A red tainted Silence (10 page)

As I turned the engine off, the front door opened and out came my dad, my mom, and Jonathan right behind her. Thankfully, no Adam, though seeing Jonathan was a surprise.

He’d been in Seattle the last few weeks and I hadn’t known he was expected back already. I looked at Nicholas -- he looked terrified, so I reached for his hand and squeezed it.

“It’ll be all right. I promise.”

He gave me a wavering smile.

I got out of the car, ignoring my mom’s startled look, my dad’s open mouth, Jonathan’s disbelieving stare, and walked over to the passenger side. I opened it and reached in to help Nicholas. He came out slowly, trembling, his hand clutching mine. I turned and faced the 52 Carolyn Gray

parents and my oldest brother, Nick’s hand still clasped in mine behind my back, and took a deep breath.

“Dad, Mom, Jonathan, this is my new singer. I’d like you to meet Nicholas Kilmain.”

* * * * *

I sat back in my chair, my fingers still on the keys. I didn’t think I could go any further, not right now. I felt drained, sucked dry, my heart whipped from side to side from going over the mistakes I’d made that one fateful day. Mistakes we both paid for, but no one more than Nicholas.

He sat now in his bed, greatly relieved to be free of everything but the one IV, sorting through all the cards and letters he’d received. I couldn’t help grinning at his disbelief and joy that so many people had cared enough to send him cards. So many -- hundreds, maybe thousands of letters, and they were still coming, some simply addressed, “Nicholas Kilmain, Durango, Colorado.” That was enough.

It was like he was Santa Claus or something.

He loved it, though. Every once in awhile he’d insist on reading a card to me. Not that I minded. I loved hearing the strength return to his voice.

“I can’t believe all these cards, Brandon,” he said.

I laughed. “You think you’re inundated now? Just wait until after the press conference.

Then you’ll have even more.”

“A lot of these are addressed to you, too, you know.” I snorted. He’d already extracted a promise from me to help him answer every single card and letter he -- okay, we -- received. He was sorting them now, moving a little slowly as he did so, but it was good to see him doing some sort of activity.

The door opened and a head poked inside, a man about our age that I hadn’t seen before. In uniform. A cop? I frowned in concern, catching Nick’s confused gaze.

“Brandon Ashwood?” he said, looking from me to Nicholas.

“I’m Brandon Ashwood,” I said.

The cop nodded. “Detective Anderson is here. He’d like to talk with you, please.”

“He can come in if he’d like.”

The cop flicked his gaze to Nicholas. “He’s down the hall. I’m to take you to him.” I set my laptop aside and, aware of the panic in Nick’s eyes, said, “Give me a second, will you?”

“Sure.” The door closed.

A Red-Tainted Silence

53

I grabbed my crutches and hobbled over to Nicholas. “What do you think he wants, Brandon?” Nicholas said, his eyes wide with undisguised worry. I kissed him on the forehead, remembering our first kiss again. I could hardly wait to really kiss Nicholas again, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

We’d have to move much slower this time.

“Stop fretting. I’m sure it’s just some loose ends that need to be tied up. He told me yesterday he still had some questions to ask.”

“So why doesn’t he come in here to ask them?”

I grinned. “It’s probably not important enough to bother you. Just me.” I noted the deepened circles beneath his eyes and began to take away his cards, putting them in the box his assistant, Marisa, had brought to keep them in. “You need to take a nap anyway.”

“I’m not that tired.”

I smirked as he yawned. “Yeah, baby, I can tell. Scoot under the covers. Mind Brandon.”

With mock annoyance, but apparently deciding to let the detective’s cryptic visit slide, Nicholas did as I told him to. “Tuck me in.”

“You are such a silly.” But I did as he asked, putting the koala bear beneath the covers with him. “Better?”

“Everything’s better since getting that thing out of my dick.”

“Nicholas!” I said, laughing.

“It’s true. Have you ever had one of those things shoved up your dick?”

“Can’t say as I have. Now, go to sleep. You’ve got time enough before the press conference.”

