“I want Liam out.”
I blinked at how cold his voice was. I don’t think I had ever heard him as pissed off as he was right now. That it was because of Liam Bryant didn’t surprise me, of course, but Liam was still in rehab in upstate New York. Axton shouldn’t even know where he was, so why the fuck was he so mad? “Why?”
“Do I need a fucking reason?” he snarled and I glanced up at Rachel who was still standing in the doorway of my office. Nodding my head she backed out and closed the door behind her.
“Okay, just calm down,” I told him calmly. “Whatever is going on we can work it out, Ax. Stop biting my head off and tell me what’s going on.”
“He’s a backstabbing dickwad, that’s what is going on. Just because he’s so fucked up in the head he thinks he should be entitled to everything he sees and wants. I want him out or I’m walking.” My eyes narrowed, knowing that whatever had pushed my friend over the edge was huge. Through everything he and OtherWorld had been through he had never threatened to leave the band before. He loved what he did and having his bandmates standing behind him on stage had always been something he was proud of.
“Is this because he was screwing around with Gabriella Moreitti?” Just saying her name left a bad taste in my mouth, but I knew it had to have something to do with the little Italian rocker. It wasn’t until very recently that I had learned that Axton’s ex had been shacking up with Liam, but had kicked his ass to the curb the same night he had ended up in rehab. It had only served as a further indication that Liam was seriously fucked up in the head in my book. What was it about that bitch that had hot guys chasing after her with their tongues flapping in the wind like a dog with his head out the window?
“Fuck Gabriella!” he growled. “This has nothing to do with her. Nothing.”
“Then maybe it has something to do with Dallas…” When all I heard was his heavy, angry breathing on the other end I knew I had hit the nail on the head. I actually liked Dallas, a lot. She was so bitchingly honest that she had wormed her way into my heart within days and I talked to her regularly. “So, you’re going to let a chick break up your friendship, possibly even destroy OtherWorld?”
If Axton left, that was most likely to happen. The band wouldn’t survive without Axton as the front man. He was the reason they had gotten noticed by Rich Branson. Axton was why they had thrived. Sure Wroth kicked ass as a guitarist, but he would rather be working on his farm in Tennessee than on stage. Devlin, Zander, and Liam? Sure there was talent there but they needed someone with Axton’s charming arrogance to lead them. “That isn’t you, Ax. You don’t let women mess with your life like this.”
“I saw them, Emmie.” His voice had lost its harshness all of a sudden and all I could hear was the hurt and dejection in it. My heart hurt for him. “I saw him kissing her yesterday.”
“Liam and Dallas?” I sighed. “So you found Liam. You didn’t approach him, did you? He’s doing really well at that place, Ax. Don’t mess with him right now.”
“Don’t worry about the fucker. I didn’t touch him and I didn’t let him know I was there. He’s alive, that should be all the proof you need of me not going near him.” The harshness was back and I wasn’t sure which I hated more—the coldness or the dejection. One hurt me just as much as it did him, the other pissed me off to the point that I wanted to be the one hurting him. “He had his hands on my girl’s ass. His goddamn lips on her. I’m through with him.”
“Liam isn’t Dallas’s type,” I found myself assuring him. It was true. Liam was too broken, too needy for someone as strong as Dallas. She needed someone like Axton to really satisfy her. “Maybe what you saw wasn’t really what you are thinking. She’s been helping him, Axton. Going up there on Sundays to show him that he isn’t alone during all of this. I talked to her just a few days ago and she said they were friends.”
“You know, I didn’t even blink when Liam said he was messing around with Gabriella. It didn’t matter. She was toxic for me and I was toxic for her. Her hooking up with one of my friends didn’t bother me… But Dallas? He can’t fucking have her, Em.”
“He doesn’t have her for anything except for friendship. Why don’t you talk to her about it? I bet she would tell you the same thing. She’s too smart to get involved with Liam romantically.”
Axton’s laugh was full of anything but humor and it scared the shit out of me. “I’ve been calling her, texting her, showing up at her fucking apartment and even her job. I’m two steps away from being a damn stalker. She refuses to talk to me.”
“I’ll talk to her, then,” I told him, adding that to the long list of things I needed to do within the next week. Obviously this was driving my friend toward psycho territory. “For now, just take a walk or go find some skank to screw. Anything to clear your head. Let’s get through the tour in a few months and if you still want out at the end of it, then we can talk about it.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying not to lose my cool with him in the next ten seconds before I hung up. “I’ll be in New York next week. I’ll see you then.” And smack you in the balls a few times to get your head out of your fucking ass!
“Fine.” And he hung up without even saying good-bye or that he loved me. Rolling my eyes because I wasn’t a stranger to dealing with thirty-plus-year-old adolescents, it was just rarely Axton who was the one acting so immature.
I replaced the receiver and picked up my cellphone; might as well cross one item off my mile-long list while it was on my mind. It rang three times before the Texas drawl answered. “Hey, redhead.”
“Dallas, do you have a few minutes…?”
