapsed into a chair. “I was so angry at her,” he whispered through a throat gone raw. “For expecting me to be normal.”

“You sure she’s the one expecting anything?” asked the man who’d known him since he was a boy who just wanted to be like everyone else. “Or is it you?”

Chapter 31

When her phone beeped, Kit gratefully abandoned the script she’d been trying to read since throwing Noah out. It was a message from Becca: Hey, I know it’s late, but I’m out with some girlfriends not far from your place. Want to join us?

Kit didn’t usually go out so late, but that was because she’d been on back-to-back early-morning shooting schedules. She had no reason to be up early tomorrow. And what else was she going to do but stomp angrily around the house?

Sounds fun, she messaged. Where exactly are you?

Becca texted back the name of an upscale bar located a short fifteen-minute drive from Kit’s place. After stripping off her clothes, Kit slipped into a short and shimmery dress in beaten gold, let down her hair, and slid her feet into sky-high heels. Five minutes in front of the mirror and her face was done.

Becca would probably play with it in the bar’s bathroom anyway. The makeup artist couldn’t help herself—she constantly tweaked all her friends’ looks, but since she was so damn good at it, no one minded.

Turning, Kit checked the back of the dress in the mirror—there wasn’t much, the two sides held together by chains of tiny pearls that just asked for a man to break them. Below that, the fabric hugged her hips without being so tight as to look ridiculous. Sweeping her hair down her back again, she made sure the front was sitting well. The shoulders merged into a kind of a cowl-neck that softened the otherwise clean lines of the dress.

It didn’t need jewelry.

Since Casey was back from his delayed break, she asked him to drive her while Butch sat in the passenger seat. Another two guards remained behind to watch the house. Thank God she could now actually afford them—but much as she liked all the men, she wished she didn’t need the entourage of security.

Damn her stalker.

“Thanks, guys,” she said as Casey opened her door in front of the bar. “I’ll be fine inside. It’s pretty busy.”

Neither guard looked happy, but they nodded. The three of them had long ago come to an understanding that while she’d take their advice, she’d call the final shots. Right now, she just wanted to hang out with women who weren’t close enough friends to pick up on her mood. Becca usually would of course, but if she’d been at the bar for a while, she was probably happily buzzed by now.

Walking in, she immediately found Becca’s group. A pretty, bubbly foursome, they were ensconced in a relaxed seating area around which circled several hopeful men. At least one had made some headway, was whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a blonde Kit couldn’t recall meeting before. Becca, meanwhile—dressed in a short black dress paired with black boots striped in blue—was firmly rebuffing all advances.

Seeing Kit, the makeup artist jumped up and hugged her tight. “Congratulations again, babe! I’ve been waiting all day to hug you.” Another squeeze. “Redemption! What a coup!”

It was impossible not to smile. “To say I’m happy about that is an understatement.” She tugged gently on a strand of Becca’s hair—gone was the pink bob, replaced by a vibrant blue one. “I like this. And”—frowning, she leaned in—“are those tiny feathers on your eyelashes?”

Laughing, Becca closed her eyes so Kit could check out the falsies. “I bought them at that place we went to before the superhero movie sucked up our lives.” She hauled Kit down into a seat beside her, her dark eyes sparkling. “Tell me all about your meeting with Esra Dali! I’ve heard he’s a bit of a smoldering dish!”

Partway through Kit’s recap, Becca ordered a celebratory bottle of champagne. Since Kit had already had champagne with Noah, she only drank half a glass, just enough so that Becca wasn’t disappointed.

Then she danced with her friend and the others, steadfastly ignoring the men who tried to put the moves on her. She was happily physically exhausted when she and Becca finally left the bar arm in arm. They were the only two left of the original group. The other women had all hooked up with men from the bar.

Of course a few of the paparazzi had gotten wind of Kit’s location and were camped outside, including her personal English pest.

“Ditched Noah already?” Basil called out.

“You ever hear of a girls’ night out, Basil?” That explanation ought to keep a lid on the breakup for another day or so. Not much breathing room, but enough for her to find her footing and armor herself before she had to face the jackals.

