By Degrees

  “What?” This doesn’t compute. Scott doesn’t get on stage. Not for Jack, not for anyone.

  “Look.” Tarin gestures to the side of the stage where Scott is climbing some rickety-looking stairs. The burly Russian-looking guy from the front door is there making sure no one else goes up with him. Jack comes out from behind one of the black walls and joins Scott on stage.

  The DJ’s music is still pumping away, but people on the dance floor are turning together to face the stage as they realize something’s about to happen. Cheers rise up and drown out most of the other sounds in the room. The only thing I can hear over their voices is the bass.

  “Let’s get closer,” Tarin says, taking me by the elbow.

  I chug down the rest of my drink and put my empty glass down on a tabletop as we walk by. Tarin leans behind me and puts the beer bottles there too. His hand moves to my lower back as he guides me onto the dance floor.

  It’s too dark for anyone to recognize him out here. For the first time since we’re together, he’s anonymous to the outside world. The music is so loud and the lights so flashy, we should probably feel completely disoriented, but it’s having the opposite effect.

  Tarin turns to me, and it’s like we’re in our own little world. We both start moving to the beat as we look into each other’s eyes. To stand still would have been awkward.

  My earlier daydream is coming true. I’m dancing with Tarin and my blood pressure is ready to go through the roof over it. Be cool! It’s not a big deal! I’m trying to listen to my own counsel, but it has zero effect. I’m freaking out.

  “You like the music?” he asks, his hands moving to my elbows. People are pushing us together and our bodies are touching at our thighs. I never meant for this to happen when I agreed to come here and bring him with me. There’s a storm brewing inside my heart and mind, and the temperature between us is rising to dangerous levels. I don’t know whether to be distressed or thrilled, so I settle for a mixture of the two conflicting emotions.

  “I’m not big on raves,” I say, looking around us, playing it as cool as possible considering I’m about to explode with pent up sexual frustration. The spaced-out happy smiles on a few of the faces around us and some exaggerated dirty dancing by others tells me some of them took some X recently.

  “You like my music better than this techno bullshit,” he says, giving me one of his devilish grins.

  I nod, because there’s no point in lying. “Much.”

  “What about Jack’s music? Do you like his better than mine?”

  He’s serious. The playful smile has left his face. I get the impression that the answer is important to him too and that he doesn’t just want platitudes from me.

  The problem is, I don’t know whether it’s music that he’s talking about or something else. I feel like I’m about to cross the line and tell him something about not just his music but things between us, but I don’t care enough to hold back completely. I let some of my abandon slip through and guide me.

  “What difference does it make?” I ask, my body moving in perfect rhythm to his. We’re good together on the dance floor. It’s like each of us knows what the other will do and responds without thinking. It makes me wonder what else we’d be good at together, and I picture us naked in bed before I can stop my runaway train brain. So, so, so not professional. I wish I felt worse about the fact that my rules about not getting involved are becoming less and less important to me, but I don’t. Something about Tarin makes me re-evaluate my carefully crafted life and find it wanting.

  “I just want to know.” He pulls me closer. I can feel almost all of him. Smell him. We’re sweating together. The hardness of his body is intoxicating.

  “You just want to know what?” I’m playing games. Stalling. Not sure how far I should let this go. My heart is racing, and I know now that it’s not the music setting its pace. It’s Tarin.

  He answers me, but I don’t hear him.

  “What?!” I yell, leaning in closer. Now our chests are touching too.

  He puts his hands on my upper arms and pulls me into him. We’re almost embracing when his voice finally comes to my ear. “I want to know what my competition is.” His breath tickles my neck and sends shivers down my spine.

  I pull back, quickly putting space between us. I can’t control the flush coming over my body or how I’m responding to his touch, but I can keep this from going any farther. I shouldn’t have led him on. It was stupid and thoughtless and selfish, not to mention beyond dangerous. “There is no competition, Tarin.”

  He goes from playful to angry in the space of two seconds. He doesn’t say anything, he just lets me go and turns a little towards the stage.

  He’s still dancing, but his moves become more fluid, more obvious. A girl standing nearby starts moving with him, and I get pushed off to the side by their swaying bodies. He lifts his arms above their heads and really starts moving his hips with purpose. She takes the clue and backs up into him, giving him what he’s obviously looking for.

  I turn away, unable to look at them anymore. My heart feels like it’s being torn in half and I’m instantly sick to my stomach. Such a simple, stupid thing … him dancing with a stranger … and I’m ready to cry. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

  I try to leave the dance floor, but there are too many people in my way. I’m trapped, but the idea of standing there next to Tarin like a sad, dumped loser is so unappealing, I dance. I act like I don’t care that his emotions come and go like the tides, that he can look at me and slay me with a single smile, or that seeing him having fun with another nameless bimbot is killing me.

  Doing my best to feel the beat and move with it, I act like I’m completely cool with Tarin’s games because they don’t affect me. I think I’m doing pretty well at pulling it off too, and then someone up on stage strums a guitar and I spin around, instantly forgetting the game I’m playing as I get lost in the vision before me.

  Scott?