Chapter 28
Lana
It was official. I couldn’t see my feet. Muttering a curse I stood in front of my mirror trying to see if I had on matching shoes. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Two days ago I had gone to my doctor’s appointment and it wasn’t until I had used the bathroom before the exam that I had found out I had a black flat heeled shoe on my left foot and a brown one on my right. And it wasn’t just because I couldn’t see what I was doing.
I was so scatter brained at the moment that it felt like I was a seventy-five-year-old dementia patient some days. Grocery shopping? I couldn’t even follow a list because I could read that thing a million times and still forget at least three things on it. Snack time? I’d actually made myself a sandwich, got distracted, and then ended up making another one because I’d forgotten about the first.
Thank gods Emmie and Nik would be arriving in the morning. Since my sister wasn’t able to come out for the birth of my child, Emmie was the next best thing. I didn’t want to admit it but as it got closer to my due date the more scared I was. I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for the last two days and if this was just a taste of the pain to come then I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to go through with it without the epidural. That just pissed me off because I had already made my birth plan and I had been adamant that I didn’t want the epidural or drugs of any kind. I wanted to have the baby completely naturally.
I hadn’t told Drake about the Braxton Hicks or even about my fears. He was fighting a really bad cold and had stayed home at my insistence the day of my last doctor’s appointment. For the last two nights he had been sleeping on the couch in the living room so that he couldn’t get me sick too. It wasn’t helping my anxiety to not have him sleeping beside me every night, but I understood his reasoning. If I was sick when the baby came then there was a huge chance the baby would get sick too.
Even though he was sick and running a low-grade fever, Drake was still going to work tonight. It was the season finale and he wanted to be there if for no other reason than to support Kurtis Quinn who was one of the two finalists. He’d already left for the studio a few hours ago to get ready. There would be last minute details to go over as well as makeup—which Drake hated—and wardrobe to sit through.
Just because
I was as big as a whale didn’t mean I was going to show up looking like a frumpy old wife. I was expected to be at all of the shows, especially the finales. There was always a close up of me sitting in the front row behind the judges’ table. Tonight I was going to show the world that while I might be very pregnant that didn’t mean I was any less hot. I’d straightened my hair and made it shine. My makeup consisted of a very dramatic smoky eye and glossy pink lips with just a hint of shimmer. I was wearing all black from the maternity dress pants to the low cut top that showed off just how much my breasts had changed over the last nine months.
I looked good.
Another small contraction hit me and I twisted in discomfort. My lower back was aching more and more and I just wanted to take two Tylenol PM and go to bed. Instead, I lifted my black with white skulls Loungefly purse that Drake had surprised me with a few weeks ago and headed out. The town car was already waiting on me and I climbed in with a smile for the driver.
As usual I arrived at the studio to find the audience packed. There was only one seat available and it was right behind Drake who was already seated and ready for the live show to start. His attention was on something a young man with a headset at his ear was saying to him. With help from the makeup department he didn’t look gray from the cold he was fighting. He looked full of life except for the bloodshot eyes that he had from the lack of restful sleep.
“Wow! You look so hot.”
I forced a smile for the woman who sat beside me. Hilary wasn’t necessarily beautiful but she was just as hot as she had told me I was. Cheap bottle blonde hair teased high, makeup so thick she must keep the drug stores in business from their cosmetics department alone, and an outfit that was fit more for a strip club than public. She was nice enough but she rubbed me the wrong way no matter how much she tried to kiss my ass.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was only twenty-five and had been screwing my father for the last six weeks if not longer. She didn’t know that I was Cole’s daughter, though. Something I was seriously thankful for because I couldn’t take her ass-kissing in a bigger dose, something that would happen if she found out she needed to impress me before Cole Steel would keep her around for longer than a few months.
“Thanks. You look lovely too,” I told her. Maybe I didn’t like her, but I was always nice to her. I wouldn’t embarrass Drake by being anything but polite and courteous while the world watched on.
“I’m so excited. Kurtis Quinn so deserves to win.” Her fake lashes lowered to veil a lust-filled gaze that went straight to the side of the stage where Kurtis could be seen talking to yet another man in a headset as they prepared to start the show.
“Yeah. He’s got some serious talent.” But I didn’t think she heard me as she mentally fucked the rocker. Gross.
I turned my attention back to Drake whose back was still to me. The man with the headset moved on to Axton who always sat in the middle of the three and I ached to go up there and kiss him. As if sensing my gaze on him he turned in his chair and his eyes instantly zeroed in on me. I waved at him flirtingly and he grinned. Damn, my panties got wet in zero point zero seconds at that grin.
Blowing him the kiss I wished I could give him for real, his eye darkened, but before he could respond the lights dimmed and the producers and crew were calling for quiet on the set. Someone counted down from five and the host was suddenly jumping onto the stage in front of the judges. While the show might have been live it was on a five-minute delay because not only did the judges tend to forget themselves and cuss but the host was far worse in the language department.
Having made a name for himself as a DJ, Wes Shaver had moved up the ranks and had his own show on satellite radio now. Good thing the rock channels on satellite weren’t censored because Wes cussed harder than Emmie having a bitch fit. He had been the first choice for America’s Rocker as the host and he did an amazing job of it. No wonder he was the most popular DJ in the country at the moment.