“Don’t suppose you’d give your friend a kiss, love?” Basil asked, ever hopeful. “Secret lesbian love affairs sell, you know.”

Feeling Becca tense up, Kit smiled at her friend before turning to Basil—she knew how to deal with him, while Becca didn’t usually come face to face with the paparazzi. “Sure, Basil,” she said, pausing just long enough that the photographer all but stopped breathing in anticipation. “I’ll do naked yoga for you while I’m at it.”

All the photographers cracked up, a number needling Basil, who was like a cockroach. He just kept going.

“A flash of your knickers, then. While you’re getting into the car.”

Rolling her eyes, Kit walked over to the car with Becca. Casey was already out, with the door open. “Hop in,” she said to her friend. “Make sure you don’t accidentally flash the cameras. They’ll find a way to use it.”

Yawning and leaning against her, Becca said, “You really don’t mind giving me a ride?”

“You’re my friend—what kind of question is that?” Ushering the shorter woman into the car, Kit told Casey where Becca lived and they drove off.

“Did you break up with him?” Becca asked sotto voce, proving she wasn’t as drunk as she appeared to be—or that even drunk, she knew Kit far too well.

Kit couldn’t bring herself to say it. “It’s complicated,” she replied.

Becca patted her on the arm, her nails beautifully polished in blue with black stripes. “Trust me, honey, you deserve better than some manwhore out to nail as many groupies as he can.”

Kit’s spine went stiff. “Don’t talk about him that way.”

Pulling back, Becca said, “Oh, wow, sorry.” A tight smile. “I was just doing the girlfriend thing. You know, the ‘all men are dicks and the ex is the biggest dick of all’ post-breakup talk?”

Exhaling, Kit dropped her head back against her seat. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Becca had commiserated with her in much the same way after the action-star debacle—it was Kit who was behaving oddly, so mixed up that she didn’t know what she was saying or doing. “I just…”

Becca touched her hand. “You can talk to me, you know. Makeup artists are like priests—the seal of the confessional, only it’s of the makeup chair.”

Trying to laugh but failing, Kit dropped her head on the other woman’s shoulder. “I’m not ready yet.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to talk to anyone about Noah.

“One thing I know,” Becca said, “you’ll be fine. You’re beautiful and talented, and any man would be lucky to have you.”

Too bad the only man she wanted didn’t want anything to do with her.

Kit didn’t voice the painful thought aloud, and when her friend waved good-bye to Kit from the doorstep of her apartment, Kit smiled and waved back. Then Becca was gone, and Kit was once again alone in the car with Casey and Butch.

None of them spoke the entire drive home.

Once there, she let the two guards do a thorough sweep of the house before she locked the door behind her and stripped off. Sweaty from the dancing, she had a shower, then put on a slip in midnight blue. The decadent sleepwear was courtesy of her pre-stalker and pre-debt days.

The sheets into which she slid were a much more prosaic cotton.

But though she was tired, she couldn’t switch off her brain; she kept going over what had happened in the hours before Noah pulled his hurtful stunt. It had started so well. Then Noah’s mood had just turned. Yes, he was moody, but he’d never before been so erratic. Frowning, she tried to figure out if she’d said something that had hit him wrong, but she hadn’t even been speaking when he’d gotten up from the sofa.

The television had been on, Blue Force running as she—Blue Force.

Sitting up, Kit tried to remember the scene that had been on right before he got up and walked away, but her memories were all jumbled up. She could barely remember her own part.

Shoving aside the comforter, she ran into the kitchen where she’d left her laptop. She flipped up the lid, navigated to the website of the television station that featured Blue Force. “Come on, come on,” she said, hoping the site had been updated with the episode they’d played tonight.

When it asked for her password, it took her two tries to get it right, her heart was racing so hard. Then she was in and there it was, the episode of Blue Force she and Noah had been watching. Skipping ahead to what she thought was roughly five minutes before Noah had walked off, she watched carefully. The scene was a flashback to the first time Kit’s character had tasted cocaine. Nothing unexpected, nothing that could’ve triggered Noah’s anger or drinking.