  I stop dancing as the music fades into nothing and a man steps up to the microphone. It’s the DJ and he’s standing next to Scott.

  “Yo, yo, yo!! What’s up!” He’s still wearing headphones, only now they’re around his neck. “Party people in the houuuse tonight!”

  The cheer that rises up in response is deafening.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Who’s ready to rock this party?”

  More cheers blow out my eardrums. It has the miraculous effect of drowning out my misgivings temporarily, picking me up and carrying me along on a wave of abandon. I can’t help but let go of my frustration and join in the fun. It’s easing the sting of Tarin’s rejection to be a part of such an excited group of people, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around and feel sorry over something that can never be.

  I can tell by people’s expressions that some of Jack’s most die-hard fans are in attendance. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that some of them traveled from other states to be here. Many are chanting his name.

  “That’s good, that’s good …,” says the DJ, “…because we have something special going on for you tonight. I’m not playin’, y’all, this is the first time … ever … that you are gonna see somethin’ like this. Give uuuuup! Give it up for Austin Betzer’s little brother Scott Betzer…!”

  He turns sideways to give us a view of the stage, the performers there but too bathed in shadows to see clearly. He waits for the insane screaming that ensues to die down a little before he finishes, “… And of course our very own … Jack Oooo’Leary!”

  The fans go bananas. I’m jumping up and down, and I don’t even have to move a muscle to make it happen; the crowd is carrying me with it. I lose Tarin in the mess while I’m getting elbowed and dry humped and spilled on, but I don’t care. The energy is palpable and electrifying. Multi-colored lights are beaming and flashing all over the place. I’m not even sure at this point that the band has to play anything to keep these people happy; they’re high on just the idea of it.

  A
spotlight goes on and suddenly Scott is visible on stage. He has a guitar strapped to the front of him and he’s staring at the neck of it.

  Tears leap to my eyes and my throat closes up. He’s the picture of his brother standing there like that, and I know I’m not the only one who notices. Girls around me start shrieking like it’s the nineteen-seventies and they’ve just seen a Beatle. A couple of them are crying.

  “Oh my god!! It’s Austin!!” someone near me screams. I want to slap whoever it is, the bile rising up in my throat to choke me. Scott is not Austin. I’d never ever let that happen.

  Another spotlight goes on, distracting me from my anger. Jack is suddenly visible under its glare. The crowd goes nuts all over again. My eardrums will suffer for the rest of the night for this, but I don’t care. He really is frigging amazing. Not only is his music pure rock-and-roll perfection, but he strikes the most elegant rocker pose without even trying.

  His long arms hold the guitar in his hands, his fingers casually resting on the strings like it’s no big deal. His hair is a crazy mess and his eyes are lined in smudged black. He smiles and every girl around me swoons. He’s like a cross between Billie Idol and Elvis - purely intoxicating on a visual level, and then his music … that’s where he hits you on the emotional level. He’s the real deal, and a small piece of me wishes that I don’t have a rule about not falling for rockers. He’ll make a great husband for someone someday, but that’s not in the cards for me now or ever.

  Jack steps up to the microphone and lays his hand over the top of it in a loose grip, the bulky silver rings on his fingers obvious in profile. As he leans forward and speaks to the crowd, I’m overwhelmed by the memories that come flooding back, seeing the two of them there. Jack and Austin. No, Jack and Scott. It’s not Austin … it isn’t. My vision blurs and Scott’s face merges in and out with a memory of Austin’s.

  My earlier euphoria is replaced by stark fear. Panic mode level ten. Run away! Run away now! I spin around, looking for a way out. I can’t take it. I have to leave. I have to get out of here before I throw up on someone.

  Strong arms wrap around me from the side. I immediately start fighting whoever it is, throwing up a punch without even aiming.

  “Oooph!” yells Tarin, bending over and forcing me to go with him. His arms are like steel bands around me. “Shit, Scarlett,” he grunts out as he tries to catch his breath. I got him right in the solar plexus.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yell, pushing on his chest to get him to stand up. My words come out more like I’m crying than angry.

  “Don’t go,” he says, fighting to get his breath back. “Stay with me.”

  “I can’t! I don’t want to!” My fight or flight instinct has kicked in and I’ve chosen flight … big time, flight. I want to sprout wings and soar over all these heads and out the door into the night.

  “I’m sorry I danced with her, okay! I’m sorry!”

  His apology catches me by surprise, so I forget to struggle. “What?” I stand up straight too and now we’re facing each other. The first few chords of the guitar being played by Scott come out of the big speakers.

  “I said I’m sorry I danced with that girl. I was jealous.”

  Suddenly we’re alone again, in our own world. All the strangers in the room become ghosts just dancing around us but not intruding on our drama. I forget what I was running from. “Jealous of what?”

  “I don’t know!” He runs the fingers of one hand through his hair while the other hand holds my waist. “Of Jack, I guess.”

  I frown at him. “That’s just … stupid.”

  “I know it is, I know! I don’t need you to tell me that.” He’s mad, but not at me. I think he’s upset with himself.

  “I don’t feel that way about Jack.”

  He stares at me. “You don’t?”

  “No, of course not. He’s a former client.”