His eyes clouded at that, and he bit his lower lip. One hand snaked out from beneath the covers and caught my arm. “What are we going to tell them, Brandon?” I knew exactly what he meant. I glanced at the door -- the detective could wait a minute. I brushed my knuckles across his jaw, ending at his chin. With my thumb, I rubbed that luscious bottom lip of his. “What do you want to tell them, Nicholas?” He bit the tip of my thumb, then took it into his mouth and sucked on it gently. A moan escaped me. How such a simple act could be so sensual, so enticing ... With a growl that brought a delighted light to his eyes, I took my hand away and bent over and kissed him, grinning as his tongue slipped into my mouth, his eagerness unmistakable.

So much for taking it slow.

He tasted so good, like mint toothpaste. Like Nicholas. Better than I remembered, so sweet, so beautiful. Then, as I shifted awkwardly -- I was trying to balance on my crutches and kiss him at the same time without falling on him -- he pulled back. With both hands he cradled my face, his gaze boring into mine.

54 Carolyn Gray

“I want to tell them the truth.”

“That we’re together?”

“That we’re back together.”

I leaned into one of his hands. It was so warm, and I felt that warmth spread through me at the simple addition to my words.

“Brandon?”

I nodded. “Okay, Nicholas. I’d like that.”

His hands began to stroke my face. A nervous gesture. He hesitated, opened his lips to say something, then closed them again. “Brandon, I want -- They’ll ask about Dream.” I’d known this was coming. It was inevitable. I knew what Nicholas wanted, craved, had to have. He couldn’t not be out there, writing music, creating, and above all else, performing. And he wanted me with him. Even more so now that he knew some of the truth as to why I’d pulled back so hard, so fiercely. Why I’d ruined everything.

To protect him. Always, to protect him.

But I could tell by the way his hands stilled that he fully expected me to say no. There was still much that I’d had to deal with that he didn’t know specifics about yet, but he knew I would tell him now. So, I gave him what he wanted. I could, now. Now that we were free.

“We’ll tell them we’re working together again, Nicholas. If that’s okay with you.” His hands moved to my shoulders, clutching them over and over again before moving back to my face. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Yes,” he finally whispered, then opened his eyes and wiped his tears away. “Yes. Are you sure, Brandon? I want to be sure this is what you want. I know how hard it is on you, to be away from home.”

I sat on the bed, taking his hands in mine. “It is hard, but not like it was before. I’m older. Wiser. The concert world’s different now, too, Nicholas.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

“We’ll probably have to do smaller venues --”

“I don’t care. Not anymore.”

“And smaller tours.”

“We’ll be in control now, Brandon. It won’t be like before. I promise.”

“You bet it won’t.”

Not now that the madman who had made my life -- our lives -- such hell was gone, now that we knew to listen to ourselves and not what others said who thought they knew what was best for us but really didn’t. We’d both seen the bitter results of twisted words and wouldn’t let that happen again.

No one would ever control us again.

A Red-Tainted Silence

55

The door opened and the cop stuck his head in again. “Mr. Ashwood?”

“Sorry. I’m coming.”

I squeezed Nick’s hands and kissed him again. “Take a nap. I’ll be right back.” After tucking in and kissing Nicholas once more -- could you blame me? -- I picked up my crutches and followed the cop outside the door. I frowned as I noted another police officer had taken up a spot outside Nick’s hospital room. “What’s going on?”

“Detective Anderson will explain, Mr. Ashwood.”

Fear clawed at me. Something had happened. No, I thought, wanting nothing more than to turn around and hobble straight back to Nicholas. But like a June bug drawn to a porch light, I followed after the cop down the hall, moving past him when he held a door open for me.

“Detective?” I said as I swung into the room. “What’s going on? Why is there a cop outside Nick’s door?”

The detective nodded once to the cop who had accompanied me. When he didn’t leave, but stood at the door -- guarding it -- dread reached up and grabbed me by the throat.

Guarding me.

“The autopsy results came back in, Mr. Ashwood. I’m sorry. The man you killed wasn’t Percy Blevins.”

Disbelief punched me in the gut. My surroundings darkened. I felt myself falling.

Hands grabbed me, and I felt myself eased into a chair. With a gasp I took a deep breath. I felt like I was going to be sick. Finally I ground out, “What do you mean, it wasn’t Percy? I saw him. I killed him. He can’t hurt Nicholas anymore.” The detective pulled a chair up to me and shook his head. Not Percy. It wasn’t Percy. I started to shake. The detective laid a hand on my shoulder.

“We’re still trying to ID him. He looked very similar to Mr. Blevins, but he wasn’t him.”

“Then where is Percy?”