She was chewing her lower lip in frustration when that scene cut to another one. She hadn’t paid too much attention to it at the time because it linked to a background plotline unconnected to the crime in this episode. Two well-dressed people were talking about their child, hoping he was all right. The woman cried, said, “I can’t bear knowing he’s out there with God knows who. My sweet baby.”

The scene cut away again to a bleak-faced and exhausted-appearing detective staring at a bulging folder. Pinned on the front of it was a photograph of a little boy with shining blond hair and a gap-toothed smile.

A younger colleague interrupted the detective, and it was back to the Ivy Leaguer-turned-junkie storyline. Blood chilled, Kit clicked away from the site and to a major search engine. She started to search for anything on Noah’s childhood. Had he been kidnapped? Held for ransom?

Kit’s stomach lurched. Because from what she’d seen, the Blue Force storyline hinted at far more than a simple kidnapping. The mother was worried about what was being done to her little boy.

“No, no,” Kit whispered and continued to search. She knew it was futile—if there was anything to find, the tabloids would’ve found it long ago. But she couldn’t help herself.

She even tried using his mother’s maiden name to widen the search. Nothing.

Hand trembling, she put it to her forehead and forced herself to take deep breath after deep breath before she hyperventilated. But her mind, it raced. How could the kidnapping of the scion of a powerful family be erased from existence? Sure, Robert St. John would’ve been a high-powered lawyer even when Noah was younger, but you couldn’t just wipe out media attention.

Unless the police had never been called, the ransom quietly paid.

She found a bottle of water in the fridge and guzzled a third of it before trying to think through the whole thing. Usually if a ransom was paid and the child returned, it was because the kidnapping was a businesslike transaction. No way would Robert St. John have allowed his son to be missing for days without putting every possible agency on the trail of the kidnappers.

Something was wrong with her theory.

Buzz.

Jumping, she answered the gate-to-house intercom. “Butch?”

“Hey, Kit. I don’t know what’s up with you and Noah, but he’s at the gate. You want me to let him in?”

Gut in knots, she said, “Yes.” She wasn’t sure she was in any shape to speak to him, but it seemed like a big mistake to send him away. Whether she let him stay depended on what happened next. Because what she’d said still applied: his pain didn’t give him permission to deliberately hurt her. No matter how much she loved him, she wasn’t getting back on that particular roller coaster.

Shrugging on her robe, she closed the browser on her laptop and went to open the front door. The night was cool and starlit—and quiet. When she failed to hear the sound of the Mustang’s powerful engine after more than half a minute, she got back in touch with Butch. “He’s not here yet.”

“Walking,” the bodyguard told her. “Fox dropped him off.”

Kit returned to the doorway. Noah finally appeared in the drive a few minutes later, tall and making her heart ache… and with a face that looked like it had gone a few too many rounds with a fist. Temper flaring, she ran out to him and grabbed his jaw in her hand.

“Ouch.”

She softened her hold but not her glare. “Come inside so I can see what you’ve done to your face.”

“I was heading that way.” One of his hands landed on her hip, that familiar cocky smile back on his face. “You gonna throw me out again?”

“We’ll see.” She led him into the house and shut the door. Examining his face in the hallway light, she saw he’d taken quite a beating. “Fox look like this too?”

“Worse.”

She made a dubious sound in her throat, conscious Fox would probably tell Molly exactly the same thing when he arrived home. “What is it with guys and fists?”

A shrug as Noah dropped his duffel on the floor. “I put frozen peas on it.”

“You want me to applaud?”

“Yeah.” A grin, followed by a wince. “That bastard hit me in the mouth.”

She could see the split upper lip, the slightly swollen lower one. “Yes, well, I wanted to do that myself today, so he did me a favor.”

“I fucked up.” Raising his hands, he cupped her face, his smile fading as his throat moved. “It had nothing to do with you. I just took it out on you because… Because I knew you’d forgive me.”

Her eyes burned. “I love you,” she whispered and pressed her fingers to his lips when he would’ve spoken again. “I love you, but I won’t be an emotional punching bag.”