Halfway through the show I noticed Drake was starting to show how sick he really was. His voice was rough from the sore throat and chest congestion. Axton nudged him a few times because Drake wasn’t paying attention to the guest bands that were headlining the finale and performing with the two finalists. Someone from the sidelines appeared with a mug of something steaming and after a few sips Drake seemed to liven up a little.
Because it was the season finale the show lasted a full two hours with minimal commercial interruption. Fans had voted over the weekend and all the way up to Wednesday so Kurtis and his competition weren’t actually competing tonight. A winner had already been picked we were just waiting for the last fifteen minutes to announce which one it happened to be. My fingers were crossed for Kurtis.
Finally, Wes stood on stage between Kurtis and some guy who scared the shit out of me with not only his Goth makeup but the metal thorns all over his outfit. I hoped no one wanted to hug him while he was wearing that getup because they were liable to be stabbed in the eye or something. All three judges gave the two their last critiques and Cole even went as far as to say he knew that no matter what the results from the voting said, he would always consider Kurtis the true winner of the season.
Leave it to my dad to tell it how it really was. Gods, couldn’t he have been a little more sensitive to the other guy’s feelings? I felt a little bad for the scary dude.
“And the winner of America’s Rocker…” I crossed my fingers and bit my lip, waiting while Wes drew out the heart pounding, life changing results, “…Kurtis Quinn!”
All around me the crowd went crazy. I jumped up with everyone else, shouting and clapping my hands. Another contraction tightened around my middle and I muttered a curse because this one was a lot harsher than the others had been. Yeah, I was so having an epidural.
No! I decided, clenching my jaw as the contraction lingered for a few seconds longer than I was used to. I’d made my birth plan and I was going to stick to it.
It took another hour for the crowd to even start to break up. Axton, Cole, and Drake had gone backstage about thirty minutes ago with Kurtis and the runner up for interviews and pictures. My back was really starting to ache though and I wanted Drake to rub it for me when we got home.
Hilary had long since left her seat beside me and I was the only one still seated. Carefully I stood but stopped as soon as I was on my feet as a pain far more intense than I had ever felt in my life seemed to rip through my lower belly. When I could breathe again I was sweating. “Fuck,” I muttered and pulled out my cellphone so that I could start timing the contractions.
With the stopwatch app going, I pushed through the crowd toward the back stage. A few of the crew greeted me with a smile or a nod but were so busy they didn’t stop to speak to me. By the time I got to the dressing rooms I found Cole and Axton sitting with a group of women, laughing and flirting and who knew what else as they sat there. One was sitting on Cole’s lap—definitely not Hilary, but the chick was dressed much the same way as the other woman. Axton had one sitting on each arm of the chair he was sitting in, but his eyes weren’t as focused on them as Cole’s were on his little groupie.
“Hey darlin’,” Cole greeted when he saw me. “Drake wasn’t looking so good a few minutes ago. Might want to check up on the poor fucker.”
Concerned, I just kept on walking. Drake’s dressing room was at the end of the hall and I rushed in without bothering to knock…
The smell hit me first—that all-too-familiar scent of whisky that was like a terrifying ghost from the past. I paused with my hand on the light switch. What the fuck were the lights doing off? Then I heard it, a feminine moan and I turned the lights on before turning around.
I felt the blood drain from my face only to start to boil in my veins. The room filled with a high scream that took me a moment to realize had come from my own mouth. Oh, I was going to kill that fucking bitch.
Drake was lain out on the little sofa, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. He wa
s passed out. From drinking? It was the first thought that crossed my mind but I was quick to push it away, ashamed of myself for even letting that possibility enter my head. His shirt was off, and a very naked Bethany was lying on top of him…
She was practically raping my husband who was off in another world, unable to so much as protest—or even participate should he have been of the mind to cheat on me.
For weeks—no, months!—I had known that this bitch was after my husband and had even entertained the idea of what I would do if he did lose his sanity and cheated on me with her. I’d imagined how I would tear him apart, starting with his balls to make sure he remembered me every time he so much as thought of letting his dick get hard. I’d thought maybe I would cry or scream or just turn around and leave—much like I had when I had found him in bed with Gabriella Moreitti.
Now, faced with the picture in front of me, I knew that I had been incredibly stupid. Drake would never cheat on me. Maybe I was conceited and spoiled, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved me and would probably kill himself before hurting me like that. So I just stood there, seething as Bethany turned her head. An evil smile teased at her lips as she widened her eyes in mock surprise.
“Oh… Oh, no.” She bit her lip, the look of innocence in her eyes if not for the sickness also evident there. Pure hate shined back at me from her soulless eyes. “Lana, I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
I ignored her and glanced around the dressing room, looking for the source of the whisky smell. If Drake actually had slipped I knew he would have gone straight for only one thing. Jack Daniels. Instead, I saw a bottle of Jameson spilled across the coffee table in front of the couch. Wow, she had really thought of everything. Trying to make me think the worst of my man.