  “So?” He’s asking for more explanation and I almost don’t want to give it. But it’s for the best. It would be a mistake to let this go anywhere.

  “I don’t get involved with clients, Tarin.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. I just don’t.” I can’t tell him why … that it’s because I’m afraid of being destroyed all over again. I know that the minute I give him the key to my world, he’ll use it to unlock the door and force his way in. I’m a challenge to him, that’s it; and I know Tarin well enough to know he loves a challenge.

  His mouth moves around like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. He just turns and faces the music. I expect him to take off again and start grinding on the nearest ass, but he doesn’t. He just slides his hand down my arm and weaves his fingers in with mine. We stand side by side and listen to the music together.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  SCOTT AND JACK HAVE OBVIOUSLY been practicing for a while. They’ve made music together - haunting, sad, emotion-packed songs that tear my heart out and shred it. I’m angry and happy at the same time. I wish Scott had told me what he was up to, but I’m so excited that he’s actually writing music, I forgive him. He’d started doing it when he was just fourteen with Austin, but had given up when Austin pulled away from us. This is the first I know of him getting back to it. He’d always told me that his music died with his brother.

  Tears run silently down my face the entire time they perform as I sway to the rhythm and the haunting melodies, but I actually cry like a stupid baby when the lyrics to the fourth and last song come across the space between them on the stage and me out in the crowd.

  Before they start, Jack steps up to the microphone as the drummer behind him beats out a few random hits on his snare. “This one is for a very special girl.” He turns around to shush the drummer before continuing. “I wish I could convince her of some things, but she’s making it really hard for me.” He strums one chord to emphasize his words and then speaks again. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.” He puts his hand over his eyebrows to block the spotlights and scans the crowd. He stops when his eyes land on me. “This one’s for you, Scar.”

  People nearby look around to see who he’s talking about. I don’t make eye contact with any of them. I don’t want them knowing that I have a connection to Jack or to anyone on that stage. My work requires that I be invisible to the world. My heart requires that I remain alone.

  My throat closes up over what’s about to happen. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to hear what he’s going to sing, what he’s going to play. I know it’s going to cut me like a knife and make me bleed all over this floor.

  I turn to leave, but Tarin stops me. He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around, stepping up to stand behind me. He wraps his arms around me, trapping me in front of him as the first chords come out of the speakers. He makes me feel safe and warm, like maybe I’ll be able to handle what happens next. It’s stupid and weak and it shouldn’t be this way, but it is. I hate that I can’t create my own reality, that it keeps getting created for me by this guy I shouldn’t want to be with. Tarin. He has too much power over me, and that kind of thing is never good. Especially when it’s my job to get him back on track.

  Jack and Scott are nodding to each other as the music from the two guitars becomes entwined, making it impossible for me to tell who is playing what. It pulls me out of the moment with Tarin and shoves me into one with Jack. Talk about emotional whiplash.

  Jack’s raspy voice goes into the mic and out through the speakers, driving the words he sings into my heart. His eyes are closed as he feels the lyrics he’s singing and the music he’s playing.

  Oh, you’ve got it bad, girl,

  Those eyes, gray eyes still sad, girl,

  Let me be the one to show you

  It’s time to let it all go now.

  I can’t listen to anymore of this. It’s too much. He should never have written this goddamned song. I’m sad and angry and feeling more than a little bit violated. Some lines should just never be crossed, and the ones that
lead to the memories of Austin are on the top of the list.

  I turn around in Tarin’s arms and look up at him, pleading for my release. I sound weak and pitiful, but I can’t help it. “I have to go, Tarin. I can’t stay and listen to this.”

  He nods, his expression showing concern for me. “Fine. Come on.” His arms slide away and his hand slips into mine. He turns and begins forcing his way through the crowd. People ignore us, too drawn in to the music to care that they’re being pushed around.

  Jack’s voice slips into my head along with the music again, the haunting melody following me off the dance floor.

  I know it had to be that way before,

  But things have changed for both of us,

  You’ve gotta trust me girl when I say this,

  It’s time to start all over now,

  It’s time to trust another now…

  We make it to the edge of the crowd and Tarin’s bodyguards close in on us. I focus on them so I can block out the next part of the song. I don’t think I can take any more. My chest feels like it’s going to explode with anxiety.

  “What’s up?” asks Zach.

  “We’re outta here,” says Tarin. “Stay here and take care of Scott, would ya?”

  “Whatever you say, Tare.” Zach looks at me. “We good?”

  I nod, trying to keep the tears from falling. “Yeah.”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a sad smile. “Be careful.”

  I don’t know what he means, but I nod anyway, unable to speak.

  Zach makes his way towards the stage through the crowd behind us; I assume his destination is the stairs. I’m glad to know that Scott has protection now, and even happier to know Tarin made sure of it. My idea of him being a mean-guy is slipping away with every minute that goes by.

  Leonard walks with us to the door. I nod at the Russian guy who’s once more at the entrance to the club.

  “Need a cab?” he asks me.

  I’m startled by his deep and unaccented voice. I guess he’s not Russian after all. “No thanks. We have a car.”