The detective hesitated. “He’s in jail, in Los Angeles.” I stared at the detective. “What do you mean? In jail?”

“He committed murder eight years ago, Mr. Ashwood, and has been there ever since.

He’s not the person who’s been blackmailing you all this time. And we don’t think it was the guy you killed, either. We found a number of incriminating things in his apartment that lead us to believe he was being paid by someone, starting only about six months ago.” I looked at the detective then, shocked and confused. “What do you mean? I -- I don’t understand.” Blevins wasn’t who had been blackmailing me? Wasn’t the guy who I’d killed?

But who else could it be? It made no sense. “Blevins, it had to be Blevins. He’s the only one that it could’ve been.”

56 Carolyn Gray

The other guy who had attacked Nicholas that horrible day had died years ago in a car accident.

“Does a company called Hallifax mean anything to you?” I shook my head. I felt dizzy. Disoriented. “No. No it doesn’t.”

“Apparently, Hallifax is a company in name only, drawing on funds in a Swiss bank account. This man, whoever he was, was being paid by Hallifax to torment Mr. Kilmain, according to what we found on his computer. He had specific instructions what to do, and when, to Mr. Kilmain. And there was more.”

I covered my face with my hands. “What else did you find?”

“Tapes. About a hundred of them. They were in envelopes, ready to be mailed out to different rags. There’s a possibility some already had been -- we have postal receipts. We’ll do our best to track them down.”

Oh, my God. My face blistered with humiliation. Now I really did feel like throwing up. “What was on the tapes?” I said dully.

“You and Mr. Kilmain. In Hawaii.”

Hawaii. Our first real vacation. I sat back in my seat. There’d be no doubt now that Nicholas Kilmain and Brandon Ashwood fucked each other, and had been doing so for a long, long time. I wanted a cigarette right then, bad. I hadn’t smoked in more than a year, but at that moment I didn’t give a damn about my lungs.

I was afraid to look up at the detective. See the disgust in his eyes -- he’d seen the tape.

That was apparent. How could he not be disgusted? What had been so beautiful, a private thing between me and Nicholas, had been twisted by this madman, reproduced and ... and mailed out.

I hadn’t killed Percy, so who the fuck had I killed? Who’d been blackmailing me, all these years?

“So now what, Detective?” I asked, my voice hollowed, defeated. All the joy was gone.

How was I going to tell Nicholas?

“I’ve placed a twenty-four-hour watch on you both. The press conference is cancelled.” I looked up at that. “What?”

But he didn’t get a chance to answer; a blood-curling scream echoed through the halls and straight into my heart.

Nicholas!

A Red-Tainted Silence

57

The detective shot from his chair, drawing his gun. I froze for a moment, my heart beating wildly in my chest as the echoes of Nick’s scream reverberated in my mind.

I kicked into action, grabbing my crutches, but the detective reached the door before I could get them under my arms. “Keep him here,” he said to the cop, then disappeared through the door, his footsteps echoing as he ran down the hallway.

Like hell.

“Out of my way.” I tried to push past the cop, but he was a damn sight bigger than me and likely weighed twice as much. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held on. “Let me go,” I demanded, wrenching away from him and nearly falling. He reached out and steadied me.

It pissed me off and I pulled back, but to no avail. He didn’t let me go.

“No, Mr. Ashwood. You’re not going anywhere. Not until we know what’s going on.” I trembled in his steadying hands. “Let me go, now,” I said through clenched teeth.

But he shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

I shuddered with fear and anger, and glared over the cop’s shoulder at the door. Stupid fucking broken leg. Even if I could get past him, he’d catch me in a second, and he knew it. I thought about whacking him with one of my crutches, right where it would stun even a halfback like him, but I knew it was useless. I was stuck.

“Shit,” I said, tearing the word out from deep in my gut as I wrenched away from his grip.

“Sorry, Mr. Ashwood.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I half-stumbled, my crutches catching on his foot, and steadied myself before he could.

He cocked his head to listen to whatever was going on outside the door, then nodded at me 58 Carolyn Gray

in apology, I guess. I hobbled over to the window and stared at the cold, harsh scene below me. I hated Colorado. I hated the snow. I hated this hospital. I hated the helplessness that kept me bound to this room, watched over like I was a child who couldn’t even piss without supervision. I felt like a prisoner all over again as I fought to keep the panic down.